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saetoru · 1 year

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。underneath the stars (looking for a sign)

synopsis. al-haitham thinks waking up beside you feels like a dream—well, until it doesn’t

— word count. 4.1k (how did a drabble get here sobs)

— contents. pining al-haitham, honestly it’s mutual pining lol, gn! reader, implied one night stands, consumption of alcohol (both reader and al-haitham) reader is a matra, al-haitham is acting grand sage, it’s basically the “avoid my crush after i accidentally sleep with him until he corners me” trope lol, confessions, brief angst and then a happily ever after, sfw + fluff, not proof read—this was entirely written on tumblr drafts through mobile app. yeah. we raw dogged this bad boy lmao

— notes. if you knew. how many wips i have with him. you would be astounded :,) he’s all that matters anymore

al-haitham wakes up to a bed much softer than his, red flag number one. there’s also a weight on his chest, red flag number two. red flag number three, however, doesn’t make itself apparent until he opens his eyes and sees you.

oh. not good. you’re covered in the sheets, but you’re clearly…topless, and a quick glance at his own torso tells him he’s also not clothed. oh. double not good.

but there’s also a small voice in his head that’s cheering and patting himself on the shoulder—he’s managed to fall into the bed of the very person he’s been quietly pining over for months, what more can a guy possibly ask for?

but unfortunately, his mini celebration in his inner thoughts is disrupted when you open your eyes at the disturbance from his movement—and before he can get even one word in, you shriek. rather loudly, too—it makes him wince at the sound (he’s always had sensitive ears.)

“what are you doing here?” you gasp, “and why haven’t you got a shirt—wait. why haven’t i got a shirt on?”

“well, it seems—”

“you slept with me?” you gasp again, cutting him off as your face twists in disbelief, “while i was drunk?”

“i was drunk too,” he points out, frowning at the accusations. al-haitham is a respectable man, and more importantly, he cares about you too much to take advantage of your inebriated state like that. “it was a two way street.”

that seems to calm you for…approximately two seconds before your face twists in horror again.

“al-haitham,” you wail his name in despair, slumping onto your mattress in defeat, “this is the worst thing we could have done. do you realize that?”

oh. you regret this—the voice in his head suddenly stops cheering. it deflates, in fact.

worst thing. is this really the worst thing? al-haitham thinks you both have always gotten along rather well, and he’s always taken your slightly stuttered words and nervous chuckles as a testament to holding the same attraction he holds for you. but maybe he was too quick to assume you feel the same, and your words now feel like a boulder on his chest. they’re heavy. soul crushingly heavy, in fact—but he keeps the blank expression on his face ever so easily.

“yes, it seems a bit inappropriate for coworkers to have an entanglement,” he agrees after a moment, making you whine at his word choice.

“you don’t have to call it that,” you huff.

then, out of sheer curiosity (and absolutely nothing else), you take a quick peek from the corner of your eyes at his chest. in your defense, his shirt leaves practically little left to the imagination, and when else will you get the opportunity to see his (very impressive) chest? a peek won’t hurt.

you’re thoroughly impressed when your eyes catch his sculpted pecs. his eyes are thoroughly unimpressed when they catch your gaze.

“well, what would you like to do about our predicament?” he asks flatly.

acting uninterested is the hardest part, he realizes. here, you’re within reach for his arm to curl around you, and yet somehow, there still feels like there are miles of space between you in the sheets. it’s a bitter reality, he thinks, one that stings a bit more than he’s ever really imagined.

al-haitham has witnessed lots of rejections in his time. whether it’s at the akademiya where he is the unfortunate witness of a rejected confession, or in novels he reads of unrequited feelings. he however never thought he’d land himself in the same situation—even if he hasn’t technically confessed to you yet. but your reaction definitely feels like one, and he’s smart enough to deduce that if he did confess, you wouldn’t take too kindly to the idea.

sure, it’s a bit unprofessional for the acting grand sage to have a relationship with one of the akademiya’s top matra that he works with rather frequently, but al-haitham is only the temporary grand sage. technically, after this, he will be going back to being the scribe who makes himself scarce on a regular basis. and it’s not very unprofessional for the scribe and a matra to be romantically involved, he’d like to argue. most people meet their significant others through the akademiya in the first place—why should he be any different?

but one glance at your face tells him you’re rather unhappy with this situation. he thinks he can hear a crack where the boulder resides on his chest.

“i think you should leave,” you mumble, chewing nervously on your lip, “and don’t say anything about this to anyone. especially not cyno.”

“noted,” he says blandly. you turn away, letting him have the privacy to rise out of bed and dress—which he does as slowly as possible, just to drag out the feeling of being in your bedroom for just a while longer—before he says clears his throat. “i’ll be seeing you,” he says.

“sure,” you nod awkwardly, “see you at uh…see you at work.”

with that, he walks out of your bedroom, and sees himself out. as soon as you hear the front door shut, you turn and scream into your pillow—the same pillow that happened to be under al-haitham’s head for the entire night, the same pillow that smells like his shampoo.

you think for a moment how you can never wash this pillow case again—and then, when you realize just what you’ve thought, you scream again.

you might just be entirely screwed.

—————

“and where have you been?” kaveh is waiting in the kitchen as soon as al-haitham enters.

great.

kaveh has a talent for making himself available to chatter away into al-haitham’s ear on the most stressful of days. whether it’s to greet him with complaints about having no help with cleaning after a long day of work, or to bang on his office door and demand an explanation for rejected funds as he does paperwork, or to ask where he’s been after he’s been wounded rather harshly by the one person he’s ever felt romantically inclined for, kaveh is always there at the worst possible timing.

leave it to kaveh to sour his mood more.

“i don’t see how it’s any of your business,” al-haitham mutters, grabbing the glass of water on the table and chugging it to help with the slight hangover he nurses—it’s evidently not his best morning in more ways than one.

“hey, that’s my glass,” kaveh scolds, “get your own.”

“it’s actually my glass. from my grandmothers set,” al-haitham corrects his roommate, “and i pay the water bills. so it’s my water too.”

“you—” kaveh shakes with frustration. it would pull a bit of an amused grin on al-hairham’s face if he wasn’t in the worst mood possible. “nevermind,” kaveh huffs, crossing his arms, “where were you—wait, is that a hickey?”

“no,” al-haitham says instantly, pulling his cloak higher to cover his neck—but kaveh beats him to it, reaching over and inspecting his skin. he seems to light up as soon as he realizes it is, in fact, a hickey on al-haitham’s neck.

“it is a hickey,” he grins gleefully, gasping in sheer disbelief that al-haitham seems to have some sort of life outside of work and home, “this can’t be. did you pay someone to get into bed with you—”

“just because some of us can afford such services doesn’t mean we indulge in them,” al-haitham grumbles, which earns an offended gasp from the blonde, “and i’m not obligated to tell you where, or with who for that matter, i was—”

“was it that matra you’re always standing around with?” kaveh grins knowingly, cutting him off.

the mere mention of you must make his face fall—which is new, because al-haitham has always been good at hiding his emotions on his face. but kaveh seems to have realized he’s overstepped, because his smile fades just as quickly as it comes.

“it doesn’t matter,” al-haitham mutters, “it was a mistake.”

“a mistake? but you’ve been pathetically pining for months, anyone with eyes can see—”

“i’ll be going to work now,” al-haitham cuts kaveh off, “make sure you pay this months rent on time.”

with that, he turns, making his way to his room to shower and then be off to the akademiya—where he equal parts hopes he doesn’t see you, and equal parts hopes he runs into you just to catch a glimpse of you again.

—————

you haven’t seen al-haitham is six days—correction: you’ve avoided al-haitham for six days. admittedly, it’s becoming increasingly difficult seeing as he is the acting grand sage, and you do need him to approve of your reports from recent investigations—but then you remember how six days ago, in the darkly lit corner of the street on your way home, you both kissed.

(and yes, it was a drunken mistake—neither you nor al-haitham value public displays of inappropriate affection between coworkers, but that doesn’t erase what happened.)

perhaps it would be easy to laugh it off as an impulsive action the both of you took while being under the influence, but then you both stumbled into your house. and then your bed. and then a kiss turned into more…and then next thing you knew, you’ve been awakened to a very unclothed (but still very handsome) al-haitham next to you in the mattress.

you should be mature and face him—people can sleep with people and not let it mean anything, proper adults would simply brush over this and never look back. but al-haitham is a bit of a difficult scenario.

he’s handsome—painfully so, with those sculpted muscles and those soft strands of hair that fall perfectly over his face. but more than he is easy on the eyes, he’s a charming individual. at least to you—you think the majority of the akademiya would have to disagree.

but al-haitham is kind, he greets you properly, holds doors open for you, and he often notices when you’re tired just by looking at you before giving you extensions on reports. he’s caring, you can tell because he’s helped people more than once, and while he claims it’s for the sake of his own convenience so he can avoid extra trouble, you know that he doesn’t have the heart to turn away from those that need him. more importantly, al-haitham is disciplined—it’s something all matra such as yourself can appreciate.

he seeks out knowledge in the most moral of methods, he never crosses limits or abuses power even when he holds the ability to, and he never takes advantage of the authority he may hold over others.

he’s wonderful, you can’t help but think—and admittedly, his hands also have very attractive veins that make you sweat a little. but that’s not the important part, of course. the important part is how perfect his character is, if you take the moment to understand it. and you like to think you understand it—much more than most at the akademiya.

except romancing the akademiya’s grand sage isn’t the best look for a matra—especially if you want to climb up the ranks soon. you don’t want rumors spread to undermine your hard work…or worse, be accused by the general mahamatra of taking your position as the grand sage’s lover to your advantage for work gains.

cyno is a strict individual—you’d hate to get on his bad side. and just as you think about how awful it would be if he got the wrong impression, he walks right up to you.

with that serious look on his face—why does he always have that serious look on his face?

“grand sage al-haitham requests you in his office,” he says. you don’t detect any suspicion in his voice, and it seems like a perfectly normal statement, but that’s the thing about cyno. he’s too good at not letting his movements be read, too good at cornering caged animals before dragging them by the ankles out in the open, exposed and vulnerable.

you gulp. “did he say why?” you ask, “i’m a bit busy.”

“no,” cyno shakes his head—and then he looks at you oddly, “you don’t seem busy.”

“well….this report won’t write itself,” you chuckle nervously, which only makes his brows furrow in confusion.

“wasn’t that due two days ago?”

fuck.

“yes….but al-haitham gave me an extension.”

“he seems to give you a lot of those,” cyno points out, unimpressed.

well, that’s great, you think. surely, there is no other matra as good at losing composure and making things more obvious for themselves than you.

“i haven’t been feeling well,” you say quickly—which isn’t the worst excuse, seeing as you’ve hardly shown your face at the akademiya for the last few days.

cyno seems to buy it too, because he nods in understanding before giving you a concerned look. “you shouldn’t push yourself, you know,” he lectures, “being sick snot fun.” you blink, and he looks thoroughly amused with himself. “get it? because when you’re sick, you might have a runny nose? snot? and—”

“right,” you nod, “i’ll be seeing the grand sage now. i wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

at least you know cyno has not made any….inappropriate assumptions if he’s making jokes, as painful as they might be. you’re not sure if you’d rather face al-haitham or continue to listen to the general mahamatra’s interesting sense of humor, but the closer you get to the grand sage’s office, the more you want to turn back and find cyno again.

but you’re an adult, and adults do adult things sometimes, and sometimes they’re not the most ideal, but the only way to handle such situations is the adult way—to be mature and not let things get in the way of being professional. easy enough.

at least, you hope.

—————

“you called for me, grand sage?”

ouch. al-haitham has now been reduced to grand sage, not just al-haitham. he looks at you for a moment, and he tries—really, he does—to seem unbothered, but his brows crinkle before he can stop them.

“i did, yes,” he says, looking at you.

you look lovely—which, you always do, even when you’re nervous. he can tell you are because you have that habit of chewing on your lip when you’re nervous, and he hates that he makes you anxious enough to do that right now.

al-haitham has always hated the gap between him and everyone else—not because he enjoys being close to others, but because it’s burdensome to always seem like a pretentious asshole. being interpreted as one over the years has left him quite numb to what other people think….but that’s not the case with you, unfortunately. he wonders if you’ve ever thought he was an asshole, or if you’ve ever felt that he acts like he’s better than you are. he hopes you’ve never talked to him and thought he’s condescending like kaveh insists he is—he hopes you find value in his honesty and find him insightful.

he thinks you might have at one point, if the way carrying conversation with you is so easy is of any proof. it feels natural, talking to you. your voice is smooth, especially when it reads over mission reports to him in his office. your laugh is even smoother, though—it’s soft, and honeyed, it sounds like something he’s been missing his whole life.

everything about you feels like something he’s been missing his whole life, like he was born to be with you by his side, and he’s been empty without you all along.

you clear your throat, handing him papers as you pull him from his thoughts and say, “here is the report for that last investigation,” you say quietly, “i apologize for the untimeliness. it won’t happen again—”

“that’s not why i called you,” he cuts you off.

al-haitham is a straightforward man. he’s watched many confessions, and he’s read about many confessions, and he’s even thought about how his own confessions might go should he ever find someone he finds interest in.

but this isn’t interest. al-haitham is not interested in you—he needs you. to call this a confession might be incorrect, he thinks for a moment, because this almost feels like he’s about to plead for you to give him a chance.

“oh,” your voice is small.

you think you have an inkling of an idea of what he’ll bring up, and you contemplate running out of his office and begging cyno to tell you a few more of his jokes….or a few dozen….maybe a few hundred to be safe.

“we should talk about that night—”

“well, there’s not much to talk about,” you say simply, “you and i are consenting adults, and we happened to be heavily under the influence, which caused a lapse in judgement. it’s a bit unprofessional, sure, but as long as neither of us say anything, and as long as we manage to keep a professional atmosphere between the two of us, there shouldn’t be any—”

he cuts off your (rehearsed in the bathroom mirror many times) speech as he clears his throat. “i….” the words are caught in his throat.

for a lifetime of straightforward honesty and blunt words, it seems like now of all times he can’t seem to speak.

“you…?” you motion for him to continue.

“i enjoyed it.”

you sputter. his eyes widen as he stumbles over his words when he realizes what he’s really said.

“grand sage,” you gasp, “i think that’s hardly appropriate for—”

“n-no, i meant i enjoyed you,” he says quickly, making you furrow your brows.

“and what does that mean? because—”

“i enjoyed being with you,” he croaks. it’s a good thing kaveh isn’t here to witness this, because as a self proclaimed expert at love (which al-haitham would have to disagree), kaveh would have an absolute ball watching this. “i don’t….i would prefer if we didn’t pretend nothing happened,” he mumbles, “if you feel the same, that is.”

everything about al-haitham is hopeful. from the way his eyes watch your every movement as they stare at you, to the way he clutches the pen in his hand tightly in anticipation of your response, he’s hopeful. you can tell.

you can tell he’s hopeful you’ll say yes, that he’s hopeful you’ll say you feel the same way as him, that he’s hopeful he’ll see you again in a setting that’s not just for work and mission reports and investigation details.

he’s hopeful you’ll say yes to his pleading eyes and fill that empty spot beside him that’s been empty for far too long.

and it feels like swallowing lead when you sigh heavily and watch the hope crumble.

“al-haitham,” you mumble, “this wouldn’t be very wise, you know?”

“and why’s that?” the hurt in his face is almost tangible.

he’s not foreign to rejections, he’s witnessed them his whole life. he watched that haravatat scholar that declined the amurta one outside of class that one year. he read about that main character that found self respect and declined the toxic love interest in that novel he read last summer. he’s declined his own fair share of confessions by random scholars that stare a bit too long at his chest and arms for his liking.

but for some reason, he never imagined it to feel like this. like being with your for one second longer might just burn his skin, but being away from you might leave him cold and numb. al-haitham thinks that if you walked out that door, you might just take every bit of warmth he’s ever known from him—but sitting in front of you, in front of your sorrowed expression and sympathetic eyes….it might be too much heat for him to handle.

“well, you’re the grand sage, and i’m a matra—”

“acting grand sage,” he corrects, “it’s temporary. i’ll be back to being the akademiya’s scribe in a short bit.”

“but people talk,” you insist, “and i’ve worked hard to be a respectable matra, and i wouldn’t want anyone to think i’ve slept my way to the top. plus, the general mahamatra is technically my boss, and he’s very strict—”

“the general mahamatra and i drink at taverns together quite often,” he says pointedly, “he’s well aware of how i feel.”

“you told cyno?” you gasp, shooting him a sharp look, “i asked you specifically not to—”

“he’s known of my feelings before that night,” he assures, “evidently i’m not very subtle.”

“well,” you hum, biting back a smile, “no, you aren’t.”

he raises a brow, tilting his head in confusion. “you’ve known?”

“al-haitham,” you chuckle, eyeing him fondly. something about the way your smile is so bright makes him clutch his pen tighter. “you aren’t the most social, you know. but you always have something to say to me.”

“that doesn’t always mean anything,” he mumbles, blush rising to the tips of his ears.

he’s endearing this way, you decide—when he’s flustered and almost pouting and flushed a bright shade of pink. you think for a second that maybe, if you kiss him for a bit in the comforts of his office, no one will ever have to know.

“but it does, doesn’t it?” you tease.

“and if you’ve indulged it all this time, am i safe to assume it means something to you too?” he asks, raising a brow.

you should say no. sleeping with the grand sage and kissing him in his office and maybe even going on dates and possibly holding hands is hardly a good look—but the scribe….well, maybe the scribe is a different story.

“ask me again when you’re the akademiya’s scribe,” you say, biting back a smile, “perhaps my answer will be different then.”

“i see,” he nods, biting back a smile of his own, “i suppose the grand sage isn’t everyone’s type, huh?”

“no,” you chuckle, “i suppose not. but the scribe….well, he’s rather charming.” you walk up to him, lean down and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth as you mumble, “i don’t mind waiting for the scribe.”

“well, lucky for you, you won’t have to wait too long,” he hums.

he watches you leave his office—and then he decides that when he clocks out at five pm sharp later, he’ll go straight home, tell kaveh that he is, in fact capable in the field of romance, and demand this month’s rent.

—————

“haitham, we’re out of eggs,” you pout, poking your head out of the fridge, “will you bring some on the way home today?”

“we would have eggs if kaveh didn’t use all of mine,” al-haitham grumbles, glaring at the blonde who gasps in offense.

“and you help yourself to my beer, don’t you? i deserve a few eggs,” kaveh huffs.

“well, make sure you pay this month’s rent on time. we’re going to buy some more furniture for our room.”

this time, kaveh turns to you in disbelief—you find it amusing how he seems to still find it improbable that anyone would like to spend longer than five minutes with al-haitham, let alone share a bedroom.

“are you really sure you want to do this? what could you possibly see in him? he’s the most aggravating individual i’ve ever had the pleasure of talking to,” kaveh eyes you in concern as you walk over and press a soft kiss to al-haitham’s forehead, earning himself an unimpressed glare from the scribe and making you giggle.

“he is a bit aggravating,” you agree with a teasing glint, pinching al-haitham’s cheek as he scoffs, “but i think he’s just nice to me because i sleep with him.”

“that’s gross,” kaveh wrinkles his nose, “you had better not be doing anything i can hear from my room—that would be traumatic. although, it must be more traumatic for you,” he says with sympathy.

“if you don’t like it, you can simply move out,” al-haitham, shrugs, wrapping an arm around your waist. as much as you love your boyfriend—and you love him quite a bit, you can’t help but mourn the fact that constant bickering will now become a staple in your daily routine.

“are you threatening me?” kaveh gasps before he turns to you with his finger pointing to al-haitham, “do you see? this is your future, i hope you know that. he’s much more unpleasant to live with, i’m warning you in advance—don’t say i didn’t try.”

“well, i’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior for me,” you grin, eyeing al-haitham playfully as your fingers weave into his hair, “otherwise, i’ll have to come sleep in your room when i’m mad at him.”

you think, for the first time ever, kaveh and al-haitham seem to agree on something as they both share a look of dread at your words.

pov: you write 3.8k words of build up for a plot just so you can write the last scene 😭

no bc literally i meant to write this as a drabble just so i could write that last scene bc i thought of it and giggled but then the plot just kept going and now we’re at 4.1k words like w h a t

#teepods.writings #fics.#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x you #alhaitham angst #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

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doctorbitchcrxft · 7 months

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Wendigo | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, Dean's a dick but so is the reader

Word Count: 8817

A/N: Happy Saturday! Enjoy the next chapter!! Taglist/Requests are open!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You were curled up against the backseat of the Impala writing in your journal and humming along to Dean’s Foreigner cassette tape when Sam jerked awake in the front seat. You jerked up as well, concerned.

Dean shot his brother a worried look. “You okay?”

Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Bull. Nightmare?” you asked.

The younger brother just cleared his throat in response.

“You wanna drive for a while?” Dean asked.

You and Sam gave him an incredulous look.

“Dean, your whole life you never once asked me that,” he laughed.

“Just thought you might want to. Never mind.” He rolled his eyes and returned them to the road.

“Look, man, you’re worried about me,” Sam sighed. “I get it, and thank you, but I'm perfectly okay.”

His brother just hummed in response.

“I’ll take you up on that driving offer, though,” you chimed in.

“Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“And I told you I wasn’t listening.”

“Dick.”

Dean just scoffed in response.

Sam’s unfolding of a map brought the conversation back on track. “All right, where are we?”

“Just outside of Grand Junction,” you answered. You leaned over his shoulder and pointed at the spot labeled “Grand Junction” and drew a trail with your finger over to a spot labeled with the coordinates Dean had found in John’s journal.

Sam hesitated before speaking again. “You know what? Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon.”

Dean shook his head. “Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you wanna find the thing that killed Jessica—”

“We gotta find Dad first,” Sam finished.

“Dad disappearing and this thing showing up again after twenty years, it's no coincidence.”

“Wait, showing up again?” you asked. Even after poking around at Stanford, this was the first you’d heard of a previous encounter with the creature.

“I thought Sam would’ve told you,” Dean said.

“Told me what?”

Sam turned to face you. “You remember what I said about my mom dying? She died the same way Jess did.”

You nodded in solemn understanding.

The car went quiet again; the silence only broken by the older brother. “Dad will have answers. He'll know what to do.”

Sam scanned the map again. “It's weird, man. These coordinates he left us. This Blackwater Ridge.”

“What about it?” you asked, putting your chin on Sam’s shoulder to look at the map.

“There's nothing there. It's just woods.” He put down the map, looking past your head at Dean. “Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?”

Dean just shrugged in response.

The three of you found yourselves in a ranger’s station in Lost Creek National Forest just outside of Blackwater Ridge. You and Sam scanned a three-dimensional map of the forest atop a large table in the center of the room.

“So Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote.” The brunet tapped his finger against the ridge’s label on the map. “It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.”

However, his brother’s attention could not be pulled away from a picture on the wall. “Dude, check out the size of this freaking bear.”

You walked over to him, and he was right. The thing was massive. The man standing behind its corpse looked like a dwarf in comparison.

“There’s about a dozen or so grizzlies in the area,” you added.

You and the boys were startled by a ranger’s voice coming from behind you. “You three aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?”

“Oh, no, sir, we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper,” Sam assured him, laughing awkwardly.

Dean grinned and raised a fist. “Recycle, man.”

‘I could hit him. Jackass.’

The ranger obviously did not believe him. “Bull.”

Your eyes flicked to Dean, who was unmoving.

“You're friends with that Haley girl, right?” the ranger continued.

“Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger— Wilkinson.” Dean faltered only to read the ranger’s name tag.

“Well I will tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it?”

You shook your head.

“You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”

“We will.” Dean paused only for a moment. “Well, that Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?”

“That is putting it mildly.”

You laughed. ‘I’m sure we’d get along great.’

“Actually,” Dean stopped the ranger from leaving the room. “You know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date.”

The ranger eyed Dean curiously, but still got him a copy of the permit.

Dean laughed smugly as the three of you left the station, waving the paper around.

“What are you, five?” you asked him.

“Listen, sweetheart, I consider this a major success.” You quirked a brow at him, mildly annoyed he called you that stupid name again. “This eliminates a lot of the groundwork we normally have to do.”

“Fair point,” you shrugged.

Sam broke the somewhat comfortable silence. “Are you cruising for a hookup or something?”

Considering the thought you’d just had, you were taken slightly aback. “What do you mean?”

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?” Sam was more talking pointedly at Dean and not you. You came to a stop on your respective sides of the Impala.

You couldn’t quite see Dean over the top of the car. “I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?”

You could practically feel the look Dean was giving Sam.

“What?” the brunet scoffed.

“Since when are you all shoot-first-ask-questions-later, anyway?”

“Since now.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, biting the inside of your lip. “Really?’ you muttered, getting down into the car.

***

Sam walked a little further up the walkway to the Collins house than you and Dean did.

“Forty-five minutes in that copy room for this?” you inspected Dean’s small, fake park ranger ID.

“Can’t rush art, sweetheart.”

“Now you’re just working it into every sentence because you know it aggravates me.”

"Yup,” Dean chuckled.

You smirked lopsidedly and Dean knocked on Haley Collins’s front door. A quite beautiful, dark-haired girl opened it moments later.

“You must be Haley Collins. I'm Dean, this is Sam, and (Y/N), we're, ah, we're rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy.”

Haley hesitated. “Lemme see some ID.”

Dean held up the ID you’d previously been inspecting to the screen door. The girl looked between the ID and Dean.

“Come on in.”

“Thanks.”

The door swung open, allowing Haley to catch a glimpse of the Impala. “That yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice car.” She began leading the three of you into the home.

Dean looked back at Sam, mouthing something excitedly to him that you couldn’t quite make out. You rolled your eyes. You decided then and there you would push your attraction to him to the side for the rest of the time you were working with the brothers. To you, he was just an asshole playboy.

Sam’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. “So if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?”

You took in the sight of the table set for dinner and a young boy who looked to be about thirteen already picking at his plate of food.

Haley entered the room with a bowl and placed it onto the table. “He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now.”

“Well, maybe he can't get cell reception,” you suggested.

“He's got a satellite phone, too.”

‘Well, there goes that theory.’

“Could it be he's just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean threw in.

The teenage boy clanked his fork against his plate, sharply stating, “He wouldn't do that.”

You eyed the boy, getting a read on him.

“Our parents are gone,” Haley said. “It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.”

You nodded in understanding. As much as you were trying to dislike her, it wasn’t working all that well.

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asked.

Haley pulled out her laptop to show Sam the folder of pictures and videos her brother had sent her. “That's Tommy.” You could hear the sadness in her voice.

She clicked through to the most recent video.

A scruffy, presumably twenty-five year old man appeared onscreen. “Hey Haley, day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.”

Something flickered past outside the young man’s tent. Your brows furrowed.

“Well, we'll find your brother. We're heading out to Blackwater Ridge first thing,” Dean assured her.

“Then maybe I'll see you there,” she answered. “Look, I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy. I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm gonna find Tommy myself.”

“I think I know how you feel.”

Your eyes flicked over to Dean, growing angry at what you assumed to be an attempt at seducing the girl.

‘She’s mourning the potential loss of her brother, and you’re gonna try and charm her? Asshole.’

The younger Winchester once again broke you out of your thoughts. “Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?”

“Sure.” Haley clicked away on her laptop again.

***

You and the boys wound up at a bar. The table was covered in newspapers, John’s journal, and beer bottles; some full and some half empty.

“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.”

You gestured to John’s journal, which Sam slid over to you. You began flipping through it.

“Any before that?” Dean asked.

Sam pulled out a newspaper to show his brother. “Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack.”

You leaned across the table, squinting at the headline. You felt Dean’s eyes flick to your breasts that had subsequently been pushed up in your wife beater as you leaned over.

You glared at him. “Stay focused, Winchester.”

Dean rolled his eyes, apparently unable to find his way to a witty response. You turned your attention back to the headline that read, “ GRIZZLY BEAR ATTACKS! UP TO EIGHT HIKERS VANISH IN LOST CREEK AREA.”

Sam pulled out his laptop. “Before that, 1959 and 1936. Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork.”

“You have WiFi in here?” you questioned.

“Don’t need it. Just wanted to look at Haley’s video.” He pulled it up from a folder on his screen.

“Oh, shit. I almost forgot. Can I see that?” You hopped off your stool to get between the two brothers. “Watch this.” You clicked through the three frames of the video containing the shadow you’d seen flash across the screen. “That's three frames. That's a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.”

Dean reached across you to hit Sam’s shoulder. “Told you something weird was going on.”

Sam rolled his eyes, closing his laptop. “Yeah. I got one more thing.” He put a newspaper article between you and Dean. “In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

You skimmed the article briefly. “Is there a name?”

The only survivor of the attack in the article Sam showed you and Dean was a child at the time. He now lived a life of what appeared to be solitude. He drove a beat up truck that was parked haphazardly in his driveway and lived several miles out of the city. You took in the poor old man’s messy house as he led your trio into his living room.

“Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—”

Sam interrupted him. “Grizzly? That's what attacked them?”

Mr. Shaw lit a cigarette, took a deep puff, and nodded.

“The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?” Dean’s tone was slightly pointed. “What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?”

The old man continued to take drags of his cigarette. He seemed almost scared to entertain any other explanation aside from a grizzly bear attack.

Dean continued to pressure him. “If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.”

Mr. Shaw shook his head. “I seriously doubt that. Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” He sat down in his recliner. “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”

Sam sat down opposite the old man. “Mr. Shaw, what did you see?”

“Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like... no man or animal I ever heard.”

“It came at night?”

He nodded.

“Got inside your tent?”

“It got inside our cabin. I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it.”

You tried to keep your face from conveying your intrigue and tinge of fear.

“Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.” You could see Mr. Shaw becoming lost in his mind.

“It killed them?” Sam continued.

“Dragged them off into the night.” The old man shook his head as if to shake away the memories. “Why it left me alive... been asking myself that ever since.” He took a brief pause before reaching to the collar of his wife beater. “Did leave me this, though.” He pulled it down to reveal three long, deep claw mark scars. Through morbid curiosity, you were tempted to run your fingers over the jagged edges of the scarring. You couldn’t imagine how painful and angry the marks must have been when the poor man first got them.

“There's something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Shaw. We’re sorry about your parents,” you told him, turning away. “Have a good night, sir.”

Mr. Shaw seemed too caught up in his own head to respond with more than a wave, letting a cloud of smoke slither out of his mouth.

*** Later that night, you and the boys had just booked a room in yet another crappy motel.

‘One of these days I’ll treat myself to a stay in a halfway decent hotel.’

Before the three of you would be turning in for the night, you were headed to Dean’s car to pack your bags for the early morning you were about to have.

“Spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors.” Dean broke your train of thought. “If they want inside, they just go through the walls.”

“So it's probably something else, something corporeal,” Sam said.

“Corporeal? Look at you, smartass,” you laughed.

“Shut up. So what do you think?”

“The claws, the speed that it moves…” Dean trailed off. “Could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog. Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's corporeal. Which means we can kill it.”

“True,” you started. “But how are you gonna know what to bring to kill it with if we have no idea what it is?”

“Just trust me on this one,” Dean replied. “There’s not much a gun won’t be able to take care of.” He let the door to the motel almost completely swing shut behind him; nearly hitting you in the face.

You caught it just in time. “Right, right. Just like you ‘took care’ of Constance by shooting her.”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Dean raised a brow at you, just barely turning over his shoulder to give you his response. He started busying himself in the weapons box in the back of his car.

“I mean, just barely. Nearly caught me in the crossfire.”

Dean rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. “And what a shame that would’ve been.”

“Hey!” You shoved his shoulder with yours.

He glared at you in response.

Sam, who had been quiet the last few minutes, spoke up. “We cannot let that Haley girl go out there.”

His brother was rummaging through the weapons box; haphazardly throwing guns into his duffel bag. “Oh yeah? What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?”

You found a shotgun that was slightly smaller than the rest, giving it a once over before moving to put it in a duffel bag of your own. Before you could fully get it settled in the bag, Dean took it from you.

You went to protest, but Sam cut you off by saying, “Yeah,” as if it was obvious.

Dean turned his attention away from you and your shotgun long enough for you to steal it back.

“Her brother's missing, Sam,” he tried to reason. “She's not gonna just sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.”

Dean seemed to notice you had taken the gun back and glared at you. He picked up his own duffel, and you closed the weapons cavity.

“Finding Dad’s not enough?” Sam countered while you closed the trunk. “Now we gotta babysit too?”

You and Dean gave Sam a look.

“What?” he snapped.

You shook your head.

“Nothing,” Dean replied. He threw the duffel bag at him and walked off.

***

You yawned and pulled yourself into a tighter ball on the backseat of Dean’s Impala. You hadn’t gotten much sleep last night for a reason you couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t get too comfortable, sweetheart, we’re here,” Dean told you.

“Fuck.” You grabbed yours and Dean’s duffel bags off the seat next to you and got out of the car to feel loose gravel grating against your boots.

A man who looked to be in his late fifties was up ahead of you next to a Jeep with Haley and the teenager you recognized as Haley’s younger brother. You approached the other three from behind Sam and Dean.

“You guys got room for three more?” the older brother asked.

Haley crossed her arms. “Wait, you want to come with us?”

“Who are these guys?” The older man pointed at your group.

“Apparently this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue.”

Sam headed past everyone, and you followed.

You assumed the middle-aged man was the guide Haley had talked about hiring the previous day. He was very skeptical of the three of you. “You're rangers?”

Dean’s confidence never wavered. “That's right.”

“And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley was apparently skeptical, too.

“Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts.”

‘That’s what he calls me.’ You couldn’t quite understand the pang that went through your chest when he used that nickname for her. You pushed the thought aside once again, reminding yourself that you weren’t special in Dean’s eyes. To you, he was becoming more of a playboy asshole with each passing moment. You hoped your attraction to his beautiful green eyes and sharp jawline would soon turn to disdain.

Speaking of which, he appeared next to you as the guide spoke once more. “What, you think this is funny? It's dangerous back country out there. Her brother might be hurt.”

You turned around, trying to explain Dean’s attitude away. “He knows that. He just has a funny way of showing it.” You hoped Dean didn’t miss the bite in your tone. And from the way you could feel his glare burning a hole through your skull, you were sure it wasn’t lost on him.

The guide shook his head, brushing past you and the brothers. He headed into the forest, and you followed a few paces behind. You would never admit it, but the woods had always unsettled you just a bit. You tightened your grip on your bag and pushed forward.

Dean had apparently learned the guide’s name from Haley while you were lost in your own anxiety. “Roy, you said you did a little hunting.” He quickened his step to pass you and get up next to Roy.

“Yeah, more than a little.” The response came gruff and disinterested.

“Uh-huh. What kind of furry critters do you hunt?”

You could feel where this was going. ‘Don’t fucking provoke him, Winchester.’

“Mostly buck, sometimes bear.” The disinterest was ever present in Roy’s tone as he continued to scan the treeline in front of him.

Dean passed him up, doing that obnoxiously confident backwards walk again. “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?”

Suddenly, Roy grabbed Dean’s jacket roughly. You nearly flinched.

“Whatcha doing, Roy?” Dean’s tone had hardened.

Roy grabbed a stick, and peering around Dean you could see the jaws of a bear trap close around it inches from Dean’s boot.

“You should watch where you're stepping. Ranger.”

‘Damn.’

Roy dropped the stick and took the lead once more.

Dean turned around to the rest of the group. “It's a bear trap.”

You scoffed.

You could hear Haley’s quickened step crunching leaves as she passed you to catch up to Dean. “You didn't pack any provisions. You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You're not rangers.” She grabbed his arm, spinning him to face her. “So who the hell are you?”

The teenage boy passed his sister and Dean. You and Sam hesitated behind Haley, shooting Dean a quizzical look. Dean jerked his head for the two of you to go on. You followed Sam forward, but hung back close enough that you could hear Dean and Haley’s conversation.

“Sam and I are brothers, and we're looking for our father. (Y/N) is—” you were interested in this explanation, “—a friend of ours.”

‘Oh, so we’re friends now.’

“He might be here, we don't know. I just figured that you and me, we're in the same boat.”

“Why didn't you just tell me that from the start?”

“I'm telling you now. 'sides, it's probably the most honest I've ever been with a woman. ...ever. So, we okay?”

‘Wonder how many times he’s used that line.’ You caught that same squeeze happening in your chest happening again. You desperately wished to get ahold of yourself and snap out of it. ‘He’s just pretty to look at. He’s a complete douche. Get it together, girl.’

You had missed Haley’s response to Dean’s “heartfelt” admission, but heard “And what do you mean I didn't pack provisions?” You heard the rustling of a plastic bag behind you, and remembered the bag of peanut M&Ms he had bought at a gas station before coming here. You heard Dean start walking again, and you hurried ahead to catch up with Sam and not look like you were snooping.

Dean had apparently noticed you were hanging back and chuckled to himself. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

He walked up beside you. “Jealous?”

“What?” you turned to him, feigning disgust. “Fuck no.”

“So… you were just snooping because…?”

You wanted to smack the smug grin off his face. His amusement at your aggravation riled you up even more. “I was just curious what she thought of us. And to be frank, I don’t exactly trust your ability to explain things away. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” You knew he didn’t believe you. “That’s all.”

You petulantly stole the bag of peanut M&Ms from him.

“Hey! (Y/N)!”

You marched on.

“This is it. Blackwater Ridge,” Roy announced after what felt like hours of walking. Your anxiety around getting lost in the forest was only deepening. That was what it all boiled down to. You had a fear of not being in control, and the idea of a place where every “landmark” looked the same, wildlife ruled the terrain, and being alone in it was pretty much a death sentence, scared you pretty severely. Not to mention, the time you almost bled to death in the middle of the woods had another hunter not found you.

You had no means of identifying where you’d come back from. All the trees seemed the same to you. You had no idea how you were going to get back to the car at the end of the day; if you were even going to make it out of here by the end of the day. You had been walking for so long that you were sure you’d be sleeping out here tonight. The thought of that frightened you even more.

What truly unsettled you was that the sounds you had been hearing up until you made it to Blackwater Ridge— crickets, leaves rustling, birds chirping— all of it had been silenced.

“I'm gonna go take a look around,” Roy announced.

The younger Winchester stopped him. “You shouldn't go off by yourself.”

Roy’s snark almost rivaled Dean’s. “That's sweet. Don't worry about me.” He waved his gun around and pushed between the two brothers to head deeper into the forest.

Dean turned to the rest of your group. “Alright, everybody stays together. Let's go.”

‘Great. More fucking woods.’ You marched forward, trying to put on a brave face.

Sam’s eyes softened when he caught sight of you. “You okay?”

Apparently, your “brave face” wasn’t as brave as you thought. “Yeah, why?”

“You look… kinda nervous.”

“Yeah, I am. I’m, uh, kinda scared of the forest, honestly.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Dean’s mocking tone interrupted your vulnerable moment. “You’re scared of a little woods?” He jutted out his bottom lip, feigning a pout.

“Fuck off, Winchester. I’m fine.”

“Whoa, touchy. Relax.” Dean held his hands up in surrender. “Was just poking fun, that’s all.”

“Okay, well, it wasn’t funny. So, fuck off.” You rushed ahead, still white-knuckling the duffel bag on your shoulder.

Before Dean could catch up to you or respond, Roy called out from quite a bit ahead. “Haley! Over here!”

Haley took off in the direction of Roy’s voice, closely followed by you. Haley froze at the sight in front of her. “Oh, my God.”

In the clearing Roy had found, bloodied, torn open tents surrounded mutilated camping supplies and backpacks. Deep gashes in the tent material and the surrounding trees were jagged and stained with blood around the edges. The sight wasn’t making your queasiness any better.

“Looks like a grizzly.”

‘No, it doesn’t, Roy,’ you thought.

Haley’s backpack hit the ground next to you, and she tore through the campsite; screaming her brother’s name.

Sam moved to quiet her down. She kept screaming. A much harsher “Shh!” passed Sam’s lips, finally getting the girl to settle down.

“Why?” she questioned defensively.

“Something might still be out there,” he answered.

Dean called his brother’s name from the other end of the campsite. You followed Sam over to the sound of Dean’s voice.

You crouched down next to Sam. Dean snapped a stick and pointed to a set of drag marks on the ground. “The bodies were dragged from the campsite. But here, the tracks just vanish. That's weird. I'll tell you what, that's no skinwalker or black dog.”

The three of you stood and returned to the campsite to find Haley crying on the ground over her brother’s broken and bloodied phone.

“Hey, he could still be alive,” Dean told her. She shot him a confused and slightly angry look.

Out of nowhere, a scratchy male voice started gutturally calling, “Help! Help!”

Roy was quick to run to the shouter’s aid. However, you weren’t so sure it was a real person screaming like that.

“Help! Somebody!” came again.

The brothers started off to follow Roy.

“Wait, guys!” you called, not wanting to be left alone despite your hesitation.

“C’mon, (Y/N)!” Sam called.

You dropped your duffel in your rush to follow Sam’s voice. When you found where the group had gathered, you could see the brothers searching the treeline. You licked your teeth, upset that your intuition was right. Your group had found no one.

“It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn't it?” Haley said, confused.

“Everybody get back to camp,” you ordered.

You followed the path you were pretty sure would get you back to the mangled campsite. Thankfully, your sense of direction was right, but all of your supplies had been taken by the time you returned.

“Our packs!” Haley exclaimed.

Roy grumbled, “So much for my GPS and my satellite phone.”

“What the hell is going on?” Haley was catching on.

“It’s smart. It’s trying to isolate us so we can’t call for help. It knows we won’t last long without supplies,” you stated.

“You mean someone, some nutjob out there just stole all our gear.” The guide’s voice was hard and angry.

“I need to speak with you two. In private.” You pulled the brothers aside by their jackets. Dean shrugged your hand off him.

“Can I see your dad’s journal?” you asked. Yours had been taken along with your duffel bag.

“No, why?” Dean asked petulantly.

“Please, dude, c’mon.” You were not in the mood.

“Give it to her, Dean,” Sam chimed in.

Dean rolled his eyes and handed it over.

You flipped through until you found a page marked by a First Nations-style drawing of a tall figure with long claws labeled “Wendigo.” You looked up at the boys expectantly.

“Oh, come on, wendigos are in the Minnesota woods or, or northern Michigan. I've never even heard of one this far west,” Dean responded.

“Think about it, Dean, the claws, the way it can mimic a human voice,” you tried to reason.

“Great.” He took his pistol out of his belt. “Well, then this is useless.”

“I told you guns don’t work on everything,” you quipped.

“Shut up.”

Sam took the journal from you and handed it back to his brother. “We gotta get these people to safety.” He led you and Dean back to the group. “All right, listen up, it's time to go. Things have gotten...more complicated.”

Haley seemed pissed. “What?”

“Kid, don't worry.” Roy’s tone was almost patronizing. “Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it.”

“It's not me I'm worried about. If you shoot this thing, you're just gonna make it mad. We have to leave. Now,” Sam countered.

“One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders.” Roy was now getting in Sam’s face.

“C’mon, Roy, chill out,” you told him, pressing a hand to Sam’s chest to keep him from stepping to Roy.

Sam let you keep your hand there, but still bit back at Roy. “We never should have let you come out here in the first place, all right? I'm trying to protect you.”

“You protect me? I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night.” The guide was so close you could smell the chewing tobacco on his breath.

Sam still refused to back down. “Yeah? It's a damn near perfect hunter. It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid sorry ass out of here.”

Roy laughed mockingly. “You know you're crazy, right?”

“Yeah? You ever hunt a wen—”

Dean pushed you out the way and shoved his brother back. “Relax!”

Haley got between you, the boys, and Roy. “Stop. Stop it. Everybody just stop. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him.”

You considered for a moment the implications of what may happen if you allowed them to stay.

Dean broke the silence. “It's getting late. This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves.”

“How?” Haley asked.

“I’m not gonna sugarcoat this,” you began. “We don’t really have the time for the ‘monsters under the bed are real’ talk. This thing is a Wendigo. I’m gonna start carving some symbols into the ground. No one crosses the circle once I’ve drawn it. Got it?”

Haley nodded at you. “What can I do?”

“Build a fire with— sorry, I never caught his name,” you gestured to the teenager next to her.

“Ben,” Haley told you.

“Ben. You two start gathering enough wood and tinder to keep a fire going. Don’t go too far, though, please.”

She and Ben nodded at you before setting off.

“Thank you,” you called after the Collins siblings. “Sam, Dean, help me with the Anasazi symbols.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said. You were surprised at his compliance.

After a while of scuttling across the forest floor drawing a circle of Anasazi symbols around the campsite, the sun had set. Haley and Ben had long since returned and were tending the fire. As you finished the last symbol, you brushed the dirt off your hands on your jeans.

Haley looked up at you from her place by the fire. “One more time, that's—”

“Anasazi symbols. It's for protection,” Dean explained. “The wendigo can't cross over them.”

Roy laughed, feeling the need to assert the fact he thought this was bullshit.

“Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy,” Dean told him, clearly fatigued of the man’s attitude.

Roy turned his attention back to the treeline with his gun over his shoulder. You followed Dean over to where Sam sat away from the group at the edge of the campsite.

“You wanna tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?” Dean asked his brother.

“Dean—” the younger one began to protest. You sat down next to him.

“No, you're not fine.” Of course, he already knew what Sam was going to say. “You're like a powder keg, man, it's not like you. I'm supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?”

You laughed. “Yeah, I’ve got enough of that attitude with just him, Sam.”

Dean nudged the tip of your boot with his harshly. You returned his glare petulantly.

“Dad's not here. I mean, that much we know for sure, right? He would have left us a message, a sign, right?” Sam’s mind was clearly going a mile a minute.

“Yeah, you're probably right. Tell you the truth, I don't think Dad's ever been to Lost Creek.”

You decided to just sit back and listen for a moment before throwing your two cents in.

“Then let's get these people back to town and let's hit the road. Go find Dad. I mean, why are we still even here?” Sam threw his hands up in frustration.

“This is why.” Dean held out his dad’s journal to his brother. “This book. This is Dad's single most valuable possession—everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he's passed it on to us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business.”

Sam shook his head. “That makes no sense. Why doesn't he just—call us? Why doesn't he—tell us what he wants, tell us where he is?”

“I dunno. But the way I see it, Dad's giving us a job to do, and I intend to do it.”

Sam’s eyes began to well with tears. “Dean, no. I gotta find Dad. I gotta find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about.”

“Okay, all right, Sam, we'll find them, I promise. Listen to me.” Sam looked up at Dean. “You've gotta prepare yourself. I mean, this search could take a while, and all that anger, you can't keep it burning over the long haul. It's gonna kill you. You gotta have patience, man.”

Sam looked away again, still fighting the tears congealing in his water line. “How do you two do it? How does Dad do it?”

You let Dean take that question. “Well for one, them.” He gestured to Haley and Ben. “I mean, I figure our family's so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable.”

You paused, looking down at the dirt and twigs below you before speaking. “It’s kind of the same for me. I don’t have a family anymore.” You felt Dean’s gaze on you, but kept the burning in your cheeks at bay. “This is really all I’ve ever known. I know I couldn’t go back to a normal life after all this. So, I do what I can to help everyone else’s lives feel a little more normal. Not everybody needs to know what’s really out there. It kinda brings me peace knowing I’m helping somebody else live their life relatively worry-free.”

Dean continued. “I'll tell you what else helps.”

You looked back up at him.

“Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can.”

You smiled at Dean genuinely for the first time.

A twig snapped, breaking you and the boys out of the little bonding moment you’d just had. The same, slightly unhuman grainy voice screamed out again from somewhere in the trees. “Help me! Please!”

Dean stands with his gun. You thought about pointing out the fact that it was useless, but decided to keep it to yourself.

“Help!” the strained sound came again.

Sam shined his flashlight through the tree line.

“He's trying to draw us out. Just stay cool, stay put,” Dean told the group.

“Inside the magic circle?” Roy quipped.

“Shut up, would you?” You snapped, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Help! Help me!” The voice seemed to become more distant before a low growl emanated from just outside the circle.

Roy pointed his gun at the sound. “Okay, that's no grizzly.”

“Oh, now you believe us,” you quipped.

“(Y/N),” Dean warned, still facing the outside of the circle.

Something rushed past where Haley and Ben were standing. She let out a scream.

“It's here,” the younger Winchester stated.

The guide shot at the rustling bushes, and then again. “I hit it!” He took off before you could protest.

“Roy, no!” you immediately ran after him.

You could hear Dean behind you addressing the Collinses, but barely registered it while trying to follow Roy.

“Roy! Come back!” you called.

“It's over here! It's in the tree!” the man called back.

Just as you reached him, something grabbed onto Roy’s shoulders and began pulling him up into the tree above.

“Roy!” you grabbed his ankles, doing your best to pull him back down to the ground.

Roy was screaming above you, and the Wendigo’s strength was too much for you. Roy’s screaming was cut off sharply by a snapping sound. In that moment, you knew he was gone. You let Roy’s legs go and dropped back down to the ground.

The Winchester brothers appeared at that second, rushing to your side.

“You okay?” Sam asked, helping you up. “Where’s Roy?”

You shook your head. “He’s gone.”

You and the boys headed back to camp to find Haley and Ben huddled together. Haley was caught off-guard by your return, and nearly took you out with her makeshift torch-weapon. “Shit!” she yelped. “You scared the crap out of me!”

“Sorry,” you laughed. “Easy, tiger.”

She threw her torch back into the fire. “Where’s Roy?”

Your smile faded. “I tried to help him. I’m sorry.”

She nodded somberly. A saddened, heavy air fell over your camp as the remaining five of you tried to go to sleep before your undoubtedly busy day tomorrow.

Haley and Ben settled down near the fire with tatters of backpacks and tent material as pillows and blankets respectively. You and Dean forced Sam to lay down and rest because it was evident via the bags under his eyes that he’d had none over the last several days.

“I’ll take first watch,” you told Dean, settling your back against the stump of a tree near where Sam had started falling asleep.

“Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“First of all, stop calling me that,” you snapped. “Second, it wasn’t a suggestion. I’m taking first watch. Go to sleep.”

“Why are you so insistent on this?” Dean furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“Why don’t you trust me?” you countered.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re the last person to have seen my dad before he ‘mysteriously disappeared’?”

“You’re not seriously suggesting—” you scoffed, and Dean cut you off again.

“Maybe because I don’t even know you. Maybe because you so readily agreed to just hitch a ride with Sam and I the day Jessica died. Maybe those are some good reasons not to trust you.”

“Dean, I had nothing to do with your dad’s disappearance. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m on my own. Sorry that I was just excited to finally have someone willing to take me along with them. And I don’t give a shit about you, honestly. I do give a shit about Sam, though, and I’m not gonna leave while he’s in this headspace. And I wanna help you find your dad.”

“Why do you care so much?” he hissed in retaliation.

“Because I don’t have any family. I want to help reunite yours. Like you said earlier, it helps you feel a little better and sleep a little easier at night.” Your voice had softened considerably, and you turned your attention from Dean to your hands folded in your lap.

“Fine, but after we find my dad, you’re gone,” he responded after a moment.

“Fine.” You turned away from him, hugging your knees to your chest. “I’m still taking first watch.”

“Whatever, (Y/N).” You could hear Dean moving around behind you.

“Goodnight,” you said.

All you got was a huff in response.

At some point that night, Sam was actually the one to take over your watch. He’d woken up from a nightmare, and you knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep any time soon. You did your best to get some sleep despite your heightened sense of awareness from your unsettling surroundings and the anger you still felt at Dean after your argument.

When you did awaken, Sam was sitting against the tree next to you, Dean was talking to Haley about the origin of Wendigos, and Haley was grilling Dean about how he knows about monsters.

“Kind of runs in the family,” was all Dean answered her question with.

You felt Sam push off the tree behind you. You still hadn’t rolled over from your sleeping position.

“So we've got half a chance in the daylight,” Sam announced to the group. “And I for one want to kill this evil son of a bitch.”

“Well, hell, you know I'm in,” you heard Dean respond.

“'Wendigo' is a Cree Indian word. It means 'evil that devours',” Sam explained.

You began stretching while Dean continued educating Haley and Ben. “They're hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man. Sometimes an Indian, or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter.”

“How's a man turn into one of those things?” Haley asked.

“Well, it's always the same,” the older Winchester continued while you started to make your way over to them, brushing leaves out of your hair with your fingers. “During some harsh winter a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp.”

“Like the Donner Party.” That was the first you’d ever heard Ben speak.

“Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities. Speed, strength, immortality,” Sam continued.

“If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this less than human thing. You're always hungry,” Dean finished.

“So if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive?” Haley waited for the answer with baited breath.

“You're not gonna like it.”

“Tell me.” Haley steeled herself.

“More than anything, a wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, but when it's awake it keeps its victims alive. It—” Dean seemed to be searching for the right words, “—uh, it stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother's alive, it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. We gotta track it back there.”

“And then how do we stop it?”

You spoke up for the first time, holding an empty beer bottle, a white cloth, and a can of lighter fluid you’d found from near the camp. “Guns are useless, so, Molotov cocktail, baby.”

You could swear Dean cracked a smile at you, but you refused to acknowledge it.

The sun had risen much higher since your crew had first started walking. You had passed multiple trees with bloodied claw marks on them. It was starting to unsettle you, quite honestly. You’d just passed the seventh or eighth claw-marked tree when you decided to bring Sam’s attention to your thought process.

“You know, I was thinking, those claw marks are so clear and distinct. Not at all as jagged as they were on Mr. Shaw’s scar or the tree where the thing snatched Roy. They were almost too easy to follow.”

Almost as if on cue, a low growl rumbled from above and trees rustled. Haley looked up before jerking herself out of the way. And good thing she had, because Roy’s corpse soon landed where she’d stood.

Dean inspected Roy’s corpse while Sam helped Haley up. “His neck's broke.”

The growling continued.

Upon hearing the sound, Dean started to bark out, “Okay, run, run, run, run, go, go, go!”

You immediately split. You were always quite a fast runner and light on your feet. You and Haley took the lead of the group and could hear the boys’ thundering footsteps behind you.

Before you knew it, the growling had landed right in front of you. You and Haley were brought to a skidding halt before the creature. Haley yelped as the creature grabbed your legs and began dragging the two of you. You took the bag of peanut M&Ms you’d stolen from Dean out of your jacket’s inner pocket. You let the bag’s contents out slowly as sticks and rocks scraped up your dragging body. The last thing you felt was a sharp pain on the back of your head before you vision blacked out completely.

The next time you came to, the first thing you felt were your aching wrists and hands on either side of your face. You could faintly hear Dean calling your name, and your vision began to get less hazy as Dean’s voice became more clear.

When Dean’s annoyingly beautiful, worried face finally came into focus, you said the first thing that came to mind. “Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper.”

You could hear Sam laughing behind Dean and Dean sighed. If you didn’t know any better, you would say he sounded relieved.

Sam reached above you to cut your wrists down. “You okay?”

Despite your aching joints, you said, “Yeah.”

Sam helped you over to one of the cave’s walls. “You sure you're alright?”

“Yeah. Yep,” you groaned. “Where is he?”

“He's gone for now.”

“Oh, thank god,” you breathed, making Sam laugh a little. “Oh, sweet.” You noticed the stolen duffel bags next to you and started rummaging through yours. Haley let out a shriek, causing you to jerk your head in her direction. She’d found her brother, and thankfully, he was alive.

“Cut him down!” Haley ordered. Sam got to work.

You found a flare gun in Dean’s duffel bag, saying, “Check it out.” to the rest of your group.

“Flare guns. Those'll work,” Sam responded, grinning.

You laughed, throwing one of the guns at Dean who caught it easily. He twirled it around his finger, smirking at you.

“Enough fooling around, let’s go,” Haley urged. She shouldered her brother, and with Ben’s help, started moving down the mine shaft.

You and Sam held up the rear of the group while Dean took the lead. Amidst the clunky shuffling of Tommy’s weakened body down the shaft, you could hear the same deep, low growling you’d heard in the forest.

“Looks like someone's home for supper,” quipped Dean, scanning the corridor ahead of him.

“We'll never outrun it,” Haley said.

Dean looked back at you and Sam. “You thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam responded.

“I don’t,” you chimed in.

“You’ll catch on,” Dean shot back. “All right, listen to me. Stay with Sam and (Y/N). They’re gonna get you out of here.”

“What are you gonna do?” Haley asked the older Winchester.

He winked at her, shooting her that same smile he’d shot you one of the first times you’d met him. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. He started yelling moments later, walking away from you. “Chow time, you freaky bastard! Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, I taste good.”

‘I bet he does.’ You surprised yourself. ‘What? What the fuck? He’s an asshole.’

Sam’s voice brought you out of your head. “All right, come on! Hurry!”

Your group rushed down the tunnel. You stayed in the rear, and Sam headed up to the front. He began leading your group down to where you could faintly see a bit of daylight peeking through.

And then, the growling again.

“Fuck,” you muttered. “Get him outta here!” you instructed the Collinses.

“(Y/N), no,” Haley told you.

“Go!” you urged her.

She finally nodded and started pulling her brothers down the tunnel with her. You aimed your flare gun at the direction where the growling was coming from.

“C’mon, motherfucker,” you grumbled, scanning the tunnel.

“(Y/N)!” Sam called from behind you.

You wheeled around to come face to face with the Wendigo. In your startle, you missed your shot with the flare gun. Your only other option was to take off after the three Collins siblings, closely followed by Sam.

“Come on, hurry, hurry, hurry,” Sam ordered the group. “Get behind me.” Given Sam’s size, he was able to hide all three Collinses behind him. You knew your pistol was no use, but you still aimed it at the creature anyway.

The Wendigo approached, taking its time in getting to you.

“Hey!” you suddenly heard Dean from behind the Wendigo. It wheeled around, only for Dean to shoot it in the stomach.

Flames curled up the Wendigo’s horribly disfigured body in twisted tendrils. The creature let out a howl before collapsing to the ground in a pile of burning embers.

Dean was revealed behind where the Wendigo previously stood. “Not bad, huh?”

Despite yourself, you grinned.

A quite chipper, clearly freshman EMT had patched you up upon your return to civilization. You had an uncomfortable laceration on your neck, a few scrapes above your eyebrow, and your wrists burned from where you had been tied up. You’d survive, it would just take you a few days to recover from.

You watched from a short distance as Haley approached Dean, both of whom had been patched up. You scowled as Dean smirked lasciviously at Haley and couldn’t help the bile rising in your throat when Haley leaned in to kiss Dean’s cheek. She said one final thing to Dean before walking toward the ambulance carrying Tommy with Ben.

“Thanks, (Y/N)!” she called to you.

You waved at her with a lopsided smile. She returned your grin before hopping into the back of the ambulance.

Sam motioned for you to come back over to Dean’s car.

“Man, I hate camping,” said Dean as you approached.

“Me too,” you shivered.

“Still scared of the woods?” he asked you, his tone slightly patronizing.

You ignored his tone and answered earnestly. “Definitely. Probably more so, now.” You crossed your arms over your body and hugged yourself.

A moment of silence passed before Dean addressed his brother. “Sam, you know we're gonna find Dad, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded. “But in the meantime? I'm driving.”

Dean lolled his head to the side dramatically before tossing the keys to Sam. Recalling your fight with Dean at the campsite, you hesitated to get in the car when the brothers did.

“(Y/N), what are you doing?” Sam asked out of the driver’s side window. “Let’s go.”

You nodded, conceding, and hopped into the backseat. You threw your legs up on the leather beside you and stared out the window. Out of the corner of your eye, you could swear Dean was staring at you.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891

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

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itwasthereaminuteago · 2 years

Text

|| Now I Know ||

Frank Castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: kidnapping/rescue verrry angry Frank, violence, blood, trust, LOVE.

A/n: been listening to Work Song by Hozier a lot.

His muscles scream from the work, the kind of work you might call good and honest. The kind where at the end of the day his body is tired and drenched in sweat rather than tense with rage and spattered with blood.

He still does that work. You're watching as he washes his hands in the kitchen sink. If it's blood or dirt from the earth that is swirling down the drain you don't notice, only that those are the hands that could elicit a cry of mercy from death, or cries of pleasure from your lips. The gentle and sure squeeze of a trigger, whichever kind it is, he's in control. The movement and pressure of his fingers during either task is frighteningly similar, and yet there's something deep within you that welcomes and craves that similarity. The comfort you find in the tender way he has with you overrides all else, he may have the darkest of sins but he's all of his sweetness with you.

He's drying his hands on the dishtowel, concern and confusion plain on his face as he sees you looking through rather than at him.

"What's wrong?" He's asking you, and your focus snaps back to the depths of those dark eyes. "Nothing." you smile, but you're not all there and he knows it.

"You'll tell me if it's somethin', right?"

"Yeah baby," you nod, "I will."

He reaches for your face, fingers trailing softly along your jaw and you lean into him, relaxing as he cups your chin in his hand, bending down so he can kiss you slow and easy. He finds you there, he'll always find you.

On your lunch break your phone pings. Some days Frank would text you a sweet little thing, and today was one of them.

Love you princess xx

You're headed to the same place for the third day in a row. They must have been watching you. It was probably a stupid thing for you to do but you really liked the coffee they served there. You're looking down at your phone typing out a reply to Frank's text when it happens.

You don't even have time to fight them off, the last thing you remember is seeing your cup falling to the ground, coffee spilling into the cracks in the pavement before you are bundled into a vehicle, the strong chemical smell of the rag covering your mouth and nose.

Frank meets Curtis for a drink at lunch most weeks, it's something they've kept up since Billy. A mini therapy session for them both.

"You alright man? Been checking that damn phone almost non stop since you got here."

It wasn't unusual for you to not reply to him, you had been pretty busy at work recently. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry man."

Curtis isn't dumb, he knows when Frank's got something eating away at him. "C'mon, what is it? Woman trouble?"

Frank scrubs his hand across his face with a heavy sigh. "I dunno. Feels like she maybe still doesn't feel safe with me. Been trying everything, talkin' to her, tellin' her she can ask me anythin' about the past and all of that…"

"But it ain't about the past is it? It's what you're doin' out there now, Frank. It's a big ask to deal with that. But she's strong y'know? Just give her some time and if you're gonna keep on doing what you're doing, give her the truth if she wants it."

Pick you up from work later? Really miss you today.

Frank is nodding, but he's staring off into space. He sends another text.

Your head feels like a lump of lead as you wake up, slumped forward in a chair with your ankles tied to the legs and your wrists bound behind your back, the plastic of the zip ties cutting into your skin. Your eyelids feel like boulders are sitting on them as you chance a look at your surroundings. The upper floor of an unfinished building, sheets of polythene hanging from the walls and ceiling and scattered over the floor. You hear echoing sounds from the open doorway, local accents. Fear starts to replace the drowsiness as you become aware of a tripod with a mobile phone set up in front of you. The scuff of dust and gravel behind you makes your head whip round as a thick set bearded man with a scar under his eye walks towards you, turning over his shoulder to yell through the doorway as he sees you're conscious.

"Bitch is awake."

"Then it's time to play, boys." comes another voice, all sleazy and drawling. The owner of it steps into view and there's a twinge of recognition. You briefly met some of Frank's work colleagues from the construction company a while back when you brought him lunch as a surprise.

This was the blonde one, ruddy with a slight squint. Another man appears, he looks similar to the guy with the scar, but younger and nervous.

Your mouth is dry as you go to speak, rasping, the words sounding weaker than you wanted them to. "What's going on? Is this some sort of a joke?"

The dark scarred man laughs. "Sure honey, tying up pretty little broads like you is a whole lot of fun for us. But nah, it ain't no joke."

The blonde one draws closer, leaning down, his grimy calloused fingers running over your cheek. You flinch away as his stale stinking breath washes over your face.

"Your dumbass boyfriend's been making us look bad, takin' all of the damn work and getting paid fuckin' bonuses for it, making us look lazy. So we're gonna give him a lil incentive to quit."

"Ever think that's because you are lazy?' you snark back at him.

He gives you a lecherous grin then spits in your face. You spit right back at him but all it earns you is a swift backhand that splits your lower lip open.

The beardy scarred asshole cackles again. "Fuck she's a feisty lil thing. Kinda see why he's into it."

You pull at the ties holding you as blondie draws his fingers down your neck and yanks at the front of your shirt, sending buttons scattering across the concrete floor as he leers down at your tits.

"Yeah…" he muses, his eyes rove over you making you feel itchy and unclean. He flicks his fingers towards the phone, shouting at the young guy. "Hit record..."

You were scared but you also couldn't believe these fucking dunces seemed to have the grand plan of WhatsApping videos of them messing with you to Frank? They really had no idea who they were dealing with.

You strain and tug at the zip ties pointlessly, you know there's no way you'll be able to break through them but it makes you feel better. As you move you realise your phone isn't in your pocket. You just hoped the idiots didn't have enough sense to turn off the gps. Frank would find out you weren't at work at the end of the day, that you hadn't replied to any of his messages, he'd know something was up, that you were in trouble, right? He'd know something was wrong. He had to.

You try to calm your breathing as you see the blonde asshole slip a handgun from the back of his pants, it wouldn't be wise to talk back now.

The young one gave the thumbs up from behind the mobile and blondie started his spiel.

"Alright Pete, figured you might not be able to understand the situation if we just talked man to man… so just to make it completely clear, you're gonna watch this lil show we're making for you."

He walks over to you, grabbing the top of your head and turning you to face the camera. "See, if you don't quit the job and give us the fucking money you've stolen from us, I'll make your pretty little whore all mine. I'll tell you where to leave the cash, but first I'm gonna give you a taste of what I'm gonna do if you don't pony up… just so you know I ain't playin'"

Frank would find you, he had to find you.

His heart dropped into his guts the moment he learned you hadn't returned to your office after lunch break. The guy at reception thought you might have gone home sick or something and not had the chance to tell anyone.

He called you multiple times with no answer, no texts, no nothing. He was about to call Curtis when his phone buzzed with a video attachment from an unknown number.

Confusion rapidly gave way to a white hot rage that consumed his entire being as he saw Corey from work on the screen, and then you. As soon as he realised what the fuck was happening he was in the truck with the pedal grinding hard against the metal. He recognised where you were being held, one of the previous client's sites they had worked on downtown about a month ago.

The muzzle of the gun presses in and bruises against your temple. You close your eyes trying not to shake. All you can hear is Beardy's dumb laugh and the slow grating sound of a zipper right by your face. Bile rises in your throat.

Your heart soars as you hear your salvation bellowing from the stairwell.

"You want your money asshole?!"

"Frank! In here!" You shout and scream, desperate to see these fucking animals get what they deserve.

As soon as he hears your voice he's charging like a bull, the fire of hell itself blazing in his eyes as he grabs the gun and forces the blonde creep's hand backwards breaking his wrist with a sick crunch as if it was nothing. The asshole falls to the ground along with a faceful of Frank's boot as Beardy and the younger one pull out knives and start advancing in futility, because you know how this ends.

You see the beauty in the punishing raw anger that manifests itself through Frank's body, a slick, efficient killing machine. A fist, an elbow, a knee. He connects the dots so easily on his way to get to you, eyes scanning you frantically as he tugs the knife through the ties on the chair.

You're safe.

"I'm here baby, I'm here. You okay? You hurt?" His hands are light on your limbs, his thumb gently smoothing over the red marks on your wrists as he checks you over.

"I- I'm okay…" He's here. You're safe, you remind yourself.

"Any of those motherfuckers touch you?!" He growls, and you're only able to nod, too stunned to form words as you watch as Frank goes to haul up the sleazy blonde by the neck, his huge hand almost closing all the way around and crushing his windpipe.

"This one?" He asks, his voice is sharp gravel, you've never heard his tone like this before and it vibrates through you.

"Y-yes… he-"

You don't get to say any more as Frank slams him against the wall making him gag and choke, before punching his already bruised face into a pulp, breaking his nose and teeth within seconds. He wheezes pathetically as Frank's knee smashes repeatedly into his groin, and you find yourself unable to wrench your eyes away as he slides slowly down the wall when Frank is done, leaving a red smear on the plastic sheeting, a puddle of blood pooling around him as he reaches the floor and stills.

Frank doesn't miss the other one trying to crawl his way out of the room while he's distracted, swiftly picking up the tripod stand and launching toward him swinging it like a bat. You wince as it knocks the guy out cold with a splatter of blood painting the wall and he crumples to the floor.

Through the veil of your tears you see him, really see him. Frank came for you, he found you, he protected you. You're safe.

He holds you to his side all the way till you both get to his truck where he calls the cops and anonymously tipping them off to the location of three known abusers.

Back home you have to try so hard to satisfy him that except for a couple of bruises and a burst lip, you're fine. They never got to do what they were planning to. The anger and fear in you melts away with your tears as they flow, they're tears of shock and relief but he's still sorry. Sorry for letting this happen as if it was his fault, sorry for not knowing something was wrong much sooner, sorry that he can't keep you safe.

"I am safe, Frank." you assure, as you strip off your clothes and lead him to the bathroom, encouraging him to do the same. "I'm safe with you." His face is still pained and you know you need to show him, knew it from the moment you heard him coming to your rescue.

Under the hot spray of the shower you wash away all the filth that had tainted you. You run your hands over his body but he doesn't dare touch you, he doesn't see it yet, even as your lips brush over his bloodied knuckles he doesn't understand. He's still angry and afraid for you, and you feel it in his body as you press yourself flush against him, wrap your arm around his neck, your other hand going to his jaw to guide his mouth to yours. You have to show him that you need to feel him, on you, inside you. He needs to know the love you have for him isn't fragile. You know now that it isn't, it won't be beaten by this. Never.

He pulls away gently, he still believes you're scared of him and the things he's done. The things he does. "Baby, you don't have to, after what hap-"

But you're firm, pulling him back to you, pushing him up against the tiles and he's stunned. You're getting frustrated because he still doesn't get it.

"Frank, you're mine." He lets you guide his hands around your waist where you want them. "And I'm yours," you say pointedly, "now show me I'm yours, make me feel it."

This time when you reach for him you feel the difference. His fingers tighten against the softness of your skin like he can never let go. When you kiss him he kisses you back, he's still holding himself, letting you dictate the pace but a gentle nip with your teeth to his lower lip communicates your need more clearly. His thigh slots between yours, and you feel him getting hard against the front of your hip as you mould your body to his. His hands drop down to the curve of your ass as you rock yourself on his muscular thigh, your fingers twining in the longer hair at the top of his head as you stand up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear over the rush of the water…

Take me to bed.

He nods and you dry quickly and carelessly, desperate to be with him and feel his skin on your own. Your lips are still wet and slide so slick against Frank's as you move him towards the bed, climbing onto his lap as the backs of his knees hit the edge of it and he sits.

"You wanna stop, you just tell m-"

He's cut off as you push him back, a soft huff of breath leaving him as you're fierce in your demand for him to meet your energy. He's too good, being too sweet for what you need right now but he's catching up. Those hands, the ones that so surely dealt bloody justice for you, slide up your spine, one of them grasping the back of your neck as he surges up and kisses his way over your bare chest while you're grinding against him.

"Please, Frank," you whine into his mouth, tug on his lip with your teeth, and he thrusts upwards gripping your hip and meeting your desperate movements.

"Hey, I gotcha baby, I've got you…" he murmurs before carefully rolling you underneath him.

Your kisses are frantic, littering the line of his strong stubbled jaw but he soon captures your lips with his own, slowing you down, keeping that fire burning but calming you as he deepens the kiss. You open, and he permeates your senses, knowing exactly what you need, grounding you with his tenderness.

Limbs entangle until you're moving as one, body arching when his soft lips brush the skin of your neck, your ear, and you feel more than hear his words.

I'll always find you.

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#frank castle x female reader #frank castle fic #frank castle x reader #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher x reader #frank castle angst #frank castle smut

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