#later he stitches my wounds together. i ask him why bother and he says it will help in the long run.

[apologeticaugur]

i'm not a person i'm just wearing skin fabric i've pulled over my skeleton

[primofate]

Hi there, can I request the boys seeing you got injured or being attacked, whichever is fine ^^

Hey anon! You didn’t specify how injured but I’ll just run with it hahaha :)

Shortfic

Scenario: You got injured Part 1

Part 2 with Zhongli

Part 3 with Xiao

Characters: gn! reader x Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Childe

Warnings: angst, injury, no character death though

Masterlist

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Taglist (Want to be notified when something new comes out? Sign up!):

https://forms.gle/VZmJXQssHcv7YzQc6

If you’d like to be extra sweet and donate, here’s my kofi link: 

https://ko-fi.com/primofate

Diluc

“Master Diluc, if I could just interrupt--” one of the caretakers in the winery walked up to his office and prepared for the assault of words that could be fired towards him, sure enough, Diluc interrupted. “What is it? I’m a little busy right now, make it quick,” he hadn’t turned his face to look at the grim expression weaving in and out through the caretaker. Hadn’t bothered to look up to check if there was anything amiss, but the caretaker continued quickly “It’s Y/N,” the caretaker had only paused for a moment but Diluc had already picked his head up at the mention of your name. It was here that he realises something must have gone wrong, the caretaker’s expression was not a pleasant one. He was up on his feet, eyes widening a fraction at the following words, “They came back to the mansion seconds ago and they’ve been injured past what Adelinde could fix so we called for a doctor—”

In Diluc’s hurry he had stumbled over his chair, it tripping behind him with a thud on the floor but he ignored it and fast runs towards your room. Dear Archons he should NOT have let you go on that commission by yourself. You could hold your own, yes, but things happened and he really should have thought that through first. He was berating himself for it as he swung the door open. “Y/N?!” 

The urgency in his voice tells you that he perhaps had the wrong idea of what was happening, it was really just a gash on your leg, although it was bleeding profusely, the cut must have been deeper than you thought. The maid had already placed a tourniquet to stop and slow the bleeding. You tried not to show it in your face, not wanting to alarm your lover any further, but it. hurt. like. hell. “Diluc, I’m fine, it’s just a gash,” 

The maid that was previously sitting on the chair next to your bed moves away, Diluc replacing her, his eyes didn’t tear away from the wound on your leg, his expression contorted to that of worry and nervousness, before finally turning to your face, reaching a hand out to cradle your cheek. “Stop lying. You’re pale, you’re sweating--” of course he sees through you, he knows the second you get upset, knows every crease on your forehead and every slight furrow of the brow. He had memorized every inch of his beautiful, beautiful treasure. “Your hands are trembling, you’ve lost too much blood, where’s the doctor?!” He grips your hand at the realization that you might actually be in a more dire situation than presented, and just on cue the doctor comes through the door, asking for some time alone with you to do his job. 

Diluc paces outside the door, unable to stay in one place for long. He kept thinking about how frail you looked. How, if you were unlucky, it wouldn’t have just been your leg. He shook his head at the thought. He didn’t know how he was going to let you out of his sight from then on. He knew full well it would annoy you to have him following you around everywhere but.... How could he not after this?

The doctor emerged half an hour later and explained that you just needed a bit of rest and that, with a little healing magic, you didn’t need the stitches at all. “Don’t let them use that leg for a day and they should be fine, it’s nothing life-threatening but they did lose a lot of blood and is going to need time to recuperate. They’re asleep at the moment,” 

Diluc takes note of everything and quietly slips into your room. They must have sedated you in the process and he sighs as he plops down on the chair that was still placed next to your bed. His eyes soften at the sight of you finally relaxed and less in pain, hand reaching out to brush off strands of stray hair that blocked his view of your face. “You’re the only one who can scare me this much,” he mutters under his breath, as if complaining and he swears that he sees a very small and light grin on your face, as if teasing him. He smiles a little, just happy that you’re stabilized and leans in to kiss your forehead, opting to stay by your side till you wake up.

----------

Kaeya

“What do you mean unconscious?”

“J-Just as we said, Captain. They were unconscious when we found them,” Kaeya sighs in slight exasperation. Normally he was a jolly camper but when the knight in front of him is unable to say how injured you are, Kaeya gets a little wordy. “I meant to say why were they unconscious? Were they hurt? Where are they now?”

Kaeya stands. He was in the middle of some Favonius paper work. “They were bleeding profusely from the head,” Kaeya stops as if lightning has struck him and stares pointedly at the knight. “These details should be said early on,” he thought that it had just been something less threatening. Perhaps you had somehow passed out, exhausted, on your bedroom floor. Or perhaps had just rolled from the bed and onto the floor. They said that they found you in the bedroom, and his blood froze when he realizes that someone went in there to attack you.

Kaeya doesn’t bother talking the other knight into giving better reports next time, he’d do that later. He could guess that you were probably taken into the Favonius infirmary. Sure enough, when he walks in there, face scrunched up into what could only be described as worry and anger mingling together, you were awake, head bandaged up and your eyes meet. His heart breaks at how you still smile at him despite the fact that he wasn’t there to protect you. He stands next to the infirmary bed and gingerly touches your cheek, peering into your eyes. “Y/N, what happened?” he asks, eyes scanning the bandages wrapped around you. “Who did this?” and there was that angry and cold undertone in his voice that you rarely heard, as if his cryo vision had taken over his whole being.

“I’m sorry, Kaeya, I-- I can’t quite remember,” You put a hand up to cover half of your eye, your head was still throbbing and in quick realization Kaeya eases up on you and gently pushes you on your back to rest. “It’s fine, sorry, I just--” he cuts his own speech off and takes a deep breath in. Focus on the good. He tells himself. “I’m glad you’re alright, take it easy, I’ll take care of things,” By that he means he might just slaughter whoever even had the guts to break into your house and attack you in the middle of the day. The break-in was reported by townspeople, and Kaeya was sure as hell he’d get every witness to describe that asshole’s face. 

“You’re staying with me for the moment,” he decides quite quickly, and you had no qualms with that whatsoever. Hearing that you had no protest at all, he grins and leans down to capture your lips in a soft kiss, afraid to hurt you. “No complaints? Perhaps this was your grand scheme all along to come live with me,” You can’t help but chuckle at how quick he bounces back. “Maybe, honey. Maybe,”

----------

Albedo

“Ow--” the knife clatters to the floor, as blood starts to pool around your finger. Albedo spins around at the meek sound you make, ignoring the knife on the floor and strides over to you just as you’ve turned on the sink and started running water on the small cut on your finger.

“Let me see,” You turn to him, blinking. His face was blank. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking but he was staring straight at you. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s just a small cut,” but he doesn’t waver and glances at the water running over your finger. “Let me see,” he tries again, this time rather forceful. That got you to obey. Turning the faucet off and awkwardly offering your hand to him.

He receives it and cradles it in his as if it was porcelain, upturning your hand to look at the small cut on your pointer finger. It was tiny. Really nothing compared to wounds that a knight might sustain. Albedo sighs and looks up at you, “Don’t go anywhere,” before stalking off, coming back a few seconds later with a first aid kit. “...Al, it’s alright, it’s not a big deal,” Albedo would only let one person give him a nickname. You. No one else. Frankly he thought the nickname was weird but if it danced on your lips, he didn’t mind it at all.

“Y/N, you’re mistaken if you think I’m going to take this lightly,” he takes out some ointment and a small roll of bandage, starting with the ointment. “Everything and anything that hurts you is a significant thing,” his gaze darkens, as if glowering at that microscopic cut. “Miniscule or massive, it doesn’t make a difference to me,” he starts wrapping your finger, “if it taints your skin, I cannot help but feel--” he doesn’t know the right word, but you do, judging from how his hold on your wrist tightens. 

A soft smile paints your features at how he was such a worry-wart. Sometimes he was so bad at navigating his own feelings but you could decipher them anyway, from his actions. You let him worry over you, and thank him once he’s done. He finishes his work by taking your hand, and pressing it to his lips, his eyes darting up to lock on yours. That made you blush every damn time. His green eyes were just so mesmerizing, and so was his heart.

----------

Childe

Dear mother of the Archons, perhaps whoever was responsible for your injuries had some type of death wish. Everyone should offer prayers for whoever had cut you up. Your arms and legs were littered with small scratches from trying to run away from the attackers, you thought going through the thick forest was a good idea. In essence, it had slowed the thieves down. They had managed to throw a fire bomb at you that severely burned your right hand, and the right side of your abdomen. 

Perhaps it was thanks to adrenaline running through you that you had actually managed to make it to the gates of Liyue, just before the bridge, but you’d crumpled down right then and there. The Millelith guards didn’t recognize you, but the three Fatui agents walking on the bridge did. “Someone had better tell him,” The group of Fatuis scrambled nearer to you, one of them picking you up, but glancing at the other who had just spoken up. “I’m not doing that, you do it,” it was slightly comical, seeing them pass off the duty of who was supposed to report to Childe about it. “You know how he gets when it comes to them, I’m not doing--” then one of them finally gets their bearings together.

“Shut up, get them to the healer first,” The tallest one shoves the one carrying you, urging him to go fast and off he went. Now it was just two Fatui agents looking at each other. Two Fatui agents who decided that they would just face his wrath together. “Sir,” one of them starts as Childe turns around to look at them. He actually had no tasks today and was just about to go off to find you. “About Y/N...” Childe’s eyebrows shoot up, what in the world could these agents have to say about you? “We’ve sent them to the healers, they collapsed at the entrance of Liyue, it... doesn’t look good...”

All hell descends upon Childe’s demeanor and poise. His face darkens, his eyes burning holes through the two agents and his fists closed up on his side. His bow appears and hovers behind him, the only thing that shone through his dark person. “The two of you--” he starts, “are going to find out who did it. I’m expecting a report by nightfall,”

Childe himself shows up at the healers quarters, and was told of your condition. “Their hand is going to scar,” keeps reverberating in his head. Like the sound that he imagines the skulls of those who dared touch you crunching under his feet, over and over again. Childe actually winces when he sees you. Small bandages on your arms and legs from the scratches, your right hand wrapped up adequately and, he couldn’t see it now, but he was sure your abdomen was wrapped too.

You cracked an eye open, feeling another presence in the room. Childe immediately appears next to you, leaning over the bed and watching your expression. “...It hurts, doesn’t it?” he asks, tracing over your bandaged hand. You remained quiet for a moment before nodding your head slowly. Just remembering it caused a blinding pain in your mind’s eye. You’d been given drugs to ease the pain now, but there were still traces of it lingering on your skin. “How dare they,” both your eyes snapped open at Childe’s nearly contorted voice, shadowed and overpowered by rage. 

You pick up your good hand and touch his arm with the tips of your fingers. You didn’t like it when he got like this. “Childe, it’s alright,” far from it, but it was the only reassurance you could offer. He catches your hand and brings it up to his face, pressing your hand to his cheek as if it was a lifeline. “It’s not. It’s not,” he repeats to himself, his anger also stemming from the fact that he wasn’t there to protect you. “They’ll regret even laying eyes on you,” You knew he wanted to go now, knew that he wanted to get to the bottom of it, but you yet again pull your hand away to grasp at his shirt, the fabric scrunching up under your hold. “...But stay with me for tonight? Please?” 

That got him. He would never say no. His form relaxes and he leans in to kiss your lips, gentle yet with a hidden hunger in them. “Of course,” he simply says, as if his previous agenda forgotten.

But he would never forget. He would never forget for as long as he could see that scar. 

Tomorrow, he would decimate each and every one of them.

[furiousmooncupcake]

Love Sick / (yandere) Mickey Altieri X OC (Parts 5-END)

***TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains themes that some may find offensive/triggering, such as alcohol and drug use, physical and sexual assault, death, self harm, suicide, violence and gore. Read at your own risk.***

Act V

As I enter the dorm and make my way up to my room I pull my keys out of my pocket, it was a lot later than I expected.

I try to be as quiet as possible as to not wake my roommate.

I slowly slide into the room, gently closing and locking the door behind me. I round the small corner to go to the bathroom and...

*CRASH*

I get hit in the face with a blunt glass object that shatters in my face. I fall onto my hands and knees and blood rushes down from my forehead into my eye.

"What the hell!?" I scream.

I look up, my roommate stands above me with with the neck of a broken vase in her hand.

She looks rough. Her makeup ran down her face and he hair is disscheveled. She was shivering like a chihuahua.

"I'm sorry! I panicked!"

"Why are you so on edge?" I ask as I pick myself up off of the floor, using the wall as support. My head was spinning.

"I got a call, Lila!" Tears began to stream down her face. "From the killer!"

"Isn't he in jail?" I use the sleeve of my shirt to wipe the blood from my eye. "He probably just called you from there to mess with you."

"You don't know that!" She grabs onto both of my arms, shaking me violently. "What if he isn't the real killer!? What if there's more than one like before!?"

Her shaking makes me sick, I push her away with my free arm.

"You'll be alright. Now go to bed." I groan.

"Only if you stay with me. Don't leave my side, okay!?" She begs.

I nod and she hesitantly crawls under the covers, not even bothering to change.

I grab a pair of pj's from my drawer and get dressed in the bathroom. I check myself in the mirror, I had a deep slit through my eyebrow.

I use a damp facecloth to clean my face and cover the wound in a large knee-sized bandaid. Then crawl into bed.

I struggle to sleep that night, listening to the mournful whimpers of my roommate as she cries in fear.

***

I miss most of my classes, I ended up sleeping in.

Once I did get up I made my way straight to the nurses office, my wound had bled through my bandaid and stained my pillow case.

My roommate had planned to tag along with me but fortunately i had convinced her that the killer wouldn't attack her in a crowd. We know from the murder at the Stab screening that was not true, but she took the bait anyway.

I flinched as the nurse squeezed my wound together with glue.

"I'm going to need to give you a couple of stitches... because it's right on the brow bone the glue probably won't be enough."

She pulls out a sterile needle and thread and I resist the urge to pull away as she sews my wound shut.

"Youre good to go." She wipes it clean with an alcohol swab.

"Thanks..." I sigh and make my way to the next class. I really didn't feel like it. My head still throbbed.

"Hey, Lila! Where've you been?" Randy waves as him and the others run up to me in the hallway.

"Woah, are you alright?" Derek asks, referring to the stitches in my eyebrow.

"No, I got ambushed by my roommate last night." I grumble. "She got a call from 'the killer' and now she's losing her shit."

"What?" Sidney blinks. "She's being targeted? I thought he was in jail?"

"I don't know... I really don't want to think about it right now, I've got a lot going on in my head." I push my hair infront of my wound, trying to hide it.

"I think it looks badass." Randy grins. "You look like a super villan."

"Thanks." I say with obvious sarcasm.

We all walk to class together, sitting in our respective seats.

As the teacher gets his papers prepaired I feel a pencil poke my shoulder blade.

I turn my head, it's Mickey. I haven't spoken to him since last night.

He uses his pencil to poke his eyebrow, asking what had happening without saying any words.

The teacher speaks and I look back toward the front of the class, I really didn't feel like talking to him right now.

Although I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy last night the images I had seen on his camera still play through my mind like a slide show. I couldn't help but feel tension between us.

The teacher goes around collecting our scripts. I notice my roommate pull hers out- she sat in the seat beside me- and I cannot believe my eyes.

It was my script. You know, the one I had lost.

I cannot focus through the class, my heart raced. I had to confront her.

After the bell rings for lunch break I catch her out in the cafeteria, my teeth gritting in frustration.

"You stole my script." I hiss.

"What are you talking about?" She plays dumb.

"The script that I spent hours writing. The one that I thought I had lost." I growl. "How dare you!"

"You passed in another script, so what's the big deal?" She puts her hands on her hips.

"The big deal is I poured my heart and soul into it!" I raise my voice. "And you're going to get the credit for it."

She looks unphased by my anger which just frustrates me more.

"I hope the killer does get you!" I spat. "You deserve it you fucking bimbo!"

At this point everybodies eyes are on us. I hadn't realized how heated I had actually gotten.

"Get away from me, freak." She backs away, running into the crowd of students.

I was not a freak when she thought she was going to die last night.

My forehead pangs and I rest a hand on it. I need to calm down.

"Everybody mind your own business."   Mickey approaches me, shouting at the crowd. "Go away."

The students start to dissipate and I let out an exhausted sigh.

"She really stole your script?" his face was full of sorrow.

I nod.

He wraps his arms around me as an attempt to comfort me but it just makes me more tense.

"Lila." He says my name in almost a whisper, it sends a shiver down my spine. "I know now is probably not the time... but there's something I want to talk to you about."

"There's something I want to talk to you about too..." I keep my head against his chest, I can't bear to make eye contact right now.

"What is it?" He lets me out of his embrace, still keeping his hands around my arms.

"Y-you go first." A knot forms in my throat and I chicken out.

"I really enjoy spending time with you..." He looks down and smiles. "And I'd like to be more than just friends with you."

My lungs tighten and I lose my breath. I feel light headed.

"I can't... we can't..." I stutter trying to find the right words.

His face immediately falls cold. His expression a mixture of anger and sadness. I've yet to see his eyes look so lifeless.

"What?... why not?" He asks under his breath.

"I don't really want to talk about it right now." I pull away from his grip, I can't bring myself to explain.

I hear him mumble something along the lines of 'I'll make you change your mind.' As I walk away.

I sit at the lunch table with the others in my usual spot. Mickey sits beside me in his as well. I can feel his eyes burning a hole through the side of my head.

"Did you hear the rumors?" Derek asks.

"No, what now?"

"The police checked their call records, there was no call made from the jail to your dorm room."

"So either the person who called wasn't actually the killer, or they arrested the wrong man." Randy chimes in.  "Or there's more than one like last time. Kinda creepy to think, huh?"

"I think you should be careful, Lila." Sidney adds. "It seems like the killer may target you next."

"I'm not afraid of some asshole in a cheap halloween costume." I shake my head.

"You should be." Mickey suddenly speaks up, almost sounding threatening. It catches me off guard.

"She doesn't have to be afraid, the two most important horror movie rules are that the gays and the virgins always survive." Randy teases.

"How many times do I have to say I'm not gay." I groan.

"Buuut... you are a virgin." Randy grins.

I scoop up some mashed potato on my plastic spoon, using it as a catapult. The potato sticks to the side of Randy's face.

"Shut up, dipshit."

He laughs, wiping his cheek clean with his sleeve.

"You never know, that could change in the sequel." Mickey states.

"This isn't a movie, guys." Hallie butts in. "This is real life."

"It could be a movie some day." Mickey grins.

Act VI

The rest of the week went normally. No fights, no deaths, just quiet. I got to spend a lot more time with my friends. It was nice, maybe too nice?

The phone rings in my dorm room and I hesitantly pick it up.

"Hello...?"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" my father shouts into the reciever. I almost have a heart attack.

"Thanks..." I exhale.

"I can't believe my baby girl is growing up so fast." I hear him sniff. "It feels like it was only yesterday I was changing your diapers."

"I know, I know." I roll my eyes. I hate when my dad gets all emotional like this.

"I sent your gift in the mail, hopefully it got there in time. Let me know, okay?"

"I will."

We talk for a few minutes before saying our goodbyes.

I run down to the student center to check my mail box. There were a few slips in it.

I take them to the counter and the lady passes me out an envelope and a large, nicely wrapped box. It was surprisingly light.

As I walk through the hall I can hear random students shout birthday wishes when noticing the large box in my arms.

I just nod my head and smile. I really hate birthdays. None of them are my friends, I know all of their words are hollow.

I go outside and sit on the edge of the water fountain. I'm not one for gifts either, especially opening them infront of people. I never know if my reaction is enough.

The first was a regular brown mailing envelope. It was covered in scribbles, hearts, balloons. It was definatly my father's work.

I tear it open, it's a 'Green Day' band tee. They are my favorite. I will definatly get some good wear out of this.

I unfold the shirt to get a better look at the logo and something falls out onto the ground.

It's a switchblade. I pick it up and flick out the blade. The last time I called my father I was telling him about all of the murders that occurred, he told me how if I really wanted to stay in college I needed to learn to protect myself.

I pick up the other box, using the blade to cut it open, it was really sharp. I click the blade back into place and shove it into my bra.

The other box was filled with a mess of pink fabric. I hate pink... this is definatly from my mother and her creepy husband.

I lay the box on the ground and pull everything out. It's a modest, frilly, knee length dress. Ew. There was also a jewelry box. I open it and there is a necklace inside with a cross pendant and a small Bible. Still trying to shove their religion down my throat I see.

"That's so pretty!" I hear a voice shout. Its Hallie, Sidney walking by her side.

It was definatly her taste.

"Here, take it!" I toss the dress at her and she catches it.

"Seriously?" She blinks in astonishment.

"Yes. I think my soul would leave my body if I wore that much pink."

Sidney laughs, like me she is more fond of darker colors.

They sit on the fountain on either side of me. Hallie hugs into the dress like she has just struck gold.

"I'll have to wear this on my date." She smiles.

"Ooo, you've got a date?" I tease. "Who's the lucky man?"

"Mickey!" She shouts excitedly and my stomach does a back flip.

I want so badly to tell her what I know, but we arnt really the closest. I don't want to overstep any boundaries.

"How long...have you been together?" I swallow the lump in my throat.

"Just since this morning." She flattens out the dress in her lap, running her fingers along the ruffles. "We're going out for dinner, I'm really excited."

"That's good..." I mutter.

"That reminds me!" Sidney interjects. "I was going to ask you if you could meet me later. I'd like to talk."

"Why, is something up?" I shoot her a look of concern.

"No-no. How does 4pm in the theatre classroom sound?"

"Sounds good."

"Perfect." She jumps to her feet and Hallie does as well.

"I have to go get ready, I'll talk to you later." Hallie speaks.

"I'm helping her." Sidney grins and they both run away.

That was odd.

I pull the tshirt my father had given me over the tank top I had been wearing. I take the necklace and Bible and shove them into my pocket. Mom will definatly expect me to be wearing it when we see each other again. As far as the dress goes, I'll just tell her somebody stole it.

I hang around my room most of the day, drawing in my sketchbook and listening to some music.

When 4pm rolls around I rush toward the theatre classroom to meet Sidney. I wonder what she has to say?

When I get there I notice through the window in the door that the lights were off... she did say 4 right?

As I open the door I reach into my top, pulling out my blade. I really don't feel like being ambushed again.

Suddenly the lights flick on and I'm surrounded by loud voices shouting 'Happy Birthday!'.

I almost drop with the fright, everybody's eyes widen- especially Sidney's- who stood only inches away from the blade.

"Hey, put the knife away!" Randy throws his arms into the air. "Youre alright!"

"Im sorry." I sigh, shoving it back into my top. "I just lost an eyebrow and I don't feel like losing another one."

I take a second to examine my surroundings. The classroom was cutely decorated with balloons, streamers, and a home-made banner.

"You didn't have to do all of this for me."

"Of course we did!" Sidney smiles.

"And it gets better!" Randy wraps an arm around my back, leading me to a make-shift table made by pushing a bunch of desks together. Ontop was a cake and a small pile of gifts.

For the first time in a while I feel genuinely happy.

"Cut the cake!" Hallie grins, handing me a knife and some paper plates, she wore that godawful dress.

I slide the knife into the cake, it's vanilla- my favorite. I lay a piece out onto a plate.

"Crumbs! Crumbs! Crumbs!" Derek chants. "What's the name of your crush?"

"Arnt we a little old for that?" I laugh.

"You just don't want to say who it is!"

"No, I don't have one!" I cross my arms.

"I bet he's in this room!" Derek teases.

"It's me, isn't it?" Randy shoots me a cheeky smile and my face becomes flushed.

"Is not."

"Is too."

I take the paper plate in my hand, squishing the piece of cake into Randy's face.

I take my finger and wipe the icing off of his nose, sticking it into my mouth.

"Mmm. Butter cream." I joke and he digs his fist into the cake, shoving a handful into my face.

Derek bursts into laughter and Randy takes the leftover cake in his hand and shoves it into his face. Than Derek takes some and shoves it into Sidney's. We laugh and scream as it becomes a full on cake war.

Once the cake had be fully mutilated the four of us clean ourselves up, tears of laughter rolling down out faces as we scrape the icing off of our hands and faces with paper towels.

"You should open your presents next!"  Hallie suggests, she hadn't participated in the food fight. She's sort of a stick in the mud.

I notice Mickey had his hand wrapped delicately around her waist, he was very quiet through all of this. Was he trying to make me jealous? I shake it off.

"Alright!" I wiggle my fingers. "Which one first?"

The first one I pick up had Sidney and Derek's names on it. It was a collection of tapes for my Walkman with all of my favorite bands. Nirvana, AC/DC, Alice in Chains.

"I love them! How'd you know what I like?"

"We have similar tastes." Sidney chuckles.

I pick up one from Mickey and Hallie and open it. It's a disposeable camera and a small album.

"Now you can take some photos of your college experience and keep them forever." Hallie grins.

"Thats so sweet. Thank you guys!"

"Now mine!" Randy picks up a gift and passes it to me.

It's a copy of 'Halloween' on VHS.

"It's the first horror movie we watched together, remember?" He smiles.

"I do..." I giggle. "I had to stay over the night because you were too scared to sleep alone."

"We don't talk about that."

I notice there was one more gift on the table. That's odd, I've already gotten a gift from everybody.

"Who is this one from?" I point to the large box, beautifully wrapped in metallic paper.

"There's no name on it, but there is a card with your name on it." Sidney picks up the card, opening it to read the inside. She had a bewildered expression on her face.

"What does it say?" I ask curiously.

Sidney reads it aloud.

"Darling. Light, of my life. I'm not gonna hurt ya. I'm just going to bash your brains in."

The flicker of happiness I had felt turns to stomach sickness.

"That's a quote from 'The Shining'!" Randy points out.

"What's inside?" Derek asks and I hesitate to open it.

I try to pick it up and it's surprisingly heavy. The cardboard is soft, is it wet?

When I raise the box from the table the bottom gives way.

And out rolls a severed head. The head of my roommate.

Her blonde hair was almost completely stained in red, her skull bashed in. Gravity causes her brain matter to spread out onto the desk.

Everybody around me starts to scream and I feel my legs lose their strength.

I want so badly to speak but I've lost my voice. All I can do is run. I leave the room as quickly as my legs can take me, leaving the others behind.

Who... who is doing this to me?

Act VII

I lay in my dorm, staring at the empty bed on the other side of the room. I feel numb.

I remeber how I had shouted at my roommate in the cafeteria, how I had told her I hoped the killer would get her. I can't help but feel somewhat responsible for her death.

As Sidney had said whoever is doing this is targeting me in particular, but I can't understand why. I've never done anything to anybody.

I've kept to myself for the last week or so, quietly going to my classes and avoiding socialization. I thought if I stayed away from everybody, maybe nobody else would get hurt.

I hear a quiet tap at my door. I wrap my pillow around my head, I refuse to answer it.

But they are persistent.

I get up and hesitantly open the door, peeking through a small crack. It's Sidney and Hallie.

"What are you guys doing here?"

"We're here to take you out shopping!" Hallie grins.

"I'd prefer not." I groan.

"You haven't been yourself lately. I think it's time you have some fun." Sidney pushes my door open. "Now get dressed!"

I step back and they barge their way into my room.

"You can't let this person control your life, Lila." Sidney lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"You're right..." I clench my fists. "Alright! I'm going to have fun today!"

"That's more like it!" Hallie claps in excitement.

I quickly pull on a tshirt, a pair of overall shorts and some doc martens before heading out the door.

***

I flip through the clothes on the rack. There wasn't much to peak my interest, but I did pick up a couple of pairs of skinny jeans- you can never have too many pairs.

Sidney didn't have much luck either, but somehow Hallie managed to find an armful. Sweaters, skirts, dresses, tops, all in soft pastel colors.

There were two dressing rooms, one was locked.

"You can go first, Hallie."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, you have the most stuff." Sidney agrees. "We'll wait our turn."

"Okay!" She runs excitedly into the booth, locking the door behind her.

"So Lila..." Sidney looks at me with concern. "How are you holding up... like really?"

"I'm alright I guess..." I sigh.

"I've been in similar shoes, you know you can always talk to me right?"

"I know..." I smile. "Thanks Sid."

She wraps an arm around me, pulling me into a side hug.

"Hey, you dressed yet? We wanna see." She shouts to Hallie.

She doesn't answer, but I can hear her shuffling inside of the stall.

I look up at Sidney, she makes me feel so comfortable... so protected. Like a big sister.

"Actually, there is something I need to get off my chest." I speak up.

"What is it?"

Before I am able to speak Sidneys mouth falls agape. I follow her gaze, fresh blood pools out from under the dressing room Hallie was in.

"Hallie! HALLIE!" Sidney screams, banging on the door in a panic. "I can't get in its locked!"

"Move!" I shout and Sidney steps aside from the door.

I get a running start and use my boot to kick in the door like they do in the movies. It works and the door flies open.

Standing there was the Ghostface killer, Hallie's body lay lifeless at his feet. Her body twitched as blood gushed from a slit in her neck.

He steps over her body and Sidney and I share a mortified glance before running for our lives.

"Let's split up!" She calls before running in the opposite direction as me. She looked so determined, she's delt with this on more than one occasion.

I glance over my shoulder, the killer had completely ignored Sidney and kept on my tail.

He gained on me quickly. My lungs burn, I've never realized how unfit I am until this very moment. I should have participated more in gym class.

I've got to lose him. I run past a large display of boxes stacked on a dolly. I run a circle around it before pushing it over in the killers path.

He trips, frantically pushing the boxes out of his way as he stand back up.

I get a bit of a lead and use this opportunity to hide. If I run any longer I'm going to pass out.

I slide in between some clothes on one of the sale racks like children do to hide from their parents.

I see the killers boots walk slowly back and forth infront of the rack.

I cover my mouth, trying desperately to slow my breaths...if anything I would give myself away.

"Liiilllaaa~" I hear his raspy voice and the hair stands up on the back of my neck.

"I just want to see you~ I know you've been avoiding me since your birthday." He continues. "It was what you wanted, wasn't it?"

I already felt terrible enough as it was but he had just confirmed my worst fear. My roommates death was my fault.

I hear his metal blade scrape against the clothes on the rack. Sweat runs down my face.

I squeeze my chest, my heart feels like it is going to burst.

"Am I getting warmer?"

I remeber the blade I still kept in my bra. I quietly remove it, but when I deploy the blade it makes a soft 'click' sound.

"Got you, bitch!"

The killer growls and stabs his knife into the clothing, stabbing just shy of my head. The edge of the blade slices my cheekbone.

I take my switchblade and swiftly force it into his wrist. He drops his weapon and pulls back. I pick up his knife off of the floor and run to the stores exit.

When I get outside I am surrounded by police vehicles. Sidney stands with them.

She runs to me and pulls me into a hug.

"I'm so glad you're alright. I was worried." She sighs in relief.

"I was worried about you too."

***

In the end, the police still didn't catch the killer. The mall was large and they didn't have enough men to search every rack of every store.

Classes had just ended, I go outside for some fresh air and I notice Mickey sitting alone under a tree, fiddling with his camcorder. He looks upset.

I haven't really spoken to him, but I still can't help but feel bad... he was with Hallie after all.

I quietly approach him, sitting next to him in the grass. He feels my presence and looks up from his camera.

"Hey." I smile sheepishly.

"Hey..." His eyes look sad.

"I'm really sorry about Hallie." I rest a hand on his back.

"It's not a big deal..." He mumbles. "I wasn't really attached to her anyway."

"Then what's wrong?" I ask.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" He frowns. "Ever since I confessed to you you've been distant, is there a reason?"

I look down at the camcorder in his hands. How do I say this in a way that doesn't sound terrible?

"It's fucking Randy, isn't it?" He spat, his mood changed so suddenly.

"What?" His bluntness took me off guard.

"You love Randy, don't you? That's why you won't be with me."

"I wouldn't say that..."

"You don't have to." He growls. "I can see it. The way you look at him, it pisses me off."

"That's not it!" I argue.

"Than what? You going to tell me?" He snaps. "Or are you just going to run away and avoid me again?"

"The real reason..." My frustration finally bubbled its way to the surface. I didn't feel like being gentle anymore.

"The real reason is because your a creep!" I hiss.

He looks dumbfounded.

"I'm no idiot, Mickey." I continue. "I saw all of the photos on your camera. I know you've been stalking me!"

"That's a harsh way of putting it." He bites his lip.

"When you see something beautiful, don't you want to capture it too? To immortalize it forever?" He smiles. "I'm creating a legacy. Our legacy."

No matter what way you spin it, it still  made me uneasy.

I get up and turn to walk away but he grabs onto my arm.

"You don't get it do you?" His face darkens.

I try to pull my arm away and his grip tightens. He tugs forcefully on my arm and I fall down on my knees, it actually hurt.

"I dated that obnoxious bitch a whole week to get your attention. You looked at me once." He whispered. "If you had just noticed me... gave me what I wanted... perhaps she would still be alive."

A knot forms in my stomach. I can feel my body start to shake.

Was he...?

I look at his arm that held the camcorder. His wrist was wrapped in a large bandage. The same place I had stabbed...

The killer.

I am paralyzed by fear. What do I do...

I try to scream and he pulls me into a kiss. I pull away but he still has a firm grip on my arm.

He puts a hand on my jaw, running his thumb across my lips.

"Im not ready to get caught yet, so if you scream...or dare to tell anybody..." I can feel his breath on my ear.

"I will kill you and everybody you've ever loved."

Act VIII

I feel his hand run delicately through my hair, his breath on the back of my neck.

Ever since that day we fought under the large oak tree, we've been 'together'. After what I had found out I didnt see a way to refuse his proposal.

He stayed in my dorm room with me- although it was not allowed- he occupied my roommate's empty side of the room.

I took for granted that he would stay there...on that side of the room, but somehow over the last few days he's made his way into my bed.

It was a small bed, not made for two. I slept with my back against his chest.

"You smell so good." He whispers, running his face along the crook in my neck.

"When you stayed in my dorm room that night, when we watched movies together... I can remeber your perfume on my blanket. I slept with it until the scent faded."

I don't know wether to take that as creepy or endearing. At this point I've started to get used to his unusual comments.

I push myself up and crawl over him, my body had started to ache, I couldn't lay down any longer.

I watch as he turns over and stretches. I would be lying if I said he didn't treat me well. Flowers, gifts, random acts of kindness... in any other circumstance it would love every minute of it.

But I knew it was only a farce. He made it quite clear that if I stepped out of line, I would be punished.

What that meant... I was not prepaired to find out.

I step into the shower and put my head down-resting my arms on the wall and letting the hot water run through my hair and down my back.

It was nice. I hadn't realized how tense I was lately, it was a constant thing and my muscles were weary.

I hear the door click and look up. I can see Mickey removing his clothing though the frosted curtain.

I stand up straight and push my wet hair out of my face. I close my eyes and let the water run down my chest.

I hear him push the curtain aside and step in. His fingers move across my shoulder blades, pushing all of my wet hair over my left shoulder.

His lips press against my neck and he gently nibbles at my flesh. I involuntarily shiver and it makes him giggle.

"You know..." He whispers into my ear. "Every good horror movie has a shower scene."

"This could be ours." He moans and I can feel something cold against my back.

The coolness travels up my back, sending a shiver down my spine. I look back over my shoulder, it's... a knife.

My eyes widen and I forget how to breath. He runs the edge of the blade across my skin, it stings as it lightly scratches the surface.

He wraps an arm around my waist, turning me around to face him. I lean against the shower wall as he runs the tip of the blade across my chest.

"M-mickey..." I try to express my discomfort but I struggle to speak.

I try to move and the blade pierces me in my sternum.

"Oops." He grins.

A small stream of blood trickles down my torso. He catches it with his fingers, staring into my eyes as he licks them clean.

It makes my stomach roll.

I hear the quiet ring of the phone in my room. That's my way out.

"I have to go get that."

"Right now?" He sighs.

"Yes. It might be one of my parents."

I quickly jump out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel and running for the phone. I really didn't care who it was.

"Hello?"

"Is this Lila?"

"Yes?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was familiar. It was the same raspy voice of the Ghostface killer... but Mickey was in the shower?

"I'm going to kill you."

"Who is this?" I'm confused.

"I'm the killer... and you will be my next victim."

"Why?"

"Stop asking so many questions. Arnt you afraid?"

"I don't know how to feel anymore. I'm surprised I can feel anything honestly." I groan.

"I'm not your fucking therapist." They snap. "I had plans for Mickey and you've been nothing but a distraction."

Wait so theres two killers? Like last time?

"Unless you're going to help me kill Si-" I cut them off.

"Sorry, somebody's beeping in. I'll pass on the message."

"Don't you dare hang up on me you fucking bit-"

Beep.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Lila!" It's Randy.

"Hey, what's up?" I can't help but smile. His voice is exactly what I need right now.

"You know that copy of halloween I gave you for your birthday? I was wondering if you wanted to watch it together, like old times."

"Sure, I'd love that." I grin and Mickey walks out of the bathroom, I change my facial expression real quick.

"Alright, see you later!"

"Okay, bye!" I hang up.

"Who was it?" Mickey asks, looking through his things for a clean shirt.

"It was Ghostface. I'm going to die next." I shrug.

"Shit, Debbie..." He rubs his face with his palm. "I forgot I owed her a favor."

"So you have a partner?"

"Yes." He raises a brow. "But why did you seem so excited about getting threatened?"

Crap, he noticed.

"I just thought it was funny, thats all."

He gives me a strange look and pulls on some clothing.

"I should go do that today."

He approaches me and gives me a peck on the forehead.

"Next time im going too fast, instead of running away just tell me... alright?"

I nod, technically I didn't lie but for some odd reason I still feel guilty.

***

Randy lays across the bed on his stomach and I sit beside him pretzel style with a bowl of popcorn in my lap.

It gets to the jump-scare where Bob hangs from the doorway and Randy jumps up into a sitting position, knocking the popcorn everywhere. I burst into laughter to the point where my ribs hurt.

There is a knock at the door and he jumps to answer it. I try to shovel the popcorn back into the bowl, catching my breath.

Suddenly Randy reels backward, falling onto the floor... his shirt stained red with blood.

"Police-" is all he can mutter before coughing up a scary amount of blood.

I rush to the phone, attempting to dial 911.

"How dare you!"

I turn to see Mickey in the doorway, in one hand a knife smeared with Randy's blood, the other laid limp at his side- his shoulder peppered with bullet holes.

A voice speaks through the reciever, but all I can do is drop the phone scream in response as I watch Mickey fall onto Randy's body- Violently stabbing him repeatedly in the chest.

Blood splatters everywhere and tears roll down my cheeks. My legs feel weak and I sink down onto the floor, hugging into my knees for support.

The paralyzing fear I feel cannot be put into words as Mickey glares up at me, still straddling Randy's lifeless corpse.

"I've been so good to you and this is how you treat me?" He hissed.

He pushes himself back up to his feet with his good arm.

"This is great... this is fucking great." He hits his head in frustration. I've never seen him so unhinged.

"First I get my arm blown to pieces by Sidney-fucking-Prescot because I killed her stupid boyfriend." He growls. "Who called the police by the way, so I'm fucked."

"Then, when I run back to my girlfriend for some emotional support she's with another man." He rants.

He slowly approaches me and I curl up against the desk, making myself as small as possible.

"But it's alright now. I have a plan." He kneels to my level. "I'm going to blame it all on the Stab movies, my argument will do well in court so I won't have to serve much time."

He points the knife toward me and I flinch.

"Originally I was going to wait for you..." He sighs. "But this just proves that you wouldn't wait for me."

"The thought of you with somebody else while I'm locked up... it makes me sick." He shakes his head.

"Remeber what you said when we were writing your script? The best ending is not a happy one, but one that the audience does not expect."

He slowly pushes the tip of the blade into my chest and I reflexively grab onto it with both of my hands, pushing against him.

"If I can't have you, nobody can." He whispers, a content smile on his face.

I push with all of my strength but the blade sinks deeper and deeper into my ribs. I struggle to breath as it cuts into my lung.

Is this really how it ends?

The Final Act (IX)

I can't die here. I refuse.

I take one of my hands off of the knife and grab Mickey's wounded shoulder, forcing my thumb into one of the bullet holes.

He screams and pulls away, letting go of the knife. I keep my grip on it, tearing it from my chest.

As I remove it I find it harder to breath as the air leaks from my lung. I  wrap an arm around my torso, desperate for it to stop.

"Don't be difficult, Lila." He sighs. "This is what's best."

I point the blade toward him in defense and he holds out his hand for me to pass it over. I think not.

I wave the knife around violently, slashing his outreached wrist.

He yells profanities at me as blood spurts excessively from his arm, I think I hit the sweet spot.

He swings at me with his bloodied arm, punching me across the face. My jaw aches but my grip on the blade does not falter.

He wraps his hand around my throat, I can't afford to lose the last bit of oxygen I have left.

I thrust the knife into his stomach, twisting it.

His grip on me weakens and I use this opportunity to remove the knife and stab him again multiple times.

His body falls limp onto me. His pupils dilate as he falls in and out of consciousness. I push him off and he rolls onto his back beside me.

"I...still...love... you..." He mutters I'm between coughs of blood.

I watch as the soul leaves his eyes and his head falls lifeless.

I smile with relief, wiping away my tears with my bloodied sleeve.

It's all over.

I lay on the floor beside him, curling up into a tight ball. My lungs struggling to keep me alive.

And slowly, everything fades to black.

***

I wake up in a white room, surrounded by buzzing machinery. I'm in a hospital.

"Oh, Miss Dupres! You're finally awake." A doctor smiles beside me.

"What... happened?" I ask in desperation.

"Well when the police arrived you were unconcious and hardly breathing, but the paramedics managed to get you here in time." He frowns. "Unfortunately your friends weren't that lucky."

"You only suffered from a single stab wound to your chest." He continued. "We stitched you up and used a needle to remove the excess air from your chest cavity so your lung could expand properly."

"You should be okay to leave now." His voice sounds positive, but the frown does not leave his face.

I sit myself up and a police officer enters the room.

"Lila Dupres." The police officer sighs. "You are under arrest."

He walks toward me with a pair of cuffs and my jaw falls open.

"You have a right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you in a court of law."

He motions for me to stand up a I do so. He cuffs my hands behind my back.

"What are the charges?" I blink in astonishment.

"Murder in the first degree." He lists off a list of the people that Mickey and his accomplice had killed. "Cici Cooper... Randy Meeks... Derek Feldmen... Mickey Altieri..."

I can't believe my ears. I am getting prosecuted for the Windsor College massacre.

"But I didn't do it!" I plead.

"You are innocent until proven guilty."  The cop chuckles. "But right now it's not looking good for you."

I was doomed from the start.

Sidney fought with me in court- which I was extremely grateful for- but It did not change my fate.

All of the deaths were linked to me somehow, and blaming somebody else for the murders only made me look more suspicious.

The only thing that saved me was that the crime scenes of the previous murders did not contain any of my fingerprints, hair, any type of DNA to link me to the crimes.

But I was still sentenced to 25 to life with a chance of release.

****

The whole court hearing had been televised and was plastered all over every news station, newspaper, and magazine. Just as Mickey had wanted.

The only bit of satisfaction I get out of laying in this cold cell in knowing that all of the 'glory' that Mickey had wanted, I had taken that away from him. He didn't deserve it.

It worked out exactly as he had planned. I was interviewed about my experience for the next Stab movie... but I had swung a whole different narrative.

In my story, Mickey was just a helpless victim at the wrong place at the wrong time.

It brought me great pleasure knowing I had gone against his wishes.

Perhaps he would come back to haunt me for it, but I didn't care. I have nothing left to do but be petty.

In the end you're probably thinking:

"Lila, you're the real loser here."

Then why...

do I feel like a winner?

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @moosewinchester​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​ @writingforthelonelysoul​ @turtletaylor98​ @lyarr24​ @deanwanddamons​ @peridottea91​ @tvdspngirl314​

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern​

if you’d like to be added (or removed) please let me know!

[topsytervy]

Apple Of My Eye (Part 2) ~ Rafe Cameron

synopsis: After a small accident that sends you to the hospital, you figure out that Kelce may not be the guy for you

Word Count: 1,853

warnings: mentions of blood and stitches (not too much in-depth) swearing, Kelce being a slightly bad friend, spelling/grammar mistakes, I think that's it.

Small note: I don't usually like writing Kelce as an asshole cause I don't really think he is but this is an exception. Also, it's a bit all over the place but so is my brain so nothing new there.

you can read part 1 here

~~~~~~~~

It was a couple of months after the party and the pretty brunette, whose name was Hallie, was still around, managing to snag the title of Kelce’s girlfriend, the title you wanted with your entire heart.

Now here you were, sitting on the floor at Topper’s house, leaning against Rafe’s legs as you watched a movie, trying to ignore the two lovebirds cuddled up together, Hallie giggling softly at whatever Kelce was whispering in her ear. Was it too much to ask for you to be the one with his arms wrapped around you? You felt Rafe’s leg move and you turned to look at him. He shot you a smile which you returned before sighing.

“I’m gonna cut myself another slice of cake. You guys want some." You looked to Kelce and Hallie who weren’t paying attention to you before you turned to Rafe and Topper, both shooting you a look of pity.

“Nah, I'm good. A beer would be nice though." Topper responded as Rafe shook his head no.

You stood up and walked into the kitchen, grabbing Topper’s beer first before heading towards the counter and beginning to cut yourself another piece of cake.

And then you did the dumbest thing imaginable.

You lost your grip on the knife and instead of jumping back and letting it fall to the floor, you attempted to catch it by the blade which resulted in you slicing your hand.

You let out a yelp as you let the knife clatter to the floor and brought your non-bleeding hand to the bleeding one, trying to keep blood from getting everywhere.

Rafe was the first one to enter the kitchen with Topper behind him. “What happened?”

“I cut myself on the knife trying to catch it,"

Topper shot you a look. “Y/n, what did our FACS teacher tell us in sixth grade?”

“Topper, shut up," Rafe told him before gently grabbing your wrist. “Let me see." You let him take your hand off the wound and he winced. “That looks pretty bad.”

Topper made a face as he took a peek. “That looks hospital bad.”

Rafe reached over and grabbed a hand towel, wrapping it around the cut, “Hold that there." he instructed. You did as he said as he ushered you into the living room. “We gotta take her to the ER," Rafe announced before looking around the empty room.

Kelce and Hallie were gone. The blue-eyed boy let out an annoyed huff before leading you outside and to his truck, helping you into the front seat as you continued to hold the towel against your hand.

A speedy -literally since Rafe was going at least 20 over the limit- trip to the hospital, a half an hour wait, and five stitches later, you were back in Rafe’s truck, Topper asleep in the back as you and Rafe sat in silence, you staring out the window as he drove.

Well, you two were sitting in silence until Rafe decided to break it. “You okay?"

You shrugged, holding up your hand. “What do you think?"

Rafe glanced at you. “That’s not what I mean."

You closed your eyes, holding back a tear. “He couldn't even be bothered to say goodbye. I’ve been his friend since first grade and while you and Top were in the kitchen with me, he decided to sneak off with her. Not to make sure I was okay. He left without a word to any one of us because he deemed her more important." You ranted. “I get it. He won't ever love me like I love him, I can live with that. It hurts but I can live with it. But I don't think I can handle him just throwing our entire friendship out the window." You turned to Rafe, tears finally slipping down your cheeks. “Why am I not good enough for him?"

Rafe was quick to pull to the side of the road, throw the truck in park as he unbuckled himself, and lean over the center console, enveloping you in a hug. “You are good enough, Y/n/n. Maybe not to him because he’s blind as hell and can’t see how fucking amazing you are, but to Top and I, you are the greatest person to ever walk the earth. You deserve someone who is going to love and cherish you as hard as you love and cherish them. Kelce doesn’t deserve that kind of love from you." Rafe told you, one of his hands coming up to rest on your head.

A second pair of arms awkwardly wrapped around you from the backseat and you moved your arms to wrap one around Rafe and one around Topper.

“Rafe’s right, Y/n. You deserve only the best and Kelce isn’t it. Tonight proved that.”

The next day, you stayed home to rest while Topper and Rafe went to The Wreck to pick up some lunch where they ran into Kelce.

“Hey, guys. Sorry for dipping last night. Hallie wanted us to have some alone time." He told the two boys.

"You two always have alone time," Topper muttered.

"We had to take Y/n/n to the hospital last night," Rafe stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Holy shit. Why?"

"Remember when she yelped last night? Probably not since you were occupied but she cut herself on a knife. She’s got five stitches in her hand."

“Shit man. I’ll drop by and see her."Kelce responded, causing Rafe to shake his head.

“Don’t bother.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t bother her." Kelce chuckled at his friend’s words. “I’m serious Kelce. Don’t visit her. She doesn’t want to see you right now."

Kelce narrowed his eyes at Rafe. “You can’t tell me when I can and can’t see my best friend, Rafe."

Rafe scoffed. “Some fucking best friend you are ditching your friends for some chick while your best friend is bleeding all over Topper’s countertops."

“I didn’t think she got hurt. I thought she saw a spider or something."

“You should’ve fucking checked! Instead, you ran off with Hallie, as usual. You’ve known Y/n/n since grade school and couldn’t even say bye to her. Do you know how fucked up that is? Do you know how much you hurt her?" Kelce opened his mouth to speak but Rafe stopped him. “I don’t want you near her for a while. Go ahead and hang out with Hallie as much as you want during that time. And during that time, I guarantee you’ll realize how badly you fucked up and you can give her the apology she deserves.” And then Rafe grabbed the to-go bag and left, Topper following behind.

Rafe let you know exactly what he said to Kelce, saying he was doing this for your own good so you can get over your feelings for him and that’s exactly what you did.

Rafe was with you practically every day, supplying you with much-needed hugs and cuddles while your feelings for your friend died out. However, with those feelings dying out and you spending so much time with Rafe, new feelings blossomed, this time for Rafe, the person who had become your rock.

Naturally, you tried to ignore it, playing it off as a crush that developed because he was looking out for you, but as the weeks passed, you couldn’t help but notice how right it felt to be in his arms when he hugged you hello and goodbye. Or how every time he grabbed your hand to hold it in his own, the little sparks would go off. You couldn’t emotionally handle being in love with another friend so you did something to get the words out without actually having to tell Rafe or having him find out.

You wrote it down.

It wasn’t a long or emotional letter, more like a lunchbox note, but it helped you deal with your feelings in a way. You understood now why Lara Jean wrote all her crushes a letter but never sent them because if this is how you felt after writing two sentences max, you could only imagine how she felt writing whole ass letters. However, you forgot one little detail.

Hiding it.

You were in the shower when Rafe arrived, calling out an ‘I’m here’ to which you responded with an ‘okay’. You didn’t think much of Rafe stopping by unannounced nor did you think much of that small little note that was sitting on your desk, on top of some textbook for some class you had to make flashcards for but couldn’t focus on because you were on facetime with Rafe.

Maybe it was fate or maybe it was Rafe just not being able to sit and wait for you that had him wandering over to your desk to see how many flashcards you completed. Instead, he narrowed his eyes slightly as he read one index card, picking it up to read it again.

And that’s when you came out of the bathroom.

“Is this true?" He questioned, holding the card between his pointer and middle finger.

A confused look settled on your face as you walked closer and then your heart began to race as you reread what you wrote, a panic setting in.

You will never truly know how much I love and care about you, Rafe Cameron. You are the apple of my eye.

“Oh god, you weren’t supposed to see that."You whispered, reaching for the index card. Rafe extended the card out of your reach and read it for a third time as you closed your eyes, holding back tears of embarrassment as your mind screamed at you to do some damage control. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I just- I don’t really have an expla-"

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for," he reassured you, smiling as he once again looked at the note before meeting your gaze. “I love you too. That’s kind of why I dropped by. I wanted to tell you that.”

If you didn’t know Rafe, you would’ve told him not to play with your emotions. You did know him though and you knew that he was being completely honest with you.

So you did the thing you’ve been dreaming of for the past couple of weeks.

You threw your arms around his neck and smashed your lips against his.

At that moment, you felt calm, as if you were at home, sitting by a fire with a blanket around you and a mug of hot chocolate in your hand. You felt completely at peace.

Rafe was the one to break the kiss, pulling away after a minute, a smile plastered on his lips as he held up the index card once more. “I’ll have you know I’m keeping this. I will be buried with this." You rolled your eyes as he kissed the tip of your nose. “I’m serious. Next to you, this is my most treasured possession.”

You leaned your forehead against his. “Thank you for being here for me through all this craziness."

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

~~~~~~

tagged: @wanniiieeee @abrunettefangirlnerd

[storiesforallfandoms]

hearing it all ~ spencer reid;criminal minds

word count: 1655

request: no

description: after being shot and left in critical condition, she hears her colleague admit his feelings for her

pairing: spencer reid x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence

masterlist (one, two)

Spencer had to keep reminding himself that they had no idea they were sending (Y/N) to the unsub’s house as he rushed to the hospital. They thought he was just a witness, not a suspect. They had no idea he was the one they were looking for, that they were sending (Y/N) into a dangerous place without backup or any warning.

Someone should’ve went with her, he thought. I should’ve went with her. She shouldn’t have been alone.

They were working a case and (Y/N) volunteered to go talk to someone they believed was a witness. She had been gone for a short period of time when Garcia alerted the team that the “witness” had actually matched the profile they had placed on the unsub, down to the T, and he was likely the person they were looking for.

Hotch immediately tried to get in contact with (Y/N). Her phone rang for a while before going to voicemail. He immediately called her back and she answered after a few rings.

“Hey, sorry I’m at the witness’ house now,” she answered. “What’s going on? Do you have a match?”

“(Y/N), I need you to act calm and act as though I’m telling you something important about the case.”

“Okay.”

“(Y/N), are you in the house?”

“Yes.”

“Is the witness near?”

“Not at the moment.”

“I need you to get out of there if you can. He isn’t just a witness, he’s an unsub.”

There was a moment of silence on (Y/N)’s end and Spencer found himself holding his breath as he waited for her response.

“Yes sir. I will be back in just a moment.”

“Keep your phone on until you’ve reached the car. Try to stay calm. Don’t give him any indications that you know,” Hotch told her.

“Yes sir.”

There was a muffled voice in the background that they couldn’t quite make out what was said. (Y/N)’s voice was more clear as she responded, “No thank you! I have to go actually, that was our unit chief. Sorry to have bothered you, but someone else will probably be by later to - ”

A shot rang out, causing Spencer, Hotch, and Garcia to jump.

“(Y/N)?” Hotch said. “(Y/N), can you hear me? (Y/N)!”

The line went dead. Hotch immediately called Morgan and Prentiss, who had already been on their way to the unsub’s house. Everything seemed to blur for Spencer. His heart was racing in fear. Every second that ticked by seemed like an hour.

Finally, Hotch turned back to him and Garcia. “Morgan and Prentiss made it on time. (Y/N) is on the way to the hospital.”

That’s how Spencer found himself rushing to the hospital to check on (Y/N). Prentiss was waiting as he walked in, and stood to greet him.

“The doctors are with her now,” she answered his unasked question. “She lost a lot of blood, but we got there in time.”

Spencer nodded, although he didn’t exactly feel confident. He needed to see (Y/N) for himself, to know from his own eyes.

They waited together for a long time. Spencer watched the time tick away on a nearby clock, his unease growing with every second that passed.

He and Prentiss were out of their chairs quickly when the doctor tending to (Y/N) came from the ICU. “Are you the agents that were with Agent (Y/L/N) when she came in?”

“I was,” Prentiss confirmed. “How is she?”

“She’s still down, but she’s stable,” the doctor explained. “She lost a lot of blood, but we were able to stitch up the wound in time. She needs her rest, but if one of you would like to stay with her until she wakes up we would greatly encourage it.”

“Can we see her?” Spencer asked.

“You can. She’s in the first room on your right.”

Spencer was moving before the doctor had finished talking. He rounded the corner and stopped when his eyes landed on (Y/N). She looked so pale, any color in her face almost completely gone. He could’ve mistaken her for a corpse if he didn’t know she was okay.

He went to her side and sat in the chair next to her bed. He took one of her cold hands between his own and held it tightly.

“You really care for her, don’t you?” Prentiss asked, stood in the hospital room doorway.

“More than she’ll ever know,” Spencer responded.

“Reid, why haven’t you ever told her how you feel?”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not that easy, Emily. We work together, and I know that basically means nothing now, but it’s still something I worry about. If she doesn’t have the same feelings for me that jeopardizes our work partnership.”

“You don’t think she’d have the same feelings?”

“That’s the thing, I tend to have even the smallest inkling on most things, but for this I have no idea.”

Prentiss put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder and he managed to tear his gaze from (Y/N) to look at her. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

He didn’t have a response to that. Instead, he turned his attention back to (Y/N), wishing he could believe what Prentiss was saying.

~~~~~~

(Y/N) was out for only a day. Spencer opted to stay with her the whole time as her parents lived out of town. He tried his hardest to stay awake so he could make sure she was okay, but his eyes grew heavy and he eventually fell asleep.

He was awoken by the feeling of a hand gently caressing his face and a soft voice saying his name. He lifted his head to see (Y/N)’s eyes looking back into his own.

“You’re awake,” he said, smiling up at her. “How are you feeling?”

“In pain,” she admitted. “Was the unsub caught?”

“Yeah, Morgan got him. (Y/N), I’m so sorry we sent you there alone.”

“You guys had no idea, and I offered to go alone. Don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m fine, aren’t I?”

Spencer nodded, grateful that she was okay.

He noticed then that he was still holding her hand, but now their hands were laced together. He pulled his hand away, with a little resistance from (Y/N). She furrowed her brows together in confusion at this.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled.

“Why are you sorry?” she asked.

“It was inappropriate of me to hold you hand like that. I was just worried about you, I wasn’t thinking straight - ”

“Spencer, you can hold my hand. There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s an innocent gesture.”

Spencer sat back in his seat, longing to reach out and take (Y/N)’s hand again, but he knew it was wrong.

“Is it because you have feelings for me?”

His head shot up so quick that he almost felt dizzy. “Wh-what?”

She smiled slightly at him. “I heard you and Prentiss talking when you first came in. I’ve been in and out of consciousness for the past 24 hours, and that just happened to be one of the times I was conscious.”

Spencer’s face turned a light shade of pink as he tried to think of something to say. It was obviously too late to try and come up with some sort of excuse or tell (Y/N) that she had been dreaming. There had to be some way to get out of it, he knew there had to be.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” she asked before he could say anything. “If I hadn’t heard you, would you have told me when I woke up?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think so. I was honestly too afraid of what your reaction might’ve been.”

“What if it would’ve been a good reaction?”

Spencer looked back at his hands. “I didn’t want to seem too optimistic.”

There was a brief moment of silence before (Y/N) said, “Spencer, look at me.” He lifted his head to look into her eyes. “You downplay yourself so much. I wish you could see how amazing of a person you are and that any girl would be lucky to have you as theirs, even me.”

He smiled at this. “I think anyone would be lucky to call you theirs.”

“Well...do you think luck is on our side?”

“What do you mean?”

(Y/N) nearly rolled her eyes as she sighed and tried to sit up. Spencer quickly stood from his chair and helped her to sit up. She cupped his face in her hands and brought him closer until their lips collided. The gesture took Spencer by surprise and, without thinking, he pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” (Y/N) said, a concerned look on her face. “I...I just thought - ”

He cut her off by pressing his lips against hers again. He ran his hands through her hair as her soft hands held his face in place against hers.

Someone clearing their throat brought the two of them out of their moment. They turned to see (Y/N)’s doctor stood at the door, a knowing smile on his face. “(Y/N), it’s good to see that you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Like I was shot,” (Y/N) responded. “Other than that, pretty good.”

The doctor chuckled and entered the room. “I’d just like to go over some things with you and make sure everything is alright before we make the decision as to letting you go.”

“I’m gonna go call Hotch and let him know you’re awake,” Spencer told her.

(Y/N) smiled up at him in a dreamy way that Spencer could get used to seeing. “Come back right after?”

“Of course.”

He gave her hand a slight squeeze before walking out into the hallway, a bigger smile on his face and a bit of a pep in his step.

[anyoneseenadam]

Hii

Can you please write something for fenrys? first meeting maybe? And the bond clicks? Thank you 🥺🥺

pairing: Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

warnings: implied smut, kissing and nudity, lil bit of blood and injuries but mainly pure fluff

a/n: fenrys is my fave and u can tell in the fic omg!! i hope you enjoy it cause it’s probs my fave one i’ve written yet :))) (i also made it a teensy bit ddlg but that’s just cause i want Fenrys to baby me lol)

——————————————————————————

Shit

Fenrys pressed his hand to the wound in his side, feeling the slow pump of blood seeping between his fingers as he stumbled through the woods. He had won the fight. The other guy now lying in the dirt, however not without consequence. And he wasn’t entirely sure he would stay alive unless he could find a healer soon.

He stopped to lean against a tree, breathing heavily as he held himself together. He transformed into a wolf, moving faster, and trying to pick up a scent, any scent, that could possibly help him, when he caught the sweetest smell he ever had. It was a female, smelling like peonies and blackberries, sweet but with an underlying smoky smell. She smelled of long days in flowers fields and even longer nights beside campfires, evenings spent curled in hand woven blankets and mornings spent drinking dark coffee and eating sweet toast.

He whimpered and began running in the direction of the scent. If he wasn’t so focused on not bleeding out he may have stopped to consider why the scent was pulling him in the way it did. He would have considered the direction he was running into, the direction of his future, his past and his present. But he just kept up, going as fast as his injured body would allow, concentrating on the sweet smell and putting one foot in front of the other.

He felt the change almost immediately, the cold snow and rough bark being swapped for cool moss. The pine trees swapped for tall, oak trees teeming with life. The silence of a frozen forest swapped for the rustling of bushes as nocturnal animals moved silently under the guise of darkness. The chill of the snow-covered woods swapped for the warmth of a summer evening. He pushed between two bushes and found himself facing a clearing, in the middle of which stood a wooden cottage, the wood dark and the roof covered in more moss, flowers growing from every surface and ivy peeking out of the crevices in the house. He stumbled down the path to the cottage, turning back into a male and crossing a small bridge over a stream that separated him from the intoxicating scent he chased.

He let out what he could only describe as a bark, calling for the female that carried the scent he was growing addicted to, collapsing onto his knees, feeling his conscious fade as he held to the side of his stomach, searing pain replaced by fiery veins as his head swayed. He barely heard the door open, only noticing the scent get so much stronger. He attempted to look up, the movement making his head spin as he collapsed, the last thing he saw, a girl in the halo of the moon.

--

Fenrys awoke in a foreign bed. An unbelievably comfortable bed, but foreign all the same. He pushed up on his forearms, gritting his teeth at the reminder of his wound.

The room he was in was dark, not just in light source, but also in décor. The window was cracked open with lacy curtains half closed, there was a tall bookshelf sat next to a desk with leather-bound books lining it, and tall candles flickering and casting the room in a golden glow. The bed he was in was small, clearly just for one, but so soft. He had blankets surrounding him and copious amounts of pillows, some that appeared hand made. In fact, upon closer inspection, a lot of the room looked handmade. Art covering the walls depicting crying women or bloody scenes that he presumed had been done by the owner of this house, given the pallet and assortment of brushed he saw on the windowsill.

And then there was that scent. It was stronger here and he pressed his face into a pillow tentatively, breathing in through his nose as he picked up on the deeper undertones. Fresh picked daisies, melted wax, the pages of old, worn books and something he couldn’t describe. Something so intoxicating he felt tears spring to his eyes, his body reacting in an unheard-of way, so overcome with emotion from scent alone.

He heard footsteps approaching the closed door and hastily put down the pillow, sitting up straight and readying himself to fight whoever it was if they were an intruder. But when you entered he faltered.

Mate. The word clanged through him as he came face to face with an angel. You were wearing a dark brown broderie dress with white hearts lining the hem, your feet bare and toenails painted black. Your hair was falling around your face, messy and untamed, and you had dark smudges around your eyes, makeup that accentuated your features and made you look like a character from the scary books he read as a boy. However right now you looked more like a teddy bear.

He briefly remembered the tail of a witch he had read. An evil witch who lured men into her house with whispered words and sweet kisses, only to steal their hearts and use their blood to keep her skin young and eyes bright. This girl however was no witch, you had elegantly pointed ears and a graceful way of moving that only came from being Fae. He watched as you moved to his side, silent on your feet, putting a tray down beside him before moving an opening the curtains further, letting in more natural light.

“How are you feeling?” your sweet voice interrupted his thoughts. His mind coming to a halt as he heard you speak.

“I- er fine..?” His voice was rough, and you smiled, a reserved smile. Moving to his side and sitting at the edge of the small bed he was on, pouring him a glass of water from a small decanter you had brought through.

“(Y/n.)” you answered his unspoken question.

“Fenrys.”

He muttered a thanks as you passed the glass to him, noting the crystals that hung around your neck and adorned your fingers.

“Crystals?” he asked, and you looked down, playing with the rings you wore nervously.

“My mother taught me about their meanings, they’ve always helped me.” You bit your lip and Fenrys decided he would never meet anyone as cute as you again, it simply wasn’t possible.

“Me too, my mother used to carry them everywhere.” You smiled at him shyly, a beat of silence passing between the two of you as he listened to the birds outside.

“Can I see your wound? I want it make sure it’s healing properly.” You asked and he nodded, pulling the blankets down slightly, grinning as your eyes widened as you took in his physique.

“I’m presuming you’re the healer I have to thank for letting me see another day.” He flirted playfully but you shook your head,

“I’m not a very good healer I’m sorry, but I did stitch it up and it should do the rest itself.” You pressed gentle fingers against the skin surrounding his wound and he glanced down, seeing it was already practically healed.

“You still saved my life.” He said, completely serious and you looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“I’ll let you rest.” You said quietly, standing to walk away and he smiled, feeling more at ease than he ever had since the war, watching his little mate leave.

--

He woke up again a few hours later, wound completely healed and puckering into a scar. Standing he stretched his arms above his head, not bothering with a shirt as he left the room in search of the girl that had occupied his dreams.

The rest of the house was alike your room, tall candles and worn books everywhere. He passed a kitchen filled with copper utensils and a living room with an old armchair, a half-filled mug left next to it, but still no you. He saw the front door was cracked open and wandered over to it, pulling it open and stepping into the fresh air, barely feeling the chill on his body as he found you kneeling on the moss-covered ground facing away from him.

You were muttering under your breath and as he got closer he saw you were cradling a small bird with a broken wing. He watched as you closed your eyes, the ground and air seeming to still as you called upon your magic, a soft white light flowing from your hand into the bird until its wing was healed and it could flutter away.

“I thought you said you weren’t a healer,” he broke the silence and you turned to him with a small smile.

“I said I wasn’t a very good healer.” You replied, standing with green stained knees, your hair now piled atop your head and lip gloss coating your soft lips.

“What are you then?” he came closer to you, unable to resist holding his mate, even if you weren’t aware yet.

“My mother said we were natural faeries.” You said, looking at him shyly, “we derive our power from the earth, crystals, sea water, dirt, fire, stuff like that.”

He hummed, “So technically you could have any type of magic?”

“I guess, but I’m not very good at magic,” you muttered, hands fiddling with your rings again as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Fenrys?” you asked, all pouty lips and wide eyes.

“Have you realised yet darling?” he asked, and you bit your lip. He knew he could tell you, but he wanted to hear you say it.

“I- we’re mates I think.” You were practically shaking, and he didn’t know why he suddenly had this burning desire to scoop you into his arms and protect you against the horrible world that was out there. He nodded with a smile, watching as awe took over your stunning face.

“Can I kiss you princess?” he asked, and you felt your face heat up, looking down as he pulled you closer. “Have you ever been kissed before angel?” he asked, his face hurting from the grin that was spreading over his face when you shook your head.

He tilted your head up to his, looking deeply into your eyes as your breaths came out quicker. “Not many people can find our cottage, my mother put up wards when she got ill, our family wasn’t well liked by the king. You probably only got here because we’re mates,” You muttered.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked again, running a soft hand over your head, smoothing your hair away from your face as you nodded sweetly.

He smiled before leaning down and kissing you gently. Pulling away and feeling as smug as a thief when your lips followed his, pouting at the loss of contact so quickly. He chuckled at your put out expression and leaned down to kiss you again, deeper this time, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you gasped against his lips, quickly beating your own in a battle for dominance and taking his time exploring your mouth.

He laid you down that morning and took you for the first time in the soft moss. Then again in your even softer bed. Now you were sitting in his lap, eating strawberries of a bush you had in your back garden as he pressed dizzying kisses into your neck, both of you still as bare as the day you were born, Fenrys having forgot how much he missed skin to skin contact, when you suddenly remembered.

“Fenrys?” he hummed in response, completely enamoured with the feel of your soft skin against his rough calluses. “Why were you hurt last night?”

“I didn’t tell you my job did I angel?” he asked, the pet name making you giggle as you shook your head, “I work for the queen of Terrasen.”

You gasped, “But she was killed!”

“Oh angel, when was the last time you left this cottage?” he asked, worry coming over him as he realised you had been holed up alone for so long.

“Not since my mother died. She said the king was dangerous and that he would hurt me if he found me,” your bottom lip was wobbling and Fenrys quickly kissed it away, shushing you as it dawned on him just how innocent his little girl was.

“No baby, he’s gone now, the new king of Adarlan is a very kind man and the Queen of Terrasen is wonderful,” he promised, “Will you let me take you to meet them?”

You nodded enthusiastically, bouncing slightly in his lap making him groan. He nipped at your ear lobe and you squealed as he pushed you down. You could meet them another day, today he was too busy with his little mate.

[imagine-that-100]

Glass in the Studio

Description: Alex Turner x Reader (Female) | Alex injures himself before your date which means that it’s a trip to A&E instead of a restaurant. 

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mentions of blood & injuries?

A/N: This was requested by @supersonic-scientist​ I really hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think. This is the first of a few drabbles coming over the next few days so enjoy. Likes and reblog are appreciated and as always, thank you to everyone who reads x

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Miles you really are a fucking idiot.” Alex rolls his eyes as he crouches down on the floor to pick up the now smashed Coke bottle.

“I think you’re the idiot mate. You couldn’t catch a bottle from four foot away.” Miles shakes his head.

Alex looks up at his best mate as if he’s stupid, and also chuckles a little in disbelief, “Why would you throw a half empty bottle at me from four foot away when you could have just passed it me?”

Miles mumbles something under his breath that Alex didn’t quite hear as he starts picking up the glass. There were quite a few large shards that acted as bowls for the smaller shards to sit on as Alex continued to collect the glass from the studio’s wooden floor.

The fluorescent lights that were lighting up the room were making it pretty hard for Alex to actually see the smaller pieces of glass because they blended in with the glossy floor beneath him. However, Alex thought he did quite well with what glass he’d already collected so he asked his best mate to pass the bin over.

This is something Miles does for his friend, but he’s still in a weird mood that the both of them get into when they are in the studio together. So Miles extends the small bin in his hand towards his best mate, but when Alex goes to put the glass in, Miles pulls it away.

No glass goes on the floor again because Miles never actually let Alex get that far, but it was amusing to Miles to see his best friend getting annoyed at him. So he just decided to do it one more time.

This is when tragedy struck. Alex preempted his idiot of a mate to pull his trick again so Alex lunged himself forward ensuring that the glass went in the bin this time, but as he did he threw himself off balance.

His free hand landed right on a decent sized shard of glass, cutting the small muscle on his palm that protected his thumb. And he could feel it stuck in there pretty deep.

“Fuck.” Alex seethed, picking himself up off the floor as he started seeing the blood oozing around the glass that was stuck in his hand.

~*~*~*~

You’d just finished work and you were really excited for your night ahead. You were seeing Alex later and he was taking you out on your 7th date.

You’d been friends for well over 5 years so you knew each other like the back of your hands. But only 6 months ago did you both question if you could be more than the friends you've been for ages.

And as it turns out you could.

You’d loved each and every second of seeing Alex in a romantic sense. He was a real gentleman and you were loving that he treated you like ‘his queen’.

That was a little joke of his because since he’d grown his hair out over the past 2 years after the AM tour, you'd told him that he looked like prince charming but with brown hair. And he was honestly living up to that title because he never stopped looking after you.

Your job stressed you out a lot and with Alex being back and mostly being bored before his tour came back around he was always with you. He gave you a lovely distraction from what your life normally was and he lit you back up again.

You’d really fallen hard for him. And he for you.

That’s why your heart stopped in your chest when you got in the car and found out what had happened. Alex had FaceTimed you saying, “Hey love, sorry to bother you when you're not even home yet but I’m gunna probably be really late tonight.”

“Are you okay?” You ask him as he looks white as a sheet on the screen on your phone. His floppy hair was a mess too.

You didn’t even mind about the date, you’re just worried about him as he looked really unwell. Like more unwell than you’d ever seen him before.

And you’d seen him in some states over the years.

“Erm, yeah and no.” Alex says and panic sets in your stomach, but thankfully he carries on explaining, “I cut my hand on broken glass and Miles is dragging me to A&E.”

“Not dragging you Alex, you’re hand’s cut open.” You can hear Miles say in a scorning voice.

You could see from the screen that he was sitting in a car but he didn't let you ask about his health. He just shushed his mate and apologised, “That doesn’t matter. Y/N I’m really sorry I’m gunna more than likely miss the reservation but I swear I’m gunna make it u-”

You interrupt and ask your boyfriend, “Al, Are you okay?” as he looks very light headed now.

“I’m fine” Alex says before lifting his hand so you could see it in the camera.

You could see that he’d tied a pot towel around it but what scared you was that the bit around the back of his hand was white and the bit on his parm was completely soaked red.

Your heart drops knowing what it was but for some reason you ask, “Is that blood?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” Alex tries to carry on but you don’t let him.

You shake your head and widen your eyes to scorn him for trying to continue on about the date, “You are literally bleeding… There’s more important things Alex.”

“But I just wanted to take you out.” Alex pouts and he leans his head against the window of the car Miles is obviously taking him to hospital in.

He was so adorable but at the same time so stupid.

After you ask Miles which A&E he’s taking him to, you race there yourself. You knew Alex and you knew how he was around doctors, especially when the trip was an unwanted one.

One too many bad experiences left him nervous of waiting rooms and seeing men and women in white coats. He didn’t like it all that much so there was no way you weren’t going.

Whether that be for moral support or to help ease his nerves you didn’t know. You just knew you couldn’t sit at home wondering if the man you love was okay after seeing how much blood was on that thick pot towel.

“Are you okay?” You say as your arms wrap around his waist.

“I’m fine.” Alex says, hugging you while simultaneously keeping his hand raised. “Better now you’re here.”

He kissed the side of your head before he let you go and you sat yourself down beside him. Miles left after you’d all been waiting together for 20 minutes but you assured him that your (but also practically his) boyfriend would be alright with you.

You were waiting an hour in total before you were sat in a chair next to the bed that the nurse had made Alex lie down on the bed and was preparing his hand to be stitched up. The cut was fairly deep and the nurse really wasn’t surprised at how much blood he’d lost considering the size of the wound.

It was lucky the glass hadn’t gone any deeper into his muscle or he could have been in a lot worse situation.

“I’m sorry.” Alex says when he looks away from the nurse to you sitting just beside him.

You frown a little then and look into his soft brown eyes, “What for?”

“This isn’t the date I wanted to take you on...” Alex tells you, pouting his bottom lip a little. “A&E isn’t really what I had in mind for tonight.”

You softly smile at him then and gently rub his shoulder as you say, “We could be here or at a dingy pub or a fancy restaurant and I’d be just as happy because you’re with me.”

Alex just grins at you like an idiot then, even more so when you say, “I’m happy anywhere as long as you’re with me.”

Alex’s heart melts.

“Please give me a kiss.” His Sheffield accent comes through thick when he asks you that.

You grin like the idiot in love that you are before you get up off the chair you’re sat on and kiss your boyfriend. His lips are warm and inviting as they always were and you smile into the sweet kiss as he tries to keep you there a little longer to distract him.

When you pull away, Alex softly smiles, “I love you.”

“I love you more...” You grin and add, “My little damsel in distress.” You run your fingers through his floppy hair and smile when he leans into your touch a bit more.

Alex laughs at that as you sit back down beside his bed and he chuckles, “This make you my prince charming now?”

“Well I’m not the one about to get stitches so I think so.” You giggle, looking over to the nurse who looked just about ready to start.

She moved her wheely table that now held her equipment to start treating Alex and she looks to him and asks, “You ready?”

Alex then grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers and after giving it a kiss and a squeeze he smiles and nods, “I am now”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Memories

Summary: When Dean discovers the reader has abilities she’s never told him about, he breaks things off. But when she wanders back into the Winchester’s lives a year later, he starts to realize there’s more to the situation than just a few lies...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Case Fic

Word Count: 8,000ish

Warnings: language, angst, mentioned past abuse/violence, angst, sprinkle of fluff

A/N: Also written for @spndeanbingo​​

_____

Exactly three years and twenty two days after meeting the Winchesters it happened. Two and a half years of dating Dean. Countless nights in motel rooms, in the bunker, on hunts. Cuts, stitches, laughs. Colds and fevers. Being worried sick over one another and nearly dying for each other more than once.

You finally did it.

Dean saw it.

And he was so angry you didn’t even know how to respond.

You didn’t even say a word as he threw a pair of special cuffs on you. You didn’t mention how you weren’t a demon and the cuffs were useless on you. You didn’t put up a fight when you were sat down in the backseat and he drove the two of you back to the bunker.

You were quiet as you got out of the car, Dean not even saying a word as you headed straight for the dungeon without being told. He slammed the door shut after you as you sighed. You took a seat in the chair and slipped out of the cuffs with a little effort, the door opening not long after.

“How did you do that? The cuffs. You’re a demon,” said Dean as he walked straight over to you. 

“I’m not a demon,” you said. “You know it’s me, Y/N. Just-”

“What the hell are you,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you, his hand reaching behind his back and pulling out an angel blade.

“I’m human. I just…” you trailed off as you looked at your lap.

“Just what,” he said, grabbing your chin and lifting your head up.

“Do not treat me like I’m some monster. I saved your life two hours ago. You would be dead if I hadn’t done that. Do not treat me like the bad guy,” you said. He dropped his hand and you saw him hold up the blade.

“Talk.”

“I have certain...abilities,” you said. “One’s I haven’t used in years.”

“So you’ve been lying to me for years then, hm?” he said. 

“It’s not the abilities that pisses you off. It’s that I never told you, isn’t it,” you said. Dean cleared his throat and started to walk away, shoving the blade in his back pocket before he returned with crossed arms. “Dean-”

“You saved me, you get a pass. You have ten minutes to load up your stuff and leave,” he said.

“Dean. I-”

“This isn’t a white lie, Y/N,” he snapped, his face hard as you stood up. “This...this is whatever trust we had being over. If I can’t trust you, I can’t be near you. It’s that simple.”

“I never intended to use those abilities ever again. It’s not something hereditary. It would never have been of any consequence to anyone. I’m human. I didn’t tell you-”

“You didn’t tell me. I told you so much shit,” he said, the hard exterior starting to crack. “I told you about hell. About all the shit I did to souls. About the shit that was done to me. I never told anyone that. No one. That’s just one thing. I told you all of it. Every goddamn second and you...you…”

“It’s a very long story,” you said quietly. “A very long and horrible story that I was too scared to ever tell you. So I lied. I lied about a lot.”

“I don’t even know you,” he said. You reached out to grab his hand but he stepped away.

“Dean, I’m not gonna hurt you,” you said, trying to make your voice as soft as possible.

“You already did,” he said dryly, closing his eyes. “Please go. Don’t come back.”

“I-”

“I’m going out. Be gone by the time I get back.”

One Year Later

“Dean, we got another one,” said Sam. You lifted your head wearily, blinking your eyes open to spot Sam looking down at you. “Y/N?”

“‘ammy,” you mumbled, shutting your eyes again. Within a few seconds you were lifted up in his strong arms. You were drifting in and out, suddenly in the backseat of Baby and then in the infirmary in the bunker. After a little while you opened your eyes and sat up, feeling a bandage on your head. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood, immediately plopping back down.

“Sit,” said Dean. You looked behind yourself, Dean standing at a table, most of the lights in the room dimmed down. He spun around with a bowl in his hands and a tray of supplies. You recognized the needle and he was ripping off the gauze and stitching up your forehead before you knew it.

You hissed and he said nothing.

“Cas should be back in the morning. He can heal you then,” he said.

He worked quietly for a few minutes, new gauze stuck on your head when he was finished. He quickly left and hit off the light. You sat there until you heard footsteps, Sam poking his head in and carrying a tray with grilled cheese and tomato soup.

“Hey,” he said, setting it down on the nightstand.

“Hi, Sam,” you said.

“You were out most of the day. I thought you might be hungry,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Where did you go? You were here and then one day, you were gone. It’s not like you to screw up a hunt like that either.”

“I broke Dean’s trust,” you said. 

“There’s more to it than that,” he said.

“I’m a monster,” you said, laughing dryly when Sam stared at you. “I’m human but I’m a monster.”

“You’re one of the kindest people I know,” said Sam.

“I should go,” you said as you got to your feet. You took a leery step forward and another, Sam grabbing your hand.

“Y/N. What’s going on? You’re not a monster,” he said.

“Yes, I am. Thank you for trying to save me, Sam. But you can’t,” you said. You shrugged out of his grip and took a deep breath. You wound up outside of the bunker, by the bottom of the hill. Your head was spinning but you had enough head start that he wouldn’t find you.

You were staring at the river’s water when you heard a branch snap behind you and a flashlight light up the ground nearby.

“Not a very good hiding spot,” said Dean.

“I thought it was,” you said, closing your eyes, resting your chin on your knees again. “I’m too tired to fight Dean.”

“Good. It means I’ll win then,” he said. He stood next to you, clicking off the flashlight. “You told me about this spot, you know.”

“Once I told you.”

“I used to listen to you,” he said. 

“I don’t care about a scar on my forehead, Dean,” you said. “I’m not going back.”

“Rookie move getting caught on a hunt like that,” he said. “I thought you had super powers.”

“There’s a cost to using them,” you said quietly.

“You never said that before.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said.

“What does it cost?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” you whispered.

“Your soul?” he asked.

“No,” you said. “The only thing it ever cost me was you. I’m still a monster and a liar. Using them just reminds me of that.”

“Sammy mentioned you look ill,” said Dean. “I thought you looked scared.”

“You’d be doing me a favor by using that angel blade on me at this point,” you said.

“I’ve never wanted to kill you. I’m not going to kill you. You broke us was all,” he said.

“Yes. I did. So why are you here?” you asked.

“I heard there was a long and horrible story, that it might help me understand,” he said.

“No,” you said. He bumped your shoulder and you looked over at him. He stared and swallowed, glancing out at the water.

“Why not?” he asked.

“The time for that was a year ago. You didn’t want to hear it and I respected that. Respect my decision,” you said.

“Alright,” he said, sliding his hand into your coat pocket. You reached inside and felt the ball shape, narrowing your eyes. “Hex bag. You’re coming back with me.”

“First you tell me to go away. Now you make me come back. Take it out and let me leave, Dean,” you said.

“Not without that story. It’s a dick move, trust me, I know,” he said. You plucked out the hex bag and held it in your hand. It burned up in your hand, Dean wide eyed for a moment. “How…”

“Just let me run away. I won’t bother you ever again,” you said as you walked past him. His hand caught your arm and you closed your eyes, Dean gasping behind you. You heard him fall over as you looked back, his hands tied in front of him along with his feet.

“What…” he asked.

“You can’t get out of that, Dean. It’s the same stuff they use in Hell. When I’m away, I’ll remove it,” you said. You started to walk away and you slapped a piece of the material over his mouth when he shouted. “I’m sorry. It’s for-”

You felt yourself get tackled on the ground, your head knocking back against the paved path. 

“Sammy, don’t hurt her,” Dean said and you glanced over, your hold on him gone as he stood up. You tried to push the two of them away but your head hurt too much. You put your hands on it and curled up in a ball. “Call Cas. Tell him we need him home. Now.”

“Morning sunshine,” said Dean as you flickered open your eyes. You looked around, in a dimly lit old room. You touched your head and sat up, Dean setting down his book at the desk. “Cas healed you up. He said your head was looking like a smoothie in there.”

“Felt like it,” you said.

“You should have died like, back at that house on the hunt,” said Dean.

“I know,” you said.

“Apparently you have a ‘dark energy’ about you,” said Dean.

“Yet I’m not in the dungeon...or the bunker,” you said. Dean sighed and looked over your head, your gaze going up to the ceiling. “What is that?”

“Bit of a pain in the ass for me,” said Dean. “We don’t know what you are and that little trick by the river was pretty impressive but that sigil? Anyone with that symbol carved in them ain’t leaving a one mile square area. Two man minimum.”

“You’re holding me here,” you said.

“In this cabin and the surrounding area. I can’t leave either. Not until that gets removed and Cas is the only one that can undo it,” said Dean. 

“I can make you undo it,” you said. You stared him down, Dean frowning when he saw you tie his hands together in front of him. 

“Go ahead and do that. But I literally can’t undo it. We’re both stuck and Sam and Cas aren’t coming back unless it’s an emergency,” said Dean. You got up from the bed and went down a short hall, Dean following you and out through a front door. The air was chilly and you saw the sun was barely up. You walked and walked and walked until suddenly you bounced off of something. You put a hand against it, Dean sighing behind you. “Unless you’re God level powerful, you ain’t getting out.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. Let me go,” you snapped. Dean held up his hands and you sighed, releasing him before you started to walk around.

“Y/N. Cas carved it into our bones. Rowena put the spell up. We are as stuck here as the day is long,” said Dean. 

“You can’t make me go back inside,” you said as you sat down and leaned back against the invisible wall. 

“I think you’re lying to me again. Something is wrong and you know it. You look sick. You’re weak. You-”

“Go away before I shut your mouth for you,” you said. He nodded and left, going back into the cabin. You sighed and wrapped your arms around your knees. “Castiel if you can hear me, come and take this off of me. Please. I just want to be left alone.”

One Week Later

“What do you want for dinner?” asked Dean as you stared out the window. It’d been raining all day. The cabin was nice and clean, modern and nice. The bathrooms were spa like and you seemed to somehow have internet all the way out in the middle of nowhere.

It would have been a great and peaceful vacation spot if there wasn’t the overwhelming threat in the air that you couldn’t leave.

“Y/N?” asked Dean.

“Whatever you want is fine,” you said quietly, watching the water roll down the panes. Dean walked over and handed you a blanket, running his hand over your head. “You will never get me to talk, Dean.”

“I was angry and I think we both know I had a right to be. But I think we both know I should have given you a chance to explain yourself and I didn’t. We both screwed up. When you’re ready to talk, we will. Until then...we can stay here and learn to be friends again. You’re safe here. You can try to recover from whatever it is that is running you down.”

“You stuck me here so I can’t go on a hunt,” you said. “Didn’t you.”

“That was part of it,” said Dean. 

“I’m not weak.”

“You can kick my ass all on your own. With these abilities you have? Pretty sure you win every time without lifting a finger,” he said. “Maybe you’re strong, way stronger than I’ve ever been. But you are sick. I can see it all over your face. You can recover here until we figure out what to do next.”

“I know what to do next but you won’t let me leave,” you growled. 

“This isn’t up for debate.”

You turned your head, Dean shoving your arm after a few seconds. He pointed at the tie over his mouth and you shrugged.

“You speaking isn’t up for debate,” you said. He rolled his eyes and went back to the kitchen, starting to move some pots around.

An hour later he shoved your arm again.

“What?” you said. Dean pointed at the food on two plates. You stood up and went to the table, sitting down and digging in. Dean took a seat across from you, grunting. You slurped down your pasta and stared at him. He scratched at the tie and you went back to eating, his eyes widening for a moment. “It’s not fun having someone control you, is it? Enjoy your Red Special.”

He narrowed his eyes and stood up, going to the bedroom he’d been using and slamming the door shut. 

After fifteen minutes and a few washed pots later, you went to the room, Dean sitting on the floor, his eyes red and puffy.

“Fuck, Dean,” you said, removing the tie and kneeling down. He wiped his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I-”

“Red Special,” said Dean. “Red Special. That’s the first step in a Red Special and you know that. I told you all about Hell but I never told you the names of certain things so how the fuck do you know the name of it?”

You got up and tried to leave, Dean on his feet and grabbing your wrist quickly.

“Tell me. You owe me for that just now,” he said.

“Because I’ve gone through a Red Special before too,” you whispered. You shut your eyes and felt Dean’s hands on your shoulders, guiding you back into his room. He sat you down on the bed and told you not to move. He left for a few minutes before you opened your eyes, Dean returning with a sandwich and glass of water for himself. He shut the door and sat down at the head of the mattress, eating quietly as you sighed.

“You went to Hell?” he eventually asked.

“No.”

“...You had to. There’s no way you could survive-”

“I don’t want to tell you, Dean. Don’t make me tell you,” you said. He leaned over and took your hand, lacing your fingers together. You swallowed and shut your eyes.

“Were you...were you going to…” he trailed off as you shook your head.

“No. I could never do that to you. I shouldn’t have done what I did. My head just...it gets dark sometimes. It gets dark more often. The longer we stay here, the bigger the odds that I end up hurting you,” you said.

“Do you think it’s these abilities making that happen?” he asked.

“I know it is,” you said, a crack of thunder overhead.

“Then let’s try to take it away. Bare minimum information. Tell me and Sam and Cas the bare minimum you think we need to know and we’ll save the story for someday later,” said Dean. “I promise.”

Your whole body shuddered and he gave you a smile.

“S’okay. It’ll be okay,” said Dean. 

“The torturer’s curse,” you said quietly. Dean tilted his head at you and you gave his hand a squeeze. “It’s called the torturer’s curse. There’s no way to remove it.”

“We’ll find a way. We always do.”

Three Weeks Later

“Hi guys,” you said as Sam, Cas and Rowena walked into the cabin. “I made cookies earlier if you want some.”

“Maybe later. Let’s see if we can get you feeling better first,” said Sam.

“Did you bring the cuffs?” you asked.

“One pair of demonic, witch and curse proof cuffs,” said Cas, pulling them from his pocket. You nodded and tried to relax, shaking your head after a moment. Cas put them on and you saw Dean leave his bedroom, shaking his arms out. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. I pissed her off this morning so you know, been fun around here today,” said Dean.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Hey,” he said gently. “We’re gonna get you fixed up and you won’t be feeling any of this bad crap anymore.”

“I hope not,” you said. You took a seat at the table, Rowena and Sam moving around and setting things up. You had to give them some of your blood, the second it was in the bowl your whole body starting to buzz. “Hurry. It doesn’t like that.”

Rowenna threw something in the bowl and a puff of smoke appeared. She said a few words and then looked at you.

“Well?” she asked.

“I don’t feel any…” you said, quickly closing your eyes, everything off. You fell over, passing out for a few seconds.

“Hey, Y/N,” said Dean, shaking your shoulder as you woke up. Your whole body felt lighter. You tried to do something you could before, anything, but none of it seemed to work.

“Hey,” you smiled, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Cas put a hand on your head and nodded.

“I don’t sense the energy in her anymore,” he said.

“It’s gone?” asked Dean. You nodded and let out a laugh.

“It’s gone. It’s gone,” you said as they helped you sit up.

“How did you get a curse like that in the first place? That’s very, very dark magic,” said Rowenna as Sam took off your cuffs.

“It was a unique situation. It won’t happen again.”

“She won’t talk about what happened,” said Sam that night in the bunker. You were laying in your old bed, the boys talking in hushed whispers outside your room.

“I’m not pushing her. This curse was fucking with her head for a while and she’s had it who knows how long and she needs a little peace and quiet,” said Dean.

“Dean. The curse she had is not normal. It is old. The book we found the cure in...they only use the curse in something called a Hellscape. No one’s ever seen it in action. How the hell did she get it?” 

“I’m guessing she’s been to someplace called Hellscape then, genius. Lay off. She feels like shit. Go find a nice easy hunt for us or something,” said Dean. You heard the door open after a moment and Dean enter, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Need anything sweetheart?”

“Do you ever wish you never existed?” you asked. You felt him move around behind you and lay down, warm arms pulling you into an embrace. “That’s not an answer.”

“Maybe I used to, on bad days sometimes,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here though.”

“I’m not sure what the point is,” you said.

“Of life?” he asked as you nodded. “I think you try to leave this place better than you found it.”

“I don’t think that’s why I’m here,” you said.

“Why do you think you are then?” 

“To be miserable,” you said quietly. “A vast majority of my life has been a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Then I got out of it when I found you guys and then I fucked that up and I’m back in the nightmare.”

“You’re not,” said Dean, resting his head against your back. “You’re not, I swear.”

“Maybe someday I’ll believe that,” you said as you shut your eyes.

“Y/N. Whatever you’re not telling me...it’s okay. I know it’s big. I’ll be here if you ever decide you want to share it. If not, that’s okay too,” he said.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Hey,” said Sam the next morning at breakfast. “I found a hunt in Norfolk. It looks like a simple demon hunt if you guys want in.”

“Yeah that sounds good,” said Dean as you nodded. You went back to your eggs, closing your eyes. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Never better.”

“I think it’s that gym teacher. I had a bad feeling about him,” said Sam in the motel later that day. “No demon though.”

“Him and that assistant coach are weirdos,” said Dean. “You see the way they were looking at Y/N?”

“They’re not the person you’re looking for,” you said as you changed out of your fed suit, Sam quickly turning away. 

“How do you know that?” asked Dean. You sighed and slipped on some jeans and t shirt, plopping down on the bed. “Y/N.”

“Because this is my hometown,” you said. They looked at one another and scrunched up their faces. “I’m not from where I said I was. I lied about a lot. I get it. I went to high school with those guys, that’s why they were looking at me like that.”

“Well it has to be a teacher,” said Sam.

“No it doesn’t. It isn’t. I know exactly who it is,” you said, going to your bag and shoving your gun in your jeans.

“Care to share with the class?” asked Dean. 

“It’s my dad.”

“Your what?” he asked. “Your dad is dead.”

“A lie. My mom is but not him.”

“So a demon didn’t kill your parents?” asked Sam. “Or just your mom?”

“I killed my mom,” you said. Both of them shared a look, Dean looking you up and down. “I had my reasons.”

“Y/N,” said Dean, shaking his head. “Ignoring that bombshell, how do you know it’s your dad?”

“He’s the most evil thing in this town,” you said. 

“They didn’t...you know,” said Sam.

“Hurt me? Oh, I wish all they’d done to me was hurt me,” you said. Sam swallowed and you saw Dean nod. 

“Sammy. Go grab some dinner for us. Please,” said Dean. Sam excused himself but you knew Dean only did it for your benefit. “I’m starting to get the picture.”

“What picture is that.”

“Abusive parents with a kid that ends up having a horrible dark curse on them? I have a feeling you didn’t get that from your hunting days,” he said.

“I’ve had it since I was sixteen. I didn’t turn it on until I used an ability for the first time at eighteen when I got out of here for good. Every time I use them, the darker it got,” you said.

“Your dad do that to you?” he asked. “Curse you?”

“Indirectly. You know who gave me the actual curse,” you said. Dean tilted his head. “Alistair.”

You saw his face go white and you nodded.

“Alistair...you knew…” said Dean.

“I knew him before you did. My parents used to call him Ali when I was little,” you said.

“What?” breathed out Dean. “Don’t tell me...tell me he didn’t go near you as a child. Tell me that psychopath wasn’t near you as a kid.”

“I could but it’d be a lie,” you said. He sat down on the bed and ran his hand over his mouth. “It’s my dad that killed those two girls. I know it. Let’s just go deal with him and move on.”

“We are not ending the conversation there. Alistair? That’s-“

“Minimum information,” you said. “I already told you more than enough.”

“Y/N-“

“You of all people can understand why I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I talked about it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to and I did and you know what? After I did, I felt a little better. I trusted you enough to tell you.”

“Dean,” you said, pacing around the room. “It’s not a trust thing. I’ve never told anyone and if you ever find out the whole truth, not the scraps you know, you’ll never look at me the same. I know I’m broken but you didn’t make me feel like it. You guys never did and I know you’ll see what I really am if you ever hear the truth. I’m sorry but I can’t go through that.”

“So you think I was broken?” asked Dean. You rolled your eyes and he stood up. “Did you lie about that too?”

“Go fuck yourself, Dean,” you said, grabbing your backpack. “I never lied about anything like that. You know what? Thanks for everything but I’m gone.”

You stormed out of there, Dean barely getting to the door by the time you were down the block.

Four Hours Later

“Ouch,” you said as you groaned awake. You were cold and your body instantly recognized the chill. You sat upright, the air leaving your lungs. 

It took a moment to realize you were panicking, breaths coming in little sharp jagged beats. 

“Y/N,” you heard from the dark side of the basement. The voice sang song and you backed up against the cinderblock wall. You could feel the shirt you had on now and the light cotton shorts, feel the band on your ankle as you watched him step into the light. “Y/N. Relax, honey. Don’t work yourself up.”

“I…” you said, remembering sneaking into the house and then it all going dark.

“You promised that someday you’d come back and kill me. I took precautions and now...we can go back to the way things were,” he said as he knelt down.

“Dad, don’t,” you said, burrowing back into the corner.

“Hunters aren’t as invincible as they say. I’ll make you a deal. You be a good girl and let Dad have a bit of blood to sell off every so often since you have that been to hell thing going for you, and I will leave the townsfolk alone. Hm? How’s that sound?” he asked. “Or better yet, you be good and I won’t have to do that thing you don’t like.”

“Alistair is dead,” you said as you finally found your voice.

“I know. But I can fool your mind into believing it’s with him, feeling all of that. I’ve learned a few things since you’ve been gone,” he said. “So. Good girl?”

Your body shook and he smirked.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get back to the way things were soon enough.”

He stood up and pet your head, walking away before he hit the light outside the door and locked it.

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to use your abilities but they were gone.

The Winchesters were your only hope.

It felt like a day had gone by before the door opened. Your father had already paid you one unpleasant visit and you weren’t ready for another.

“Oh shit,” said Dean as the room filled with light. You covered your eyes before you dared expose them to the brightness, Dean rushing over and cupping your cheeks. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“Me too,” he said. “I forgive you, for all of it. I promise. Let’s get you someplace safe.”

“You can’t cut it,” you said. “You need to break the seal.”

“Do you know how to do that?” he asked.

“You got a knife?” you asked. Dean pulled out a knife and handed it to you. You took a deep breath and held the tip to your foot. You dug into the flesh and sighed. You took the blade and cut into the band, the thing snapping open after a moment.

“What is that?” he asked.

“You can’t run that way,” you said. You stood up and Dean went with you. He helped you walk, pausing when you stopped halfway. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you shakily said, stepping over the midpoint of the room, gritting your teeth as you got to the door. Dean picked you up and carried you past the storage area and up the basement stairs, walking you quietly out to the front step outside.

“Where’s my dad?” you asked. 

“Sammy got him,” said Dean. “He’s in the office. I went looking for you.”

“Go check on Sam for me. I don’t trust my dad,” you said.

“If I see him, he’s getting a bullet,” said Dean. You nodded and Dean shrugged off his jacket, putting it over your shoulders before he headed inside. It was warm and smelled like him and you let yourself curl up in the warm safe feeling for a few minutes before you realized Dean hadn’t come back. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stood and looked back at the house. You reached into the pocket of the jacket and pulled out Dean’s spare gun. It wasn’t his normal spare. You looked at it and recognized it as the the other one in the set he’d gotten for you years ago. 

You took that as a sign and slowly limped into the house, gun raised as you headed towards the back.

You turned inside and saw your Dad standing by the fireplace, Dean and Sam both knocked out on the floor.

“Winchesters will sell nicely,” he said. “Pieces of course. You will be punished appropriately.”

“No,” you said quietly, pointing the gun. He glanced at you and the weapon flew out of your hands. You were forced down to the floor and you gasped, staring up at him.

“You lose. You always lose,” he said. He grabbed your arm and started to pull you back towards the hall and presumably down to the basement. You caught Dean lazily staring at you. He poked his left side wearily and you reached into his inner left jacket pocket. 

The sound of a switchblade opening was deafening in the room, your father looking down just as you stabbed it into his thigh. You pulled it out and then scrambled backwards, your Dad stalking over you.

A gunshot rang out and he dropped to the ground. You rolled away, looking back to see Dean pointing his gun. 

“You okay?” he asked.

You got to your feet and walked out of the room, sitting down on the front step. You tucked your head between your knees, a gentle hand on your back a few minutes later.

“You’re alright, sweetheart. You’re alright.”

“Hey,” said Dean the next morning as you finished off your hash brown by the water. “Neat little diner they got around here.”

“S’good pancakes,” you said, popping the last piece in your mouth.

“You uh, didn’t say much last night. Or this morning.”

“Didn’t feel like talking,” you said, swinging your feet from where you sat on the railing. 

“You okay?”

“I feel better but I can’t believe it’s actually over,” you said. “I was always too scared to ever come back here.”

“I get it,” said Dean, leaning back against the railing, staring at the diner. “Talking...helps. Even if you were a pain in the ass about it back then.”

“You know when we met, I was so jealous of you. I really hated you,” you said.

“You did? Must have been my charming personality that won you over,” he chuckled.

“You were so happy and you and Sam...you have someone to love you, always. I know you weren’t happy like most people are but you got to have a little bit, a few moments at least. You guys always had each other and I wanted that so bad. I wish I’d had an older brother like you or a little one or something when I was a kid. You have no idea how screwed up I am, Dean,” you said.

“That’s funny,” he said, turning his head towards your own. “You’re one of the most normal people I know.”

“Dean.”

“I don’t know how or why but you are a good person, Y/N. Your parents from the little I do know were horrible. But you’re good and kind. You’re the opposite of screwed up.”

“I don’t feel like it,” you said.

“You will. Eventually,” he said, smiling softly. “Trust me. I learned from this really hot chick all the best ways to help.”

You glanced down and he moved behind you, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your cheek.

“I should have told you the truth back then,” you said.

“I should have been less of a dick. It’s okay. Nobody’s perfect,” he said.

“My parents made a demon deal,” you said, Dean shifting around to sit beside you. “You saw that house. My parents were nobody’s when they were younger. They wanted money and power and they met with a crossroads demon. They presented a unique deal. My soul for the deal,” you said. “I was almost two at the time I think.”

“That’s not possible,” said Dean.

“I know. The demon started to walk away when my parents got creative. Ten years from then, I’d go away for five years, with a demon. They could do whatever they wanted to me. The demon wasn’t interested at first but Alistair popped up all excited and said he wanted to test out some new stuff or something and then agreed. I spent my childhood knowing it was coming. Then I went away and lived in the Hellscape for five years. It’s like bringing hell to earth. It was basically this hidden away cabin in the woods. Apparently it can only be done every so often and needs a whole bunch of stuff and I was the lucky participant,” you said.

“Five years in hell or five years up here?” asked Dean.

“Up here.”

“Fuck,” he said, closing his eyes. “How many years…”

“If a month is ten years…” you said. “It wasn’t great. I blocked out a lot. I can’t even remember most of it. It was weird. I remember the pain but the duration is like a really crappy month or something. But yeah, I hung out in basically hell for five years before the deal was up. Alistair though, he liked me. He said I took a long time to break. He-”

“How long.”

“Hundred years,” you said, Dean nodding. “Dean...it wasn’t like what you went through. That was hell. This was his playground. Some days I was left alone.”

“Can I hear more?” he asked.

“So when my time was up, Alistair gave me the curse. He told me all about it, told me it would strip away the human emotions so I wouldn’t feel so bad. He encouraged me to rip my parents to shreds,” you said. “I wanted to too but when I got back home, I turned into the scared little girl again. I pretended to be a normal teenager at school and then home was...bad. But I met this boy. This guy was following me after one of the football games when I was walking home and this boy chased him off. Ricky. He was the gearhead kid and I was a stupid cheerleader and he was kind. He reminds me of you actually. We dated, secretly, and I started to open up and Ricky was so smart and it turned out he was a hunter’s kid.”

“Ricky Norris?” asked Dean.

“How do you…” you trailed off, Dean smiling sadly.

“Ricky was my friend when I was a little kid. It was rare to meet other hunter’s with kids. I didn’t see him much but I knew Ricky. I never heard from him after we were like twelve,” said Dean.

“His dad had stopped hunting. He and Ricky tried to help me. They helped me learn that my parents threats about going back to Alistair were lies, that it was a one time only thing. He taught me how to fight and what a safe home was and I was going to runaway, Ricky and I were during senior year. But he never showed up and I found out he’d been killed by my parents. So I went home and I didn’t think twice about killing my mom. She and my dad hurt the one person who ever loved me so I killed her and I told him next time I saw him I’d get rid of him too. Then I ran and I hunted and I got so low and down and I wanted that feeling of being loved so bad and then bam, you and Sam walk into my life and you suffocated me with it and I love you two more than you’ll ever know.”

“We know. It’s this thing called unconditional love. We know, Y/N and you got it too,” said Dean.

“You know Ricky had to explain that to me? I understood it. I saw it with my friends and their families but feeling it wasn’t something I ever got until I met you. Ricky tried, he did, but I was too scared to feel it the way you’re supposed to,” you said. “And he and his dad wound up dead because of me.”

“Hunters help people, sweetheart. If I know Ricky, me and him would have been fighting over the chance to help you out. Nothing that ever happened was you fault. You were a child. Barely a toddler. You did nothing wrong. Life handed you all the crap at once it seems,” he said.

“I couldn’t even sleep in my room upstairs. It was the pretend room. I was always in that basement,” you said, Dean putting an arm over your shoulders. “There’s so much they did.”

“All those people and things that hurt you are dead and I’m not gonna let anything else hurt you again. Neither is Sammy,” he said.

“I know,” you said, looking at your hands. “We lost a year because I wouldn’t tell you all of this.“

“What’s a year? We got this place, we got forever upstairs. Don’t sweat it. It’s okay,” said Dean. He took one of your hands and held it in his lap. “I love you.”

“I’m sorry I-“

“Stop apologizing. Please,” said Dean. “We’re good. It’s all good.”

You nodded and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“How about we take a little break from hunting, get everyone feeling better,” he said.

“I’d like that,” you said quietly.

“Me too, sweetheart.”

“Guys,” you sighed from the backseat a week later. “Why are we driving to some middle of nowhere town?”

“First off, we live in a middle of nowhere town too. Second, it’s a forty minute drive which is nothing. Third, it’s a surprise,” said Dean.

“I wanted to lay in bed and eat junk food,” you whined.

“We have a feeling you’re gonna like this,” said Sam. You sighed and a few minutes later they pulled up outside of a house. You followed them out of the car, Dean pursing his lips as he walked around Baby.

“So we may have been working a case this week without you knowing,” said Dean. “Yours.”

“Mine?” you asked.

“Your Dad said some stuff after you left that office last week. Tried to bargain us into helping him, before we finished him off,” said Sam.

“He said something that me and Sam looked into. It turns out, he was telling the truth,” said Dean.

“What?” you asked quietly.

“See that house?” asked Dean, pointing behind you. 

“Yeah?”

“That’s your house,” said Sam with a big smile.

“I’m not following,” you said.

“That is your house. That is where your parents and brothers live,” said Dean, a smile spreading across his cheeks.

“I don’t…” you said.

“The people you thought were your parents? They stole you at a park to use you for their demon deal. Your real parents are inside,” said Dean. 

“Real…” you said, both of them nodding.

“They’ve looked for decades. They ain’t half bad either. Your Dad had a blurry picture of you from your first Wendigo hunt. A little more resources and they might have eventually found you on your own,” said Sam.

“Did you talk to them?” you asked, staring at the house.

“A little. They didn’t believe us at first. I sent them a picture of you and that sealed the deal. They’re good people, Y/N. Whatever you want to do next is up to you, that’s their words,” said Dean.

You turned and headed for the front door, the boys hanging back by the car.

You swallowed as you rang the doorbell, your heart jumping into your throat when you heard someone on the other side.

An older man opened it, a cautious look on his face that turned into a long stare.

“Hi,” you said. He quickly stepped outside and hugged you, picking you up. “You’re my dad?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m your dad,” he laughed. “I’m your dad, kiddo.”

“Y/N,” said Dean, sitting on the back porch a few hours later. “Your mom makes like one of my top ten pies. Ever.”

“I’ll have to send you kids home with one,” she said as she sat back down next to you in the swing seat, your Dad on the other side.

“So what about school? You wanted to be a doctor when you were little,” he said.

“No she didn't. You were obsessed with trying to be a princess,” said your mom. Dean nearly choked on his pie as he started to laugh. 

“Watch it Winchester,” you teased. “I uh, I left school and got my GED.”

“Y/N had a rough go of it,” said Dean.

“The people that took you...did they treat you okay?” asked your mom.

You glanced at Dean and took a deep breath.

“I found some people along the way that became my real family,” you said.

“Y/N. You don’t have to tell us. We’re just glad to have you back,” said your dad.

“I’m okay,” you said, smiling at Dean. “I can’t believe you had four boys.”

“Well the twins were a surprise,” said your dad. “Never had a girl though aside from you.”

“I don’t mind,” you said, Dean polishing off another piece and looking at your mom.

“Does he want more?” she whispered.

“It’s Dean. He always wants more pie, mom.”

“Hey,” said Dean that night as you wandered into the guest room at your parents house. “Was today good?”

“Very,” you said. “I’m not giving up hunting but knowing I have this is incredible.”

“You’ve had a rough go of it. Sam and I wanted to give you your family back,” said Dean as he sat down on the bed and got down to his boxers.

“Dean,” you said, crawling behind him and giving him a hug. “You gave me a family a long time ago. It just got bigger today is all.”

“We love you. We wanted you to know you have more than us though,” he said.

“The Winchester’s have always been enough. I’m so incredibly lucky I have you,” you said, kissing his cheek. “You gave me so much, Dean. I’m so happy to have met my parents and brothers but I’m a Winchester. I’m always going to be that.”

“You have choices now,” he said.

“Yeah. I know what I pick. Same thing as always,” you said. He smiled and cupped your cheek, pulling you into a kiss. “Thank you for today and how sweet you’ve been all week. I’ve been pretty awful to you lately and I never took care of you at all.”

“You were cursed and scared. I thought I told you to stop apologizing,” said Dean, brushing his thumb over your face. “I am okay. You can take care of me too but it’s give and take and I’m good with giving right now. You still need to heal. It’s only been a week. So let’s take a few days and get to know your family. Okay?”

“Okay,” you said, Dean swinging his legs up onto the bed and giving you another kiss. “I love you, Dean.”

“I love you too, Y/N. So, so much.”

_______

[schrijverr]

Hold Me Together

Chapter 2 out of 4

Eliot gets hurt on a job and then sick. Hardison and Parker waste no time to jump in to care for him and it becomes harder and harder to say no to their care when it’s just so nice. After he has a nightmare, they’re there for him and feelings come to light.

AKA Eliot has a terrible time physically (and partly emotionally), but gets lots of cuddles and two partners in the end.

On AO3.

Ships: Thiefsome OT3

Warnings: Eliot's low self-esteem and the flu

~~~~~~~~~~

Pull Me Close

When he awoke the next morning, he was pinned down by two warm weights at his sides. He kept his breathing steady, as if he were still asleep while he assessed the situation, before last night came back to him.

He felt a heat rising to his cheeks as he cracked open one eye to look, the other having swollen shut throughout the night. It was indeed Parker and Hardison who were pinning him down and he knew he couldn't sneak out without them noticing right now. He was trapped and sooner or later he would have to face them again.

Quietly he sorted through everything, hoping to come up with a plan to make this less awkward for everyone involved.

If he moved now, they would wake up and know he was awake and he would have to talk to them, but if he pretended to still be asleep maybe they’d leave him alone, however that would be unrealistic, because he would never sleep through them waking up and it was creepy to pretend to sleep just so that you could enjoy laying in the warmth of your two coworkers that you were in love with without having to deal with the mess that made.

But, fuck, he was comfortable. More comfortable that he’d been in years. The pain had dulled a lot and he was warm and cozy under the sheets with Parker and Hardison there. Hardison snored softly and Parker’s fingers skittered over him in her sleep, almost miming a pickpocket.

It was something nice that he would never have, never deserve. And while it was selfish, he didn’t want it to end just yet.

Still, he had no say in that and all his thinking was for naught when his door slammed open and the familiar silhouette of Nate appeared, saying: “Ah, there you all are. It’s eight, we want to leave as soon as we can.”

“We’ll be there,” Parker chirped, having gone from fast asleep to awake in a moment. Nate nodded at her, before leaving.

On Eliot’s other side, Hardison was taking his time, burrowing his face into Eliot’s uninjured shoulder as he whined softly. Eliot couldn't blame him, they’d gotten to the hotel around three in the morning, so they’d had less than five hours if it was eight now. Still, the hot breaths on his neck were not good if he wanted to keep this platonic, so he poked Hardison and grouched: “Get off me, man.”

“Wha?” Hardison looked up, smiling in a way that made Eliot’s heart twist when he saw it, before he said: “Hey, it’s you. How you doin’?”

“I’m fine, slight headache and sore muscles,,” Eliot told him honestly. “I’ll be up and running in no time, now just get off me so that I can get up.”

“Your eye is bruised,” Hardison frowned, noticing the black eye that had been a light bruise a few hours ago.

“Yeah,” Parker agreed poking it and making him wince.

“Don’t touch it, Parker,” he said, leading her hand away from his face. “It’s fine, just a bruise that I forgot to cool, it’s nothing. Now stop pinning me to the mattress.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, man,” Hardison got off and Eliot could see the other man was just wearing sweatpants nothing else and his face got a bit hot again, so he looked to the other side, only to discover that Parker was in nothing but a shirt and underwear. God either loved or hated him very much.

So, instead of focusing on them, he focused on getting to a sitting position, pleased to find he could do that on his own.

He was still in Hardison’s hoodie and his own sweatpants and he really didn’t want to change. This was comfortable and warm and it would be easy to take off at home when he was by himself again, which twisted something cold in his chest. Besides he could always wash it and give it back later, an excuse to keep it for a little while. He asked: “Hey, man, can I keep this for today?” as he rubbed the sleeves between his fingers, trying not to think how sad it was that he wanted to keep it, just craving a bit of comfort for today. He still felt groggy and generally uncomfortable.

Hardison looked over, a strange look coming over his face when he saw how the sleeves fell over Eliot’s hands, before he nodded: “Yeah, course.”

“Cool, thanks.” Now this was just getting awkward, so Eliot swung his legs over the side of the bed where Parker had been, since she had disappeared a few seconds ago.

Before he could stand up, however, Hardison was crawling after him, nearly toppling off the bed, before he said: “Wait! Stop. You can’t just do that, Eliot. Your ankle is hurt.”

“Me and my ankle will live,” Eliot informed him. It would be slightly painful to walk, but not impossible.

“Just let me help for a moment,” Hardison asked, quickly pulling on a shirt he found on the floor, before offering a hand.

Eliot rolled his eyes at the fussing, but he was also selfish enough to allow it. It was going to be over soon anyway, why not enjoy a bit of contact? Hardison wanted to help, so it wasn’t taking advantage of it, and not putting any weight on his ankle would be a smart move.

So, they made their way downstairs, with Hardison carrying Eliot’s bag and laying his hand on Eliot’s waist again, while Parker met them at the elevator, her and Hardison’s stuff in hand almost as if they’d planned this.

He tried not to think about it as Hardison led him to the table where Sophie was sitting, before telling him he was to stay there and that Hardison would get him a plate from the buffet. Once he was gone, Sophie leaned over and asked: “So, good night?”

“Was fine,” he replied, eyeing her suspiciously after she’d grinned at him and flicked her eyes towards Hardison and Parker. Had she figured out his feelings? Was he being obvious? Did she think something happened between them? Trying to play it cool, he added: “Got more than 90 minutes of sleep for a change.”

“Oh, your productivity out the door like that,” she teased, luckily dropping any suggestiveness and prying.

“I was productive in healing my body,” he shot back, hiding his relief.

Sophie frowned at his face, cocking her head. “I can see that,” she said sarcastically.

“Come on, Soph, this is not my first black eye,” Eliot said. “My stitches are clean, my ankle is wrapped, my shoulder is back. I’m as good as I can be, little swollen eye is nothing. Could be much worse. Has been in the past.”

At that point Hardison came back with a plate of stuff Eliot actually liked, which touched him more than he’d liked to admit. He put the plate down in front of Eliot, inserting himself into the conversation: “Is he trying to tell you he’s fine by telling you everything that’s wrong with him and reminding you that he’s had a shit life?”

“Yes, it’s not really working,” Sophie said, before Eliot could protest that it was useful, because he was reminding them this was his job and it was okay, that he was okay and taken care off, because all his wounds were clean and it wasn’t that bad.

Instead of saying all that, however, he shoved a fork of food into his mouth and glowered: “See if I ever tell you about my injuries again.”

“He’s grouching, that means he’s okay, right?” Parker asked, poking his cheek again.

“Stop that, Parker,” he snapped, not really mad at her, because he was weak and would do anything to make her happy.

“Jup, he’s okay,” Hardison said, smiling and Eliot wanted to smack him, but he was right and cute, so he couldn’t. “And he’s telling us about his injuries next time.”

“Or we’ll force him!” Parker added enthusiastically.

“Was it that bad?” Sophie was immediately worried again and Eliot wanted them to stop fussing, because it felt weird and twisty in his chest when they did and he hated that he didn’t know what to do with the feeling.

“No, it wasn’t, I’m-” he got cut off by Hardison, who said: “He was kinda out of it for a bit, but nothing we couldn't handle. He was a bit grumpy about the whole thing, but he’s always like that. We just need to keep his leg up and as cool as we can during the drive and he should be set. Probably sleep a bit on the way too.”

“And how am going to sleep in that crappy van?” Eliot grouched. He wanted to protest it all, but no one was listening to him, so protesting seemed a bit redundant. Besides it was hard to be mad at them about it when it seemed like they all cared about his well being and the twisty feeling in his chest was only getting twistier.

“Excuse you, Lucille is a beautiful lady and you will treat her as such,” Hardison began. “And second off, you can sleep in the backseat. There’s a storage area between the front seats that you can rest you foot on. Promise me and Parker won’t bother your little nap.”

“I’m not sleeping in the van,” not between the two of you, he added mentally. “And why don’t I get to sit up front? Don’t I have injured rights?”

“No, there’s more space on the backseat and Nate’s driving and you’re horrible when Nate drives,” Hardison explained.

“I’m not horrible when Nate drives, he just sucks at driving,” Eliot frowned.

“He turned on his blinker once and you got annoyed, because it was too early, Eliot,” Sophie pointed out.

“Yeah and what about that time you said he switched lanes wrong,” Parker said. “You were very scary. You’re not even that scary when I drive and everyone hates my driving.”

“I can’t help that Nate can’t drive,” Eliot crossed his arms.

From behind him Nate’s voice said: “I’m glad you think so highly off my driving skills. You’re in the back seat, I don’t need you to grouch at me for hours about holding the steering wheel wrong or whatever you come up with.”

Eliot had registered him coming up behind him, but he didn’t care that Nate heard. He wanted to be mad about being injured and unable to fight, but he wasn’t able to, so he was going to be mad about something else and right now that was Nate’s driving and being in the back seat. He frowned (frowned, not pouted, Hardison): “I’m still gonna yell at you from the back.”

“Sure you are,” Nate said as he started to walk off with a cup of coffee. “Our mark has officially been taken into custody and the victims have been repaid. I want to be home before dinner, so buckle up everyone.”

They grumbled and groaned about it being too earlier to pack up, but no one stayed seated. This time it was Parker steadying him while Hardison carried all their stuff to Lucille.

Getting back into Lucille was another problem and Eliot was glad Nate and Sophie had already gotten into the van, because this was embarrassing enough as it was without onlookers.

Hardison had to support him fully on the left side, where his injured ankle was, but not his ex-dislocated shoulder, while Parker physically put his uninjured foot into Lucille. Then Hardison hoisted them into the van with Parker making sure they wouldn't fall back, until they were in and they could shuffle forwards and get seated.

Eliot was determined not to be visibly injured, so he crossed his arms and planted his feet on the ground, before staring ahead, vowing to keep his one, not swollen eye firmly open for the entire ride.

His plan was ruined by Parker the moment she settled on his other side, because she leaned forwards and put his leg on the little platform and right as he was about to protest, she put a bag of ice cubes on his foot and that actually felt really nice, so he cut himself off with a soft, grumpy thanks. She smiled: “Of course,” before handing him another ice cube bag for his eye.

Still, he could be awake and grumpy about everything, even when they were treating him like he was terribly injured, which he could understand after the fucking spectacle he made of himself last night. So he just told Nate that he shouldn’t pull up so fast, which earned him a glare from the man through the rear view mirror that he ignored.

Parker was on his right fiddling with one of her locks while she gazed out the window. Hardison was on his left and tapping away on a screen that was moving too fast for Eliot to follow. It was peaceful and they talked with each other softly, though Eliot didn’t have the energy to add his own commentary.

He felt bad about being in the middle of them again when they had already missed each other last night because of him. They hadn’t even seen each other during the job either with Hardison on tech support and Parker running between stealing and grifting.

He didn’t know how to bring it up that he wouldn’t mind switching with Hardison so that they could be next to each other and he could lean against the window. It wasn’t that he was tired and wanted to lean against something, he just wanted to have a clear line of sight, that was all.

The ice was slowly melting, until he had two bags of water and they were nearing their first stop, where Nate pulled over. Sophie would be driving the next stretch, because car-safety and all that jazz.

“Want me to get you anything?” Hardison asked when it became clear that Eliot wasn’t leaving the van.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said. “Maybe switch places with me? I can’t lean against anything in the middle.” He didn’t add: ‘and I’m sure you missed Parker,’ partially because he knew it would have come out sounding bitter and that was something he did not need to deal with, both mentally and in real life.

Hardison raised a brow. “And where are you going to rest you foot if you’re on the left? And I know you ain’t going to be on the right, I heard your shoulder that shit was just wrong.”

“I’ll be fine without resting my foot anywhere. Dammit, Hardison,” Eliot frowned, not sure why the hacker was even fighting him on this.

“You can lean against me, promise I won’t draw on your face,” Hardison said, before walking away so that Eliot couldn't reply. Parker skipped up next to him and asked about the drawing on the face with a bit too much glee.

The words caught up with Eliot and he could feel his cheeks getting warmer, which he pushed down immediately. Hardison had offered it so casually, like it wasn’t weird at all that he was turning down the offer of sitting next to his girlfriend so that Eliot could lean against his shoulder. But maybe Eliot was seeing things where there was nothing, he was injured (minor injuries but that didn’t seem to stop Hardison from worrying), so it could just be a normal offer. It wasn’t as if Hardison hadn’t fallen asleep on his shoulder from time to time.

It wouldn't be weird, he didn’t need to make it weird. Besides, he didn’t needto take him up on the offer and lean on Hardison. He could just not sleep and keep on looking forwards. Yeah, that was a plan.

Soon the others came back, piling into the van once more, with Parker shoving two cold things in his hands as she proudly proclaimed: “They sold ice packs!”

“Oh, thank you, Parker,�� he smiled at her, starting to lean forward with a grunt only to find one of the ice packs stolen and being placed on his foot again. He nodded his thanks to Parker, before settling down against the backseat and putting the other ice pack against his eye.

The swelling had gone down already with the ice cubes from the hotel, but the fresh coolness of the ice pack was still welcome.

On his other side, Hardison said: “I managed to convince her not to take the markers, so you’re welcome.”

“And who gave her the idea in the first place,” Eliot shot back, getting an idea. “I’m not risking it by sleeping. You never know if she doesn’t have them anyway.”

“Come on, man, you need the rest,” Hardison tried to argue.

“I already had more sleep than normal, Hardison. I’m fine,” Eliot replied. He did feel tired, but he wasn’t admitting that.

“But I promise I don’t have the markers,” Parker inserted herself into the conversation as well, showing that she only had some hundred dollar bills in her pockets along with some earrings that weren’t hers and a small stuffed mushroom.

“You literally just asked me if we could switch places so that you could lean against something,” it was clear that Hardison wasn’t believing him.

“I thought that you would want to sit next to Parker, sorry for trying to be nice,” he huffed out the truth, hoping it would get them off his back. They stayed silent, so he called out to the front: “Soph, can we please listen to something else, I am so not in the mood for opera.”

Sophie did change the station to something more generic with less high notes that made his head hurt, even if she grumbled: “Someone’s in a mood today.”

He snapped back: “You try getting beat up on a regular basis, see if you’re still sunshine and rainbows after.”

“No, for real, man, you’re never this grouchy,” Hardison frowned, trying to subtly check him over and failing on the subtle part. “Is something wrong? What’s going on?”

“Is there an alien in your stomach controlling you?” Parker asked with wide eyes.

“Dammit, Hardison, I told you not to watch those stupid alien movies with her,” Eliot focused on something other than the uncomfortable questions Hardison had asked.

Because yeah, he was more grouchy than normal and something was wrong, but the something that was wrong was the fact that he had discovered that he was in love with his two best friends and now he was stuck on an eight hour car ride between them after they had seen him vulnerable and he feared that they would catch on or that he was coming between them and it was all the confusing twisty things he had tried to avoid and didn’t want to talk about.

Grouchy didn’t entirely cover that.

“Uhm, excuse you, alien movies are a staple of American culture that everyone should get to experience, so don’t even start there, also you didn’t answer my question,” Hardison told him, leveling him with a stare.

Eliot now had a choice. And it was easily made. “I have a huge headache, Hardison,” he sighed a partially lie, before going on with a whole lie, “I have a headache, I barely slept on the last con and you’re all very loud. I don’t need anyone’s fussing, I just wanted to sit quietly and everyone is making it really hard.”

“Thank you for being honest with us,” Parker said and it was obviously something she’d learned from Sophie and Eliot felt guilty about pretending to be open about his injuries a bit, just so they would get off his back.

“Yeah, man, we’ll be quiet,” Hardison added.

Hardison turned back to his screen and Parker to her locks and Eliot tried not to miss their soft chatter as he closed his eyes and tried to find his zen place.

After how much he’d insisted he wasn’t going to sleep, he was slightly embarrassed that the next moment he was waking up, having been asleep for some time. He could tell Sophie was behind the wheel, which meant he either hadn’t been asleep for long or they were on the last two hour stretch home.

He now registered that the ice pack on his foot had was cool again and the one on his cheek was held in place by someone – Parker his mind supplied – but he was leaning against something, someone, else with his other cheek. He was kind of groggy and he struggled to wake up, blinking bleary until he heard Hardison’s voice near his left ear: “Hey there, finally joining us in the land of the living again, huh?”

“Wha?” he was still feeling disorientated, the headache was much worse than when he’d drifted off and his muscles were sore, he was also cold and his throat ached slightly in the background. He levered himself into a sitting position and tried to take a deep breath to wake up, only to find his nose stuffy.

No.

Fuck no.

It all clicked into place after a second. The confusion, the chills, the headache, sore muscles and throat and then also a stuffy nose. He was sick. He had managed to get himself sick.

“You okay?” Hardison asked, obviously concerned and Eliot felt guilty about having been asleep on his shoulder after everything, as well as guilt because that couldn't have been comfortable and Eliot just cozied up to him again, even when he knew Hardison had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who had been holding his ice pack for him.

He owed those two so much in just the last 24 hours alone, not to mention the past few years. That was something he couldn't pay back and he had treated them like shit and had caught weird feelings for them and gotten in between them.

Tears came to his eyes and he blinked them away as a hole started to eat away at his heart and he couldn't fully push that down, even if he tried.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that his too emotional state of being was due to his lower defenses since he was sick. He felt too exhausted to fight it, but did it after a moment anyway, replacing it with enough grumpiness to be believable.

“‘m fine,” he mumbled, trying not to make his sore throat obvious as he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake up. They didn’t need to know he was sick, they would only worry. He would disappear when they got home and come back when he felt better again. “Are we near the brewpub yet?”

“Yes, you slept for so long, it was a bit boring, but your nose whistled and that was funny,” Parker informed him. “Hardison was trapped under you the entire ride.”

Now at that he did blush and avoided Hardison’s eyes as he softly apologized.

“No worries, man, you obviously needed the sleep,” Hardison assured him. “And I wasn’t trapped under you the entire ride, we managed to lever you over to Parker’s shoulder when Nate took Sophie’s place again. We only switched you back last stop.”

“I didn’t wake up?” Eliot asked, frowning, he must be sicker than he thought.

“Slept like a baby,” Hardison said. “Are you sure you’re okay, man?”

“‘m fine, I already said that,” Eliot grouched, trying not to let show how much he wanted to not be okay and wrapped up in a hug or a blanket or something. He was the tough one, he couldn't be weak, because his job was being strong. Just hold on, Eliot, he thought, then you can crash on your bed.

“Your voice sounds off,” Parker observed, “more gravelly than normal. And you didn’t wake up in a second and your eyes are still drooping.” She cocked her head, before her eyes got a knowing gleam in them. He was made. “Do you feel hungry? Or are you nauseous? Are you in any discomfort? Cold, perhaps? How’s your headache?”

“Hey, mama, why don’t you give the man a rest,” Hardison came to his defense. “You’re kinda overwhelming him with questions right now.”

“When has Eliot ever been overwhelmed?” Parker shot back and Eliot cursed her observation skills, there went his plan to hide until he was better.

“What are you getting at, baby?” Hardison frowned.

“She figured out I’m sick,” Eliot snapped, before Parker could tell him. “And I’m right here. No need to talk about me like I’m not.”

“You’re sick?” Nate asked. “How long has that been going on?”

“I only noticed it when I woke up,” Eliot replied, remembering one of Nate’s rules. “I would have told you if I was sick on the con. I wouldn’t have put you all in danger over me being sick, you know that.”

“Is his wound infected?” Sophie asked and before Eliot could tell them that no it was not, because he would have noticed that, two small calloused thief hands crawled under his shirt, feeling at the bandage, before lifting his shirt to inspect it. Parker reported: “The wound is fine.”

“Do we have supplies for soup at home?” Hardison asked.

“I think we have a blanket for him somewhere under the chairs,” Nate said.

“Oehh, we can build a pillow fort!” Parker exclaimed.

“I’m right here,” Eliot grouched, he didn’t need their care. Craved it? Yes. But he didn’t need it and he wasn’t going to let them. He was supposed to be invincible and while they were long past believing that, he couldn't let them see how pathetic he was. “And I don’t need a damn blanket or soup, or a pillow fort. I’m just a bit under the weather and I am fine on my own. I’ll take a few days and then I’m good to go, don’t be so dramatic.”

Hardison looked him over, then looked at Parker and raised his brow in an ‘are you hearing this guy’ manner, before he said: “I can be as dramatic as I want to be.”

“What? No,” Eliot said. “I’m the sick one and if I say I’m fine and you gotta stop being dramatic about it, then you stop being dramatic about it. Simple.”

“Sure, simple,” Hardison said, pulling out the blanket and teamworking with Parker to get it around his shoulders. “Except I worried my ass off last night because you could hardly walk, or even stand on your own and you dazed out constantly while trying to tell us you were fine. So when it comes to you telling me you’re fine, I’m not really trusting you, alright.”

The blanket around his shoulders was warm and he wanted to burrow into it, but he wasn’t giving in so easily.

“Dammit, Hardison, I said I was fine. I don’t need any of your fussing near me, alright. I’m not incompetent. It’s not even that bad,” he yelled, snapping because he had no energy to do anything but snapping or giving in at this point. And giving in wasn’t an option.

“I know you’re not incompetent, Eliot, we all do,” Hardison said, Parker agreeing: “Of course we don’t think that, you’re skilled.”

He crossed his arms and looked away. He knew they didn’t think he was incompetent, they wouldn't trust him with their lives otherwise, but that could change at any moment. He’d seen it happen before, so he wasn’t risking it.

“And I’m also hearing a lot about you don’t needing anything, which I also believe,” Hardison went on in a tone that had Eliot’s guard up. “But I ain’t hearing nothing about wanting. And we care about you, man, how many times have I got to tell you that? We want to take care of you, even if we know you don’t need it.”

“I don’t need anyone playing nurse,” he protested again. It was weak and he knew it, but he had to protest, he had to warn them without explicitly warning them, because that would also be a weakness and- His head hurt and the thoughts in it were swirling and confusing him.

“That kinda looks like a lie to me,” Hardison said, looking him over with concern in his eyes. “And you’re again talking about needing not wanting.”

“Are you okay, Eliot?” Parker was also not happy with his face it seemed, but he knew he must look like a confused, sweating, hurt mess, with a swollen eye and a shivering frame. He had even pitifully burrowed into the blanket without even realizing.

“I’m- I’m- I don’t know,” he finally admitted. He was just tired and upset about feelings he couldn't place. He wanted to crash someplace warm and not have to think for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said again, voice unsteady. “It’s- I- I can never want something. ‘s a weakness.”

If he was paying attention, he could have pinpointed when Hardison’s heart broke by the look in his eye, but instead he was distracted by Parker pulling him into a hug as she said: “I get it, but Hardison taught me how to feel stuff and you taught me how to like stuff, we can teach you how to be taken care of.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Sophie’s voice was slightly fake in her enthusiasm as it came from the front seat, cutting off any half-formed protests from Eliot.

“Me too,” Hardison quickly agreed, throwing an arm over Eliot’s shoulder and pulling him close, until he was leaning against his chest, Parker on his lap like a pretzel. “We’ll teach you how to be taken care off and then you can work on your verbal explanations by teaching me how to make soup for you from the comforts of a bed.”

“Wha- I don’t-” Eliot’s mind was too confused to properly fight the argument, he somewhere knew needed to be fought, while also not wanting to fight it.

“It’s been a lot of don’ts from you, just accept it, alright?” Hardison said, pulling him closer and he wanted to protest again. Really, he did. But he was also very comfortable and warm and he was tired and they’d be home soon. He could fight them again when they were home.

In the end, it turned out that fighting them when they got home was a terrible plan. The sleeping had left him groggy and Nate and Sophie had already disappeared, leaving him with just Hardison’s comforting chattering and Parker’s puppy eyes. He couldn't drive home in this state and both had refused to drive him and he already had a room above the brewpub, so he could go home tomorrow if he felt like it and-

And he gave in, the great Eliot Spencer, defeated by cute little eyes and too many arguments about a comfortable bed nearby. What had his life come to?

His life had come to waking up in a soft bed, that Hardison had managed to get exactly right before he’d even arrived in Portland all those months ago, with a sore throat and muscles, while being nicely warm on his right side where a bony elbow was wedged into his side, while on the other side there was a consistent, comfortingly familiar tapping noise.

He blinked blearily and groaned when a wave of nausea rolled over him, before a coughing fit overtook him. Parker’s warmth disappeared, but Hardison’s voice came: “Hey, hey, you’re alright, you’re alright.”

A glass of water appeared and he took it gratefully, sipping it slowly and letting it sooth his throat and wash away the itch at the back of it.

“You’ve been clonked out for the past few hours, about sixteen. How you feeling?” And Eliot was grateful that Hardison knew him well enough to first tell him how much time he’d lost before asking him about his state.

“I’m fine,” he replied, but his voice was barely a whisper.

“That response is really ingrained, isn’t it, huh?” Hardison said, but there was no judgment in his voice.

“Oehh, is that one of the things we’re teaching him to stop with? Like how I had to look further than the alarms in a museum?” Parker piped up.

“Yeah, exactly, mama,” Hardison’s smile was obvious when he talked. “He can start by telling us how he really feels.”

And Eliot was honestly too tired to follow the conversation, so he gave up on trying and just answered honestly: “Like I’ve been hit by a motorcycle.”

“Not a truck?” Hardison asked.

“No, motorcycle hit is very distinctive.”

“You and your distinctive,” the mutter was more for Hardison himself than him, so he ignored it. “Parker, baby, if I go get the soup, can you make sure he doesn’t drop off again. He needs to eat if he wants to recover.”

“Of course, I’ll keep watch!” Parker saluted and Hardison left the room.

Eliot let his eyes close, content to just lie there, but Parker obviously thought he was falling asleep again, because she poked his right cheek where the bruise was. It was less tender than last time, but still sore, so he hissed: “The fuck, Parker.”

“I need to keep you awake,” she said with wide eyes and he wanted to roll his, but that would make her sad, so he just sighed and leaned back into his pillow, this time with his eyes open.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to put together the little bit of information his brain was willing to give him.

“Well, you were out beating people up in the rain,” she launched into an explanation, “and Hardison says you don’t actually get sick from the rain, but you did get sick and me and Hardison are taking care of you, but you were really grumpy on the drive back, but then you fell asleep. And your nose whistled.”

He let her voice wash over him as she went on.

“But then you woke up and you were really sad about something, but also grouchy and then Hardison did his thing, where he gets people and has like the voice that tells him what you need to hear. He and Sophie both do it, it’s fascinating, he’s teaching me how to do it too. And you gave in, because you wanted to, but you didn’t want to tell us, so we had to crack your emotion safe with our words and now we’re going to teach you how to be taken care of,” she finished.

Wait what? He had put most of the pieces together and part of him had only partially questioned why they were in his bed, but he hadn’t remembered this. He thought they were just here to see if he woke up again and now that he had, he could throw them out of his room (going to his apartment seemed too hard at this point), but not this.

Before the freak out could fully set in, Hardison entered with a bowl of steaming soup. “Here you go, chicken noodle soup, the best for when you’re sick and homemade,” Hardison grinned. “I really want to say by us, but we set a pan on fire and then asked the kitchen staff to make it.”

He wordlessly accepted the soup, still trying to figure out what was going on exactly, how he felt about it and how he would get out of it.

Yeah, okay, what the fuck had his life come to?

~~

A/N:

I really like the idea of Eliot being fine with the insane driving off Sophie and Parker, because it’s at least functional in a getaway situation, but he can’t stand Nate’s just below average driving (personal headcanon) in an everyday situation. It tickles me.

Also I know that Lucille doesn’t have a backseat bench, but the vibes were too good so just go with it

[writingsonawall]

Falling, fallen chapter 1

Pairings: Spencer Reid x OFC

Story summary: Spencer randomly meets Leah at the library and their first encounter was supposed to be just that; a random one-time occurance. When an unsub lands Spencer in the very same hospital she works at, she feels obligated to take care of him. But what happens when his team notices her everlooming presence and theorises that perhaps she could be the unsub they’re looking for?

Chapter summary: The guy Leah had met at the library just an hour ago suddenly gets wheeled into the ER where she works. 

Warnings: Mention of blood, but not a lot.

Wordcount: 6,6 k

Prologue, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7,

Leah hadn’t even been on call for half an hour when a stretcher was rolled in through the doors of the ER, someone shouting “Male, early thirties! Gunshotwound to the lower abdomen.” That was about all she was able to concentrate on. The ER was a mess of chaos, every available doctor and nurse running between patients. People were running into each other, medicalequipments crashing onto the floor every now and then, some patients screaming out in pain… Leah could feel the beginning of a migraine sneaking up on her. She almost never worked in the ER, usually sticking to Post Op. or the ICU, but there had been a masscollision on the highway that night so it was kind of like an all hands on deck situation. 

Leah was currently working on picking out broken glass from the arm of an elderly woman. It wasn’t a terrible wound, but judging by the way it was bleeding she’d probably need stitches. Still, Leah had no idea why she was there. Her injuries weren’t lifethreatning and the ER was overcrowded with other patients who actually needed their attention more than this woman. She’d be just fine if she had gone to an urgent care, but Leah wasn’t about to argue.

 “Leah, I’m gonna need you with me in traumaroom 2.” Dr. Ruiz called over the noise and it gathered her attention. She caught his glance across the room and saw that he was following the stretcher which had just been brought in by the ambulance. Leah quickly mumbled her apologies to the woman, pulled off her gloves and started to navigate through the sea of chaos. She eventually pushed the doors of traumaroom 2 open, rubbing her hands dry from the sanitizer she’d covered them with. 

“What’s his status?” Leah asked once she entered, quickly making her way over to the man laying across the stretcher. She knew why Dr. Ruiz had called her in here. The patient was a gunshotvictim, which usually meant a lot of blood. Typically, in cases like this, there were two doctors to check the injuries and make medicaldecisions. Gunshotwounds were always messy and it was hard to know what to expect, so two doctors in the room was always ideal, just in case the patient were to crash or there was a lifethreatning injury. But currently all doctors seemed to be otherwise occupied, so Leah understood why Dr. Ruiz had called her in. Blood and gore never bothered her, it actually made her calmer. The more pressure she had on her shoulders, the calmer and more collected she stayed. She was on the traumateam for a reason, although be it as a nurse, so she had seen a thing or two in her past. 

“Oh my God, Spencer!” She exclaimed, surprised to discover the identity of the man sprawled out in front of her. She stood there frozen in place for a moment, wondering what had happened. She had left him at the library not even an hour previously and now he was here, blood pooling slowly from the open wound in his abdomen. 

The surprise only shocked her for a split second before she shook herself out of her thoughts. Stroking a hand over his forehead, she matted his mop of curls out his face. Using a thumb to force one of his eyelids open, she grabbed a small flashlight from the pocket of her scrubs. 

“Spencer, can you hear me?” She asked him, shining the light into his eyes a few times, watching for any sort of unusual reaction of his pupils. She did the same with the other eye. “Spencer?” She asked once more. He was out cold, but his pupils responded as expected so that made her a little more at ease. 

“You know him?” Dr. Ruiz asked over his shoulder, roaming through the cabinets to find all the equipments he’d need to fully check the injuries. 

“Well, kinda,” Leah answered, not knowing what else to say in that moment. There was no use to lie about the fact that she’d met him an hour earlier, but she didn’t exactly know him. 

“Are you gonna be okay with this or do you need to step out?” Dr. Ruiz asked her, finally returning to stand at Spencer’s other side. 

“I’m good,” Leah told him, probably a little too fast to sound convincing. But it was true, she was nothing if not professional. 

“Okay,” Dr. Ruiz nodded. “Ready to move him?” He asked and it was Leah’s turn to nod. She pushed the stretcher closer to the bed in the room as Dr. Ruiz got out of the way. Locking the breaks of the stretcher so it wouldn’t budge, she grabbed a tight hold of the sheet underneath Spencer as the doctor did the same on the other side. They locked eyes and counted. One, two, three. In a split second they had Spencer lifted onto the bed with such ease it looked like they had done it a hundred times before. Which they actually probably had. Dr. Ruiz was one of the doctors Leah worked closest with, since he was typically stationed at Post Op. When they were both on call, Leah was nomally the person Dr. Ruiz would call for if he needed help. They were kind of a dream team; a force to be reckoned with whenever they worked together. 

As the doctor started to cut Spencer’s shirt open, Leah wheeled the stretcher out into the hall to give them space. Locking the door behind her again, she quickly took a look at his medicalfile which another nurse had just delivered in her hand. 

“This is gonna hurt. Let’s push for 10mg Oxycodone,” Dr. Ruiz told her once she returned to Spencer’s side. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Cave morphine,” Leah told him as she started slicing Spencer’s shirt open from his sleeve up to his shoulder. 

“Addiction or allergy?” The dortor asked. 

“Addiction. Dilaudid,” Leah informed him, having just read it in his file. She had already snapped gloves onto her hands and was working on getting the IV-kit ready. “Tramadol would be a safer option, right?” Tramadol was usually the kind of drugs they’d give to patients after minor surgeries or injuries to manage the pain. It was hardly as effective as Oxy-preparations, but it  was usually still enough to take the edge off. They hardly ever used it before they were able to assess the pain level of the patients, but it still seemed to be the least addictive morphinecontaining drug they had at hand. And given Spencer’s injuries some sort of morphine was needed despite what his medicalfile said. He needed something for the pain and NSAIDs weren’t going to cut it in that moment. They could handle whatever addiction-problem he had later; when he wasn’t in a potential life-threatening situation.

Dr. Ruiz nodded his head acutely, ordering her to administer 50mg. Leah worked quickly, finding a usable vein in Spencer’s hand and poking the cannula into it. Taping it down onto his hand, she hooked a bag of ring acetate to the pole by the bed and connected the tube to the IV. She noticed Spencer twitching a little at that and she moved to stand over his head. 

“Spencer, are you awake?” She asked, once again matting his hair back. She noted, even through the gloves she was wearing, that he was warm and sweaty. “I’m gonna give you something for the pain, okay? It’s Tramadol, so I hope that’s okay,” she informed him, even though she highly doubted that he was coherent enough to register her words. She did as she’d said she’d do, pushing a needle Dr. Ruiz had readied for her into the IV-tube and slowly administered the drug. While the painkillers worked its way through his system, she leaned over to help Dr. Ruiz. She put pressure on the wound on his abdomen while the doctor probed around with an ultrasound, trying to look for anything that could indicate whether Spencer had an internal bleeding. 

It didn’t even take a minute before Spencer calmed down, his twitching stopping completely and his breathing evening out. She was glad for that, not wanting him to be more uncomfortable than necessary. 

“You paged me?” A woman's voice startled Leah and she turned to the door which was now wide open. She was another doctor, but Leah couldn’t really recall her name. Not that she really cared either. 

“Yes!” Dr. Ruiz said, tightening the bandage they had just wrapped around Spencer’s wound. It was still bleeding, but the wrappings should be able to hold for the transport to the OR. “GSW to the lower abdomen. Patient is non responding, but stable. No sign of internal bleeding, but I’m sure he needs surgery to remove that bullet,” Dr. Ruiz informed the other woman who nodded along. She moved further into the room and cast a quick look at Spencer, checking the vitals, pupil responses, making sure the oxygenprosentage of his mask was correct before she once again nodded. 

“I agree. He’s stable enough to be moved? Then we should wheel him down to Pre Op.,” she concluded. 

“I’ll go with him,” Leah found herself speaking before she could even register those thoughts. 

“No, no, no, Leah,” Dr. Ruiz said, laying a clean hand on her shoulder. “I need you here in the ER. I’ll go with him and I’ll keep you updated. Don’t worry, he’s going to be fine.” His words reassured her a little. It’s not like Spencer was a friend or anything, but she knew him enough to put a name to the face and that brought this whole case a little closer to home. But she let him go, knowing she was needed more in the ER. 

She kept her hands busy for the next two hours before Dr. Ruiz finally returned, hovering just behind her as she was working on trying to determine if she should send the teenager in front of her up to radiology or not. 

“He’s in surgery now,” Dr. Ruiz informed her, not giving a care to the boy Leah was inspecting. He cried out in pain when she moved his foot at an odd angle. 

“I think he needs to take a trip over to radiology. Do you mind signing the papers?” Leah asked the doctor, not wanting to talk about Spencer right now, especially not in front of another patient. She let Dr. Ruiz take over the patient, but she hovered around until they had sent the boy on his way. She cleaned up after herself and took a glance around the ER. It was getting quiet now. The rush of patients had died down now and she spotted several doctors and nurses just hanging around, chatting and taking a well deserved minibreak. 

“Come on,” Dr. Ruiz said, putting a gentle hand on Leah’s shoulder. “Let’s grab a quick coffee and then you can head up to the ICU.” Leah had never felt more relieved by the idea of a cup of the shitty coffee the hospital had to offer. She really needed coffee now. 

Leah had always liked Dr. Ruiz. She considered him a friend, at least a workfriend. It’s not just that they worked well together, but he was always very considerate; always being there if she needed a shoulder to cry on at the end of a hard day, pushing her to take a break because she always refused to, bringing her powerbars if there was a busy day and they didn’t have time for a real meal. He was nice and she liked how she could always lean on him. 

“I don’t actually know him,” Leah finally spoke up once they had both filled up their cups with the cheap stuff the vendingmachines wanted to pass as coffee. Dr. Ruiz didn’t say anything, just gave a gesture of his hand for her to continue. He leaned back against the wall of the corridor and Leah mirrored him. “We just met earlier today, actually. I forgot my librarycard at the library and he found it, handed it back. We just had a small conversation, nothing big. But then I got called in for the accident, so I had to leave. I mean, I’d seen him just an hour ago and then they wheeled him in,” she explained, not really knowing what to feel. 

“And what? You blame yourself or something?” He asked, clearly reading her mind. 

“No, not really,” she told him, which was an obvious lie. “I guess it just shocked me. I don’t know. I mean, maybe it could have been me. I don’t even know what happened to him, but I keep thinking that it could have been me. Or maybe if I had stayed a little longer then this wouldn’t have happened at all.” She hadn’t heard anything about what had actually happened. Maybe it had been a robbery gone wrong, or maybe there had been a shootout and he was in the middle of the crossfire. She didn’t suspect the last one since they hadn’t received any other gunshotwound-patients, but the possibilities were still endless. All she knew was that he was brought in with a bullet in his abdomen and that he would hopefully pull through. 

“You know, you should really stop thinking like that. It’s not healthy,” Dr. Ruiz told her and it was exactly what she needed to hear. No bullshit excuse about how it wasn’t her fault or that there wouldn’t have been anything she could’ve done. Just a plain and simple command to stop overthinking. It made a small smile play on her lips. 

“Yeah, well… How can I not?” She asked him, glancing up. He gave her a sad smile, knowing it was hard to let those thoughts go. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his body. Leah sighed, leaning her head back into his shoulder while taking a sip of her coffee. He didn’t say anything else and neither did she. They just stayed there in silence for another few moments before he started leading her down the corridor. They said their goodbyes in front of the ICU, Dr. Ruiz promised he’d keep her updated on Spencer’s surgery. 

Leah prepared for a long night. Nightshifts were usually crap because it was so quiet and she was the kind of person who needed things to do. If she didn’t, she usually got all fidgety and restless, which was also why she never liked reading. She couldn’t sit still for longer periods of time. The more things she had to do, the better she felt once she got home at the end of the day. She had also prepared for a doubleshift, knowing the morning would be busy with doctorvisits, family coming to see their loved ones, breakfast coming around and helping certain patients go to the bathroom and get cleaned up. Yeah, she looked forward to the morning, but for right now she dreaded the long night ahead. 

Dr. Ruiz came up a little after two in the morning to let her know that Spencer was out of surgery and was recovering nicely. He’d been lucky, the bullet not hitting any major organs, but it had nicked his bladder so they were afraid of how his bladdercontrol would be. They wanted to keep him catheterized for a few days just to make sure everything was working properly. Apparently, he was also risking the development of internal bleeding and infections. Leah knew that, there was always a risk of that when it came to injuries like Spencer’s, but it rarely ever happened, not unless the bullet had nicked something or the surgery went wrong. But there was still a chance, so they always informed each other of it. She still knew that chances were slim so she wasn’t overly concerned about it. She was mostly happy he was going to be fine. 

Spencer was rolled into his own room at the ICU around 3:30 A.M. and Leah made it her personal business to check up on him. She finished the rest of her round rather quickly after that. Once she finished up the most important tasks she grabbed a fresh cup of coffee and some food from the cafeteria. For the next hour she hid out in Spencer’s room, figuring she’d deserved a nice, long break since she was going to pull a doubleshift. It was a quiet night anyway so she didn’t even feel remotely bad about it. 

He woke up a little before six in the morning, groaning softly from the bed beside her. Leah glanced over at him, giving him a moment to orient himself. She knew that her position was highly unprofessional; sitting a chair beside him with her feet propped up on his bed next to his. But she didn’t care. Her feet were aching and she loved being able to relieve the pressure for a little while. So, she played it cool, deciding it would be worse to drop her legs down in embarrassment. 

“Well, hey there, Stranger!” Leah decided to greet him with the biggest smile she could master. Spencer seemed to be more alert now and he had glanced everywhere imaginable; the door, her feet, the heartmonotor, the IV-bag, the ceiling. Still, his eyes wavered between her feet and her face. 

“You’re wearing mismatched socks,” he finally said. Leah couldn’t help but chuckle at that. That was probably the strangest thing anyone had ever said to her after coming out of surgery. 

“You know, we ruled out braintrauma pretty early on, but maybe we should still call neuro?” She teased. She could see a blush creep up his cheeks, taininting them in under half a second. His eyes roamed around again, finally locking in on the clock hanging above the door. 

“No, that won’t be necessary,” he told her bluntly and Leah felt like he probably wasn’t in jokingmood. “Where are my things? I need to call my boss,” he said trying to move up into a sitting position. Leah decided to just watch him struggle for a moment, finding it highly amusing even though she was still a little worried about him. He was probably still woozy from the anesthesia so sitting up appeared to be a struggle. Finally, Leah dropped her feet from his bed when he groaned out in pain. She walked over to him, putting both her hands on his shoulder and pushing him firmly back. 

“Don’t pull your stitches,” she told him. She took a seat in the chair again, grabbing the remote to bed and began to raise his back. He groaned out again when he was almost sitting, so she lowered the back a few notches again. “Don’t be a baby now,” she teased, but her voice was probably a little harsh. She couldn’t help it. She’d had a long day and she had been really worried about him. 

“I’m not a baby,” he whispered and Leah could see a pout on his lips. It only made her smirk. 

“You sure about that?” She asked, leaning over to snatch his file from the holder at the end of the bed. “You know what they say, right? About doctors being the worst patients?” She raised an eyebrow at him to give him the indication that she knew he was a doctor. It was in his file after all. 

“I’m not that kind of doctor,” he informed her and Leah just chuckled.

“Yeah, I figured that much out. I’ve been around enough real doctors, so trust me when I say you’re definitely not the type,” she laughed. “No offense, of course,” she decided to add as an afterthought. 

“None taken,” he replied, a little slurred. Leah looked over at him. “Can I call my boss now?” He asked and Leah sighed. 

“Spencer, look… they’re already here, your friends I mean-” He cut her off before she even had the chance to say anything else. 

“They’re not my friends. They’re my team.” His words surprised her. She hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to them yet, but she’d heard that they had all been really worried and constantly asked for updates on his condition. They seemed genuinely worried about his wellbeing. 

“And they can’t be your friends because they’re ‘your team’?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“Are you friends with your coworkers?” Spencer asked back, and it should’ve been a witty comeback, but he actually sounded interested in knowing. 

“Can’t say that I am,” she said after pondering the thought for a second or so. “Touché, by the way. But my point is, just take a minute to wake up a little bit. I’ll go get them later so you can see them, okay? Just please… take a breather, alright? And I want the doctor to take a look at you first as well. Do you even remember what happened? You just woke up from surgery after getting shot. Let that sink in before I call them in.” 

“I’m fine,” Spencer insisted, but Leah just shot him a stern look. She stared him down for what felt like too long before he finally caved, leaning a little further back in his seat with a sigh. 

“Good,” Leah smiled. She took a moment to really study him for the first time. He was actually really handsome, with these greenish eyes which got more honeybrown towards the middle and shaggy brown hair which she suspected was always unkept. His nose was straight and his lips slightly plump, skin clean. He actually looked like a specimen. The only negative thing she could point out were the dark circles under his eyes and she felt her heartstring tug a little, wondering what nightmares kept him up at night. The nasal cannula going into his nostrils made him look even sicker than he probably was, but it was still a sight for poor eyes. 

“So, you’re… a nurse?” He asked after a few more moments of silence. Leah couldn’t help the bashful smile that stretched across her lips. 

“Well, isn’t that kind of obvious?” She laughed, adoring how cute he was when he got all awkward. She took a sip of her coffee and decided it was time to call for the doctor, so she reached over Spencer's head to press the green button on the wall. Spencer was giving her a strange look and she had no idea what that meant. “What?” She asked him, cocking an eyebrow. His intense stare was kind of making her uneasy, but there was no way she was going to show him that. 

“I just didn’t take you for the nursing-type,” he mumbled. “No offense,” he quickly added, just as she had done previously. But he looked almost terrified about it, as if he was actually afraid he’d insulted her. Leah could only laugh. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t exactly picture myself as the type either, but here we are. I’m damn good at my job, though.” As if on cue the door to the room opened and Sophie, a young girl who happened to be Leah’s intern, stepped through the door. She decided to have a little fun with that. “Ah! Dr. Reid, meet my intern. Sophie, this is Dr. Reid. You’re in charge of him when I’m not here. Got it?” Spencer gave her an uncertain glance and Sophie had a look of pure horror on her face. She locked eyes with Leah, the ‘Oh dear God, he’s a doctor’ kind of look written over her face. Sophie was a sweet girl, but kind of slouch, and Leah had a tendency to play small little tricks to get her to work just a little harder. Knowing that the patient was a doctor (she didn’t need to know he wasn’t a medical doctor) would definitely nudge her to go the extra mile. 

“You, um, you called?” Sophie asked a little uncertainly and Leah found herself pleased when she noted the not so subtle way she leaned over to take a pump of the handsanatizer hanging on the wall by the door. It had been one of the many things Leah had added to her list of improving areas; always sanitize your hands before entering and leaving a patient’s room. 

“Yeah,” Leah tried to hide her grin. “Who’s on call right now?” She asked, knowing she could just as well walk out the door and find out herself, but she loved torturing her interns just a little bit. She never crossed the line, but she always pushed them around just enough that they’d remember who was in charge. She loved it, a little innocent fun. 

“Uhm, well… There’s you, obviously… and, uh, me and-” Sophie started and Leah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Sophie, calm down. It’s fine. I mean doctors, who’s on call?” Leah smiled up at Sophie, trying to reassure her that she’d only been joking. Well, at least half-joking. That was another one of Sophie’s flaws; she was too uncertain of herself and could hardly handle a joke. 

“Oh, um. I’m not sure,” Sophie mumbled, but didn’t make any move to find out. Leah just stared at her until she lifted her eyes to glance back. 

“So?” Leah asked and Sophie looked even more confused at that. “Are you gonna find out for me?” That seemed to startle her because she almost jumped. 

“Oh, right! Yes, I’ll be right back.” She was out the door so fast Leah couldn’t help but laugh. She shook her head to herself and stood up from the chair, leaning closer to the heartmonitor and noting down Spencer’s vitals on his chart. 

“That was mean,” Spencer mumbled. Leah looked at him for a second, pausing her hand which was still writing. 

“It’s a bit of innocent fun. I’m their boss and you see that pager behind you,” she pointed her pen at the wall behind his head. She didn’t even wait for him to try to turn around to look at it before she continued. “It makes me their God,” she finished with a smug smile and gave him a wink. Spencer narrowed his eyes at her. 

“She’s your intern. You’re supposed to teach her, not scare her half to death.” He sounded almost angry, despite the uncertainty in his voice. Wow, this guy really couldn’t take a joke. Leah sighed. 

“Look, it’s a bit of innocent fun. We have a good relationship and we always have a little debriefing at the end of the day. She’d tell me if I was being too harsh on her,” she said. She finished the chart and put it down in the holder by the end of the bed. She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed a little. “You probably think I’m too rough on her or whatever, and sure, I probably am. But here’s the thing, and I probably shouldn’t even tell you this, but she’s insecure. She needs to learn how to stand on her own two feet. She’s probably gonna lash out on me one of these days and I’m gonna be so proud of her the day she does. She’s a snowflake and she really needs to learn how to stand up for herself.” She decided it was best to just be honest with him. In all honesty she shouldn’t care what Spencer thought of her, but she did. She didn’t want him to think that she was some heartless bitch. She loved being a mentor and loved looking out for her interns. Sophie, despite all her flaws, was her favourite. Leah could see her potential, if she just worked past her insecurities she’d be a damn fine nurse one day. 

“So, you’re… bullying her to make her, what, stand up for herself?” Spencer asked, surprise lacing his voice, but he didn’t sound angry anymore. That was a good thing, she guessed. 

“I’m not bullying her. Just pushing her buttons a little. Call it reversed psychology or whatever. It always works.” Leah grabbed her zipup hoodie which she had draped over the chair and stuck her arms through. She shook the hood in place so it wasn’t one giant ball in the back of her neck. Spencer gave her a small smile and she wondered what he was thinking. She didn’t want to stay long enough to figure out though. “Okay, well… I’ll go see about that doctor. I’ll go get your friends in a while, so hang out and try to, I don’t know, relax I guess? Call if you need anything,” she told him, placing a gentle hand on his arm just because she could. Grabbing her coffeecup under her armpit she took a few pumps of handsanatizer on the way out. She made her way to the nursesation just as Sophie came practically running down the hall. 

“Jameson’s on call right now,” She said, almost sounding out of breath. Leah wondered if she had been running all over the Goddamned hospital to figure that out. 

“Okay, did you tell him to take a look at 104?” She asked and Sophie’s eyes went wide. Leah realized quickly what that meant. “No, no! Sophie, it’s okay. Seriously. I’ll go find him. Don’t worry about it,” Leah gave her a reassuring smile, reaching out to squeeze both her shoulders. “Did you finish your schedule yet?” She asked, knowing her interns had some kind of schedule, like a plan, they were supposed to follow.

“Uhm, well, I still have to take out the trash in 109 and I have some other small things I haven’t done yet, but-”

“Don’t worry about that,” Leah cut her off with a dismissive wave of her hand. She threw away her now empty papercup and hung her hoodie over the chair by the computer. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. Take a break or something, get some air, whatever.” Sophie seemed a little reluctant to the idea, but nodded her head acutely. 

“Would you, uhm, like me to bring you back some more coffee? Black right?” Sophie asked and Leah couldn’t help but grin at her. 

“Yes, please. Take your time, though.” With that Sophie took her leave and Leah went to find Dr. Jameson to let him know that Spencer was awake and needed a quick check. She then went back to the nursingstation to check what was next on her to-do list. She finished her round rather quickly, even with Sophie’s small list of things she’d neglected to do, or hadn’t gotten around to do or for whatever other reason just hadn’t done yet. It was just minor things, so she didn’t mind. Sophie seemed to have been doing alright with everything else. 

When she once again returned to the nursingstation there was a steaming papercup with her name on it, decorated with a simple smileyface. Leah smiled at that. She sat down by the computer and started documenting the most important details of the nightswatch so the morningshift would know what had gone down. Just as she was about to finish up, Sophie approached her, fidgeting a little. 

“Thanks for the coffee, Sophie,” Leah told her, hoping that would ease her nervousness a little. 

“Oh, no problem!” Sophie smiled. “Uhm, Jameson took a look at the good doctor in 104 and-” Leah had to cut her off with a chuckle. 

“That’s what we’re calling him now?” 

“Well… he hasn’t yelled at me yet for screwing up and he’s actually been kind of polite, so… I guess?” She sounded so uncertain again. 

“Well, what did you screw up?” Leah wasn’t mad. Everyone made mistakes, even her, and she just needed to know if it was a major blowup she had to document or if it was a small thing that could hardly be called a mistake. 

“Oh, nothing I think? I’m just really afraid of messing up,” Sophie told her, rather nonchalantly and Leah felt a little proud of her for not freaking out.  

“Okay, good. Look, Sophie… You don’t have to be afraid of messing up. Everyone messes up and I won’t get mad or anything, alright? You know I’m only teasing you, right? I don’t mean anything by it.” Leah always felt good about having these heart to heart talks with Sophie. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just, uhm, I’m kinda awkward, I guess.” Leah laughed at that and Sophie gave a soft chuckle as well. Good thing for her that Spencer seemed twice as awkward as her. Maybe that would help boost her confidence. 

“Anyway, sorry I cut you off. What were you gonna say about the good doctor?” Leah really liked that nickname, it seemed to be suiting him. 

“Oh, yeah! Uhm, Jameson said that everything seemed to be alright, but wants to keep him here under observation at least until tomorrow just to make sure. And he’s still on antibiotics four times a day and we can amp up his painkillers, but he doesn’t want any morphine.” That last part didn’t surprise her whatsoever. “And he decided to switch off the oxygen for now, but to keep it on standby just in case his saturation decreases.” That wasn’t a surprise either. Most patients receive oxygen after surgery because the anesthesia could make them sluggish and their breathing labored. Once it wears off they’d be taken off oxygen as well. 

“Okay, that’s good,” Leah said, nodding along. “Anything else?” 

“Oh, yeah. He, uhm, wants to see his coworkers now and I told him he could only see two at a time, because that’s still the rule, right? He wanted to see Hotch and J.J. first. I guess you could get them?” Leah nodded her head and gave Sophie a pat on the back before returning to finish up her reports. It was around 6:45 A.M. when she headed out to the waiting area with her coffeecup in hand, recently refilled after she’d downed the one Sophie had brought her.

“Do I have a Hotch and J.J. for Spencer Reid?” Leah asked, scanning the waitingarea. She somehow knew the people she was looking for before they rose from their seats to come greet her. The whole group of, wow, six people practically came running for her. 

“Is he okay?” One of the women, dressed in a very colorful dress and an excessive amount of accessories asked, almost screaming out. She must have been very worried. Leah noted the flowers in her hand and grimaced at the thought of having to tell her later that flowers weren’t allowed in the ICU.

“He’s fine. He’s fully awake now,” Leah tried to reassure her. “He’s given me permission to share the specifics of his condition, so I can do that now, or you can wait for the doctorsvisit later today to get some more details. He’s just been checked out by a doctor now, though, and everything seems to be alright. He’ll probably stay in the ICU until tomorrow at least before we consider moving him.” She gave them the rest of what she knew and they seemed pleased that he was doing okay. So was Leah. Bulletwounds to the abdomen were typically gnarly cases, but Spencer had been really lucky. 

“Can we see him now?” The darkhaired woman asked, sounding just as worried as the other one had been just a minute ago. 

“Sure, but he’s in the ICU and we only allow two visitors at a time. We’ve asked and he wanted to see Hotch and J.J. first,” Leah told them, still having no idea who the respective ones were. 

“What, so I don’t get to see him?” The dark skinned man asked. He sounded angry, annoyed and frustrated, but Leah didn’t find him intimidating whatsoever, even despite the fact that he towered over her. 

“As I said, only two at a time. But he can have visitors all day for all I care, so you can take turns to see him, I don’t care how you do it. But only two at a time.” She tried to sound stern, but she also had sympathy for them. They’d been worried sick all night and they probably wanted to storm his room and hug him.

“Come on! That’s a bunch of bullshit!” The man yelled, obviously getting a little agitated. Leah wanted to step forward forward, put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down or something, but before she got the chance the tall man in the suit, yes a Goddamned suit, stepped forward. 

“Morgan,” He raised his hand in a stopmotion which immediately calmed the man down. “We’ll be quick. You’ll get to see him.” That seemed to do the trick because he sighed in defeat and stepped back. 

“Alright then, follow me!” Leah said and turned on her heel, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. She had other things to do, not really, but she could at least pretend she did. Standing in the waitingroom and arguing with friends and family of patients was not something she wanted to spend her whole day doing. 

“Wait, Sir. Can you bring him these for me?” Leah noticed that it was Flowerwoman who had spoken. 

“Actually, Ma’am… flowers are not allowed in the ICU either. I’m really sorry. If we move him to another unit tomorrow, you can bring him whatever you want, but as of right now I’m gonna have to say no,” she said, turning her body to give the woman an apologetic look. 

“Oh.” She sounded utterly wrecked as she uttered the simple word and it made Leah a little sad. These people cared so deeply for Spencer. How could he possibly claim they weren’t his friends?

She brought J.J,, a young woman a little taller than herself, and Hotch, the man who had calmed down the black man earlier, through the doors of the ICU. She quickly located Spencer’s room and knocked on the door a few times before entering. He seemed pleasantly surprised to see his colleagues following right behind her. 

“Oh, Spence!” J.J. exclaimed, rushing over to his bed. Leah rubbed some sanitizer on her hands as she watched her bend down to give him a gentle hug. She grabbed his chart from the end of his bed again and noted down his vitals as the three of them exchanged their greetings, also reading through what the doctor had written earlier. 

“Dr. Jameson was in here earlier. He explained that we’ve taken you off oxygen, right?” She hated to break up their happy reunion, but she had to give him some information before she bid her farewell. They all turned to look at her as she disposed of the chart again. “You understand that if you experience any shortness of breath, any dizzyness, anything at all you have to call, right?” She asked, looking directly at Spencer. 

“Well, I’m a doctor, so, of course I understand.” His response brought a smile onto her lips. 

“Well, you’re not that kind of doctor,” Leah laughed, throwing his previous words back at his face. “Do you need anything before I leave?” She asked and Spencer shook his head. “Well, if you do, don’t hesitate to call,” she told him seriously while pointing at the caller behind his head. She turned to leave when Spencer spoke up again. 

“Does, uhm, does that mean I’ll be your God?” Leah was stunned a little, not fully understanding what he meant, but then she remembered how she’d previously joked about being a God to her interns. Wow, her brain was working slowly. She needed more coffee. 

“Hey! Don’t push it now.” She tried to be stern, but her lips tugged upwards on their own accord. She then bid her goodbyes, shutting the door on the way out.

[rosiehunterwolf]

two halves of a broken whole

Prompts: Scars and Free Space (stealing Post-Fight from the twixt board)

Word Count: 2,191

Characters: Nya and Zane

Timeline: Immediately after season 9

Trigger Warnings: Blood, Needles, Brief Swearing

Summary: The Sons of Garmadon have been defeated. Garmadon is in prison. The city has been saved.

In the aftermath of the battle, Nya is more than ready to take a much-needed break. But the life of a ninja is messy. Recovery is never that simple. Although the wounds may have healed, the scars still remain.

Zane’s scars seem to match up, though. And maybe together, they can begin to heal.

Read on FFN.net

Read on Ao3

Tumblr work under the cut

Nya stumbled through the dark kitchen, searching through the cabinets. She gritted her teeth as pain flared in her arm. Where are those painkillers? Ugh, how does Skylor find anything in here? There’s no system!

She gasped in relief as she finally found the medicine cabinet, but as she reached out to grab a bottle, she bumped her bad arm against the cabinet door. Crying out in pain, she jerked her arm back, and the bottles came tumbling down and clattering loudly to the floor.

“Damn it all,” she groaned, leaning her head against the cabinet. “Stupid, stupid arm, why do you have to be so weak-”

“Nya?”

Nya jumped, hitting her head against the cabinet door. “Ow! Zane, what are you doing here-”

The nindriod crossed the small kitchen in two steps, yanking off the damp towel she had draped across her upper arm, revealing a long, bloody cut stretching across the length of it.

“I knew it,” Zane muttered. “Nya, why would you hide something like this?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, I-”

“Not that big of a deal? Nya, this is serious! You need stitches! Next time, say something!”

She winced. “I didn’t want to bother you guys- Lloyd was way more hurt than I was, you guys had your hands full with him.”

“You could’ve gone to Skylor.”

“I wanted to prove I could do it, okay?” Nya snapped. “Skylor was so strong, walking off Garmadon’s power corruption like it was nothing. And she was being so generous, letting us all crash in her house like this- I didn’t want to bother her anymore, but instead, I just ended up bleeding out all over her bathroom floor.”

Zane shot her a sympathetic glance. “Nya, don’t worry about that now. Skylor will understand, and I can clean it up. The only thing we care about is that you are safe. Here, go sit down.” He gestured towards a kitchen chair and headed towards the cabinet. Nya slumped over into the chair, still clutching her arm, and Zane rooted through the medicine bottles, finally pulling out the painkillers and handing her three large pills and a glass of water. She eyed them warily.

“Isn’t this a little much? I mean, it hurts, but not that bad.”

“I still have to give you stitches, remember?”

“Oh. You’re doing that now?” Zane turned away, and Nya took the opportunity to down the pills, using the cheap coffee she had made herself to help her swallow instead of the water Zane had given her. “Nya, if I don’t do this now it will only make the cut worse.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know- ow!” she yelped as Zane rubbed at the wound with a wet, antiseptic-soaked washcloth, the fabric quickly staining red.

“I need to clean it, Nya. This would’ve been much easier if you hadn’t spent so long walking around with an open wound.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

“I’m going to go get a needle and thread, I’ll be right back.” Nya sighed, slumping back against the chair. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. The guys had been through hell recently. The last thing they needed was having to worry about her, too.

“Nya?”

Nya jerked her eyes open, turning her gaze towards Zane. What happened? Did I doze off?

Stupid coffee, not doing its job.

Zane seemed to catch on to this too, and frowned. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“I don’t need sleep, I have this magical liquid called coffee.”

He shot her a stern glance. “Nya.”

“Fine! I don’t remember, okay?” She reached for the paper cup again, but Zane snatched it from her hand.

“You can’t live off of coffee. First of all, it’s horrible for your health, second, it can never replace a full night’s sleep.”

Nya crossed her arms, grumbling. “Hey, at least I’m better than Lloyd. He dumps like five pounds of sugar into his.”

“Yes, well, Lloyd is sleeping. Like you should be.”

“Which is so not fair,” she huffed. “I spent weeks trying to get him to sleep and the second you guys get back, he does it instantly.”

Zane smiled, but his eyes were sad. “Kai’s always kind of had a way with him.”

“I know.” She turned her head, sighing. “I wasn’t trying to sound ungrateful, I’m so glad you’re back, but-” Nya let her hand fall to her side, where it bumped against Zane’s. Gently, she rubbed her fingers across the smooth metal, her heart pounding in her chest. Suddenly, she squeezed Zane’s hand, her breath coming in heavy pants as she closed her eyes.

“Nya?”

Her eyes snapped open. “I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Nya, it’s okay if you’re not fine.”

“I am.”

“I’m sorry we left you as we did.”

“It’s not your fault, okay?” She tugged away from him. Her hands were trembling now- from the coffee? The painkillers? The fear? She didn’t know. “It’s not your fault.”

Zane closed his hands over hers, steadying them. “No, but it still wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

“You don’t know,” she whimpered. “You don’t know what it was like. I wanted to give up so bad, and Lloyd-” she closed her eyes, breathing out slowly. “I don’t even know how I got him through it. He was so depressed. I can’t go through that again.” She turned sharply towards Zane, grabbing his hands. “I can’t. You hear me? That can never happen again.”

Zane squeezed her hands back, his eyes sad. “Believe me, Nya, I will do everything in my power to make sure it never does. But we are ninja. Dangerous things are going to happen, and if we spend our whole lives fearing that, we’ll never get through. We need to live life one day at a time. We need to trust in each other.”

“I do trust you!”

“Good.” He placed a hand on her arm, just below the wound. “Then you’ll let me patch you up?”

Nya glanced at the needle and swallowed, looking away. “Just go ahead. Don’t make me watch.”

“We really don’t have the proper numbing medication,” Zane said. “The painkillers will help some, but this is still going to hurt.”

“Believe me, I’m sure the sword going in felt a lot worse.”

Zane pressed his lips together. “Yes, I suppose it did. Ready?”

“Stop asking me if I’m ready and just do it already!” Zane flinched away, and she quickly added, “Sorry. I’m just a little on edge.”

“You’re going to be fine. Just hold still.”

The needle was cold on her skin, and then suddenly it was piercing through her flesh. It took all of Nya’s willpower not to jerk away, and she bit down hard on her lip, forcing back a scream. “Holy shit- Zane!” she broke off in a whine.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’ll be over soon.”

She tried to focus on her breathing as the needle pricked her again and again, Zane’s tugs quick and tight.

“Augh, remind me to visit Kryptarium later and go scream at those assholes for doing this to me.”

“We could’ve gotten you to a proper hospital if you had spoken up earlier. This is your own fault.”

“Oh, yeah, blame the victim. Besides, I hate hospit- aaugh, Zane, are you almost done?”

“Done.” Zane neatly snipped the thread, and Nya slumped over onto the table, grinding her teeth together and clenching her fists.

She felt Zane’s hand on her back. “Are you okay?”

“Gaugh, I will be, but son of a bitch, that hurt!”

“Alright.” Zane’s voice suddenly sounded cross. “It’s over now. That language is no longer necessary.”

“Are you seriously scolding me for swearing right now?” The table muffled her yelp. “I’d like to see how you cope when your arm stings like hell.”

“Nya.”

“You’re impossible!” Sitting up, she told him, “If you’re going to be such a goody-two-shoes, could you at least get me an ice pack?”

Zane got her the ice, and after about half an hour, the pain had finally dulled to something she could sleep through.

Exhausted as she was, though, she wasn’t done yet.

“Come see me in the morning,” Zane was saying, cleaning up the last of the bottles and putting them back in Skylor’s medicine cabinet. “It should be fine, but I want to check just to be sure. And try not to sleep on that side. I don’t want the stitches coming out during the night.” As he turned to walk out of the room, Nya grabbed his wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He blinked. “To bed? Like any sensible person should be at this hour?”

“Not so fast, now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“You patched me up,” Nya told him as she turned and rustled through Skylor’s junk drawer. “It’s only fair that I return the favor.” She pulled out a few screwdrivers, some scrap metal, and- score, a circuit board. And in pristine condition, too! Skylor always had the best stuff lying around. When you could find it, that is.

“But Nya, I’m not injured!”

She put a hand on her hip, glancing him up and down. Scratches and dents littered the ice ninja’s skin, and if she knew Zane, that was usually an allusion to something bigger going on.

“Oh please, the four of you came back a mess.” She walked around him, inspecting him. “Don’t tell me you came out of that whole ordeal unscathed. And I didn’t see anyone check you over today. Aha-” leaning forward, she rapped her knuckles against a spot on his back, near the shoulder, and the panel shuddered beneath her touch. “I knew it. This section isn’t sturdy. Take off your shirt so I can get to it better.”

“Nya, I am a nindroid, injury is inconsequential-”

“I said, take off your shirt! Or are you going to make me do it for you?”

Zane sighed, pulling off his pajama top so that Nya could see the damaged area better. The panel appeared cracked and loose, so, gently, she pried it off, revealing several frayed and broken wires. Part of the exposed circuits were fried.

“And you were telling me off for hiding my injuries?”

“It’s hardly the same. Human bodies cannot withstand the amount of force that a nindroid’s can. Plus, you are susceptible to infection.”

“Zane, I don’t care!” She got to work snipping at the wires and pulling some of the damaged parts out. “You’re still one of us. Just because you can take this sort of damage doesn’t mean you should!”

“I know. I was just worried about the others.”

“Well, it’s about time you thought of yourself for once. You can’t properly care for us if you’re not functioning at full capacity, anyway.” Sticking the tweezers between her teeth, she readjusted the wires and got to work on the circuits.

“I… I don’t like asking for help.”

Nya’s fingers paused.

“‘E ei’er.” The tweezers muffled her words, but Zane got her point clear enough.

“Sometimes we do need help, though. We are part of a team for a reason, after all.”

Nya removed the tweezers and wiped her grease-stained hands on a towel. “You’re forgetting that I was Samurai X before I was a ninja. I didn’t need any help then.”

“I didn’t forget, I just remembered the important parts. We were still there for you afterward, even on your solo missions.”

Nya was quiet for a moment. “Maybe that was why it was so hard with you gone. It was like a piece of me was missing. I couldn’t fully uphold the Resistance without you guys there to help.”

Zane’s fingers skirted across his heart. “I don’t know how we went on, with part of our souls realms away.”

Nya put a hand over his. “But we’re here now.”

“But you weren’t. We have all the pieces again, but they feel… broken.”

“Hey.” Nya pressed the metal against the gap in his back, using the screwdriver to secure it into place. She leaned back, admiring her work. Good as new. “I fixed you, didn’t I? Nothing will stay broken forever.”

“I can fix a car,” Zane sighed. “Or the Bounty, or the oven, or myself. But I have no idea how one goes about putting pieces of a broken heart back together.”

Nya sat down next to him. Their eyes met- stunning, electrifying blue against deep, gentle brown. “Neither do I. But maybe… we can figure it out.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Together.”

“Together is good,” Zane agreed, putting his arm around her. “I think I like it a lot better than being alone.”

Sitting there, on the hard wooden chair, raw stitches in her shoulder, with Zane’s hard metal arms wrapped around her, she couldn’t have been in a more uncomfortable position. Yet Nya felt more at ease than she had in weeks.

For the first time since the guys had gone to the First Realm, Nya’s sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

‘Tis the Damn Season- Chapter 7 Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)

Author’s Note- anybody still with me? If not, totally understand. This one is self edited- sorry I’m advance. Reblogs are still and always love!

“Are you sure I can't convince you to come home this Christmas?" Her mother's voice had just a tinge of loneliness, but Emma was set and certain.

"I think I would really like to have a Scandi Christmas this year mum! And I think the best present you could give me is to come and do it with me!"

They'd had this conversation eleventy million times. Emma knew her mum was doing so much better, and that her being in Holmes Chapel, even alone, would be ok, she'd be ok. Emma just knew they'd have so much fun in her newly reclaimed life abroad fusing old traditions with the ones they would make. Her mum was just resistant, she loved her home, was a certified home body, and now that it didn't hurt quite so bad, she loved the reminders of all the Christmases before. She was bathing in nostalgia with a smile on her face and a sweet ache inside.

Emma didn't feel the same. She'd had a fair few wonderful holidays in Holmes Chapel, but to many revolved around Harry Styles, and well, Emma's life did not revolve around Harry. Had never and didn't even have the axis centered around December 26 for a once a year moment any more.

She'd just really gotten back into her own life. Well, Emma patted herself on the back, she'd been living her way for 8 months now, that was almost as long as the 9 months she'd stayed in Holmes Chapel.

When her mother had assured her she was well enough that Emma could go to Iceland, the thought of ice capped fjords in summer thrilled her as though she was climbing them, not just studying them.

So she did.

She felt so much better, and her mother was better and she'd climbed to the top of her trail back to her own life, the one she'd made out of choice and ambition and only been sorry for in brief, lonely morning afters.

Emma wanted to share her life with her mother more than anything, certainly more than she wanted to spend a holiday in a place she now almost entirely associated with hurt. Heartache takes many forms, deep and abiding grief, the kind like she imagines phantom limbs give amputees years on. It also can hurt like a quick sharp mishap, a slip of the knife, full of crimson pain and stitches.

She'd had both together and then his deep cut on top of the other last Christmas. The wound was too fresh to go back at the moment. The good memories were still colored crimson. She needed to wait until her lover's memory flashed with true colors instead of red or blue. Her father's memory was cozier and longer, it was wrapped around the warm pink of her mother, but even it was still too tender.

She needed time.

Emma also had no idea where Harry was these days. She'd cut off all methods of inquiry.  She wasn't staying up late googling even, ever, not anything. Not his naked or Camille's. They'd be going on well into their second trip round the sun by now. Probably more deeply in love than he openly confessed to her. Emma didn't need evidence of it. It just opened the stitches she'd sewn herself.

So, no Holmes Chapel, no Google alerts or text messages. She'd blocked his number.

"Well, I suppose if you insist, we can try Amsterdam for Christmas." Her mother covered the sigh at the end of that sentence and Emma appreciated it. She suppressed a wry smile. Her mother could also still hear it in her reply she was sure.

"Oh mum! You won't regret it. It will be so lovely! I can't wait. I'll meet you at the airport, then we will go to my favorite cafe and take a snow walk. It will be picturesque. You'll fall in love, you'll see."

"Alright, darling. I'll give it a chance. I just hate to miss Anne's party two years in a row." Emma cringed and was happy this was not a video chat. She almost gasped and blew her cover when her mum said. "Won't you miss Anne's party? You're close with Gemma, and" she breathed while her mother hesitated, "and Harry?"

God, did everyone know?

"It'll be fine mum. I'll call Gemma. She'll understand."

She would, after they'd had that conversation the last time they'd spoken.

Gem had not really cornered her so much as insisted they get out of the house as often as possible from the day after Boxing Day until she'd left to head back to London.

She, the lovely friend that she was, didn't actually bring it up until she was back for Mother's Day. And she waited until Emma told her she was headed back to her program in the fall with a twinkle in her eyes even Emma knew had been long gone for too long.

Ever the blunt one, Gemma didn't even cozy up to the subject, "so did you break his heart or did he break yours?" She took a big sip of her cider and leveled her state over the rim at Emma.

Emma could feel her face blanching or heating or giving some indication who's heart was broken. Her elegant side step to that mine field was, "huh?" Then a moment later. "Who are you talking about?" To Gemma's patient silence.

"Alright, if that's how you want to be." Gemma playfully rolled her eyes. "You and my brother are not stealth, at all. You would make eyes at each other all night at my mum's and then disappear for the same amount of time. Remember I live with him."

"Do not." Emma didn't bother to deny it.

"I suppose not really, but as much as any one "lives"with him, I do over Christmas, and did for most of my life. I know when he's smitten with someone, and when he's got them around his little finger too." Gemma snorted and ate a chip. "His stupid walk even changes, all of a sudden he swaggers and walks hip first. It's gross!" Her face screwed up.

Emma tried to remember if she had ever seen this hip walk. She supposed she had when he'd walk towards her at the Boar's Head. Or occasionally when he'd corner her by the mistletoe.

"It's not gross." Slipped out.

"That right there," Gemma pointed. "Is gross. Your face all soft and flushed for my little brother. Bleach!" She sighed mixed with a bit of good humor. "But I suppose that means he broke your heart. I can't believe he just turned up with another lady. Did you at least know? I feel like I always know way to much about my brother's sex life."

"Huh?" Emma laughed.

"I just feel like I know way too much about his sex life, due to blind items and pap shots. Thought you might feel the same."

"It's not so simple as that, really. I knew because of that, about his girlfriend." Still couldn't say her name. "But I think he felt like I'd broken his heart, if I'm honest. And That's why he turned up with her. To hurt me back, in case I hadn't seen."

"Did you."

"Certainly not on purpose. My heart and head and life were in shambles, still are, and he made an assumption, and never let me explain."

"Why don't you explain to me."

So she did, haltingly, Emma talked about it all, tears on her cheeks about her dad and then her mum, and even Harry. The sad footnote of loss in a story of grief.

"Why didn't you just tell him?" Gemma asked the question Emma asked herself a lot.

"I guess, I couldn't say it and I couldn't text it. And it confirmed to me that he really only knew me so little, that he could think I'd take advantage of him."

"Did you ever think that was more to do with how other people have treated him than you? he's had to learn to expect the worst of people he wants to trust?"

"Don't make me feel bad for him. Remember? He broke my heart and found someone new. Had the audacity to move on before me!" Emma tried to joke.

"I think, I think you guys got into a mess and never bothered to clean it up until it was so unkempt you couldn't find the good parts." Gemma said after a quiet, mirthless moment.

"Oh no!" Emma tapped her head. "I kept all the good parts."

"Firstly, blech, I wish I could bleach that smile from my head, but 2nd-Is that enough?" Gemma asked.

"It'll have to be, I suppose." She swallowed the moisture in her eyes, "he told me he loves her. Straight to my broken face. Then piled on how he never got the time to love me."

Gem looked curious, then cautious, "I think he does. But it's cuz he wants to. Wants that desperately, to be in love. It may be some leftovers from you."

"Yeah?" Her eyes really pooled then and she bat her cheek to stop more from swarming. "Well I'll have to take that as cold comfort then, that she gets the seed of love he wanted to grow with me."

"I'm sorry. Sure he is too." Gemma sighed. "I'm so sorry for all of it."

"Yeah, yeah." Emma leaned on her friend, her only real one right then. "Me too."

And they left it at that. Emma's eyes were swimming and Gemma blinked a few times too rapidly. They hoisted their glasses. "To almosts!" Emma said.

"To dad's!" Gemma said. Then they both did cry.  Talked about Robin's diagnoses. Then it was Emma's turn to be the shoulder, to bolster.

Life went on, the way it always seems to do. Emma and her mom laughed more and then her mum even laughed on her own. By that summer, they both stood on their own two feet, without leaning on each other, except when they wanted to.

By June, there was no reason to stay.

"So, are your roommates excited to have you back?"

Her mum was making tea and packing her sandwiches.

"Mum, I actually had to find mew roommates. The others had to fill the room I was in." She could see the down turn of her mum's lips from the side. Guilt was heavy. "It's not a big deal. The people I'm rooming with are other grad students, I know them. And it's works for the budget. Mum, you know I'm not riding the bus to camp right? I don't need a sandwich. There will be food at the airport and on the plane?"

"Won't be home cooked." Was all she said.

This wasn't for her then. It was some sort of amends, or a thank you. Like the tea she had taken to bringing to her to her room when she woke up, and before bed.

"That's true." Emma kissed her cheek, "I'm gonna go finish packing." She ate the sandwich on the plane later.

Counting bags, she frowned. She'd acquired a lot. She sincerely hoped the bag wasn't as heavy as her heart.

Emma was going to miss Holmes Chapel.

She did, surprisingly as much as she missed school the first 6 months she was home. Maybe, those feelings were tangled up in other events, the other missing pieces of her former puzzle.

I'm any case, she found herself better at keeping in touch

"So, any cute boys in Amsterdam?" Gemma chuckled over the phone one mid December afternoon.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?" Was Emma's laughing response.

"I do, I really do." And Gemma, the blunt tongued, fierce hearted girl sounded suspiciously like a woman in love. Then she pretended to complain, because she was Gemma, about how They were both a little spoon, pretending to be annoyed about it.

"I'm really happy for you." Emma interrupted, meant it, even though she still didn't know if there were any cute boys in Amsterdam because she was still hung up on the cute boy who spent Christmas in Holmes Chapel.

Gemma must have picked up the stain of blue in her voice, "Hey, Emma, I think maybe I should tell you something-"

The buzz from her hallway door went then, and Gemma didn't get to finish.

"Hey Gem, my flat mate lost her key. I'll have to ring you back. Tell me then?"

And then it was Christmas, well Christmas Eve and she was at Schipol with a giant sign that said, "Katherine the great( est mum)!"

"Oh, bless you! Could you have made a bigger sign?"

"I'm sure I could have tried. Maybe found some glitter. Think a flat mate has the body sort somewhere." Her mum narrowed her eyes and pinched her cheek.

"Well, if you've finished embarrassing me, show me this dreadful country that's not England and all it has in terms of festive cheer."

"Let's go get some nuts then!" Emma laughed.

"I beg your pardon?" Her mum put on the prude and Emma laughed at her over the top expression as they made their way to the train to the city center.

Her famous Danish bakery was the first stop. "I thought we would have a taste test. We can rate them."

"Do you already have a favorite?" Her mum asked.

"Yeah." Emma thought about the trifle Harry's mum made and that he'd sneak to the boar's head to feed her in bed. It had only taken him watching her eat it once for him to recognize her glee. It was his favorite too. "But, I want to know what yours is!" Emma brought her memory and watering mouth to the present moment.

They ate their way through Christmas Eve And decorated her Kerstbomen. "Sorry the tree is already up. They were starting to disappear for purchase, but reappear in everyone else's windows! I had to grab one."

"Oh, no dear, it's alright. And actually, I brought a gift from Anne. I saw her the other day and had been complaining about you making me come all the way over here-"

"It's an hour flight!"

"Well, I suppose it will do, but it's not home."

Thank god.

"Anywho, she came by the day after and brought a present for your tree." Her smile was so expectant, Emma was expecting the worst. "It's so important to have good friends." Her smile was cryptic. What friends- Anne to her mum or Gemma to her? Who was the present actually from.

The box was festive. And wrapped beautifully just like Anne's house was always decorated so well. Emma set it aside, "I'll open it tomorrow mum, On christmas, at the proper time."

"Oh no! You must open it now. Gemma told her mom it was for your tree." Ah, mystery solved. Gemma was great at wrapping. When Emma opened it, her heart stopped a full beat.

At first she thought it was the frog, the one she'd gotten for him. That he was giving it back to her like a seal on their relationship that never was. But when she picked it up, she realized it was a proper ornament, not just ornamental. It was a frog, holding a heart.

What Did that mean, whose heart was it?

His for her? Or hers back where he decided it belonged.

"Where will you put it?" Her mother interrupted her train of thought.

"Um, dunno," she moved around the tree to an inconspicuous place. "I guess here." She shrugged.

"Oh no, dear. It's by far the cutest one we have." Her hand scanned over the other ornaments, a hodge podge of beloved ones and ones from Christmas markets. "It goes here." Her Mum stood and took the ornament from its hidden place, placed it front and center. "Let's get the rest up and take a picture."

She'd gotten her mother an aura frame for Mother's Day and she was now obsessed with adding to the Revolving cue of photos.

"Course, ok." Emma ripped her eyes from the frog, but they kept drifting back to it.

It was an hour of a little too much wine and her mother's cheer. It lightened her spirit and got her mind off it's wandery at Harry's intentions, until after silly smiley photos and teary eyed huggy ones, her mum said, "now let's take one for Anne and Gemma. Show them how nice it looks.

Emma thought she'd done a good job at the photo, at arranging her face the way it was supposed to look.

She must have been wrong.

Later, a number she knew by heart but had no current contact for came through. "Your smiles fake. Do you not like it at all?"

She didn't answer it on Boxing Day, or the day after, it wasn't until New Year's Day that she realized she'd blown her resolutions to Smithereens before they could even uphold their name.

All she'd texted back to his cold question was, "how come you're the only person who can always tell."

She may have never noticed she'd done it, with the way her group chats were going off, except he replied before her hangover even subsided.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Betrothed - Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

Chapter 3: Blood

Summary: While treating Illumi’s wounds, you learn something about his past.

Warnings: Well...blood. Mentions of past abuse. Choking.

Words: ~1800

Story Masterlist

“You could at least try to relax when you’re at home, Lumi.”

As usual, every muscle on Illumi’s body was tensed as he shifted around on the small wooden chair, his upper half completely bare.

Running your hands over his delicate skin, you couldn’t help but humming happily while opening the first-aid-kit.

Lumi.

That nickname wasn’t really creative, you had to admit. Yet there were still many thoughts connected to it.

How it sounded a lot like ‘Luna’, for example - the latin word for ‘moon’. Illumi pretty much had a moon face anyway.

A wet and warm feeling on your fingertips got you down to earth again - it was your husbands blood, steadily running down his whole back. Quickly, you got a gauze pad to absorb it and started working.

Had it come to you fancying him that much that you already lost yourself in daydreams?

The deep cut on his shoulder would most likely leave a scar, no matter how well you’d treat it. Yet what bothered you more was the fact that he had acutally tried to hold the gap together with his way too big needles.

“Sorry...” you whispered as you tugged them out of his flesh, but he wouldn’t even flinch.

He insisted it was fine, and you knew that he was used to the pain. But he could still feel it, even if his face remained as cold and calm as always.

God knows what’s going on in his head...your husband was very hard to read, actually.

But you knew he wasn’t just a puppet for his family. Illumi had some thoughts of his own, and you burned to get through to him.

The flesh wound was still bleeding, and since it hadn’t been properly closed in hours, you needed to clean it first. “I’m so sorry” you repeated, pouring some disinfectant into the cut.

“Stop apologizing.” The way he emphasized the words made him almost sound irritated.

“B-But I-”

“You’re assisting me as I demanded, so there’s no rational reason for you to say something like that.” It were moments like this that made you think Illumi actually tried to calm you down - the best he knew how. Through choosing his words wisely.

After the bleeding stopped, you began stitching up the wound while your husband was still sitting as if frozen in place.

“I-I just don’t want you to feel more pain than necessary...” He was used to way worse. You were well aware of that fact, and yet-

“Y/N.” Hearing your name escaping his lips, you immediately got attentive. “Is that the reason you’re holding back while sparring with me?”

For a long while, the room fell completely silent.

Because both of you knew he was right.

“I see.” Before you could even think of an answer, Illumi jumped up from his chair, running his hand over your handiwork. “Thanks for the bandage.”

Oh god, he was preparing to leave again. Maybe forever this time.

Soon, he’ll tell his parents you were unfit for an assassin’s spouse - too soft and weak.

Death was a bearable punishment for your shortcomings, but simply being thrown out like a toy one has grown tired of?

How pathetic, being afraid of conseqences you now only imagined. Knowing very well that empathy was considered futile in this environment.

And yet you were shocked it came that way, only because of you speaking your mind.

“Illumi, wai-”

He cut you off right there, turning around with his hand reaching for your neck.

Illumi’s aura had always been intense, laced with a bloodlust that seemed like it was imprinted on him at his very birth.

You’ll never get used to seeing him like this.

“Are you scared?” he asked just before his fingers wrapped around your throat, repeating the question at your lack of reaction. “Are you afraid of me?”

Slowly but increasingly, the pressure on your neck began to become discomforting, making you wince a little.

Yet your look wouldn’t falter, rather decided taking on a staring contest with him.

“I’m afraid of you leaving me.”

Just like that, he retracted his hand.

The look in your eye gave it away. Every word, every syllable you spoke was true. 

Even Illumi could tell just how much genuine affection they held - and he wasn’t immune to it either.

You cleared your throat and he only now realized just how much force he had used on you. Yet instead of apologizing as would be appropriate, he decided on continuing his interrogation.

“Why?” Illumi croaked, sounding a little bit broken. Hewasn’t able to speak any more, still baffled at your statement.

To ever think you could caught him off guard with such a simple sentence - but even through his poker face, you could feel his mind racing.

You sighed quietly, nervously tapping with your foot. “Do I really need to repeat that? It’s embarassing...”

No answer. Instead he stared you down even more intense.

“I like you, Lumi. This is my home, and I feel happy when I’m with you. Simple as that.”

Finally, he gave in to his exhaustion and took a seat on the sofa, with you following him closely after.

No matter what might follow, right now he needed some time. That much was obviously. So you just try to share your calming aura in silence.

You knew that puzzled expression way too well.

He’d put it on whenever something went past his comprehension, like when you once asked him about thinks he enjoyed or his dreams for the future.

“You look so sad...” you had once commented at an old photo of his. If you had to guess, he was about 4 years old at the time it was taken.

“Dunno” he tried to avoid further conversation back then, “Can’t remember.”

Just how often did you want to tell him that it was wrong? That his parents - no, his whole family - was full of sociopaths, and that they had stained his innocence through their wrongdoings and overeagerness?

And yet you had always kept quiet in the end.

Because you knew what it meant to him. The last bit of his sanity would probably break down if he knew all of the pain he had endured was wrong and abnormal.

Yes, their bonds were sure strange ones: They manipulated and harmed each other, all for the sake of the greater goal and the continuation of their bloodline.

That was probably how criminals beyond redemption desperately try to cling to their last bit of humanity - through the only people they can trust and be close to: Other murderers.

But at least you wanted to make him learn how to feele truly loved: For what he really was, and not only his obedience or achievements.

Right now, however, his elbows were resting on his knees, he was bent over and holding his chin with his hands. That position made it even harder for you to read him.

“I trust you with my life” you said without the slightest hint of hesitation in your voice. “It belongs to you ever since the day we married.”

Illumi cocked his head upwards, empty orbs staring holes into you. 

“They think I’m a monster.”

Huh?

Usually, Illumi isn’t really a man of many words. That fact should change tonight.

“I heared them talk” he began explaining as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “About regretting training me so harshly. I was their first child, more like an experiment at how to raise an even more powerful assassin.”

You nodded in silence, trying to signalize him that you were listening - and that you cared.

So he kept on. “I’m the reason my brothers were allowed more freedom. Having the right to feel and think on their own. And now Killua has left us. If I hadn’t been a failure, they would’ve trained him stricter.”

He blamed himself, thinking he was responsible for being a failed experiment.

Dear god.

“Mother said she’s afraid of me. I was 10. Everyone else at the family at least bear certain, acceptable emotions. She said I’m dead on the inside and it freaked her out.”

Every single word of him shot needles into your heart, tears already filling the rim of your eyes. You grabbed the fabric tight, trying to hold yourself together for your sake. 

“Illumi...”

You knew from the very second that many things were haunting that poor man’s conscience - but what he had just confided was just hard to bear.

In an attempt to comfort him, you instinctively shuffled closer until there was no gap between the two of you. It was an awkward closeness, but soothing nonetheless.

“It’s okay” he spoke in a tone that was unfamiliar soft for his standarts. “I understand how you all feel. I may not be able to emphasize with any feelings, but I can intelectually comprehend them.”

“Now cut it out!” This time it was you disrupting him, through a soft poke on his already injured shoulder.

"That’s bullshit and you know it. No person is absent of all emotions. You just shoved them into the back of your head and tried to surpress them. With your kind of childhood that was probably the only way to survive without completely losing it.”

His eyes shifted between your face and the place where your shoulders would touch, soaking every word like a dry sponge.

“And you do care about your family, right?” Well, how couldn’t he? It was the only way of mimicking normalcy he could pretend to have. “You’d do anything to keep them safe.”

“I just don’t get it” he murmured as you softly caressed his hand. “My allies are usually also mass murderers and psychopaths. But you are almost perfectly normal.”

Normal? You were an assassin too, goddamn it!

“Most would describe you as a very kind and sympathetic person. You should despise or at least fear me. They all do.”

“Not everything has to be logical, Lumi. I don’t think it makes sense either, but I also doubt that you’re a bad person. You’re much more of a victim.”

“Is that so...” That question sounded more like he was highly doubting it.

Just now you were realizing how slumped he was leaning back on the couch. That whole conversation had probably drained his energy reserves more than any mission ever could.

“Rest now, dear.” Carefully, without alerting him, you wrapped your arm around Illumi’s head and gently led him to your lap. “We can talk later.”

Much to your surprise, your husband would slowly close his eyes, swiftly drifting into sleep at hearing the steady beating of your heart.

“I’m sorry for frightening you, Y/N” he whispered those last words barely audible, fingers squeezing the flesh of your thigh ever so slightly.

“You didn’t. You never do.”

___

If you want to get on the taglist or get removed from feel free to ask! ♡

@roseburry-jam @food-cures-all @oprah-winfriess @ullinic @sun-and-moon-elfingsmeme @chocolateislovr @sapphic-ghoul @coco724 @jessiejunebug @yukiwins @weflyinfluff @readlatersnowy @gibk @spasmodicterror @djgirl66 @pweeenis @trblsicheng @theromaniangirl @cluelessmxnd @s1sterofthemoon @spasmodicterror @note-reblog @tamxixxx @orophaea @frankenduffy @cinnamon-beans @8-ash @cherryyongs @destructive-memories @patheticgay69 @sappyisyourpappy @sadferalgremlin @selca11​ @itsfakearies​ @djgirl66​ @rizawantspizza​ @g-creevan913​ @oprah-winfriess​ @actressania​ @rolo-at-midnight​ @slutforpapawise​

Feedback is always appreciated!

[stubbychaos]

Saviin’ika

Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: You grew up hearing terrifying tales of Mandalorians and the atrocities they were capable of inflicting upon innocent people, but when a grouchy heavy-infantry warrior offers to walk you home after you treat his wounds, you think that perhaps they aren’t the scariest monsters that reside on Nevarro.

Rated: M for mature themes, though there’s no smut in this part.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, graphic injury involving intestines (not detailed at all, I literally just use the word ‘intestines’ to describe the injury), Paz gets stitches and hates needles just as much as I do, brief mention of an armed robbery.

Notes: This is so self-indulgent it’s not even funny lol. I just wanted more fluffy Paz fanfic since he only got like thirty seconds of screen time and I’m still thirsting over him. I plan on this being only a few chapters, but knowing me, I won’t know when to stop.

You’re not sure how you ended up in this position, currently taking care of a massive Mandalorian that had somehow been injured in some sort of intense scuffle, though you find it difficult to believe that anyone in the galaxy could get the upper hand on the intimidating warrior that absolutely towers over you by more than a foot.

You can’t even imagine anyone with the guts to try to take on someone so intimidating.

You’ve never seen a Mandalorian before, but you have heard old tales of vicious warriors made of metal that lived underground and took what they wanted without much regard for others, not caring if they had to hurt women or children to get what they wanted. Judging by the way he had stormed into the tiny infirmary, angrily demanding that you be the only one to tend to his wounds, you think the rumors must be true and you had accepted immediately, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the huge warrior’s wrath should you deny him. He hadn’t even asked where your office was, merely stalking past you after you had scrambled to get up from the front desk where you had been working on the reports you had been asked to work on and file.

Currently, you watch in awkward silence as he slowly detaches his massive weapon from his back, breathing a little harshly or grunting whenever he moves in a way that causes pain. You step forward and raise a hand to help him, but his helmet whips threateningly to where you’re standing and you immediately back up, fear turning into slight irritation because you’re a nurse and you should be helping someone who’s clearly uncomfortable. After a few painfully quiet moments, the Mandalorian finally props his massive weapon up against the stiff cot in the center of the room and moves onto removing his chest piece, though it seems to be a harder task for him.

“W-Would you like some help, sir?” Your question comes in the form of a meek murmur and he immediately freezes at the sound of your voice, his intimidating visor staring you dead on, “I-It just seems like you’re in quite a bit of pain. I don’t mind helping, really.”

His black gloves fall to his thighs and you watch with disdain as a few droplets of blood drip onto the white tile, though you take the defeated gesture as a sign that he’s willing to let you help him. You remain as professional as possible as you approach the huge warrior and bashfully reach up to undo one of the latches that rests above his collarbone before repeating the action with the other one, though you find it’s broken and slightly trickier to unlatch. Deciding it’s not a good idea to mention his shoddy armor, you remain silent as you stand on your tippy toes to remove the heavy piece of steel, a hand reaching around him to catch the back piece.

His helmet cocks to the side at the small huff you let out, not prepared for how heavy the piece of armor was.

After you help him remove the rest of his heavy cuirass and the extra padding covering his ribs, he surprisingly obliges your meek request for him to lay down on the stiff cot before you cautiously untuck his tunics from his utility belt that he refused to take off. Even with two dangerously deep knife wounds and several intense bruises, you think it makes him no less scary and you’re certain he can easily deal out some serious damage if he so desires, even in such a compromised position. The Mandalorian has over a foot on you and even before removing all of the padding and layers of clothing, you had been able to tell that he’s still a big guy, more muscular in certain spots than others and you force yourself to stop thinking about the softly defined abs that are currently exposed to you, both his gray and black tunics pulled up to his sternum. His skin is a beautiful, rich shade of brown, you notice as you briefly inspect the severity of his wounds and you can feel the intense heat that radiates from him, as if he’s a human furnace.

‘He is your patient,’ You remind yourself as you quickly stand up to gather a few things, including your thoughts, ‘A massive, terrifying patient that could easily crush you in the blink of an eye.’

You have your back to him, thoroughly washing your hands when you clear your throat and speak up quietly, “Can you tell me what you were stabbed with?”

“Does it make a difference? I’m injured, that’s all you need to know.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you gather all the supplies you need before sitting in your chair and pointing your bright lamp at the severe injuries; you gain a little courage as you pull your surgical mask over the lower half of your face and slip on your glasses so you can see better, grateful that you can now focus on the injuries rather than the stubborn Mandalorian. The gashes are both several inches long and though they don’t seem critically deep, you can tell that he’s lost quite a bit of blood and will suffer severe consequences if you don’t help him soon.

“It just helps to know what weapon was used to cause the injury. If it was rusted metal, it can be more prone to infection--if it was glass, there could still be shards in the wound. I’m not asking about the circumstances involving how you got these injuries, just the weapons involved.”

He grunts and you pretend not to notice the way his fingers curl against the cot when you begin to flush out the wound. Something tells you that he’s not used to being the one getting injured during a battle and you can’t imagine a warrior bigger than him catching him off guard; you force yourself not to ask about the circumstances revolving around his injuries. You had learned long ago not to pry into the lives of criminals and bounty hunters, understanding that it always put them on edge and made them wary of you.

“It was a dagger--few inches long and definitely not rusty.”

“Does your left shoulder hurt at all?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

You huff a little, cheeks burning and you can’t tell if it’s from frustration or embarrassment, “The less critical wound is located in a spot where your spleen could have been affected if contact was made with the dagger, though it doesn’t seem to be deep enough to cause any trauma to the organ. A sharp pain in your left shoulder is oftentimes a sign of a ruptured spleen.”

You reach up to lightly dig your fingers into his firm shoulder, only pulling away when he shakes his helmet a few seconds later, “No, there’s no pain there.”

“Thank you. The wounds didn’t seem deep enough to cause any injury to any organs, but we don’t really have the proper technology to know for sure,” His visor tilts towards your face, though you don’t notice it as you remain concentrated on cleaning the nasty wounds before pulling out your suture kit, “The infirmary is low on supplies at the moment--a couple of raiders broke in a few weeks ago and took a lot of machines and medicine from us. I’m afraid I don’t have any bacta patches, but stitches should stop the bleeding just fine. You’re lucky the dagger wasn’t very long.”

“I got stabbed and you’re calling me lucky?” He doesn’t sound angry and something about his lighter tone makes you think it’s disbelief that his modulator hides.

You raise your brows and you’re grateful for the surgical mask hiding your amused smirk as you get to work on stitching up the deeper wound first, “Considering I had a Twi’lek come in earlier with his intestines practically falling out of his stomach, I would certainly say you’re one of the luckier patients I’ve ever gotten. Stab wounds and blaster shots I can handle, guts and brains are another story.”

“You’re a doctor, that stuff shouldn’t bother you.”

“I’m a nurse, actually. The infirmary only has one doctor and he barely works here since he’s always traveling,” You correct him, eyes trained on the way the curved hook of the needle pierces his skin, nylon thread bringing the torn flesh back together, “Sorry if you expected to be treated by an actual doctor when you stormed into the the infirmary asking for my help. There’s not really a huge need for medical professionals in the village--most people are dead before they even make it here.”

He makes a small noise from the back of his throat, “Makes sense. Surprised this place even has an infirmary in the first place.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly the flashiest hospital in the Outer Rim,” You say sarcastically, tilting your head to the side as you lean over his torso to get a better look at what you’re doing, “Why did you ask for me?”

“You were the only one that actually looked competent,” He huffs, stretching his arm behind his head when you gently nudge his bicep a little, “Everyone else was standing around doing nothing. You were the only one actually working.”

You’re not sure if it’s a compliment or some sort of backhanded one, but you take it for what it is and continue your work, being as swift and precise as you possibly can. The Mandalorian, however, makes it difficult when he keeps shuffling around and you would have thought for such a big warrior, he’d be used to pain by now. If you were in any other situation, you might have found amusement at the thought of a huge Mandalorian hating needles, though you suspect it goes deeper than that and judging by the scarce amount of scars scattered on his torso, he must not get hurt often. 

Men in this village tend to have quite a big ego and usually hate having their pride bruised; you think that maybe Mandalorians are no exception to that notion, especially when they are rumored to be the galaxy’s fiercest warriors.

You let out an exasperated sigh when he shifts for the umpteenth time and his helmet immediately jolts to stare at you through that unforgiving visor, “What? Something wrong?”

His tone is condescending and you wince a little.

Of course he’s just like the rest of your patients--rude and probably cruel.

“You just…” You cringe at how shaky your voice is and steel your nerves, “Could you stop moving so much, please? It’s slowing down the process and causing more unnecessary pain.”

You try to ignore the fact that there’s a vibroblade just inches from your face.

He grunts a little and turns his helmet to stare back up at the ceiling, growing deathly still underneath your skilled hands.

“Fine. Just hurry up.”

You bite your tongue and continue without so much as a nod. You’ve learned long ago that when it comes to patching up criminals or bounty hunters, they have no qualms about harming people smaller or weaker than them and this Mandalorian is quite possibly the strongest patient you’ve ever tended to and you’d rather not anger him. So, instead of rolling your eyes at the childish man, you continue to stitch the second wound that comes to a blunt end on the right side of his hip, just above his utility belt. After tenderly wiping the dried and fresh blood away from his torso, remaining mindful as you clean around the sutures, you begin to unroll a thick wad of gauze as well as some medical tape.

“The bruising on your ribs looks pretty intense,” You murmur after finishing with the stitches and lightly wrapping it with a bandage; you tilt your head a little at the way he jolts when you tenderly press a cool hand against his warm, bruised skin, “Did you hear a pop or crack when you were hit?”

“I don’t know,” He admits brusquely and you are all too aware of how bothersome bruised or broken ribs can be. Despite your better judgment, you think that perhaps that’s why he’s so cranky, “Couldn’t hear shit over the gunfire.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when you think of the massive weapon propped up against the cot, just inches away from your thigh, and you shake your head a little, “I think I might have a jar of bacta salve that could help with the soreness. If you apply it twice a day, it should speed up the healing process a considerable amount.”

“I don’t have enough credits for anything with bacta in it, so don’t even bother,” He grunts as he stubbornly sits up and lowers his helmet to inspect your work before turning to you, watching as you stand up. 

You ignore his words as you approach the cabinet where you keep several clear jars filled with all sorts of vibrant, colorful liquids and gels and you think you feel his eyes on you as you stand on your tippy toes to reach the small jar on the top shelf. You were grateful that your little supply of homemade remedies and salves had remained untouched, for the most part, after the infirmary had been raided. You try to forget about the scary situation, though you still found yourself having nightmares of a Trandoshan pressing a blaster between your eyes, all while threatening to blow your brains out if you move an inch.

“Please, take it,” You insist, unscrewing the lid as you approach him and gathering the cold salve onto your fingers, “Something tells me you get injured a lot.”

His leather-clad fingers wrap gently around your wrist and stop you from rubbing the healing ointment into his skin; if you weren’t so terrified, you would have marveled at how massive his hand was compared to your much tinier one, “I don’t want your pity.”

Much to your dismay, your voice shakes a little when you speak in a whisper, and you feel the way he loosens his grip on you, though it hadn’t been painful or caused discomfort in the slightest; you’re somewhat surprised that he’s capable of gently handling someone so much smaller than him.

“It is not pity, Mandalorian.”

“Then what is it?”

“Kindness,” You murmur, feeling ridiculous when he scoffs at your answer and you just know that your cheeks are an angry shade of pink, “I do not wish to be as cruel as everyone else on this planet. I would like to think I would be shown the same kindness if I was as injured as you are, though I doubt one would help me. Besides, I don’t like seeing people in pain and I know broken ribs can be bothersome and painful.”

He silently stares at you for a few tense moments, his helmet giving you no indication as to what he’s feeling.

“Fine,” He lets go of your wrist and you let out a sigh of relief, hand shaking terribly as you begin to rub the salve against the worst of the bruising; you ignore the way he tenses under your hand and how he cocks his helmet to the side as he observes you closely, “That kind of attitude will get you hurt in a place like this.”

“I know,” Your cheeks flush and your eyes burn as you refuse to meet his gaze, your voice growing thicker and quieter when you speak again, “I know, but sometimes it doesn’t.”

He’s still staring at you as you finish up and he grunts a little when you offer him the deep, dull blue cuirass you had helped him remove earlier, carefully helping him put it back into place. After sheathing his huge canon against his back, he accepts the little jar of salve from you and tucks it into a little brown pouch attached to his utility belt with a disgruntled ‘thanks’. You’re not sure why you do it, but you instinctively trail behind him as he leaves the room and makes his way into the lobby; it’s not like he needs your assistance, but he doesn’t say anything to make you think he’s annoyed with you or doesn’t want you there.

It’s not until a deep voice calls out your name that you freeze in your footsteps and turn around with dread, the Mandalorian tilting his helmet to stare at you and an older man over his broad shoulder. Your own shoulders tense and are nearly touching your earlobes as your boss approaches you, looking angry and irritated with you even though you haven’t said a single word to him in hours. 

His face is a deep shade of crimson and you can smell his putrid breath as he yells at you, “I thought I told you to have those reports done today by sundown and it’s almost kriffing midnight. I’m tired of telling you how to do your job! Am I not punishing you hard enough? Is that why you’re too stupid to understand how to do something as fucking basic as filing reports?”

“N-No sir,” You panic and instinctively flinch when he harshly grabs your bicep and violently rattles you, “Something came up, sir. I had a patient that had two stab wounds and I just uh, I figured that took priority over a few reports that aren’t crucial. He was in pretty bad condition and I just thought--”

“I don’t give a shit what you think takes priority over my demands,” He hisses, lowering his head to get in your face and intimidate you and you absolutely loathe that he succeeds in frightening you, “When I ask you to do something, you fucking do it without hesitation. I need a nurse that will do her job, not a useless pathetic excuse for a human being that can’t file a few reports by the deadline I give her. Is that understood?”

You blink away the tears and nod fervently, ignoring the bruising grip he has on your arm, “Good. Now get the fuck out of here. I can’t handle having you around fucking everything up right now. Go home.”

"But I--" You're cut off with a harsh squeeze and you try to keep the pain out of your voice when you speak in a quiet, shaky whisper, "Y-Yes, sir. I’m sorry."

When you turn around, lightly rubbing what you know is going to be a painful bruise in the morning, you're surprised to find the blue Mandalorian still standing near the entrance of the infirmary looking extremely tense--more so now than he had been earlier when you’d been stitching his wounds. His visor is trained on you and he's firmly holding the handle of his vibroblade; your eyes widen a little when you realize he had been seconds away from causing a scene and you wonder if the warrior would have actually killed your boss. 

You remain frozen in place until his hand eventually falls from the handle and you skittishly brush past him, his visor following your quick pace as you leave the infirmary and hastily make your way down the empty street, your face flushed and tears burning your eyes.

You just want to go home and lay down and forget about everything that--

"Nurse," The Mandalorian’s deep voice immediately makes you freeze again and your shoulders hunch up when you hear his heavy footsteps slowly approaching you, slow and precise, like predator stalking its prey. Your eyes squeeze shut as you fear the worst case scenarios, knowing all too well of the kind of pain men of his size and strength could inflict on someone like you.

Oh Maker, were you all too aware of what cruel men were capable of. 

When you apprehensively open your eyes, you find it impossible to look at his helmet and stare straight ahead at the center of his chest that’s protected by dull blue metal. You’re paralyzed with fear as you wait for him to strike--to shoot you or perhaps drag you behind the infirmary to have his way with you.

You prayed that he would kill you, rather than robbing you of that innocence that you still weakly held onto.

You’re frozen to the sidewalk when he finally comes to a stop about half a foot away from you, fingers clenching against his thighs and you feel ridiculous when a tear escapes the corner of your eye and slowly travels down your cheek. You’re not sure if the tears in your eyes are from your previous encounter with the older man who constantly made your life a living hell or the fact that there’s a possibility that you’re about to be brutalized by a terrifying Mandalorian.

His helmet cocks to the side when you take a tentative step backwards, your hands wringing together as vicious waves of nerves threaten to suffocate you.

“P-Please don’t--”

"It’s late and dangerous to be walking alone. I'm going to walk you home."

You flinch when he gently grabs your elbow and he's quick to drop it instantly, much to your surprise, "Y-You really… that's not necessary, really. I do this every night and usually don’t have a problem."

He grunts a little and holds out his own elbow for you to take, "It wasn't a question. You helped me and gave me medicine even though I had no credits to spare. Let me return the favor by walking you home,” You stare at his thick arm with distrust carved into your soft features and he must notice it because he eventually speaks up again, “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it long ago, nurse. I have no desire to harm someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially you, of all people. Besides, even if you’re capable of protecting yourself, you’re clearly shaken up right now and not thinking straight.”

“I don’t know you,” The Mandalorian is still holding out his elbow for you to take as you argue with him in a weak murmur, “How am I supposed to believe you’re not just like the rest of them?”

He scoffs a little at your words, shaking his helmet as if he can’t believe you just compared him to a bunch of amateur criminals and bounty hunters, “I don’t like these people anymore than you do. I hate criminals that hurt others who don’t deserve it or can’t defend themselves. Let me walk you home this once and you’ll never have to see me again. You have my word.”

Something about the sincerity in his deep baritone leaves you a little breathless and you no longer feel as threatened by the Mandalorian and you think he’s being utterly genuine with you. There had been disgust in his voice as he spoke of ruthless criminals and perhaps you had misunderstood him and his intentions all along.

“Still don’t believe me?” He sighs when he mistakes your thoughtful silence for hesitance towards his insistent offer to walk you home, “Here, take my vibroblade and if you feel uncomfortable, I’ll let you stab me.”

‘I’ll let you stab me.’

It’s quite possibly the most ridiculous words that a man has ever said to you and your eyebrows shoot up at the nonchalance in his modulated voice, like this is something he says every day. You quickly stop him as he reaches for the handle of his weapon, though you’re not afraid of him hurting you with it, but more incredulous that this huge warrior would give you the chance to do such a thing.

“Haven’t you uh, been stabbed enough for one day?”

His chest heaves and you’re surprised by the deep laugh he lets out at your innocent question, adamant about placing the heavy weapon in your palm, “Yes, I think I have. Now let’s get going.”

“O-Okay,” Your heart is still frantically beating from the initial fear of him taking advantage of you, along with the strange feeling of such a sharp weapon in your hand, “It’s just--it’s kind of a long walk and I’m sure you have better things to--”

“I don’t,” He firmly interjects, almost sounding exasperated with you, “C’mon, tighten your grip on that vibroblade. The later it gets, more rats come out of hiding and target people like you.”

Hesitantly, you curl your fingers into the crook of his elbow just above his vambrace, testing the thickness of the fabric there and squeezing until your fingers stop shaking. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin underneath his tunic and relish in it a little, the atmosphere of Nevarro quite brisk this late at night.

“Thank you for doing this,” You whisper, cheeks burning brightly at how close you are to someone so powerful while holding one of his weapons,“I-It means a lot to me.”

“You said you do this every night.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip as you think of all the bad run-ins you had whenever you had to walk home this late without the protection of a Mandalorian, “It doesn’t make it any less scary when these bounty hunters and criminals find out I’m nothing more than the village nurse.”

You pretend not to notice the way he tenses next to you.

As you lead him to your little hut on the outskirts of the quiet village, you remember all the stories of how Mandalorians were vicious savages and you wonder just how accurate they are. You can't imagine someone with an inherently violent disposition offering you his arm and blade while he walks you home and perhaps your initial impression of the Mandalorian was made in too much of a haste. A few late night stragglers sneer at you and the unfazed Mandalorian and even though you should feel frightened to be walking home alone with a fierce warrior, you find that his presence has quite the opposite effect as people move out of his way to avoid any confrontation.

You can’t remember the last time you actually felt safe walking home so late and you’re barely aware of the way you push yourself closer against his side.

"That man," The Mandalorian's deep voice startles you and you notice him drop his tone in the slightest, "Does he always treat you that way? That roughly?"

You're surprised that he's actually starting a conversation with you, as he seems to be a man of very few words, but you think over his blunt question and carefully choose your words, "It is for my own good. How am I supposed to learn and become a better nurse if I can't follow simple orders?"

"He shouldn't put his hands on you like that. It’s not right when he’s larger than you and you can’t defend yourself properly."

You smile sadly and gaze up at the twinkling stars dotted in the night sky, "He is my boss and my father. He can do whatever he wants as long as I'm working for him and living under his roof.”

“Father?” He cocks his helmet to the side, as if he’s confused by your words, though all you hear is disgust in his modulated voice when he speaks, “A father should never lay a hand on their child the way he did with you earlier. Parents are supposed to protect their family, not hurt and bruise them. He should feel ashamed of the way he treats you and how he talks to you--it’s dishonorable.”

“I am an adult, not a child,” You lazily give him a single-shouldered shrug and sheepishly turn your attention to your worn out boots and your bruised knees that peek out just from the hem of your dress, “It doesn’t bother me. Like I said, it’s better for me to learn this way and he only does it because I’m always messing up.”

“It should bother you,” The Mandalorian shakes his helmet and you think he must be pitying you or judging you, “You should stand up for yourself and leave. Make a better life for yourself.”

You huff out a small laugh, though there’s nothing funny about his words or yours, “Tell me, Mandalorian, where would I go? There is only one infirmary in the village and it’s owned by my father and I have no other useful skills that would help me thrive in a village overrun by bounty hunters and criminals. The nearest city is hundreds of miles away from here and I do not make nearly enough to afford transportation nor to start my life over; my father made sure of that.” 

You’re smiling, but it’s bitter and wistful, wondering why this Mandalorian wanted you to fight for a better life when there was no such thing that existed for you on this planet, “It is easy for you to tell me to fight for myself when you are covered from head to toe in impenetrable steel. My father could ruin my life if he so desired and I would not give him reason to punish me more than he has already.”

“That is no way to live, orikih baar’ur. The way you are treated is no better than the way an owner treats their slave.”

You don’t understand the language and wonder if he’s judging you in his native tongue, and even though you try to shrug it off, you still feel the pain on your shoulders and arms from your last punishment.

“It’s not living,” You agree, lightly squeezing his arm to reassure him that you’re fine, though you think you’re trying to reassure yourself more, “But I’m still surviving and doing what I love the most, helping others. It would be selfish of me to ask for more.”

The Mandalorian grows silent and you wonder what’s going through his head as you lead him through the village, where clustered buildings eventually give way to smaller houses and huts that could do with some renovation and patching up. You think of your own hut that could do with some fixing up, what with all the holes that have been punched through the walls in your father’s fits of rage, or the way rain trickles through cracks in the ceiling and oftentimes leaves you feeling sick with a fever after a night of tossing and turning on a wet mattress. Thinking of how you grew up so poorly and in a hostile environment, it makes you think far more of the Mandalorian’s blunt words and something awful churns in the pit of your stomach.

‘That is no way to live…’

You lift your head up to the stars again and wonder what lingers beyond this forsaken planet, what beauty exists in the galaxy. You had once heard tales of planets covered entirely in oceans or jungles and as you peer at the rocky and volcanic terrain that surrounds the two of you for as far as the eye can see, you wonder what beautiful sights the Mandalorian must have experienced during his years of travel. You remember a patient of yours describing the beauty of Naboo and all of the sights she had witnessed during her weeks of residing on the planet. Even in your wildest dreams, you couldn’t envision massive rolling plains of emerald grass, or glimmering sapphire oceans with waves just as violent as the most fearsome warrior you’ve ever met, the man walking next to you. 

You wonder what it must feel like to have a cool, fresh breeze kiss your flushed skin.

You try to imagine tasting ripe, fresh fruit, rather than bland ration bars, or the scent of sweet flowers tickling your nostrils, rather than the putrid scent of some poor creature being roasted alive.

“My place is just up ahead.”

He must hear how forlorn you’ve become, voice slightly high-pitched and crackly, as if you’re trying your damned hardest not to break down in front of him, because he tilts his helmet to gaze down at you. 

Your cheek is nearly grazing his bicep and you don’t even realize how close you are to him until you smell blaster fire and something spicy on the fabric of the long-sleeved gray tunic he wears underneath a short-sleeved black one. He’s warm, you realize, despite being covered in cold blue metal, and you wonder how such a huge, cold man could make you feel the safest you’ve felt in years, before your mother had passed away and your father was a little less cruel, though not by much. 

You swallow the lump in your throat when the hut you share with your father grows closer and dread threatens to send you fleeing in the opposite direction, though you’re willing to stay next to his side just to enjoy a few rare moments of serenity. Your father won’t be home for another few hours and you hope by then, his anger will have dulled into harmless embers, though you won’t get your hopes up.

“Thank you again for walking me home,” You clear your throat when you two come to a stop in front of the sad excuse for a home and you reluctantly pull away from him, fingertips grazing the crook of his elbow before falling to your side, “They don’t speak too kindly of Mandalorians around here, you know?”

He cocks his helmet downwards and to the side, seeming all too comfortable to speak with you before parting ways, “What do they say?”

“My father used to tell me tales of your people being savages,” You sound shameful as you confess this, tilting your head upwards the tiniest bit to gaze at the geometric emblem embedded into his cuirass, “That Mandalorians would kill innocent people and steal from them with no remorse, that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill women and children, or even torturing them. My father told me your people were worse than the monsters that plagued my dreams.”

You don’t back off when he steps a little closer and reaches out to lightly touch the little violet you always keep tucked behind your ear or in the soft weaves of your braids when it’s too hot to wear your hair down. It was something you wore in your hair every single day since your mother’s death, as she would always stick violets in your thick braids whenever she would style your hair in the morning when you were younger. You remember how she would explain the several medical uses for violets--how it was versatile and could be used for compresses, salves, soothing teas, poultices and much more.

You hadn’t even realized it had become a habit to constantly wear the pretty wildflowers in your hair until the Mandalorian unknowingly pointed it out.

“And what do you think about my people?”

“I used to believe the stories,” You hesitantly crane your neck backwards to peer into his t-shaped visor, wondering if he has warm, soft eyes that betray his cold, modulated voice and you watch as his hand promptly drops to his thigh before he can touch your ear, “Now I think the monsters in my nightmares are far more terrifying than the Mandalorian who walked me home tonight. If your people are anything like you, then I think the rumors are just that--silly rumors that should be ignored.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” His voice drops into a cool rasp that sends shivers up your spine and for what reason, you’re not so sure, “You don’t know what I can do.”

“I don’t need to,” You murmur just as quietly, eyes desperately searching everywhere on his dull blue helmet and you count the number of scuffs created from blaster shots or perhaps sharp daggers like the one he had been attacked with earlier, “You told me yourself that you have no desire to harm innocent people. I think you are the first man on this planet to show me any form of kindness.”

“I don’t doubt it,” He reaches for your arm, just as he had done earlier when he’d first insisted on walking you home, however, this time you don’t flinch and he cocks his helmet a little as he lightly strokes the inside of your clothed elbow with a leather thumb, “Good night, saviin’ika.”

“W-Wait!”

He tilts his helmet to the side when you quickly hold out his vibroblade that you had loosely been holding onto the entire walk home, almost forgetting that he had let you borrow it in case you felt the need to protect yourself against him.

You hadn’t--not once.

“Keep it, at least for now,” He reaches out to gently curl your thin fingers back around the handle, speaking up quickly when you part your lips to protest, “You shouldn’t be walking around without anything to protect yourself, especially this late at night.”

“But wh-what about you?”

Immediately, your eyes land on the heavy cannon attached to his back, along with the blaster on his hip and you cringe, knowing that this warrior would undoubtedly be able to take care of himself without his small blade. Still, you think the Mandalorian is amused as he straightens up and places his hands on his hips, just above his utility belt, and tilts his head backwards and to the side.

“I think I will somehow manage,” He sounds just as amused as you figured he would, “Anything else?”

You hesitate, cheeks still burning like hot coals, “Will I see you again?”

“What? Want to see me get injured again?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling when you detect a twinge of amusement in his deep voice, “You don’t need to go and hurt yourself to come visit me, Mandalorian. I would prefer to see you in one piece and those ribs all healed. Don’t forget to use that salve--”

“Twice a day,” He finishes and shakes his helm a little at the bright smile you give him, “Take care of yourself, saviin’ika. Don’t hesitate to use that vibroblade if anyone threatens you.”

“Thank you, Mandalorian. See you soon.”

orikih baar’ur= tiny medic

saviin’ika=little violet

[itsthestutterforme]

Redeemed (Supernatural)

Redeemed Circuit 1/4

Y/N was previously tortured by Dean while he had the mark of cain. They thought she was a demon that worked for Abbadon. Turns out, she was just a human with an allergy to oil. A year later, Y/N was actually a prophet and the Winchester need her to find a way to trap Michael from the other world

Characters: Dean Winchester x POC!reader, Sam x reader, Castiel x reader

--

"Please, I'm telling you that truth!" Y/N begs as Dean scraped his ugly blade against her clavicle. Sharp stings littering her body and extends to every cut that he made. They speak of Abbadon and demons. At first she called them psychos and high off their asses if they wanted her to believe that demons were real. It wasn't until she saw Dean's eyes flicker black that fear struck her silent.

These cuts and oil burning have been going on for days, and at this point, she wanted to beg for death. "You're going to tell me where Abbadon is," "I don't know where or who Abbadon is, I swear."

Her throat scratches against itself of soreness from her long screams. She was barely able to keep her eyes opened. He grabs her face and pulls her inches away from his.

"You disgust me," he insults before leaving the room. She winced as he slams the door shut and tears pricked her eyes for the hundredth time. The door creaks up but she doesn't bother lifting her head.

Footsteps near her and hand touches her arm. She pulls away from his rough, calloused hands. "Wait a minute, these are- Dean!" "No, please, don't bring him back here." She pleads. "It's alright, honey, I'm so sorry I didn't catch this sooner."

"I'm starting to think she doesn't know anything, we should just kill her." Dean says, making her whimper lightly. "No, look. She's breaking out into hives. She's have an allergic reaction, she's not a demon." Sam says.

She looked up at Sam through swollen eyes as he pulls her wrists and ankles from their restraints. "I'll get the first aid kit," Dean says before leaving the room again. "I am so sorry." "No, let me.. leave me at the hospital." "At the severity of your wounds, you won't make it to the hospital," Sam explains. "I'll take my chances,"

"Listen, I'll.. how about I help you. He doesn't have to touch you." She shakes her head and pushes him away. "Take me to the hospital or let me die." That was the last thing she said before blacking out completely.

A constant beep of a monitor is the only thing she hears. Her eyes slowly peel open to see her brother, Y/B/N holding his face in his hands. He must of heard her sit up because his head shot up and met her eyes with his red, puffy ones. "Y/N? Oh my God," he stands from his chair and takes one of her hands into his.

"We've been looking for you everywhere. And everyone thought that you were.. I'm just glad you're okay." He wipes away his tears with the cuff of his sleeve. No words came to mind to say.

Ironic, really because her mind is blank but her body has plenty to say. Between the stitches, the IV and Dean's punches, getting ran over sounds like a dream right now.

**

Sam and Dean were tired of standing around waiting to find out when Castiel will find the new prophet that was called forth. They just came back from a hunt and settled down after taking their showers.

They need the prophet to translate the angel tablet they found in the other world.The world where Mary and Jack resided. Hopefully it will help defeat Michael who is definitely coming over here into this world. Castiel just came back from Heaven in search of the next prophet, and what do you know, it's Y/N.

Castiel sets the file down on the table in front of the Winchesters and they opened to see Y/N's picture. "Oh you've got to be kidding me," Dean says, running a hand over his face. "Wait, you know her?" "Yeah, she hates us." Sam says. "It doesn't matter, she has a duty as a prophet to provide what the Lord set out,"

"Believe me, she would rather jump off a bridge than help us." "I'll bring her here," "No!" Sam says, making Cas stop his movements. "Let me just. I'll pick her up. Just tell me where she is." "The last I sensed her, she was in Boise, Idaho," "Do you need any help?" "She won't go if you're there, Dean."

"I know, I just.." Dean trails off and his gazs falls to the floor. "Nevermind," he adds before walking off. "What happened between them?" Cas asks. Sam shakes his head and says, "You don't want to know,".

Sam packs a go bag and takes the Impala to get Y/N. He drives around bars and shops and finally found me walking out of the grocery store with brown, paper bags in my hand.

"Y/N," Sam says as he approaches her. She pulls her head out from under the car. When she sees Sam, her eyes widen and she pulls out her gun. She aims it at him and takes off the safety. "Whoa, whoa! I-I'm not here to hurt. I just need your help." She slightly lower her gun and look to the Impala for Dean.

"He's not here," he says and she puts the safety on before tucking it under her belt. "You okay?" Sam asks. She raised her index finger before reaching back into the car for a writing pad.

"Help for what?" She writes and showed him. "Did something happen to your voice?" "I made a vow," she writes. "Because of Dean?" he asks.

She didn't say anything but she pulls the writing pad closer to her chest. "Listen, there is something coming. Something bigger than all of us, an archangel. And he's coming here to lay waste to our world. We may have something to stop it but we can't read it without a prophet.

"I know. I've been having visions." She writes. He nods and she looks at him for a moment. Almost as if he read her mind, he says, "I will make sure that he leaves you alone." "He's your brother,"

"What we did was wrong, but this isn't about us. It's about the world." "I know," "So you'll help us?" She nods before writing, "I need to get my computer first,"

**

It's been weeks since she went to the bunker for the first time. Seeing Dean for the first time in years sent chills down her body. Everything that happened, everything that he did to her was still fresh in her mind.

She has nightmares every night and wake up. It took her months to make sure she didn't scream herself awake.

"I don't know, Dean." "Oh come on, I'm not going to do anything," Dean says. They think she plays music while have earphones on when she is translating the tablet on her computer. Well sometimes, she does.

Other times she just put it on to listen in their conversations. "You know how she acts when you even look at her too long," "We have to learn to work together, especially with Michael coming here,"

"What do you think she's doing? She didn't have to help us. She could have said screw you and left us to die. But she's pushing past things," "Sam, you're just going for a milk run. It's not that big of a deal. She'll be fine." Dean says.

The sound of the door opening and closing echoes through out the bunker. She hears Dean walks behind her and she could feel the hairs on her neck stand up.

"I know you can't hear me but, I have to say it. Words can't even begin to express how much guilt I have weighing on my chest. It's so heavy that I can't even breathe. I--" she stands up from the table and take off my earphones.

She locks eyes with him for the first time she got there. She shake her head and closed her computer before rushing into her room to lock the door behind her.

Why the hell do I feel bad for him? He's the one that made my life hell! He doesn't deserve my forgivness. She thinks to herself. She collapses on the bed and sigh when she heard her phone chiming.

She reaches over the bed and into the nightstand to look at who was it was. She clicked on her Y/B/N contact and opened a new message from him.

It was a man with glowing blue eyes mainly in the frame but in the very left top corner, she saw her brother beaten to a bloody pulp. The background seemed oddly familiar Fear shudders through her body and she could feel it starting to freeze over.

"DEAN!" She yells. That was the first time she spoke in two years. Heavy footsteps run towards her room and before she could stand to open the door, he kicks the door in.

She showed him the phone and his jaw clenches. "He has my brother," "He's already here. Did you find anything important on the tablet?" "Yeah, I'm practically finished. There's a scepter like weapon with angel grace in it. That's the only thing that kill him."

"Do you have no idea where it is?" "Not me, but your angel friend can," "Alright, pack a go bag and meet me in the garage in 10," She nods and pull open the drawers when Dean says, "And Y/N?"

"Yeah?" "We'll get him back." She doesn't say anything and continued to pack. They packed clothes and weapons before texting Sam her address to meet.

Within a couple hours, they arrived at her house and there was an eerie vibe about it. Dean wanted her to wait in the car until Sam got there but she couldn't wait while that son of a bitch was hurting her brother.

She ran inside and Dean followed her into went to the house. Blood was smeared all over the walls and windows. The house stenched of metal and rotting flesh. She found my brother with his skull cracked open in the kitchen.

She heart was barely able to take seeing him like that but when she saw her niece with bruises littering her neck, she lost it.

That son of a bitch strangled her to death. She must have been so scared. Y/N cradled her cold, limp body in her arms and smooth out her soft, curly hair. "I'm so sorry, honey." She stand up but her eyes don't leave the corpse. "I need a minute," "Whatever you need," he says before leaving the room.

Anger boils her blood and yells erupted from her chest. She rushed out of the room and kicked the couch forwards. She grabbed the lamp and throw it against the wall.

She picked up the nightstand and slamed it on the ground with a satisfying crack. She kicked the nightstand and into the corner and standing in front of the family portrait.

Her fist finds its way through the picture and she just kept punching and punching. She didn't care if the glass was piercing through the flesh of my hands.

Sam finally arrives at Y/N's house with Cas. "I'll check around the perimeter of the house," Cas says. Sam nods and asks, "Where's Y/N?" Right on cue, she yells out in anger.

"Y/N," Sam tries to walk into the house but Dean holds him back. "Give her a minute. She found the bodies of her brother and niece," Dean explains. Sam sighs deeply and runs a hand through his hair. "It's our fault," Sam says.

"I know. They would still be alive if she didn't help us," Dean says. "She's already been through enough," "He's gone. There's no trace of Michael." Cas says to them as he walks up the steps. "Damn it," Dean says.

Y/N is huddled in the corner with her bleeding hands. "Alright, Y/N, enough of this. There's only one thing left to do now." She stands up and walks out of the house. Their eyes fall to her hands and she noticed. "It's alright, don't worry about it." "We should at least cover it so it doesn't get infected." "I need to get this cleaned up," she says, motioning to the house.

"You don't have to do this alone, Y/N." "I'm used to it," she says, walking passed them and opening the garage. She pulls out a shovel and Sam gets in the way. "Y/N, please. Let us help," he explains.

"I know you feel guilty, but it's best if you leave. I'm not angry at you, I'm just tired of the people around me getting hurt." She looked from Sam to Dean and Dean steps closer to her.

"Well you're stuck with us. And we're all in." "Once I'm done here, I'm making sure Michael's head is on a pike. And I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Like I said, all in." Dean says. "Then start digging a pit at least a foot deep. We have to burn everything in that house." She says, handing them both a shovel.

"You've done this before?" Sam asks. "My brother did, and he told me in case something happened to him.." she trails off. "I'll get your hands cleaned up," Cas says, motioning to her hands. "Fine,"