#the targets WILL get dead but they will not get dead the way they were maybe supposed to.
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𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜
Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader
A/N: Oh. My. God. I am so sorry this got delayed so many times. This is such an important chapter to me, it plays such a pivotal role in "Y/N's" development that I kept scrapping it and starting over. I didn't want to give this to you guys until it was perfect, and I think I've gotten about as close as I can. I'm predicting one more story chapter and then possibly one short epilogue.
Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series
Summary: Arthur's gone and you're own once more. The familiar ache of grief lingers as it always does. But the clouds must always part for light. Through death and grief, you still manage to find yourself.
It always seems to be cold at night, now that Arthur’s no longer there to keep you warm. You curl into yourself, knees tucked to your chest as you smother your face in the thin pillow on your cot. You press the fabric tightly to your mouth, trying to keep the sounds of your crying out of the other’s dreams.
There should be no surprise that you’re on your own again. Beating a dead horse doesn’t make it move, but somehow, you keep finding yourself tangled in the reins, dragged along by the memory of men who’ve long since let go. You wonder, sometimes, if your life is one bet of many between god and the devil, seeing which one of them can get you to break first. What you could have done to draw their ire, you don’t know, but you’re not sure how much more pain and loss you can handle. Your lifetime is filled with the empty graves of those you’ll never see again. Now, Arthur’s is just another headstone to add to your endless cemetery.
You worry that you’re too loud on the harder nights. But no one’s ever complained that they hear you crying and you figure they’re all probably too busy mourning in their own way to notice the way you do.
Abigail is practically an empty shell of herself without John. As much as they fought she doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. Especially knowing he’s in jail, destined for the noose, and there is nothing she can do about it.
Karen’s not doing much better. With Sean in jail alongside John, she’s fallen to the drink. She’s adopted a fatalist view that, without Dutch, you are all doomed to die at the hands of the Pinkertons. Sometimes, looking at the depressing faces of those around you, you think she might be right.
Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with only two rotting cabins between what was left of the gang, you are a far cry from the fearsome outlaws you once were. This is no longer the Van der Linde gang. Now, you’re barely any better than a group of desperate wanderers.
You know sleep won’t come to you tonight, you’ve been tossing and turning for hours. Any longer and you’ll wake everyone else up. Wiping roughly at your eyes, you slip a blanket around your shoulders and head toward the creaking door of the cabin. You try to keep in mind that one wrong step and the groaning wood below you will alert everyone.
Barefoot, you walk along the muddied planks of the porch and head towards what’s left of tonight’s fire. It’s not ever-burning as it once was. The gang takes care to ensure if anyone were to come looking for you all, you wouldn’t be such easy targets.
You sink onto the log before the dying fire, with embers glowing faintly in the darkness. Sparks flicker and leap from the blackened wood, a futile effort to reignite the flame. Their struggle is in vain, though, there is no life left to kindle, no warmth to revive. The fire is gone.
Light footsteps make their way towards you, but you keep your gaze steady on the flickering struggle before you. “I’m gettin’ real tired of this,” Sadie’s disappointed sigh is a familiar one as she comes to stand behind you.
“Were you in town again?” You ask, ignoring the glare you feel boring into your back. She stares at you for a while longer before letting out a rough sigh and throwing herself down beside you. The log shifts slightly under her weight and you dip towards her.
“I was,” she grumbles, something white balled up tightly in her fist. You turn towards her finally, eyes narrowed on the paper in her grasp. Her face is drawn tight, jaw set angrily as something vengeful burns within her gaze.
“What is that?” You ask, tone inquisitive but not truly interested. Her eyes dart towards you before she shakes her head and tosses the paper to the dying fire. What’s left of it, licks eagerly at the paper, trying its damndest to burn brighter.
“Nothin’, don’t worry about it. Why can’t you sleep?” Her switch in conversation is quick and far from subtle. Your head tilts slightly in curiosity, gaze switching between her and the paper that’s slowly curling up at the edges. She’s hiding something, it’s easy enough to tell from the way she refuses to meet your eyes. Besides, she’s snuck into town plenty of times, you’ve never seen her come back this riled up before.
You jump to your feet and she startles at the quick move. “Don’t,” she snaps, snatching at your wrist as you rush by her and swipe the paper from the fire pit. Sadie gets to her feet, hand held out with an expectant look as she waits for you to give her back to paper. When you don’t comply immediately, she says your name, voice low and tense, a warning.
Lips curling up slightly in challenge, you leap back as she lunges for you, holding the paper away from her. “What is it?” You tease, curiosity curling over the lingering ache from earlier.
She snaps your name again and you flinch back in surprise, “I mean it, don’t look at the goddamn paper.” You’d only been joking with her, trying to focus on anything other than Arthur. Now, there’s a familiar churning feeling of dread as you look at your friend. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the thin sheet you’re holding. There’s something on here she doesn’t want you to see, not for her own sake, but for yours.
Your breath quickens, heart dancing dangerously fast against your ribs as you finally look at what’s in your hand. She hisses your name but you stubbornly ignore her, frowning when you realize it’s a torn-out piece of a newspaper. It’s a smaller article from the local St. Denis paper stand, talking about a ferry being lost at sea.
“Oh, god,” you whisper, hand coming up to cover your mouth as bile rushes up your throat. You bite down on your tongue until the taste of iron fills your mouth, holding back the nausea. “This is him, isn’t it?”
Sadie lets out a rough sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I didn’t want you to know.”
“You were just gonna hide this from me?” You nearly shout, taking one angry step towards her. Her brows turn down in guilt, mouth settling into a thin line as she shakes her head. “No? You weren’t?” You demand, tone rough with grief. “You were just going to wait until I put the pieces together myself?”
“Dammit, woman, you’re barely holding it together,” she barks out, snatching the paper from you once more. She turns her back on you, shredding it into pieces so small you’ll never be able to finish reading it. “I was going to wait until I didn’t think you were on the brink of completely fallin’ apart. Besides, it doesn’t say anything about the people on the ship, we don’t know what happened.”
“We never will!” The words tear out of you, a sharp, bitter exhale. A panicked smile twists your lips as you struggle to keep yourself upright. “Sadie, your husband is dead, you know that. You have your answer. I never will. I will never know what happened to him. And it doesn’t even matter because he left me!” Your voice cracks, a sob slipping free despite your best efforts to swallow it down. “I shouldn’t care about that goddamn bastard, but I do.” You turn away from her, shoulders caving in as you wipe roughly at the tears streaming down your cheeks.
There’s a beat of silence behind you. You miss the way her face falls, her hardened exterior falling away just for a moment. She looks at you with something like understanding, pity more likely. She steps forward, her arms winding around your shoulders, trying to hold you steady through the pain. You struggle against her hold for a moment but she keeps her grip firm, forcing you to succumb to the small comfort.
You sink into her embrace, breath hitching as the grief claws its way up your chest, relentless and unyielding. You can’t keep doing this. You aren’t made to endlessly love and lose, to watch pieces of yourself crumble with every goodbye. It feels as though there should be nothing left of you- no bleeding heart, no raw edges. And yet, every time you think you’ve reached your limit, life finds a way to push you further.
But life, pain, and the ugly company of grief never stops or goes away, despite how much you wish they would.
A few weeks later
Physical pains and ailments heal. There may be scars left behind, but for the most part, you can be wholly healed. Anguish of the mind and heart is a different beast to conquer altogether. That sort of pain ebbs and flows. It doesn’t slip away neatly. It comes and goes, sneaking upon you when you least wish for it.
Distractions can dull the edge. The looming danger of death and the law from any of your multitude of enemies helps. But more often than not, the weight remains a leaden burden on your shoulders and a gnawing ache deep in your chest.
For now, the pain has numbed into something dull that makes you clench your teeth and hiss. But if you force yourself, you can find steady ground to stand on. You can keep yourself calm and sated, if you focus yourself on the anger rather than the grief.
Anger comes easier than healing. It lashes out at the world and balms over the constant pain, if only for a little while. You find yourself getting into more and more fights around camp. The forgiveness of shared grief has its limits and you’ve been testing them for a while. You’re curious how far you can push before you’re forced out by the rest of them.
Sadie’s efforts of finding a new place for you all to hide don’t go unappreciated. But this cabin feels like a cage, no matter how far you’ve come from the mud and chaos of the old abandoned camp. The tight space presses against you, the silence weighs heavy against your chest and constricts around you tightly. You hear the faint rustle of the trees in the wind, but it’s a vacuous cavern inside.
The memories of Shady Belle plague you like a ghost. The brief moments when you could almost forget everything pressing down, but now, that place, too, is just another reminder of what’s been lost. Memories of nights spent with Arthur or sitting outside and listening to Javier play his guitar are tainted with loss and rage.
Sadie and Charles provide you brief comfort, but it will never be enough to make this place feel like home. You try to shake thoughts of Arthur, what the gang once was, and everything that came before. You’ve been running for so long, from your past and who you once were, but it feels like you’re being dragged right back.
Unable to handle the suffocating silence any longer, you take Arthur’s bow out from the chest under your cot. You grab a handful of arrows and jump to your feet. Throwing the door of the cabin open, you stride past everyone lingering outside. A few people give you odd looks, but they don’t stop you from leaving. You’ve become a dark cloud around camp, your presence heavy and actions unpredictable. It’s almost a relief for them when you’re gone.
Lady’s just as restless as you are, except the dumb beast doesn’t understand that neither of them are coming back. Charles doesn’t know what happened to Diablo or the other horses when he fled St. Denis and you’re not interested in looking for them. She’ll just have to live with the pain, same as you.
“Let’s go,” you mutter, swinging onto her saddle and leading her out of camp. It’s as if a weight slips from your shoulder the further you get from camp. The tight grip constricting around your chest loosens and for the first time in days, you can draw a full breath as the world opens before you.
The thick groves of trees thin and give way to sprawling plains of grass and wildflowers that stretch endlessly. Steering Lady off the trail, you ride her hard and fast, determined to put as much distance between yourself and those suffocating cabins. Dirt kicks up under her hooves, flying up behind you as she pushes herself to the limit.
The world around you blurs into streaks of green and gold as memories and grief slip away from you. You lean forward over Lady’s neck, urging her to go faster even as she huffs beneath you. You’re racing the wind, chasing after a dream that’s been lost to you. The air lashes at your face, the sting sharp and cold. Your eyes burn and you tell yourself it’s the wind, even as wet streaks drip down your cheeks.
Bright beams of sunlight streak across the ground, illuminating the path forward. Morning dew glistening under the light, transforms the earth into a field of stars beneath your boots. You draw in a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill your lungs, and tighten your legs around Lady’s sides, signaling her to slow. Her chest heaves beneath you, each breath a puff of steam in the cold air. You can feel her desire to keep running, that shared, desperate need to escape clawing at both of you.
But she’s exhausted, and no matter how much you’d like to keep going, you can’t push her until she collapses. You’re tethered, whether you like it or not, you’re always going to be pulled back to camp. It’s a cage and a haven. Though you hate the confinement, deep down you know survival outside of it might be beyond you. You don’t trust yourself not to wither in the wilderness alone.
The sound of water rushing draws your attention and you turn towards a green hill rousing in the distance. Guiding Lady toward it, you crest the incline and slip off her saddle, letting her graze.
Below, a river carves through the land. Its rushing currents are strong enough to carry something away with no hope of return. You step closer to the edge, peering down as the sunlight dances on the water’s surface. It runs like liquid gold, unnaturally beautiful, almost hypnotic, like the siren call of a sailor’s doom.
A herd of deer drift alongside the river, their presence serene and almost make the idea of simply drifting away, peaceful. Your foot inches closer to the edge, slipping on the wet grass, and for a split second, the earth feels like it’s tilting forward.
“You don’t usually ride out this far.”
The voice snaps you back, and you gasp, spinning around. Charles stands behind you, one hand on Taima’s saddle, watching you with a calm but expectant expression.
“I can’t stand being there,” you say, moving toward Lady. Your hands fumble with her saddlebag, needing something to occupy them. His eyes flick briefly to the river, then back to you, his gaze sharp and knowing.
“You’re not the only one.” He strolls to the edge and whistles softly. “Far drop.”
You keep your hands busy, pretending to rummage through your belongings. “I’m a good swimmer,” you tell him, voice flat.
“Not that good.” His tone is clipped, a warning wove into his words.
You let out a sharp breath and finally turn to face him. “What do you want, Charles?”
He shrugs, resting one hand on his belt as his dark eyes assess you. “Thought you might want some company.” He pauses, his voice lowering. “Or, at least someone to keep you from doing something stupid.”
You wince, knowing how it must have looked. You’re hurt and desperate, but you’re no fool. The river might be pretty, but you’re not looking to drown yourself in it. “It wasn’t anything like that,” you insist, and Charles gives you a sharp, assessing look. “Charles,” you snap, exhaling in frustration. “Honestly. I just,” you take in a slow breath, shaking your head, eyes downcast. “I need a break.”
“Alright,” he says simply. “We’ll take one together.” He walks back to the cliff’s edge, dropping down to sit with his legs dangling over the side. He glances over his shoulder and motions you to join him.
Your fists clench at your sides as you take slow, reluctant steps toward him. The dew on the grass seeps into your pants as you sit beside him, hands folded in your lap. Out of the corner of his eyes, you catch his profile, calm, steady, and scarred.
The aftermath of St. Denis lingers on his face. A fresh scar cuts along his jawline, a reminder of how close he came to joining the others who didn’t make it. Yet, with some of them gone, he seems more at ease. Charles never agreed with Dutch’s grandiose visions, and though he and Arthur had a bond, it’s clear the gang’s collapse has freed him from some invisible yoke. He wears his hair in a braid lately, speaking with nearby tribes and helping them when he’s not in camp.
If it wasn’t for some odd honor-bound obligation he’s got to you and a few others in camp, you don’t doubt that he’d be riding free by now. Still, he stays with you, and selfishly, you’re glad for it.
A gunshot cracks through the quiet, echoing among the hills. Birds take flight from the treetops as a hunting group crashes through the grove below. They circle around the herd of deer and let their bullets fly wild. Their hounds snap at the flanks of the animals, jaws clamping around the soft throats of the doe.
Charles scoffs, shaking his head in disgust. “You don’t kill the does,” he mutters angrily. “Just the bucks. These men... they have no respect for the laws of nature.”
You let out a sardonic huff of laughter, gesturing toward the chaos below. “Welcome to the future of our country,” Your gaze drifts toward the horizon, where smoke from St. Denis factories smudges the sky. Even this far out, civilization stretches its claws, unstoppable. “The west is dying, Charles. The time of outlaws, of freedom, is being shackled and destroyed.”
You turn to face him, meeting the same burning anger in his eyes that’s been smoldering in your own for weeks. It’s the first time you’ve seen that fire in him so clearly- the shared, silent rage, you’ve both been trying to suppress. “Our time is over,” you tell him, voice low with finality.
His eyes narrow, jaw tight with defiance. For a moment, he says nothing, but then he rises to his feet, his movements purposeful. “Maybe,” he says, his voice steady, “but not today.”
Without another word, he strides toward Taima, tightening the saddle and checking the reins with precision. “What’re you doin?” You call after him, brows knitting together in confusion.
He gestures toward the hunters below, his tone sharp. “You want to do something stupid. Fine. But take it out on someone who deserves it, not yourself.”
His words hit like a slap, and before you know it, he’s leading Taima down the hill.
You linger in the sharp sting of what he said only for a moment. Jumping to your feet, you rush to Lady, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you mount her. With a kick of your heels, you follow Charles down the path toward the hunters, your rage finally finding a target.
For the first time in a long while, the weight around your chest lightens. You might not be able to fix the world, but you can make sure someone pays for tearing it apart. And as you ride beside Charles, you remember why he’s still here. He’s not just keeping you alive, he’s giving you something to live for.
Sitting inside the cabin, the smell of venison drifts toward you. After the incident with the hunting party, you and Charles salvaged what you could of the herd. Neither of you liked the idea of anything going to waste. Some materials were given to the local tribe, and the rest have been feeding the camp for days now.
Last night, you’d scoured the woods for herbs and other ingredients and discreetly left them on Pearson’s cooking table. You were growing desperate for a flavor other than plain meat. Judging by the faint smell of mint wafting through the air, it seems he finally took the hint.
Propped against your flimsy pillow, you run your fingers along the worn leather of the journal in your lap. For weeks, you’ve toyed with the idea of opening it, of seeing the world through Arthur’s eyes.
Here, in the rare serenity of a quiet camp, you finally give in. The journal is as you would expect, sketches, details of some of the more pivotal moments for the gang. Every once in a while you’ll find a sketch of someone and a brutally honest recollection of how Arthur thought of them. Some of them are less flattering than you would have thought, you’re almost worried for how he might have seen you.
You make it through his entries about Blackwater, the sun setting lower in the horizon as the light from the window gets dimmer. Outside, voices grow louder as people gather around the fire for dinner. You force your eyes to stay on the page, blocking out their drifting voices.
His entries after the mountains are almost amusing. He’s clearly frustrated about something, though, he skirts around directly addressing what it is. Only a few times are you directly mentioned, for the most part, he avoids writing about you. But you catch glimpses of yourself hiding in the pages. A half-finished sketch of your hand holding his, the beginnings of your face abandoned before he can finish.
There’s an entry a few weeks after you acquired Lady. A sketch of her and Diablo grazing together, their noses nearly touching as they crane their necks towards the grass. Surrounding the drawings are small notes about herbs and foliage he’d collected on his hunting trips. Among those sketches, there’s a small blurb about the horses.
Diablo seems to be taking a liking to Lady, odd pair, I think.
An odd pair, you suppose there’s not a better way to put it. Something that never should have worked, a devil and a lady, yet it still clawed and fought to find its way. In the end, though, one of them was always going to be left behind. You can’t help but wish it hadn’t been you.
A rough sigh escapes you, and you flip past the next few pages. Then, you stop. A familiar pair of eyes stare back at you.
You’ve changed so much since this journey began. Your skin is weathered, your once-pristine hair is now more often than not dirtied and knotted from the wind. Your body has grown leaner, stronger, shaped by the relentless movement and harsh diet. The woman in the red dress from St Denis was already a stranger, someone you couldn’t recognize.
Even from Arthur’s view, you still don’t know her. The general shape of your face remains. You have the same slope to your nose, your jaw still tilts the same way. But your eyes are so different. He drew them with fire, with life, with a fight you had once thought yourself incapable of.
You feel invulnerable as you stare down at her, as though her fire can be passed so easily to you. The feeling flickers and fades, replaced with the same familiar ache you’ve grown used to.
You can’t make sense of it, how he could have seen you so kindly, and yet still walked away.
“Got that look in your eye again,” Sadie’s voice cuts through the stillness, startling you. She leans against the doorway, one hand lingering on the revolver strapped to her hip.
“What look?” You mutter, glaring down at the journal. It feels too raw, too personal to keep reading. Torturing yourself with thoughts of him isn’t getting you anywhere. He’s gone. You’ve faced death all your life- mourn, move on. That’s how it’s meant to go.
“Angry,” Sadie tells you, voice soft and knowing. “Like how I looked after I lost Jake. You ain’t look like that when you lost your husband.”
You shrug, fingers tracing the lines of your face through Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur was nothing like my husband. He leaves something to be mourned,” you tell her simply. She watches you a moment longer, but when you get to your feet, her expression sharpens.
“Going somewhere?”
“Out,” you reply curly, the cabin walls closing in around you. You’re growing tired of the suffocating way Charles and Sadie hover as if they’re both waiting for you to break again. That moment on the cliff, your grief by the fire, it was all a lapse of judgment, nothing more. You’ve fought too damn hard for your freedom just to throw it away because the men you love always leave you behind.
“Need some compan-”
“No,” you snap, cutting her off. Your tone leaves no room for argument.
You step outside, the balmy evening air clinging to your skin as you head toward Lady. You don’t know where you’re going, but that’s fine. You just know you need to figure out how to live for yourself. And you can start by riding.
The moon hangs heavy in the sky, its light threading through the plains like silver threads. Clouds roll overhead, slowly swallowing the stars. You smell rain in the air, a promise of a storm tomorrow. You’re sure you’ll be holed up in the cabins tomorrow while it pours.
For now, you have the trail and the night for yourself. You let Lady take the lead, her slow gait a soothing rhythm as you settle into the ride. Normally, you don’t risk staying away from camp overnight. There are too many lawmen and bounty hunters looking to make a name for themselves. Tonight, though, you make an exception.
A loud whoop cuts through the stillness, yanking you from your thoughts. You pull Lady to a halt, eyes roaming the dark horizon. A lone rider crests the hill, silhouetted against the moonlight, his path set toward something hidden around the bend.
“Must be my lucky day!” He hollers, voice manic. There’s a flash, the sharp crack of a gunshot splitting the quiet, and a scream follows.
You curse under your breath, driving your heels into Lady’s sides. The two of you round the bend in time to see the rider poking his head into a finely adorned carriage. The driver slumps lifelessly over the reins, blood pooling beneath him.
Grimacing, you draw back into the shadows of the hill. “Alright, ladies first,” the bandit taunts. He reaches into the carriage, his groping hand causing a shrill shriek before he’s grabbing a woman and tossing her into the dirt. You grit your teeth, tucking yourself further out of sight, hoping to go unnoticed.
The glint of his revolver catches the moonlight as he climbs into the carriage. From inside, the muffled sounds of arguing give way to fists striking flesh. The woman lies with her face obscured by her hands. She flinches and sobs with each punch landed and the noises make Lady shift uneasily. Her hooves snap against the dried brambles of a dying bush.
“Damn horse,” you mutter, eyes clenched shut as the noises momentarily pause.
“Who’s there?” He calls out. It’s barely a moment before his patience snaps and he fires a warning shot into the air. “You don’t want me to come find you,” he warns, voice low and tight.
Knocking the brim of your hat down, you let out a resigned sigh and turn the corner, forcing yourself into the open. “Howdy,” you call out, trying to mimic the casual confidence Arthur used to have in moments like these. Bandits, outlaws- they all recognize each other through the ease with which they face situations like this. You only hope you’re a good enough liar. “Just passin’ through, friend, no need for problems.”
For a moment, his gun dips to his side. Then, his face is twisting into a wide, erratic grin. “Nice trail isn’t it? Perfect for catching big fish,” he says, swinging the revolver toward the woman’s husband. She whimpers loudly and grasps at the slumped-over man. You can hear his shallow, wet breaths from where you sit.
“There ain’t no need to shoot ‘em,” you tell him, voice steady despite the tension coiling around you. “There’s a fence not far from here, you’ll get more money selling that carriage than you will killin’ them.”
He crackles and it makes your skin crawl. “Where’s the fun in that?” He sneers, cocking the hammer back as he points the gun at the woman.
This man laughs, taking far more pleasure in tormenting others than in the act of robbery itself. He’s malicious, sadistic—the very picture of a perfect outlaw. For a fleeting moment, he sees something in you, thinks you might be cut from the same ruthless cloth. But he’s wrong, and there’s something exhilarating about stepping beyond the mold your family and husband once shaped for you, discovering who you can be on your own terms.
Your hand drifts to the revolver on your side, slowly easing it out of your holster. His head snaps toward the sound of you pulling the hammer back, but it’s too late. From your spot atop Lady, all you see is blood splatter as his body drops to the floor. The woman screaming lets you know you hit your mark near perfect.
Opposed to the man now bleeding out in the dirt beneath you, there’s no thrill in the kill, no satisfaction. Just the cold thrum of your nerves, the slight tremor in your hands as you slide off Lady and stride toward the couple.
With the bandit dead, the woman’s husband seems to make a miraculous recovery. He springs up, blood still streaming along his chin. “Thank God for you, sir-”
He stops short when you tip your hat back. Perhaps his ears were still ringing from one too many blows, dulling his senses, or maybe he was simply too pigheaded to grasp the fact that he’d just been rescued by a woman. You level him with an unimpressed glare. “Not a problem,” you say flatly
“Oh, good heavens,” the woman gasps, whispering your name with a startling familiarity. You freeze, eyes wide, as your blood runs cold.
Elsbeth Morton.
You’d know the voice anywhere. Of all the people you could have run into, she’s the last you’d ever want to see. Your tormenter through finishing school. She used to cut your hair in your sleep, stain your dress, and make your life a misery for sport.
Her sneer hasn’t changed, though the lines around her mouth suggest her spite has only deepened. “Well,” she drawls, voice laced with faux pity, “I see nothing much has changed for you. Still scrounging out an existence in the dirt, are we?”
Your jaw tightens. “Elsbeth,” you grit out. “You’re welcome.”
She laughs, short and derisive in a way that makes you bristle. “For what? Subjecting me to this humiliating spectacle? Honestly, I think I preferred the company of the bandit. At least he had the decency to get on with it instead of pretending to play the hero.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay calm, but she doesn’t stop. “It’s almost tragic,” she continues, brushing the dirt from her skirts as if trying to erase the sight of you. “You’re still so desperate for approval, aren’t you? Trying to prove you’re something you’re not. What’s next? A big speech about how strong and independent you are?” She snickers, tugging her husband to his feet. “We both know better.”
Your voice comes out low and steady. “You’ve always been good at pretending you’re better than everyone else, Elsbeth.” God hates you, you’re sure of it. If he doesn't, why is she here? Dragging you back to everything you loathed about your former self—the vapid, dependent, hollow shell of a woman who had once believed her worth was defined by the man standing beside her.
“Pretending?” she snaps, narrowing her eyes. “Darling, I don’t need to pretend. You can wear all the trousers you want, but we both know you’re still the same timid little girl, hiding behind a man and hoping no one notices she doesn’t belong.”
Her words cut, but they don’t sting the way they once would have. Instead, they ignite something, a fire born not of anger, but clarity.
You’re not the man bleeding out in the dirt, killing for the joy of it. But you aren’t the polished girl she remembers, desperate for a man’s approval. You’re something else entirely. Unbound by society, free to choose your own path, you’re a beast of your own creation. And if there is one thing you’ve learned about yourself- you love putting your past in the grave.
You let out a slow breath, your hand drifting toward your revolver. “Elsbeth,” you call, voice sharp enough to cut through her self-satisfied grin.
She stops, turning back with an arched brow. “What now?” she huffs. “Come to beg for my acceptance? Or just another pathetic attempt to-”
“That husband of mine,” you interrupt, voice cool as steel, “was good for one thing.” You draw your revolver, the barrel leveling with her chest. “Teaching me to shoot.”
Her eyes widen, her sneer faltering as her hand instinctively flies to her necklace.
Your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Now, how about you hand over those pretty jewels?”
She scoffs, but you see the way her grin falters, the slight fear in her eyes. You shoot her a wink and take a step closer, reveling in how she stumbles back.
“And while we’re at it,” you continue, voice tightening into a sharp, mocking edge, “why don’t you hand over those earrings too?” You laugh, waving your gun recklessly as you shrug with a faux playfulness. “Actually, what the hell, I think I’ll take that dress—seeing as you’ve gone and gotten it all muddy anyway.” You take a step forward, your gaze narrowing on her trembling hands. “Hell, even that hair ribbon. You always did like rubbing your finery in everyone’s face, Elsbeth. Let’s see how you like losing it.”
She stares at you, disbelief flickering in her wide eyes, her hands frozen in hesitation. “You can’t be serious,” she whispers.
“Oh, I’m dead,” you pull back the hammer of your gun with a slow, menacing click. The sound hangs in the air like a threat. Your eyes narrow, and a dangerous smile tugs at your lips. “Serious.”
She moves hesitantly, every motion weighted with reluctance, disbelief etched across her face. You, the woman she used to torment and cow with a simple look, now dismantling her composure piece by piece. The power shift is palpable, and for the first time in your life, you watch Elsbeth Morton falter.
“Go’n now,” you say, your voice cutting through her trembling silence. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
Her husband flinches as she begins to remove her jewelry, her fingers trembling as she unfastens each piece. You hold out your hand, and she hesitates, her face flushed with humiliation as she steps forward to place them carefully in your palm, one by one, like a chastened child.
He glances at you, then at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disgust as if the sight of her submitting is too much for him to stomach.
Your eyes narrow on him, your hand tightening slightly around the revolver. The smug smile creeping onto your lips says it all—you’ll deal with him next.
You understand, finally, that you’re no longer the woman shaped by the men in your life. The husband who failed you, the outlaw who abandoned you, the society that tried to break you. People will learn that you aren’t afraid to take what’s yours anymore, because for the first time, you’re carving your own path, and God help anyone who tries to stand in your way.
end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047
@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03
@whimsiwitchy
#Arthur Morgan x reader#arthur morgan x you#arthur morgan imagine#arthur morgan#red dead redemption 2 x reader#red dead redemption 2#rdr2 x you#rdr2 x reader#rdr2 imagine#rdr2#Hell Hath No Fury
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Eskel took his time by the fire, savoring the meal and drink, even if it wasn't up to his usual preferences. Food was food, wherever one found it, a Witcher wasn't picky. When she spoke on the matter of her ex, he knew at once to whom she was referring, contemplating the matter silently. Something he knew would have to be acknowledged at some point. The Higher Vampire Dettlaff, who had razed Beauclair with a horde of Vampires, before being brought down by Geralt and Regis. The latter having to live the rest of his life despised and ostracized by his fellows, no less than how a Witcher had to live on the Path... all on account of the noblewoman's ambitions and manipulations. Her only punishment being a golden prison. Not having the courage to seek her own revenge by her own hand, instead trying to use another for the deed. Countless dead as a result of her actions. He was of the mind that if one wanted something done, they were supposed to do it themselves. He had made his own mistakes with Deidre, which ended up in many folk dead... but at least he could say he did it out of inaction, instead of active manipulations or ambitions. He had not intended anyone to suffer or die over it, had thought he was making the right decision to protect the Princess... Sylvia Anna on the other hand must have known she was gambling with other lives, actively doing what she had. Of course, the matter of Stregobor and Eltibald was liable to end up similarly, if hopefully less destructively. At last, finding his grim words and thoughts on the matter, the Witcher's deep, calm voice spoke up again, glowing viper eyes turning from the fire and looking back at her sapphire pair, speaking to her again gradually.
"Reckon so. Known my share of Bruxa over the years, hunting them and otherwise. Plenty of their bites on my neck to show for it. Heard tell you had an eye for Nosferatu yourself. Didn't go over so well, last time. Who would have thought attempting to manipulate a true Higher Vampire could end in anything other than disaster? Well... besides a Witcher, of course. Pity you didn't meet me first. Could have taught you plenty of useful lessons, without anyone having to learn them the hard way. Revenge tends to involve gambling with more lives than your own and the target of your revenge. Quite possible innocents will die when we come for Stregobor's head. Likely, knowing him. What he would do to survive in his comfortable tower. That's why we'll be doing our damnedest to prevent it. Limit deaths. Enough suffering in the world as it is, and it's always the innocent who pay the highest price, get caught up in the matters that don't involve them."
@starwrittenfates
Eskel looked up to the door and remained silent where he sat by the fireplace, viper eyes studying the servant... nodding and smiling to her appreciatively, for all the good it did. He heard her quickened heartbeat as clear as day, especially when she looked back at him. After providing their meal, she quickly departed... and while Sylvia Anna brought in the food and handed him his portion, thanking the dark haired beauty, the Witcher rose from the fireplace and went to the now closed door. Reaching it, he locked it up and rose his hand, casting Quen and Yrden Signs upon it... in case anyone got any bad ideas about trying to surprise them in the night. Wouldn't be the first time it happened, fools had tried. Her royal papers might offer some protection, but would likely be a lure to others, thinking them wealthy and wanting to steal from them. Or they might simply want to rid themselves of a Witcher in the night, be it a lynching or city guards arriving. He wasn't about to be the first Witcher to die in his bed, especially not at the hands of simpletons. He would sooner take the Long Walk through Dol Dhu Lokke at the height of its infestation and encounter the Viy of Meribor, or through the dark forests of Malleore in which the demonic, insectoid Ruehin lurked to this day. Proper ways for a Witcher to perish. When he was done warding up the door, at her voice, he chuckled under his breath, returning to his seat by the fire to sample the meal for himself. She was quite right, it was no Blue Mountain Stew or Toussaint Crayfish Chowder. Even so, he wasn't picky, couldn't afford to be, it was decent enough, would tide them over at least. The Witcher's deep, amused voice agreed with the Black Sun noblewoman between further bites.
"Blue Mountain cooking can't be beat... even in sophisticated Nilfgaardian territory, it seems. Though Lady de Trastamara back in Corvo Bianco probably has me beat, there. Cooking should only be done by those who care about it. No matter, should tide us over until dawn. Maybe we'll have better luck cuisine wise in Nazair and Attre. I know Kovir and Poviss definitely will have it, but that's a ways off yet."
@starwrittenfates
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listen as someone who has actually fired a real gun before i can tell you that it is not actually very easy to hit a small target from far away. it is conspiracy theorizing to think that the fact that the shooter just grazed his ear rather than hitting him directly means that it's more likely that it was staged to get people (who were already going to vote for him) to vote for him than it is that the shooter just fucking missed because real life is not actually videogames and aiming a gun is actually very hard
#to go into more detail: aiming a gun is not a matter of just getting something in the crosshairs and then pulling the trigger#you have to make sure your posture is right and your hold on the gun is right and that you're looking through the sights correctly#and then when it comes time to pull the trigger (this is important and very difficult for people with little experience such as me)#it has to be a smooth steady motion because if you pull it too fast it can move the gun slightly fucking up your aim#combine this with the fact that the shooter was far away and that the target wasn't a piece of paper stuck to a still metal frame#but actually a real live human being that moves around and the fact that they only have one shot before hell breaks loose#it is way more likely that one of the millions of people who want this guy dead (for good reason) missed their singular shot#than that the republican party coordinated an effort to almost but not quite shoot their main guy square in the head#and thought this was a reasonable risk to take in order to get the people who were already going to vote for him anyways to vote for him
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i’m predicting lucanis/magpie/neve is going to own me but we’ll see
#i think she’s going to make both of their lives hell. which is the best dynamic#i think taash and davrin both have a good chance too#i’m just imagining like. a reckless crow with a bit more moral code than a crow should strictly have is going to be like#something that drives neve and lucanis fucking crazy.#magpie is someone who is very good at what she does (murder) but not good at. like.#following a plan.#thinking ahead.#considering their options.#the targets WILL get dead but they will not get dead the way they were maybe supposed to.#漫言#oc. magpie
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since were living in this new age of understanding when it comes to how becoming famous (especially tabloid famous/infamous) at a young age negatively effects your mental health and psychological development i think its time that ppl start reevaluating how they talk about the sex pistols
#sex pistols#hoodie talks#i mean i would think this regardless but seriously#any conversation about the sex pistols that doesnt include just how young they were and how mistreated by the public and press they were#is an incomplete one that doesnt address crucial aspects of their story#you cannot understand why sid vicious ended up dead from suicide at 21 without talking about this!#you cannot understand why johnny rotten is the way he is now without talking about this!#johnny got famous at 19! he spent his entire adult life famous! and by famous i mean infamous aka The Bad Type Of Famous#he was the designated acceptable target of an entire nation during some of the most formative years of his life#'why is he so mean and defensive?' oh idk maybe its bc ppl stabbed him bc he sang a song they didnt like!#imagine being 20 years old and every journo in the country is either writing about you being the voice of your generation#or about how youre the spawn of satan who should be hung from the nearest lamp post#imagine youre 20 and the government is saying that shit about you too#imagine youre 20 and every single thing you say is picked at and poured over and ascribed countless different meanings#imagine youre 20 and you cant even walk down the street without being harassed by someone you dont know#imagine youre 20 and someone sticks a razor in your hand and disables you for life bc you wrote a song they didnt like#imagine youre 20 and your neighbor barges into your flat bc your music was too loud and stabs your 14 year old friend#and then when you ask the police for help they tell you that she deserved it for hanging out with you#now imagine the kind of person youd be if you lived through all of that#and now imagine that every time you ever sorta lashed out or were kinda mean ppl said 'shut up you whiny attention whore'#imagine if everyone collectively got together when you were 19 and decided that you didnt get to be a person anymore forever#thats what johnny lydon's life has been since 1975#punk rock posting
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Not a baiting ask: I don’t recall any of the characters dressing more androgynously as the books went on, save Gabrielle? There are passages of Louis and Lestat wearing lace, pearls and velvet frock coats in the modern day, in reference to 18th c. fashion: Is that what the other Anon may have meant? That’s not an androgynous sartorial choice with historical costuming in mind, though, it’s Louis dressing in the fashion of his human era. (Perhaps there is a misconception from a passage in which Louis wears lace and pearls at Armand’s urging, or someone sharing such passages with intent to mislead other fans about the canonicity of Femme Louis or Femme Lestat beyond Anne’s personal identification with them, which has happened before and will happen again.) In the show, Louis dressing in lace, pearl and velvet would be Louis dressing in a colourful three piece suit in the style of the 1910’s.
(x)
Ah! Thank you for the correction, anon, I didn't remember any either, but I'm hyper-conscious of only having read through Memnoch (and having read most of the books I have quite a while ago, although I've been re-reading TVL recently) so I chose to take the ask in good faith and assume perhaps something happened in later books. That could very well be what the anon meant, but perhaps you're right too that there are scenes being taken out of context.
#i mentioned it recently but i actually listened to the behind the bastards eps on beau brummell a few months ago which was FASCINATING#but talked a lot about these sorts of shifting ideas of masculinity and mens fashion particularly in the 1800s#(and largely a result of the french revolution)#and a lot of that covered how that dandy style really became emasculated as a part of the rising working class and anti-rich sentiment#but also men wanted to look poorer than they were across europe to avoid being targeted in anti-rich revolution which is basically what led#to beau brummell's invention of the modern suit#which is just#hilarious#that it was created as a way for rich men to look slightly less rich (yet still fashionable and expensive)#on a different note it's interesting what people latch onto#i'm seeing so many people use those tweets from anne's son too and like#as a beatles fan i feel i can say this with authority#but looking for answers about a dead artist's art from their adult children is bad and weird#no matter how involved they may be in an estate#ESPECIALLY when it comes to questions involving sex#whether that be their characters or the artist themselves#anyway#i'm hoping this whole thing wasn't just a baity-response to my post the other day about not seeing louis as femme#so yes! choosing to take it as perhaps some misinterpretations :-)#louis asks#iwtv asks#okay i should get back to writing
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Love the idea here that the other rebels' problem with Saw is just that he blows shit up and not the whole "torturing prisoners and endangering civilians" thing
#the death stars were both military targets the only people killed in those explosions were military personnel#whereas saw and the partisans have demonstrated multiple times that they have zero regard for civilian life#they got a bunch of civilians at a festival killed on inusagi just to kill one imperial governor and put civilians in danger on jedha#he interrogates people with a telepathic squid monster that mind rapes you and leaves you insane#either that or he electrocutes you and threatens to shoot the queen egg that can save your nearly extinct species#and for every time he gets results there's also an instance of him accomplishing absolutely nothing#he bombs tarkin's base on eriadu and doesn't even succeed in killing him or any of the other officers#he just killed a bunch of easily-replaceable stormtroopers#and if tech really is dead then the only actually noteworthy person he got killed that day was someone that was technically on his side#even if he did kill tarkin or krennic or hemlock they can also be replaced cause everyone in the empire is expendable except palpatine#the empire has no shortage of other officers like them that could continue their work#saw just wants to hurt the empire right here right now and doesn't care about the consequences#he says sacrifice is required for the greater good which isn't wrong but doesn't care who makes those sacrifices for his cause#and no i'm not saying he's some evil monster with no redeeming qualities#we know his backstory we know why he is the way he is and i do think he's sympathetic#but i also think the whole mentality that he was Always Right Actually and the other rebels are hypocrites for no approving of his methods#is really fucking stupid#of course this all stems from tumblr logic that you can't have any characters who fit the ''well-intentioned extremist'' trope#cause if you have a character who has good intentions but goes about the wrong way#then according to tumblr that automatically means you're Demonizing Violent Resistance#even though the characters who disapprove of those extreme methods are in fact ALSO violently resisting#they're just not committing war crimes while they do it#i didn't think these tags were gonna be as long as they were but yeah#bad batch spoilers#in the tags#shut up tristan
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I don't remember why but I dreamed about looking up the common religions in different regions of Thailand last night
#in addition to like. more regular dreams where someone kidnapped part of our camping/hiking group and I needed to use my knowledge of#dog/wolf behavior to appease a wolf that we needed to pass by to get between two forest clearings and also since my character was a#clean-freak / germaphobe he had the power to have bugs not bother him in the woods and then that all happened twice because ofc we needed to#keep to the story script when it restarted and I had to keep everything on the rails but this time two other wolves also came up and they#all decided I was chill and we left each other alone even while I was de-escalating the kidnapping situation but then the kidnappers started#running away and I was like 'you know what would make them think again? three wolves chasing them' so I got the wolves' attention and#started running and they thought it was some kind of chase game and eventually after a couple times of them catching up with me and thinking#that was it they realized someone ahead of us was also running so THEY were the target and we finally started chasing down the kidnappers#and by this point I was considered part of the pack and also we were in a school gymnasium but right after some sort of fair or assembly so#we had to dodge chairs and tables and stacks of equipment and occasionally children but they mostly kept out of the way#oh and I think after the reset but before the kidnapping there was also a part where one of the other characters (I feel like one of my#siblings was playing this one) insisted that our top priority should be finding clothes and I was like 'wait are you NAKED?' and they were#like 'yeah we all are???' and I was like 'WHAT no I'm fully dressed. my character is wearing a suit and tie! and a hat even!' yeah yeah and#then the kidnappers/bullies came up and one of them was a blond lady with a bolo tie.#btw the reason I'm saying stuff like 'my character'/'was playing a character' is because in this dream it was explicitly characters we were#playing in some sort of game where the focus wasn't roleplay but it had a roleplay-y aspect where the different characters had different#strengths and abilities; such as Betrayal at House on the Hill or Western Legends or Dead of Winter#anyway. IDK why dream-me thought thailand was one of the most religiously diverse places on earth. in real life it's over 90% buddhist.#ThornShadow.said
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this won't become a rant post but if anyone ever says "you can't be happy you're a lesbian, you're oppressed" to me i'm biting them
#''i wish i was straight so i didn't have to deal with everything i deal with'' sorry about the internalized homophobia!!#dont you fucking dare bring other people into it!#i love being a dyke i love being butch i love my relationship with gender and lesbianism and the way they intersect#i love lesbian attraction i love women. god i love women#and you can pry my joy away from my cold dead hands.#it was so much worse in the past!! and we still found time for joy.#you think gay activists were miserable about being gay? you think that's how things got better?#this is becoming a rant post#my point is. it was so much worse 50 years ago and we still found time for gay sex <3#unrebloggable because i can't have this getting notes. it's a fine post but i'm angry about a very specific thing someone said#and i don't wanna get notes because i'm targeting their internalized homophobia#even if it's directed outward in this way#persimmon's rambles
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You know why I don't celebrate anything to do with the space race or the moon landing?
Fucking Nazis.
America sold its soul to win the space race against the Russians by giving Nazis like Wernher von Braun, Hubertus Strughold and Walter Schreiber a pass, and using the 'research' based off torturing, terrorising and murdering innocent prisoners during WWII in the most horrific way possible.
America's victory in space was built on the corpses and torture of millions in concentration camps, and rather than punish these Nazi scientists for their crimes, they were applauded because it helped them win the space race.
And I don't want to hear any 'but Teddy, if we hadn't won the space race, Russia would have won and we'd have ended up in a war we couldn't win!'
We do not KNOW that. But even if that is true, it is still incredibly evil to promise literal Nazis a free pass just because it helps America plant a flag on the moon.
Doing something evil for the sake of winning is still evil.
It would have been one thing if America had recognised this then and publicly acknowledged this. And discussed it in their education with children.
If they'd said to the world, 'we're doing this horrible thing because we believe it will avoid war, but these evil Nazis will go to prison after they help us win the space race [spoiler alert, they did not]. We must recognise the damage and horror that got us here, and recognise that we had to get in bed with the devil to win this, and for this we are ashamed.'
They didn't do that. They've never even acknowledged it. Those Nazis walked away heroes for ‘saving’ America.
And they didn’t even acknowledge the efforts of Katherine Johnson, Mary Jackson and Dorothy Vaughan- the incredible Black women without whom NASA could probably never have done anything. It’s barely acknowledged now. But it is a fact.
This isn’t conspiracy theory bullshit. This is real, literal history. Actual factual history. And children are not taught this in schools. They’re just taught The Great ~Achievement~ made by white men in America.
So.
Fuck Nazis.
Fuck America, France and Britain (and everywhere else) for giving Nazis a free pass just because it was convenient for them.
Fuck the space race.
Fuck the moon landing.
Fuck the education faults of the space race.
Fuck the white washing of Black women who got them there, treating the women like shit, and not even acknowledging their achievements.
Fuck America for getting in bed with literal Nazis and not even educating their own people on this shameful history.
Fuck all the 'science' that was built off the torture and mass graves piled high with corpses of people in concentration camps from Nazis.
Fuck the moon landing.
youtube
Hey. Why isn’t the moon landing a national holiday in the US. Isn’t that fucked up? Does anyone else think that’s absurd?
#fuck the moon landing#fuck the space race#fuck america#britain and france and everywhere else for using Nazi 'scientists' to their advantage with all that blood on their hands#nazis won the space race and there's no other way you can spin it#doing evil things does not justify your actions even if it's for the 'greater good'#operation paperclip#fuck nazis#fuck america for getting in bed with the nazis#this isn't conspiracy theory shit this is actual documented history#holocaust#at lest 6 million Jews died in the holocaust#5 million more who were targeted for other reasons died in the holocaust#nazis#american empire used Nazi scum to win the space race and that is why there should be no 'moon landing day' or celebration of space race#by the way the Nazis policies were based off the Jim Crow policies so of course america welcomed nazis#they should have recognised publicly the cost to win the space race back then but should at least do it now#also the financial cost of sending people to space when we are killing the planet and have so much inequality down here is disgusting#that money could have gone to helping people live and get medical attention and support#hollow victory for the price#ps do you know how much junk we have left in space#at least 3000 dead satellites alone#plus over 34000 pieces of junk over ten centimetres alone#no really it’s a huge awful problem so much debris in space Look it up#Katherine Johnson#Mary Jackson#Dorothy Vaughan#moon landing#moon landing day
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Golden Boy - G.S.
Synopsis. Falling right back in love with the cult leader you’re supposed to kíll? Happens more often than you’d think.
Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, friends/lovers to enemies to lovers, oral (fem receiving), facesítting, creampíe, slight Gojo x Reader, running away from it, Suguru is so SOOO in love still, unprotected, spítting, kinda angsty, hurt/comfort, mentions of bIood and kníves, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 4.4k
A/N. I was listening to fantasmas while writing this so take that how you will LMAO.
The difficult part, surprisingly, wasn’t infiltrating Geto Suguru’s Time Vessel Association. No, a few faux tears, a decoy curse, and you were in - stepping through his grandiose hideout. The difficult part was convincing yourself that you were here to kill him.
Something that utterly foolish little part of yourself still had trouble believing - even when you had a knife to his throat.
“Any last words?” you spit, muffled through your mask, thankful for the way it covers up just how much your voice shakes. Maybe because of the way his lips curl into a familiar smile, maybe from his cool dagger pressing against the back of your neck.
Seconds away from a bloodbath.
You don’t know if you’re breathing - or if he is either. Eyes locked on the way Sugur- your target only raises his hand up, up, up - getting ready to strike. To kill. Only you’d get him first and-
Snip!
You’re not dead. But you might as well have been, because your mask falls onto the tatami mat with a deafening clatter.
“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.”
It’s hard not to remember.
“You don’t have any right to say that.” your knees tighten around where you had him straddled to the ground. Your hand pinning one of his down, blade digging deeper into Suguru’s pale neck - eyeing the slow, steady drop of blood that beads down it. “Didn’t think you’d remember me, either.”
With your mask now no longer on your face, you could traitorously take in that relaxed grin - as if your life wasn’t in his hands right now. As if he didn’t care.
Suguru’s hair was much longer now, splayed out across the floor inkily. Circling around his broad shoulders, around the eyes that were just a bit harder than they were ten years ago. And yet, you catch the way they flicker briefly with something so raw as he whispers gently, “How could I ever forget my first love?”
So quiet that you could’ve blamed it on your imagination - and you wish you did.
It’s so unfair.
Unfair how you let out a gasp, despite yourself. Unfair how you were the best sword wielder that Jujutsu had to offer, yet your fingers tremble on your knife. Heart stuttering at the mere sight of the way his eyes crinkle with the beginnings of a smile. Pleading, like all he could see was you from what felt like a thousand lifetimes ago.
Those golden years. Back when rare Susanoomon cards were what you’d fight over, and the only stains he’d wipe off were from the grassy grounds of Jujutsu High, still faint underneath the encrusted blood on that uniform nestled away deep in his wardrobe.
You manage to grit out, “Shut up. You left me- us.”
“I did.”
Like it was all he wanted to see.
“You never loved me.”
“I do.”
Your voice is shrill at this point, words stumbling over each other. “You’ve massacred more people than you’ve saved.”
Suguru wastes no time denying - or in any niceties. Looking right into your absolutely crazed eyes as he answers, “I have.” And his answer rings so hollow and emotionless in your ears, cold-blooded. Absolutely nothing like the boy you remembered. The one that would laugh and steal you away to take you around campus on his bicycle, all because the next class was “too far”.
“I- fuck.” You place both hands on the hilt of your blade, distantly registering the way that Suguru lets his own drop onto the floor. “I should kill you- I should kill you right now.”
Just one flick of your wrist. Fast and simple.
In and out - exactly like you’d been ordered to.
“And to die by your hand would be a death that someone like me doesn’t deserve.”
You both jolt when your knife hits the ground - as if neither of you were expecting it. And before you can stop yourself, you’re fisting his thick robes, pulling Suguru’s face up closer to yours. Mere inches away.
“Then- then I’ll-” you choke, a hand coming up to dig into the sides of his milky neck, leaving neat, red indents on his skin. “I’ll kill you with my own hands, Suguru.”
And he’s known you for years - would never admit it, but was by your side for only half as long as he’d watched over you.
Saw - only from a distance - those big fat tears you cried at graduation, the curve of your lips as you pulled a very reluctant Nanami into a hug outside his new office building. The steely look in your eyes meeting Satoru’s much softer one, telling him first how you’re going into teaching. And the smile on your face when you thought of who else might have, too. If he’d gotten the chance.
Always hidden.
Never so close to this frenzied glint in your gaze, a tiny sob threatening to escape your lips. Never like this - and yet, he never thinks you’ve looked so beautiful.
But what would someone like him know about beauty, anyway?
You flinch as Suguru reaches a hand up to thumb away the furrow between your brows, catching on the single, stray tear sitting at your cheekbone. Whispering - so low that you involuntarily crane your head closer to hear - “Still such a crybaby.”
“And you’re still going to be the death of me.”
Soft - Suguru’s lips are as soft as you imagined. And it’s not exactly the tender, picture-perfectly romantic first kiss his teenage self dreamt up with you, but fuck if he wasn’t going to remember this like it was.
Perfect.
Pretty lips smothering yours, all slow and sensual. Drinking in those deliciously breathless gasps of yours as he sucks on your candied lips.
You gasp, “Suguru.” and it comes out teary. Making you finally register the wetness rolling down your cheeks, glistening against the dim lighting. You tighten your grip around his neck, “This won’t fix-”
“I know.” Fuck, does he know better than anyone else.
A hand slides up your forearm, the other cupping your face to pull you closer. He’s running his hot tongue along your cheek, pooling your salty tears on his lips. “But let me make you forget - if just for tonight. Please.”
The only answer Suguru gets is your fingers leaving his neck, dancing feather-light across his sculpted shoulders to slide under his robe. Feeling the smooth plane of his pecs underneath your palm, that traitorously thundering heartbeat he wishes he could slow down. “Kiss me.”
“Fuck.” he pants into your open mouth. The sight of your glossy, slightly puffy lips having him surge forward to reattach his with yours with a pained grunt. “God- jus’ a bit more, my love.”
Again. And again and again- like he was addicted.
He’d always been, with you, anyway.
You let out a sinful sound of his name when Suguru kisses down your neck, lips slotting over your racing pulse. Throbbing and so real under his lips, remembering how he used to feel this song under his arms long before.
“Oh- shit.” you moan, when his now rougher - larger - hands sneak underneath your crumpled shirt, deftly unbuttoning. Unbuckling. Impatient. “Sugu-”
A hoarse groan leaves him, only spurring him to all but rip the rest of your uniform off your body faster.
And at the first sight of you clad in nothing but your panties, Suguru’s kiss-bitten lips are falling slack. Brows shooting up into the dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead now, “Been missing out, hm?” He’s dipping a hand down to run the back of his index along your clothed, puffy folds. Up and down. “Really been-” Heart clenching when he remembers the way Satoru now looks at you with a familiar glint. One he knew all too well. “-missing out, my love.”
You’re only trailing your fingers along his cheek - his neck, grazing over that little mark from your blade. He groans - maybe from your touch, probably from the way you’re dragging your cunt across that massive bulge underneath you. “Please, Suguru. Wan’ you.”
And if Geto Suguru has spent ten years denying himself, surely he could sacrifice it for the way he lifts your stuttering, sloppy hips up so easily. All the way up until they were hovering over his mouth, hot breath hitting your clothed cunt.
“Wanna taste you.” he groans, spying on the way your slick beads through your panties. “Wan’ see if you’re as hah- sweet as I imagined. Please.”
And he’s obsessed with the way you’re sinking yourself down so gently, cock jumping at the thought of you afraid you’d suffocate him - as if you didn’t have your blade at his throat just minutes ago.
“Fuuuck, don’t worry, pretty.” he groans, soft darting to lick at the juices smeared across your inner thighs. “Some more now. Put it all on me, I can take it- fuck-”
Your syrupy sweet cunt has Geto losing whatever’s left of his fucking restraint, dark eyes rolling to the back of his head because you were so sweet. So pretty looking down at him with your glassy eyes. So addictive. He moans, chest heaving as he breathes in your essence. “What happened to that feist from earlier? Gonna hafta do a lil’ more than that now.”
“B-but-”
It’s at this moment you realize that at any given moment Suguru could’ve easily taken the upper hand. A hand of his pulls down your hesitant hips, swollen lips against your covered ones in such a filthy kiss.
He hums into your folds, bunching your panties between them. “Mmm. Shit- jus’ like I imagined.” Hot tongue dipping just underneath the flimsy fabric to feel out your sloppy entrance, “Better, even. Jus’ look how well you’re taking me, pretty.”
But you don’t - too scared to find out that you’d like the sight more than you should. How you wished you could go back to the golden days where it didn’t matter - wasn’t a matter of life and death. And something else entirely.
And this dilemma has Suguru’s brows furrowing, sharp canines lightly nipping at one of your swollen folds. Wanting to see how it’s him - despite everything, it’s still him making you feel this way. “None of that now.”
RIP!
With this you have to look down, a desperate whine leaving your stupid mouth at the fucking sinful sight down below. Your panties now a tattered excuse in between Suguru’s teeth, baring them with such a devilish grin right up at you.
“See?” he spits out the fabric onto the floor beside him, half-lidded eyes peering up at you so sultry. Looking right at you as his tongue lolls out, spreading your bare, needy folds shamefully. “Isn’t this much better?”
“Hngh- fuck, yes-” you slide your fingers through his now-messy hair, falling out of that half-bun. Jolting on top with each push of his tongue past that feeble ring of resistance, the lewd squelches leaving you with each graze of the wet muscle against your walls. “Shit- Suguru it feels too good. So deep ngh-”
He swats a hand against your ass, making you sit your slutty hips down deeper, all the way till Suguru’s jaw was grinding so greedily against your cunt. Tongue bullying past your folds in and out in and out in and-
“God- hah-” he’s pulling away to gasp deep lungfuls of air - secondary, to the way he was back immediately to making out so hotly with your tight pussy. “Mmm fuck. This cute lil cunt is so needy. S’like you’re trynna suck my tongue off.” Thumb reaching up to draw slow, languid circles that have you throwing your head back. “So perfect.”
Your delirious mouth is dropping open, body moving before your mind as you strain to reach your hand behind. Trembling. Shaky when you manage to cup Suguru’s aching erection.
“G-guess m’not the only one ah- needy, hm?” you smirk, having him bucking and spitting out harsh little profanities with each rub of your palm down his drenched length.
Suguru doesn’t give you a response - because his fingers are speaking on his behalf. Dipping into your sloppy hole, locating your g-spot, as if on instinct. He’s milking your pretty cunt while he roams for those sweet spots. Lips muffling around your throbbing clit, “You’re always right, my love. You always were.”
And his words are so gentle - mouth so sloppy. Squelches so obscene.
Nose pressing up at the top of your abdomen, cheeks hollowing wetly around the sensitive nub. Letting your juices drip all the way down his chin, his jaw, dangerously close to that cut on his neck.
The hand sliding back and forth across the swollen outline of his cock had Suguru get more frenzied. Faster. Like it was his personal mission to make you cum on his tongue before he fucking passed out.
Penetrating your gummy hole with both his fingers and his tongue, spreading it open more. And it’s all you can do to keen, “Oh- oh my god.” Riding Suguru’s pretty face harder. “Shit- m’close, Suguru.”
“Always right.” he gasps, swiping his tongue faster across your clit. “Always perfect” Alternating between squeezing back into your hole, your sweet spots. Stretching out your gummy walls as far as they’d go. “Always made f’me.” Assaulting it with both his fingers and his tongue. Again. And again and again and- “Jus’ wish I got to have you sooner.”
His words make you snap your eyes up from his mean mouth to meet his gaze, devouring you as greedily and depraved as his tongue. They make your thighs burn with the effort to drag your sloppy pussy faster.
They make you cum - shaking, crying out little mewls of “Ngh- fuck. M’cumming m’cumming m’cumming.”
The way your voice is breaking at the end of each moan has Suguru’s cock straining so painfully against his trousers. One hand firmly on your waist, arching you deeper to tongue you through your high in ways he’s only ever dared to imagine.
Ways he’s selfishly hoped only he could - even after all these years, the sight of any other man looking at you wrong having his irritation flaring.
“S’right.” his voice is sending stars bursting behind your lids, tongue even worse. Having you pleading and so sensitive. “I got you, my love. Give it t’me.” Messy - not as forgiving as he’d like to be. “Give it alllll to me.”
And you do - all but smothering Suguru’s eager tongue with all your sweet juices. Ones he’s lapping up happily, tilting his head back as far as it’d go on the floor, letting your heady slick fill up his throat. His pussydrunk lips let out a hiss, both at the burn of that cut on his neck, and the way you’re desperately pulling your hips back.
Too overstimulated. Too fucking sensitive. Too much - but it would never be enough for Suguru.
“Please, Suguru.” you sob at the way your limp hips are being pulled back by a needy Suguru. “M’too sensitive. I- fuck-” He’s only lapping at your quivering cunt leisurely, smirk prominent against your swollen folds.
And it’s all you can do to deliriously slip a hand underneath his robes, a desperate attempt to keep whatever shred of sanity you have left. Fingers feeling down his unfairly toned abs, the tufts of hair at his pelvis, reaching-
“Oh fuck!” Your heavy eyes admire the way Suguru arches into your touch in surprise - like he couldn’t help himself. Eyes flying open, glossy, plump lips curling into a disbelieving grin, “Ya really are made f’me, huh?”
That’s all it takes for Suguru to head to your lewd whims, bruising fingers on your hips finally loosening to let you sit your sloppy cunt back down on his lap - except, this time, you were seated directly on his rock-hard cock. Pussy lips spreading around his length to just soak him.
“Oh, my love.” He sits up, splaying you out so prettily on his lap. “How I’ve missed you.”
You don’t even register the way you’re raising your head up to meet Suguru’s - not until he spits. Once. Twice. Straight onto your awaiting tongue that you didn’t even realize you were sticking out, saccharine sweet saliva making such a mess when he’s crashing his lips into yours.
“Yeahh, like that. Kiss me like that.” he slurs against your mouth, drunk off both sets of your sweet lips. Getting out through wet, sloppy pecks. “How I wish I had you sooner.”
You can feel your heart thumping so wildly against your ribcage, matching the needy, needy staccato of Suguru’s cock throbbing between your puffy folds. And, well, you really can’t be blamed for the way you break the kiss to look down and oh-
Oh Suguru notices that furrow between your brows, kissing away the nervous little wobble in your lower lips as he grunts, “God, you’re killin’ me.”
Fuck. Killing him?
You were the one sent in for the kill, but it seems you won’t be making it out here alive.
Because Suguru was so big, girth rubbing up against your thighs. So angry and heavy, smearing hot precum over his abs, your cunt, adding to add to the absolute mess. Long enough that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk out of here - which, honestly, Suguru would’ve preferred. To keep you with him forever.
To have you always mewling so prettily when he’s dragging his fat head down your sensitive slit. To have his name - and only his name - leave your bruised lips when he’s asking, “Who’s got you this wet?”
You’re so cockdrunk already that you’re groaning mindlessly, “You- Suguru-”
“No, that’s not what you call me.”
And it takes you a few, long seconds to understand what he’s saying, all the while trying to focus with the leaky tip being pressed past your swollen folds. Slow. Torturous. Hitting you so violently at the same time he slips past that first, slutty ring of muscle.
“Sugu!”
A blinding grin splits across Suguru’s absolutely fucked-out face, brows furrowing together in ecstasy. “That’s more hah- like it.” Not having heard that familiar little nickname - one of your many - fall from your lips since high school - one that makes a heart he forgot he had grow five sizes too large. “Now, just take me-” Hips bucking up, so strong and ruthless. “-like I know you can, okay?”
Over and over.
You can’t let out anything but barely-lucid whines at this point, letting Suguru sink in inch by fucking inch. Your walls stretched out so perfectly to take his sheer size. But the stretch- oh, the stretch.
Fuck, it has you clawing at Suguru’s exposed shoulders, fingers leaving angry, red marks down the muscles. An obscene ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with each time he reels his hips back, only to bully his aching cock inside until he physically couldn’t.
“Hngh- Sugu, s’too big-” You buck your hips down in shallow, tentative grinds to meet his filthy method of fitting in. “Too- much. Didn’t expect you to be so mean-”
“The sorcerer that hah- held a knife to the infamous Geto Suguru’s neck-” he groans, hands groping your ass to move you further down his massive cock. To watch the way your sloppy entrance was stretching out so much to suck him up. “-can take this too, right? I know you can.” He reaches a deft thumb around to toy with your pretty clit, making your cunt relax like the good girl she is. Fucking up deeper, just a bit more mean. “You- can-”
Several things happen at the tail end of Suguru’s sentence - he’s finally fitting in all in one go. With a calculated, harsh thrust up into your poor cunt, your ass is kissing his heavy balls, pussy rubbing against the hair at his hilt. So full and so much.
And Suguru knows he just might not see heaven - but shit, does he feel like he’s there right now. The feeling so good that both of you letting out mingling gasps of pleasure.
Your back falling onto the now soiled mats like such animals, the other not far behind.
“You alright, my love?” Suguru hums against your throat when you’re managing to adjust somewhat to the stretch, aware enough to kiss the palm resting protectively underneath your head - making sure you don’t hurt yourself.
You bat your teary lashes, “Never been better, Sugu.”
And something about that makes him remember.
Remember the way you’d tell him the exact same thing when you fought with curses too strong for you - coming back to the dorms all battered and bruised, but alive. Flashing him that addictive grin, and a crooked thumbs up, “Never been better, Sugu. Gold, actually.”
His golden girl.
Shaking away the tightness at his throat, Suguru instead focuses on wrapping your trembling legs around his toned waist. Tight.
“Sh-shit- you’re milkin’ me so good, fuck-”
Abs burning as he just drags his cock along your plushy walls, keeping your legs held wide open for him. So tight - like you were sucking the fucking soul out of him. Making sure to angle his hips in just the way that’ll have your eyes tearing at the way he was massaging all your sweet spots.
And sure enough - “O-oh my god-” you breathe, and shit, it was so hard to speak. Suguru’s cock too big, too depraved. Speeding up with every ram of his hips into a steady, mean pace. “Jus’ like that, fuck-”
“Mhm?”
You paw at his free hand settled by the side of your neck, trailing it down, down, down - rings and all - to the part of your stomach you could feel his thick tip hitting. A slight bulge, abusing your cervix over and over, “Here-”
“-s’where I belong.”
Your brows raise at his interjection, and you swipe away the long locks of hair partially covering Suguru’s face, legs tightening around his hips as you take a long, hard look. He repeats, “S’where I belong. Where ngh- you belong.”
Like some deep, dark part of him was trying to fuck out any and every doubt about this out of you - as if you’d have any - Suguru’s rolling his hips harder into yours. All the way until it almost hurt - until the sting of his twitching balls against your ass felt permanent, fingerpads pressing down so hard on your stomach.
Lips searing against yours, punctuating each word with a jagged, rough thrust. “Because you sh-shouldn’t be ah- here. You shouldn’t be-” He drags you deeper onto his dick like some ragdoll, fingers frenzying on your clit. “-with me.”
Words slurring and as sloppy as his hips now.
“Wh-why fuck- why wouldn’t I be?”
“Heh, you forgot?” Suguru spits out a chuckle, pushing you further and further up the mat with how bruising his hips were hitting yours. Alternating between marking your cervix - your g-spot - your gummy walls. “Forgot how I told ya to live a better life than this?” Everything and anything. Hips smacking so loud, echoing in symphony with those melancholy words he parted with so long ago. “How I told you to hngh- find a-another? Live a long life? To be happy?”
Now that Suguru was talking, it was like he couldn’t stop. Like a damn had been broken - both with his words and his movements. The curve of his dick drives you wild, veins molding your cunt into their shape.
Gritting his teeth to hold back the way his drenched balls squeeze so painfully, biting down on your lower lip. “You’re s-supposed to kill me.” A drop of sweat splashing down on your cheek, “To kill me and maybe you’ll be hah- fuck mine in another universe. But not this one.” It’s like he’s out of control now, “Never this one. You can have anybody else.”
And suddenly you’re having a flashback to just a week prior, to an uncharacteristically solemn Satoru telling you words you should’ve been happy to hear. Quiet, and unassuming. Ones you knew that had you heard them before knowing Suguru, you’d have jumped into his arms - exactly how he hoped you would, the day of his departure.
Chuckling at you being such a “crybaby” about him leaving. After all, this was just meant to be, right?
But no.
Instead, you’re here. Bunching Suguru’s beautiful, glossy hair curtaining the sides of your head, into a ponytail. Difficult - with how he was getting faster. Harder. Just ravaging your hole until you were gaping and breathless.
And yet, arms trembling and limp, you still manage to reveal the boy you fell in love with - the one you could never forget. From the flush on his pretty face, to the twisted, sad curve of his mouth. And the eyes that bore into yours like they were searching for the same thing. Smiling, for the first time since you entered this place, “How could I ever want anyone else, Sugu?”
The hand on your stomach is cupping your adorable face so softly - and it’s hard to believe those hands have killed. Betrayed.
Like they were capable of doing anything but as Suguru swipes the single tear glistening down your cheek, “Still a crybaby, huh, my love?”
And then you cum - and Suguru isn’t too far behind.
It’s just a flash of hot white, tingles running down your spine - all the way to the thick, creamy base soon forming around his wildly twitching cock.
And it’s so good. Too good that all you can do it scream out his name, letting him do anything - and you were glad all he did was fuck you so mercilessly through your high. So violent. Addictive.
Vision blurry, mouth sagging open for Suguru to press intimate little kisses along the corners of your mouth. Whispering sweet praises as your cunt sucks him up so good. So sinfully milking him for everything he’s worth.
Taking in rope after rope of thick cum that warms your gummy walls from the inside, overfilling just enough for it to dribble down into the mat below in an obscene little pool. Smearing down your thighs, his balls. Heavenly.
His heaven.
And in the haze of it all, Suguru imagines that you’ll reach for your knife again, press it back against the curve of his exposed neck. He imagines you’ll laugh in his face, tell him what a great whim this was but you had to get back to your job, turning your back on him as he has done before. He imagines.
But what he gets is your strained, fucked-out little voice, “I missed you, my golden boy.”
A/N. Yes, That Line was inspired by HTTYD. If I had to be hurt, y’all do, too.
Plagiarism not authorized.
#geto x reader#geto smut#geto x you#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru smut#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen#geto suguru#gojo x reader#tonywrites
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I love this so much you don't even know
inspired by the ‘your afternoon was already ruined’ post
Death Star Stormtroopers: “Freeze!”
Han: (panicking, trying to come up with a lie): Woah there don’t shoot, uh, you can’t shoot us because—because this guy is Darth Vader’s son! You don’t want to be responsible for shooting Darth Vader’s own flesh and bone do you?”
Luke: *glares incredulously*
Stormtroopers: “That is the dumbest thing—”
Leia: (done at this point, absolutely done with this rescue, better than Han at lying) “Exactly! Why would we tell you something so phenomenally insane if it weren’t true! Why do you think Darth Vader is so obsessed with finding Rebels, huh? Call him he’ll tell you!”
Luke: (also done, much better than Han at lying): “Or you could just shoot us; I’m sure my father, Darth Vader, inventor of the lightsaber, would be thrilled to meet the men who killed his son and his son’s friends.” *waves lightsaber arrogantly*
Stormtrooper 1: “Maybe we should call this in. I mean—he’s got a lightsaber, so that’s—that’s Vader stuff anyway.”
Stormtrooper 2: “are you kidding me right now?”
Leia: *shoots them while they’re distracted*
Han: “…We’re friends?”
//
Tarkin: “The rebels said what? You incompetent fool, how could you buy such an absurd stalling—”
Vader: “My…son…”
Tarkin:
Tarkin: Oh fuck THIS.
#star wars#nevertheless rerun#star wars au no 6 rerun#Bewilderment AU rerun#now please enjoy a rerun of my finest tags from this adventure#well i made myself laugh and that's what's important#i am still making myself laugh#r2d2 is just over in a corner#like. should i say something? i'm not sure how the sith virus spreads and i don't want to risk corrupting their files...#but they already seem to know. somewhat.#ben is dead but Luke is NOT in a 'reaching out to the force' place right now so. you know.#this whole au just makes me laugh audibly while typing#i just have such a clear mental image of everyone’s face and voice while they play who’s on first#seriously you GOTTA imagine the voices#long post#probably should have started a new post but whatevs#this has been an overall terrible day for Luke Skywalker#part of me is like: i should really start a new post#but this is just SO FUNNY too me#it's like luke's day it just keeps getting longer and more insane it STARTED with a mysterious message from a princess#he tried to nap on the way to alderaan but he kept seeing his aunt and uncle when he closed his eyes#by the time he was shooting down a giant space station with his father still on board#two stormtroopers a smuggler and the princess were all in his lap#so when he started hallucinating old ben's voice telling him not to use the targeting computer he was just very 'this might as well happen'#he's gonna wake up like 'owen i had the craziest dream'#oh.#you know i think i might be done
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(Poly 141 x medic reader, where you might as well be the sun to them)
The phrase started as a whisper.
It drifted through the base like smoke curling around corners, impossible to pin down but impossible to ignore.
“Here comes the sun.”
It bounced off walls, passing lips in hushed tones, slipping into conversations as a half-joke, half-omen. At first, the 141 didn’t pay it much attention. Soldiers had their quirks, their superstitions- rituals to keep them sane when missions dragged too long and they smelled more blood than earth. But this one stuck.
Price furrowed his brow the first time he heard it. Ghost only tilted his head slightly, filing it away. Gaz grimaced and muttered something about troops getting weird ideas. Soap, though- he took notice.
He’d caught it more than once before a mission, said like a prayer or maybe a warning. He’d asked around, but answers were vague. “You’ll know when you see it.” That’s all they’d tell him. It irritated him to no end.
Then the mission happened.
It was supposed to be a clean extraction. A quick in-and-out, but things went sideways fast. Soap had been covering the team’s six when the ambush hit. A sharp crack split the air, followed by the searing pain in his side. He hit the ground hard, blood soaking into the dirt, a familiar, burning ache travelling through his body.
“Soap’s hit!” Gaz’s voice barked through comms, panic threading through the static.
“Pull him out!” Price ordered.
But the line fizzled and died. Soap’s world narrowed- gunfire, shouts, and the taste of copper in his mouth. He couldn’t hear the others anymore. The ground felt colder than it should have. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was bad. Really bad.
This is it, he thought. This is where I die.
The edges of his vision blurred. He barely noticed the figure sprinting toward him until a flash of bright red and orange, a blazing fire, pierced through the smoke and haze.
Like the sun.
You hit the ground beside him, all motion and precision, your gear unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bright red and orange covered your tactical vest and helmet- colors that didn’t belong in a war zone. Colors that should’ve made you a target, a dead woman walking.
But instead, you looked like salvation.
“Stay with me, Sargeant.” You said, voice sharp and steady. You weren’t panicked- not even a little. It was comforting.
Soap stared, wide-eyed, as your hands worked quickly to stop the bleeding. He should’ve been paying attention to the pain, to the gunfire, to anything else- but he couldn’t stop looking at you.
“What the hell are ya wearing?” he rasped, because that was apparently the only thought his brain could form.
You didn’t look up. “Bright colors make it easier to spot me. Medics don’t have the luxury of hiding- we have to be seen when it counts.”
“It’s bloody ridiculous.” he muttered- and then sucked in a sharp breath as you tightened the bandage.
“Maybe,” you said, finally glancing at him. “But it got me here, didn’t it?”
Soap’s heart stumbled. Your eyes were sharp, focused- but there was something else there too, something warm. Something steady.
Here comes the sun.
It hit him all at once. That’s what the others meant. It wasn’t just the colors. It was you. The way you moved, the way your voice cut through the noise, the way you didn’t hesitate for a second.
“Stay awake, Sargeant.” You ordered, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a single smart remark.
Much later, he woke up in the med tent, groggy but alive, and immediately found himself staring at you again.
You were restocking supplies nearby, your bright gear an almost comical contrast to the sterile white walls. The moment you noticed him looking, you crossed the room.
“You’re awake,” you said, checking his vitals. Your voice was softer now, calm and patient. He felt like he could melt. “Good.”
“You’re real.” He blurted out before he could stop himself.
You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “What?”
“Thought I was hallucinating.” He gestured vaguely at your vest, a grin cracking on his lips. “I mean, look at ya.” Lovely. The sun has never looked better.
Your lips twitched, like you were holding back a smile. “I get that a lot.”
Before he could come up with anything else to say- anything remotely smooth- the tent flap opened.
Price, Ghost, and Gaz stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on you. And for once, Soap wasn’t the only one caught off guard.
Gaz blinked. “You’re… bright.”
“Easy to spot.” You said, beaming.
Ghost stared at you for a few seconds longer, peering, before he spoke. “…You’re the sun.”
Price studied you for a long moment as well, then nodded like something clicked into place with a sigh. “Makes sense.”
You, on the other hand, looked confused and unsure, tilting your head once more in the way kittens do.
Soap couldn’t stop staring. He barely even heard the others talking, answering your confusion. All he could think about was how you’d shown up when he thought he was done for- and how you’d looked like a fiery star in the vast expanse of a cold, dark sky.
You glanced at him again, eyes sharp and warm all at once, lips quirking in a delicate smile while Gaz talked with you.
Here comes the sun, he thought.
(… would it be possible to cradle the sun, such warmth, in his hands?)
Part Two
#noona.writes#cod x reader#cod x you#cod#tf 141 x reader#tf 141 x you#tf 141#cod imagines#john price x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#johnny soap mctavish x you#johnny soap mctavish x reader#poly 141 x you#poly!141 x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x you#gaz x reader#poly 141 x reader#poly!141#poly 141#john price x you
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What does life in North Korea look like outside of Pyongyang? 🇰🇵
Hey, I'm back again with a very scary "tankie" post that asks you to think of North Koreans as people, and to consider their country not as a cartoonish dystopia, but as a nation that, like any other place on earth, has culture, traditions, and history.
Below is a collection of pictures from various cities and places in North Korea, along with a brief dive into some of the historical events that informs life in the so-called "hermit kingdom."
Warning: very long post
Kaesong, the historic city
Beginning this post with Kaesong, one of the oldest cities in Korea. It's also one of the few major cities in the DPRK (i.e. "North Korea") that was not completely destroyed during the Korean war.
Every single city you'll see from this point on were victims of intense aerial bombardments from the U.S. and its allies, and had to be either partially or completely rebuilt after the war.
From 1951 to 1953, during what has now become known as the "forgotten war" in the West, the U.S. dropped 635,000 tons of bombs over Korea — most of it in the North, and on civilian population centers. An additional 32,000 tons of napalm was also deployed, engulfing whole cities in fire and inflicting people with horrific burns:
For such a simple thing to make, napalm had horrific human consequences. A bit of liquid fire, a sort of jellied gasoline, napalm clung to human skin on contact and melted off the flesh. Witnesses to napalm's impact described eyelids so burned they could not be shut and flesh that looked like "swollen, raw meat." - PBS
Ever wondered why North Koreans seem to hate the U.S so much? Well...
Keep in mind that only a few years prior to this, the U.S. had, as the first and only country in the world, used the atomic bomb as a weapon of war. Consider, too, the proximity between Japan and Korea — both geographically and as an "Other" in the Western imagination.
As the war dragged on, and it became clear the U.S. and its allies would not "win" in any conventional sense, the fear that the U.S. would resort to nuclear weapons again loomed large, adding another frightening dimension to the war that can probably go a long way in explaining the DPRK's later obsession with acquiring their own nuclear bomb.
But even without the use of nuclear weapons, the indiscriminate attack on civilians, particularly from U.S. saturation bombings, was still horrific:
"The number of Korean dead, injured or missing by war’s end approached three million, ten percent of the overall population. The majority of those killed were in the North, which had half of the population of the South; although the DPRK does not have official figures, possibly twelve to fifteen percent of the population was killed in the war, a figure close to or surpassing the proportion of Soviet citizens killed in World War II" - Charles K. Armstrong
On top of the loss of life, there's also the material damage. By the end of the war, the U.S. Air Force had, by its own estimations, destroyed somewhere around 85% of all buildings in the DPRK, leaving most cities in complete ruin. There are even stories of U.S. bombers dropping their loads into the ocean because they couldn't find any visible targets to bomb.
What you'll see below of Kaesong, then, provides both a rare glimpse of what life in North Korea looked like before the war, and a reminder of what was destroyed.
Kaesong's main street, pictured below.
Due the stifling sanctions imposed on the DPRK—which has, in various forms and intensities, been in effect since the 1950s—car ownership is still low throughout the country, with most people getting around either by walking or biking, or by bus or train for longer distances.
Kaesong, which is regarded as an educational center, is also notable for its many Koryŏ-era monuments. A group of twelve such sites were granted UNESCO world heritage status in 2013.
Included is the Hyonjongnung Royal Tomb, a 14th-century mausoleum located just outside the city of Kaesong.
One of the statues guarding the tomb.
Before moving on the other cities, I also wanted to showcase one more of the DPRK's historical sites: Pohyonsa, a thousand-year-old Buddhist temple complex located in the Myohyang Mountains.
Like many of DPRK's historic sites, the temple complex suffered extensive damage during the Korean war, with the U.S. led bombings destroying over half of its 24 pre-war buildings.
The complex has since been restored and is in use today both as a residence for Buddhist monks, and as a historic site open to visitors.
Hamhung, the second largest city in the DPRK.
A coastal city located in the South Hamgyŏng Province. It has long served as a major industrial hub in the DPRK, and has one of the largest and busiest ports in the country.
Hamhung, like most of the coastal cities in the DPRK, was hit particularly hard during the war. Through relentless aerial bombardments, the US and its allies destroyed somewhere around 80-90% percent of all buildings, roads, and other infrastructure in the city.
Now, more than seventy years later, unexploded bombs, mortars and pieces of live ammunition are still being unearthed by the thousands in the area. As recently as 2016, one of North Korea's bomb squads—there's one in every province, faced with the same cleanup task—retrieved 370 unexploded mortar rounds... from an elementary school playground.
Experts in the DPRK estimate it will probably take over a hundred years to clean up all the unexploded ordnance—and that's just in and around Hamhung.
Hamhung's fertilizer plant, the biggest in North Korea.
When the war broke out, Hamhung was home to the largest nitrogen fertilizer plant in Asia. Since its product could be used in the creation of explosives, the existence of the plant is considered to have made Hamhung a target for U.S. aggression (though it's worth repeating that the U.S. carried out saturation bombings of most population centers in the country, irrespective of any so-called 'military value').
The plant was immediately rebuilt after the war, and—beyond its practical use—serves now as a monument of resistance to U.S. imperialism, and as a functional and symbolic site of self-reliance.
Chongjin, the third largest city in the DPRK.
Another coastal city and industrial hub. It underwent a massive development prior to the Korean war, housing around 300,000 people by the time the war broke out.
By 1953, the U.S. had destroyed most of Chongjin's industry, bombed its harbors, and killed one third of the population.
Wonsan, a rebuilt seaside city.
The city of Wonsan is a vital link between the DPRK's east and west coasts, and acts today as both a popular holiday destination for North Koreans, and as a central location for the country's growing tourism industry.
Considered a strategically important location during the war, Wonsan is notable for having endured one of the longest naval blockades in modern history, lasting a total of 861 days.
By the end of the war, the U.S. estimated that they had destroyed around 80% of the city.
Masikryong Ski Resort, located close to Wonsan. It opened to the public in 2014 and is the first, I believe, that was built with foreign tourists in mind.
Sariwon, another rebuilt city
One of the worst hit cities during the Korean War, with an estimated destruction level of 95%.
I've written about its Wikipedia page here before, which used to mockingly describe its 'folk customs street'—a project built to preserve old Korean traditions and customs—as an "inaccurate romanticized recreation of an ancient Korean street."
No mention, of course, of the destruction caused by the US-led aerial bombings, or any historical context at all that could possibly even hint at why the preservation of old traditions might be particularly important for the city.
Life outside of the towns and cities
In the rural parts of the DPRK, life primarily revolves around agriculture. As the sanctions they're under make it difficult to acquire fuel, farming in the DPRK relies heavily on manual labour, which again, to avoid food shortages, requires that a large portion of the labour force resides in the countryside.
Unlike what many may think, the reliance on manual labour in farming is a relatively "new" development. Up until the crisis of the 1990s, the DPRK was a highly industrialized nation, with a modernized agricultural system and a high urbanization rate. But, as the access to cheap fuel from the USSR and China disappeared, and the sanctions placed upon them by Western nations heavily restricted their ability to import fuel from other sources, having a fuel-dependent agricultural industry became a recipe for disaster, and required an immediate and brutal restructuring.
For a more detailed breakdown of what lead to the crisis in the 90s, and how it reshaped the DPRKs approach to agriculture, check out this article by Zhun Xu.
Some typical newly built rural housing, surrounded by farmland.
Tumblr only allows 20 pictures per post, but if you want to see more pictures of life outside Pyongyang, check out this imgur album.
#dprk#north korea#i've had this post unfinished in drafts for almost a year#also sorry about the spelling and potential formatting issues it's a nightmare to edit at this point#it was literally just meant to be a collection of picture and then the writing just sort of happened#enjoy the brief heritageposts history lesson i guess
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my boyfriend will kick your ass !
- fushiguro megumi x reader
it's a date gone wrong when you get into an argument with your aloof boyfriend. but will he save you when it counts?
genre/warnings: tw. street harassment, catcalling. hurt/comfort, arguments and reconciliation, protective!megumi and fluff !
note: i miss my emo boi :(
general masterlist
“Stay back!”
This is an utter plot twist. When you came out of your apartment today, all dolled up and ready to go on a date with your boyfriend, you never imagined you’d end up cornered by two creeps in a deserted alley.
“Easy, girl,” one of the guys in front of you cackled, lips curling into an unsettling sneer. “We’re just trying to get to know you better!”
“Listen— My boyfriend is super scary, you know!” you barked, willing yourself not to shake. “Now you better not come any closer or else—!”
“Or else what?” the other creep mocked with a snort. You gripped your umbrella—now your makeshift weapon—tightly, pointing it at him as a threat.
“Or else my boyfriend will be here in any minute and he’ll kick your ass!”
It was a partly a lie you hoped sounded convincing, because how could Megumi suddenly show up and find you in this dingy alleyway... right after both of you had a petty disagreement in the middle of Shibuya's shopping district?
Oh lord, how you regretted raising your voice and running away from him earlier.
"You are late!" you scolded him heatedly as he yawned, showing up twenty minutes later than your agreed time. "Can't you at least text me beforehand? I'll match your time if you do!"
Megumi sighed, fixing you with a blank stare as he scratched his head. "My bad. I overslept. I rushed here so didn't think of it."
It was so easy for him to say, and you would've understood if it was the first time, but you had noticed this pattern over the past two weeks. Whenever you asked him out for dates, his face always soured, and he didn't bother to be on time. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was reluctantly agreeing.
And by this point, you thought you knew better and that was really it.
Finally, you blurted out the burning accusation: "You never realize it, but it shows, you know? You never seem happy when we go out together."
He exhaled in exasperation, green eyes darkening at you. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly that."
It seemed he had run out of patience. Standing your ground, you braced for his next words. But the glare he sent your way and the words he spat pierced your tender heart more than you thought—
"You're always nagging. Can't you stop being annoying just once? What a pain."
Perhaps he was right, you were annoying him all this time and dealing with you was a pain. You could imagine it if you were in his place, but you couldn't handle the very implication that you had done so, and you screamed at his face:
"So be it then! Fushiguro, you are the worst!"
—and ran off with tears in your eyes, deserting him altogether.
You knew you weren’t exactly a model of maturity, but in your defense, it stung deeply that he saw you as annoying and a pain. What girlfriend wouldn’t be hurt by that?
Anyhow, you loitered near the Shibuya station afterwards, and at first you heard some catcalls you didn't really pay mind to. But when those two guys started whistling and edging closer, it hit you—you were their target.
You quickened your pace, turning down several corners, only to find yourself trapped in a dead end. Just how much worse could your day get?
"Aha, the girl says she has a boyfriend!" Creep #1 snickered, turning to Creep #2 with a smirk, before pretending to scan the area. "But I don’t see him?"
"Miss, I swear we’re not up to any trouble," Creep #2 chimed in, his eyes gleaming with a predatory delight. "Won’t you be our friend? You’re too pretty to be alone—this is Shibuya, after all!" he said, eyeing your legs and whistled. "And ooh, have I told you that skirt suits you well?"
These guys were straight-up perverts!
"Get lost!" you yelled, your fingers trembling as you swung the umbrella at him when he tried to close the distance. "Can’t you just leave me alone?!"
You were at your wits' end, and it was clear this situation wasn’t going to improve with them still blocking your way. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, and decided to do the only thing you could.
In hindsight, a stupid move—
You barreled towards the two of them with your umbrella—managing to push past them. For a moment, you thought you had a chance and ran as fast as you could—
"Ack!" —until you tripped and crashed on the ground.
You rose and immediately winced, looking down at the site where it hurt the most. Oh, you had scrapped your knees badly.
"Ahh, miss! Don't be too hasty~!" you heard the second guy's sing-song voice, and you really wanted to cry. Why did this have to happen to you?
"Don't come c-closer!" you stammered, backing away as they approached. Your whole body shook, desperately trying to think of ways to save yourself. "Or— I'll scream!"
"Whoa, whoa, wait just a minute! Why don't you just—"
You really thought you would scream, until suddenly the familiar scent of mint filled your sense and a strong arm pulled you from behind, and a broad back shielded your view from them—
"What do you need from her?" Megumi's voice boomed, his eyes glaring at the two men who had been harassing you. His breathing was ragged, as if he had run all the way here. "Fuck off."
At that moment, you couldn't help clutching his sleeve, hiding behind him further as you kept trembling. Megumi sensed it, and turned over to have a look over you—
You looked disheveled, spooked, and his eyes widened when he saw the blood trailing down both of your knees.
"Hey man, your girlfriend practically asked for it! Just look how she is dressed—"
Before you could process what was happening, Megumi had yanked the man by his collar and thrown a punch at him. You yelped and immediately got a hold of his arm to stop him further. "Megumi!"
The other guy quickly caught his friend, who spat out a string of curses, his lips bloodied from the punch.
"Fuck. Off." Megumi glowered at them, and they finally got the message, scurrying away in hurry. The moment they did, he faced you again and you finally let out a sob, throwing yourself into him. His body was warm, his heart pounding hard— yet it meant reassurance for you.
"Are you okay...?" his voice was noticeably softer as he wrapped his arms around you and returned the hug. "Did they touch you—?"
Megumi froze when he felt his chest dampen with your tears and heard your sniffles, your figure shaking like a leaf in his embrace. A wave of guilt washed over him, realizing how scared you must have been. Instinctively, he held you tighter.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry," he muttered, his breath warm against your ear. It was as if there was an invincible knife that twisted his chest when it dawned on him what you just got into. "I'm here now, okay? You're safe now."
If it weren’t for his harsh words earlier, you wouldn’t have run off. He kept shushing you, his own heart breaking at the turn of events.
And when you nodded against him, he knew he had to make it up to you somehow.
Later, Megumi tended to your minor injury while crouching down before you, as you sat on a bench near the convenience store where he had picked up the first aid kit.
Your eyes were swollen, your outfit was dirtied, but you ignored the curious looks from passersby. Still shaken, you kept your gaze fixed on your lap.
You recoiled when the disinfectant touched your torn skin, tears welling up again in your eyes. "Ow..."
"It'll hurt just a bit," Megumi looked up at you worriedly, seeing you struggling to hold back tears. He gently blew air on your wound. "It’ll be over soon."
Megumi noticed how you were uncharacteristically quiet. Between the two of you, you were the chatty one and he was the silent listener. But now, you were completely silent, and he knew it was definitely not a good sign.
And so he thought it was a good time to finally explain himself. With a sigh, he began. "I... was on back-to-back missions last week."
You glanced at him, both surprised and confused.
“I was so burnt out— that’s why I’ve been oversleeping lately. Sorry for not meeting you on time.” Megumi applied the ointment to your knees, and you stiffened from the sting. He blew air on them again to ease the discomfort.
"You never told me," you pointed out.
“Yeah, uh, sorry...” he winced. “It’s so... lame. I’ve been exhausted for a week straight whereas Itadori bounces back so easily. Stupid, I know.”
"You... didn't tell me because you don't want to look uncool?"
As soon as you worded it that way, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Megumi remained silent, looking down, and you knew that his silence was a definite yes.
Totally stupid. But exactly how Fushiguro Megumi was always wired. A part of you was exasperated, but also forgave him for it.
When he met your gaze again, he finally saw the light returning to your eyes. It was a relief to him, so he let out a small sigh and put on a strained smile.
"How did you find me anyway?" you asked quietly.
"You didn't pick up my calls. I was worried. And then I ran around until I heard your voice." His eyes narrowed into a frown. "Did they do anything to you?"
You shook your head, and Megumi let out the breath he had been holding, gripping your right hand in his. "I’m glad."
You brushed away the trace of tears on your cheeks as he finished applying band-aids to your knees, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers.
"Sorry for being annoying," you mumbled softly, not meeting his eyes, feeling yourself so small all of a sudden. "Will totally happen again though."
"You..." Unwittingly, he cracked a smile at your blatant remark. "Just... don’t run off again, dummy. Do it where I can see you."
He ruffled your hair gently, then intertwined your fingers with his. "And sorry... for getting mad at you too."
Your cheeks felt warm, so you looked away, puckering your lips together. "...I'm hurt. You have to make it up to me."
He hummed, the beginnings of a smile on his face. "Let's go have that shaved ice you’ve been craving then."
“Huh? You remembered! But you don’t like them?”
“You like that kind of sugar dump, don’t you?”
Hand-in-hand, both of you traversed the Shibuya shopping district together. Your eyes were still puffy, but you were smiling and talking his ears off again just like you always did.
“I told those pricks my boyfriend will definitely kick their asses,” you giggled to yourself, swinging your joined hands in joy. “And you really did~”
“What are you talking about…?”
Sometimes you were beyond his comprehension. Sometimes you were also cute beyond comparison.
And Megumi thought... he liked you the best this way.
#fushiguro megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fluff#jjk x reader fluff#megumi fushiguro x reader fluff#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader angst#fushiguro x reader#megumi x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk imagines#fushiguro megumi fluff#fushiguro megumi x y/n#jjk angst#megumi fluff#megumi fushiguro
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impetus
summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?
pairing: dean winchester x female reader
word count: 9.4k+
warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes
“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park.
You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you.
“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait.
“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.”
“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach.
“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?”
“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.”
“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together.
You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like.
“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.”
“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.”
You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.
“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets.
Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be.
“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo.
“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans.
“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun.
“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.”
“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.”
“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building.
The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock.
“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?”
You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.”
“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold.
The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you.
“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?”
“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.”
He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.”
“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him.
You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance.
“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs.
“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker.
“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed.
You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs.
A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall.
“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way.
Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles.
Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“
“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you.
Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere.
“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”
“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.
“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun.
“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!”
Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision.
Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you.
By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!”
Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.
“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”
“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her.
She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.”
“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent.
Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on.
“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.”
Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.
The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.
Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up.
“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood.
“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him.
“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.”
After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down.
“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand.
“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?”
Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.”
“What?” Dean asked gruffly.
“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?”
“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.”
Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?”
“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.
“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently.
“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket.
Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress.
“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks.
“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you.
You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat.
“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously.
“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?”
“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.
“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”
Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink.
“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker.
“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.
“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand.
He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall.
The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say.
Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?”
“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion.
“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.”
Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.”
He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink.
“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.
By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam.
“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother.
“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.
“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically.
“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer.
“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean.
Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”
“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.
“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away.
“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on.
“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table.
Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”
You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”
“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little.
“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”
Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.”
Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth.
“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”
You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you.
“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter.
“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar.
You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly.
He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away.
Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you.
As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car.
“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head.
“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice.
“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded.
Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?”
Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car.
Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you.
“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats.
The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.
“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?”
Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?”
“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff.
“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.”
“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.
“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!”
“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.”
“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets.
“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance.
“What, why?” you asked in confusion.
“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.”
“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off.
“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned.
You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.”
The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”
By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy.
“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders.
You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done.
Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom.
Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand.
“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran.
Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.
He couldn’t reach you.
He couldn’t save you.
The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart.
As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him.
The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.
“Dean.”
The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind.
“Dean.”
He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came.
“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above.
A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut.
“God dammit, Dean!”
Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer.
“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.
His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt.
“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”
“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.”
“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice.
“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him.
“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out.
Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current.
“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.”
Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order.
Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone.
Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name.
His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.
Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere.
Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.
“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.
“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order.
“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink.
With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him.
He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake.
Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang.
“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.”
“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?”
“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle.
While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?”
“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.”
“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.
“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice.
“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”
“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not.
“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.
The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.
“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself.
“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration.
Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.”
“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation.
“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.”
“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?”
“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!”
“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.”
“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly.
“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed.
“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief.
Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?”
“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!”
“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.”
“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?”
Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!”
“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?”
“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.”
“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!”
“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?”
“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?”
“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff.
“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”
“Sam-”
“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?”
“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.
After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!”
“Right,” Sam said sceptically. “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”
“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.
“Dean,” Sam chastised.
“What?”
“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!”
Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared.
“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively.
“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.”
“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.”
“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued.
“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.”
Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on.
Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin.
“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction.
“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.
“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”
“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”
“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen.
“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully.
“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.
“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge.
“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen.
“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”
His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway.
“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly.
“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child.
“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do.
“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything.
“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.”
“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!”
Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him.
“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion.
“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife.
Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?”
“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?”
“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes.
“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily.
“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call.
Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.
“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.
You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more.
He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.
At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.
It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered. So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do.
Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.”
While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late.
“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.”
His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?”
“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.”
He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.”
You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation.
Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.”
The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner.
“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water.
You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water.
“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself.
“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding.
“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant.
“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.”
“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him.
“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”
He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.”
“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered.
He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.”
“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.
“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you.
“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly.
He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.”
“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again.
“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.”
“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest.
“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”
He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him.
He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.”
“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?”
“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.”
“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.”
“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door.
“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out.
“It’s not gonna kill me!”
“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?”
He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?”
“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?”
He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.”
You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign.
“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?”
Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”
“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.”
“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!”
“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.”
“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.”
“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.”
“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“You know what,” you scolded.
“This is so fucking ridiculous.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly.
“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.”
Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him.
“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.”
Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head.
“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.”
“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed.
“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully.
He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.”
He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.”
“I do,” you agreed quietly.
“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.”
He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?”
“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.”
“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly.
“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].”
“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly.
“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle.
“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently.
“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.”
“Right,” you agreed.
“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly.
“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”
“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.”
“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously.
Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.”
“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off.
“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.”
“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say.
“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.”
“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest.
“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.”
You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while.
“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.”
“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build.
“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.”
“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.”
“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.”
“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.
“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question.
“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat.
“Okay,” he said with a huff.
“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly.
Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you.
You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened.
“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked.
“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.”
“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more.
“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair.
“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?”
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.”
“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly.
“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?”
“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.”
You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?”
He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?”
“Always,” you said honestly.
“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed.
He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.
“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face.
“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly.
He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more.
When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things.
The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest.
The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares.
He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest.
Maybe witches aren’t so bad.
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