#two shots of angst

[lotus-pear]

intertwined fate

[mx-anthony-janthony-crowley]

sick and twisted that we started and ended season 2 with such similar shots, except there's now a massive gap between them that wasn't there before. AND THEY'RE NOT ON THEIR USUAL SIDES

[thewulf]

Don't Cry || Dallas "Dally" Winston

Summary: Request - In that, you mentioned Dally and Two-Bit walking the reader home and I had a request idea I wanted to send you. Could you write a Dallas Winston x reader where reader is a little younger than him but he’s really protective of her??... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahhh these Outsiders requests are so much fun! I'm writing them so quick. Fresh inspo is so much fun. Thank you for the request and hope you enjoy! @fluentmoviequoter

Pairing: Dallas "Dally" Winston x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.0k +

TW: knifes, knife cutting, blood, crying, yelling

You’d known Dallas Winston for a long time. Not your whole life but it felt like it. He was always a constant in your life. Your relationship was always a weird one with the Winston boy. You could joke all day long in the confines of the house but as soon as you left it he wanted nothing to do with you. Like he was embarrassed of you. Little did you know he was just trying to keep your squeaky-clean reputation intact. For you might’ve hung, lived with and been around greaser’s but you weren’t one really. You were a greaser by association. Dally always said you were far too kind, too pure for this lifestyle so he tried his hardest to keep you as far away as he could.

It wasn’t easy when you gave him those pleading looks outside the Curtis residence to just acknowledge your presence. He tried his best not to cave. Not even when all he wanted to do was laugh about something stupid Ponyboy or Sodapop did. But you couldn’t be seen with him out and about so casually. Then the Soc’s would start to target you. He didn’t know what he was quite capable of at the thought of somebody hurting you. As he got to know you and the Curtis after moving to Tulsa he swore he’d protect you day and night. He wouldn’t let a pretty little hair on your pretty little head get touched.

He'd decided early on when he met you, he was ten and you were eight, that he was going to get you tough. He was going to be hard on you, not too hard though. If you were going to grow up a greaser then you needed to know how to defend yourself. He spent the next eight years teaching you, training you, protecting you. He didn’t realize when it happened but slowly he stopped looking at you like a younger sister. Those protective feelings went far deeper than familial love. No, he actually loved you. He’d fallen in love with the one person he really shouldn’t have fallen for. Darry would skin him alive if he knew. Soda would beat him into oblivion. Pony would tell him how disappointed he was in some sort of poetic way that went over his head. He knew he just had to keep these growing feelings quiet. For your sake. You didn’t need to deal with him or his endless amounts of baggage. Even if he could see how attached you had grown to him too.

To say your relationship had grown confusing and chaotic over the years had been an understatement. Even Darry had picked up on some of the awkward tension that seemed to pop up out of nowhere when the two of you were left alone. Soda caught onto the longing gazes Dally would throw your way. He even caught you a few times doing the same to him. Pony wasn’t blind either. He was your very best friend and confidant. Whenever the conversation of Dallas Winston came up you shied away. Scared of letting something loose on accident. All the brothers knew there was something there they just didn’t know if and what would happen.

After your parents had died he’d been there for all of you but especially you. You’d taken it the hardest. Your mom was your favorite person and she just disappeared one day. You were lost and had to rely on teenage boys to guide you through it all. Your parents had nobody they could fall back on to take care of you. Thank goodness for Dally. He’d quite literally pulled you out of the depression you’d slipped into by just being there. Helping you. Asking for nothing in return. That’s when you fell in love. He’d shown you his true colors under the layers and layers to Dallas Winston. Under it all he was there for you and promised to never leave. And you knew he'd keep that promise, you just knew it.

Slowly the months ticked by and you’d gotten back to normal. Going out with friends and boys. Dallas watching you like a hawk whenever you went on dates with guys he knew were nothing compared to you. But he decided not to say a word and let you live your life. It was worth seeing the smile come back to life after seeing you so sad for too long. Seeing you happy was worth it all.

So, when Ponyboy asked you to accompany him on a Paul Newman special at the movie theatre you couldn’t refuse him. He was so excited about seeing the film you could hardly imagine saying no to him. You’d always enjoyed the movies too so it was hardly a tough sell on his part.

You couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a Saturday. Maybe if Dally was there to accompany you. But you couldn’t admit that. If you did then everything would change. Who knows what Darry would do to Dally. How Soda would treat him. This could get weird, and you hated weird. You’d rather keep it normal even if it meant having to keep him as a friend.

“Which one did you like better?” Pony asked once the two of you had left the theatre. He placed his hands in his pockets giving you a quizzical look. The two of you waked slowly along the cracking road that needed some serious repairs. Your head spun towards the street seeing a car full of Soc’s roll up chipping at Ponyboy about something, ignoring you completely. Even though you were over a year older than him Pony stood much taller than you. He pushed you behind his back as he yelled back at the boys. You tugged at the back of his shirt letting him know it was time to go. It wasn’t smart to get chippy with five of them in the car. They outnumbered the two of you and you were rather useless in a fight.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you across the street. After a moment of walking along the residential road you answered him, “The Hustler was far better Gidget Goes to Rome. Paul Newman really is a mastermind.”

He smirked bobbing his head in agreement, “Thought you’d say that.”

You feigned offense at that statement, “Am I that predictable Ponyboy Curtis?” You raised your eyebrows as you walked along the dirt path. The theatre wasn’t far from home thankfully. Maybe just over a mile. A twenty-minute walk or so.

“No. I just know you I guess dear sister.”

You smiled at your younger brother. Even since your parents had passed you’d taken on the nurturing role for him and even Soda more recently. Darry had none of it though. You’d grown close to your two brothers since their death’s. Darry kept his distance trying to do his best to raise you instead of letting you help him. He was trying to take on the role of your father without even asking if that’s the three of you wanted. But you didn’t dare question him.

You gave his hand a soft squeeze, “That you do Ponyboy. You know me better than anybody else.” You spotted a vehicle fast approaching from behind the two of you as you went in for a hug.

Your eyes widened seeing the same Mustang before barreling towards you, “We gotta run.” You grabbed his arm and started sprinting down the road. Pony was faster, so much faster than you, so he tried to drag you along only ending up tripping you in the process. They caught up in their Mustang an instant. He stood in front of you as you scrambled to your feet.

You gulped as the five boys got out of the car walking towards you, “Get out of here.” Pony tried to sound tough, but you heard the waver in your younger brothers voice.

One of them flipped a blade open. Your eyes shot wide open as you grabbed his shirt trying to tug him away. But they were faster as one of them tugged on your arm pulling you to the ground in front of Pony. You let out a scream trying to draw the greasers attention a few houses down. Hopefully they were hanging out outside like they usually were. Drinking beers or some shit.

“Darry! Soda!” You yelled as Pony as was taken down to the ground with you. He tried to let out a few calls for help but was muffled by something being shoved in his mouth.

“Shut her up.” One of them said, Randy maybe? You’d recognized him as the one with the redhead from school.

And before you knew it that same blade was placed right to your throat, “Pretty little things got a mouth on her huh? Maybe this’ll quite you down.” The overly-cologne scented Soc smirked as he pressed the blade across your throat drawing yet another yell right from you. He cut you. He really cut you.

Before you knew it they were running away. Your brothers and friends had heard you and Ponyboy yelling and came running right to your defense. It was only a little over a minute you were down on the ground, but that minute made you tremble. You’d never been so dominated like that in your life.

You looked down shocked at everything that had just happened. You’d felt the blood trickling down your neck more so than throbbing of the slice the Soc had given to you. Darry pulled you up from the ground, so you were sitting at eye level with his crouched form. After a moment of him holding the handkerchief up to your neck he finally spoke, “They didn’t hurt you too bad, did they?” His voice was low. He was pissed. You knew you were in trouble later on once everything had settled.

You shook your head afraid to look at your older brother, “No, I’m fine.” You whispered afraid of what he might say next.

Ponyboy made his way over to you, crouching down next to Darry, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t…”

You stopped him, “It’s fine Pony. I’m okay really. Just a cut.” A small smile wavered over your face trying your best to reassure him.

Darry scoffed hating how you were playing this off so casually. Like his kid sister hadn’t gotten a knife pulled on her. Like you hadn’t gotten cut by that very same knife. It was every nightmare he had coming to light right in his backyard. At least the two of you had gotten that far before being attacked.

“Hey, Y/N.” Soda spoke after running up. His face dropped seeing the blood running down your neck, “Did they pull a blade on you?” He put his hands on your shoulders so he could get a better look.

Your face flushed with embarrassment seeing all of your brothers eyes right on you. Turning away you couldn’t take Soda’s intense gaze, “Yeah.”

He pulled your head back towards him, “Hey kid, they ain’t gonna hurt you no more. Come on.” Grabbing your hand, he hoisted you to your feet with ease. Darry gave you one last quick look before he grabbed Pony by the arm. You gulped knowing Darry was going to have it in for him. You needed to talk to your older brother about being so hard on Pony. It was just an accident after all. It wasn’t your fault the Paul Newman films kept the two of you in deep conversation not seeing the Mustang until it was too late.

Dally only interrupted you and Soda once Darry had pulled Pony ahead. He needed to make sure that his favorite Curtis sibling was okay. A minor wave of panic rang through his body seeing you pushed to the ground next to Pony with those boys had their filthy Soc hands on you. Rage washed over him as he kicked the side of the fancy car when they fled away from the scene.

Dallas’s eyes scanned over you with concern only stopping when he saw the trail of blood rolling down your neck, “What the hell is that? Did they cut you?” He took a step closer, grabbing at your face with a delicate touch. Almost as if he was afraid he’d hurt you further if he grasped on too tightly.

“Jesus, Curtis. What’d I tell you about defending yourself?” He gave your cheek a soft squeeze before dropping his hand. He spotted the already bloodied Handkerchief turned rag in Soda’s hand and held out his own to ask for it from your brother.

You looked down, “It was five on two Dally. What were we supposed to do?” You asked back earnestly wondering what the hell you were actually supposed to do. Run? Pony was faster and you’d only slow him down so that wasn’t an option. You’d already tripped trying to keep up with him. Try and fight? Well, you got a blade pulled on you so that wasn’t great either.

He bit his mouth trying his best not to snap at you. His adrenaline was high, and he was scared at the thought of you actually getting hurt, “I don’t know Y/N. Fight back? You were just lying there!”

You stopped walking abruptly, brushing Soda away knowing he didn’t need to hear the conversation about to go on between you and the hot-headed man beside you, “Can you go make sure Pony’s okay?” You asked him.

Soda gave you a curious look before finally handing Dally the handkerchief, “You sure?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” You gave him a quick push before turning back to Dally, “What is wrong with you?”

He stepped closer so your brothers couldn’t hear ahead of you, “What the hell is wrong with me? I’m just trying to keep you alive Curtis. I should be asking you the same! Why are you out walking alone with Pony this late on a Saturday anyway? You two know better. Those no good for nothing assholes only want to fight.” He grumbled before dabbing at the semi-dried blood on your chin.

You let out a huff of irritation. He was being so caring yet so damn frustrating, “What? I can’t go anywhere without a damn chaperone now? I’m confined to my brothers house? Is that how it’s going to be Dally? Pony isn’t enough now?” Your voice was snappy as you pushed and pushed and pushed him. He was already feeling on edge from the whole thing and your attitude was about to be his breaking point. There was nobody on this planet that could get under his skin like you could, nobody except for you. You’d found a way to weasel your way into his ice-cold heart and sink a burning ember into it. For Dallas Winston would do anything for you. But man, did you frustrate him to no end.

“Jesus, you know that’s not what I mean! Stop putting words into my mouth Curtis.” He put his hands up in the air in frustration, raising his voice just a tad. Darry turned back observing, making sure you were fine. He knew Dally would never hurt you. He could see the way the Winston boy looked at his younger sister. He wasn’t stupid. Dally had always been soft on you. Except he wasn’t. He pushed you harder than he pushed anyone. He wanted you to know how to defend yourself. With your hands, a knife, a pipe whatever. He was going to teach and push because he needed you alive. You were the only thing grounding him to this planet at the moment.

Your eyes narrowed on his, your voice raising as well, “Then what do you mean Dallas? Go ahead. Say exactly what you mean. I can take it.” You’d only used his full name when you felt like being patronizing.

He looked like he was contemplating everything before he turned back to you, “You need to be more careful!” He snapped. He didn’t raise a hand on you but instead yelled right at you stopping you in your tracks. Dally had never yelled at you before. Scolded sure. Disappointed yes. Angry, of course. But yelled? Never.

Your brothers must’ve seen the look in your eyes as they all stepped in. Darry pulled Dally away telling him to cool off. Soda grabbed your arm pulling you back towards the house. And Pony happily chatted away trying to take your mind off it.

“Dally’s just an asshole, you know that!” Pony’s final ditch effort to get you to smile came up miserably short.

You gave him a solemn nod, “Yeah, I know. Never to me though.” The sadness in your voice must’ve been evident because that had him quiet down the remainder of the short walk home. You brushed them all away telling them that you were ‘fine’ and going to take a nap.

They left you alone for a few hours but when you didn’t come out for dinner all three brothers grew worried. Soda knocked on your door lightly, “Hey kid. Supper’s getting cold. Darry made one of your favorites, spaghetti, and meatballs.”

It was sweet how much they cared on you when you were down, but damn was it suffocating sometimes. It was times like these when you wish you could run to your mom and ask her advice on it all. Boys were… boys and they often didn’t have a clue what ran through your head.

“I’m not hungry Soda. Maybe later, I’m working on homework.” You heard him sigh before walking away. You’d thought you would have gotten rid of them but another, much louder knock broke you away from the essay you were committed to finishing.

“Pony said you both skipped lunch to go to the movies. Come on down and get some dinner kiddo.” Darry’s much deeper voice spoke through the door. He tried twisting the knob but stopped when it wouldn’t budge. As much as he wanted to knock your door in he knew better. You weren’t like his brothers. No, you were so entirely different. He couldn’t treat you the same or you’d most likely find yourself a foster home instead.

“I had popcorn. I’m still full from that.” It wasn’t a lie. You weren’t hungry. You were uneasy and nervous. And wanted to finish the damn easy that you’d been staring at for the better part of three hours now.

“Alight kid, I’ll save you a plate.” He grumbled before beginning to walk away.

“Thanks Dar.” You hummed ignoring the lump forming at the back of your throat. You were so lucky to have your brothers who cared for you so deeply. You just wished they’d give you the space you needed.

And you thought they did before, yet another knock came to your bedroom door not thirty minutes later. With a huff you set the pencil down, “Go away Pony. I’m not in the mood.”

A laugh so distinct came from the other side of the door. That was certainly not Ponyboy, “Try again, sweetheart.” Dallas. Dallas freaking Winston. What had your brothers done?

Your palms began to sweat as your heartrate sped up rapidly, “What are you doing here?” It came out colder than you meant but Dally just found it amusing. He knew you couldn’t hurt a fly much less hurt him words. Albeit you might be the only person that could actually hurt him with words if you wanted to. Dally was soft for one person. You.

“I’m here for you.”

You sighed, “Go away. I’m not hungry. I don’t know who went and got you or called you or whatever. I’m not in the mood Dally.”

He put his head on your door knowing your mood was stemming from the argument earlier. He had snapped at you, and he felt bad. Especially after Darry of all people came knocking at his door pleading with him to come back to his place and talk to you.

His voice was low but he knew you could hear it, “You and I both know I’m not going away little Curtis. So, you can open that door and we can talk about it, or I can sit here all night waiting. Those are the options.” You heard his stubborn ass slide down the door. You knew they could most likely pick the lock or break down the door. But Darry wasn’t stupid. He knew it’d cause more harm than any good. You needed your safe space away from all the madness of being a greaser. A place you could lock yourself away from.

“Please,” Your voice cracked as fresh tears flowed down without you even noticing, “Just go away.”

You heard him click his tongue, “No can-do sweetheart. I gave you the options. Your turn to pick.” His voice was smug. Was he relishing in making you squirm? Neither was really an option. Both forced your hand. But then again this was Dallas. He got what he wanted.

You tried to turn back to your essay all you could think about was Dallas freaking Winston sitting on the opposite side of your door. You knew his stubborn ass wouldn’t leave either and that drove you nuts. You’d never be able to finish the essay or go to bed knowing he was sitting there just waiting on you.

With a heavy sigh you got up, walked towards the door, opened it without so much as a second thought and found him sitting right next to your door, “Go away.” You tried in your meanest voice, but it came out as a whisper.

He shook his head as he stood to his feet, “That’s not going to happen sweetheart.” He leaned against your doorframe pushing you back inside your room.

“Why can’t you guys just leave me alone for one night? One stupid night. That’s all I’m asking for!” You’d hardly ever raised your voice, but you were tired. Exhausted. Scared of the Soc’s that pulled a freaking knife out on you. Frightened because when you needed a helping hand all you got was a scolding voice.

“We’re worried about you is all. You got attacked. A knife pulled out on you…” He lowered his voice hoping it’d help settle down the rage he saw in your eyes. It was weird. Different. He was used to such a sweetness about you. He’d never seen you angry. Upset sure. But this was something entirely different.

Your eyes bugged, “You think I don’t know that? That maybe I just need some alone time away from all of this?” You didn’t hate being a greaser, no. That would never be the case. You loved your life with your brothers. You were just so damn tired of always being alert these days. Being a girl put you in a weird position with the greasers. The Soc’s never laid hands on you until today. It was startling. You’d always heard how dangerous the life was but today laid it out in front of you how truly dangerous it could be if you were at the wrong place at the wrong time.

He put his hands up in defense, “You need to calm down, Y/N.” His eyes shifted from one of a confident gaze to one that filled with concern

You wanted to slap him across his pretty little face, “You saying that is definitely not going to calm me down!” You were beyond frustrated now. You didn’t want to talk about it. You wanted him to leave you alone.

His eyes downturned as he saw your frigid stance. You were, for the first time he had recalled in his life, angry. Like angry, angry. Like you looked like you wanted to rip his head off angry, “Hey, I’m sorry. But I need you to relax a little. Sit down for me?” You were struck by his apology. Dallas Winston saying he’s sorry? You thought you’d so sooner be struck by lightning than hear those words come out of his mouth. The rage in your body calmed at that.

With an icy glare you sat down on your bed. You weren’t sure why you were listening to him. You were angry with him. He yelled at you when you needed sympathy. He’d scared you when you were already terrified. You thought the world of him, but that world came crashing down oh so quickly. You knew of the Dally he had hidden so well from you. Pony, Soda, and Darry would tell you stories all the time of how menacing he was. How he was so fearless in the face of it all. How could you not love on the man?

“Are you okay, Y/N?” He asked after shutting your bedroom door behind him. He knew your brothers were listening in, but it at least gave the illusion of a private conversation. Not that it mattered. They’d get the damn conversation out of one of the two of you eventually anyway. There was no privacy with the greasers.

“I’m fine.” You snapped at him, clearly not fine.

He shook his head giving you that damn chuckle that meant he knew you were lying, “I’m going with you’re not. You wanna tell me what’s the matter?” He asked once more. Stubborn.

“I want you to go away. That’s what I want.” The word weren’t as harsh this time. More like a soft rumble.

He sighed, “Come on Curtis. It’s just me. I know you and I know you’re not okay or fine or whatever word you wanna use. You can talk to me. It’ll be okay.” He grabbed for your hand that was nervously clutching the edge of your mattress giving it a comforting squeeze when his fingers locked with yours.

You felt the words coming on before you could stop them and soon you were rambling, “I’m overwhelmed Dally! I’m scared. I’m nervous. I don’t know if I’ll feel comfortable walking down the damned street anymore! And none of you will leave me alone to think about it!” You fired back exasperated. The building rage inside your eyes quieted down at the admission. You were terrified of what happened next. Everybody was always on edge these days. Life went from easy to hard in what felt like a night after your parents had left.

He opened his arms up, “Alright, come on. Come here pretty girl.” It didn’t take him much effort to pull you right into his embrace. In another instance you’d probably have fought him, but you were terrified and exhausted and his warm embrace was everything you needed. He pulled you closer before resting his head on yours, “It’s okay to be scared.” He whispered knowing that your nosey as hell brothers were likely sticking their ears to your door.

You closed your eyes letting the scent of his cologne mixed with the long day wash over you. So much more refreshing than the scent that washed over you earlier. Dally was always your comfort. No matter how harsh a day or words that were spat you knew you could count on him. No matter how mean you were to him either, “You yelled at me.” You felt another wave of tears come on. God, you felt so pathetic in his arms crying about being yelled at. Some greaser you were.

“I know.” He sighed giving you another reassuring squeeze, “You scared me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just let out my frustration out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve been there to protect you.” He sounded a bit angrier not that he was getting it off his chest.

You pulled your head back gaping at his with a confused expression, “Is Dallas Winston apologizing?”

He gave you that soft smirk that you’d come to love, “If you tell someone I did, I’ll deny it.” He brushed the stray tears away with his thumb, “I don’t like it when you cry.”

You laid your head back down on his chest, “Don’t make me cry then.” Quipping back, you knew that wasn’t entirely fair. He wasn’t the sole reason you were in tears. But he was the reason you were crying then.

He leaned down whispering in your ear, “I’m sorry. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect. You know I’m a fuck up. But I’ll try. I’ll always try for you.” There was no chance your brothers could hear him for you hardly could. Or maybe that was the rough pounding in your ears. He wanted it to stay between the two of you. He knew Darry would flip if he tried to make a pass at his sister. So, he’d keep his distance from you, for now. But he couldn’t promise to restrain himself if you made advances on him, he’d fold in an instant if you did.

“I believe you.” You fisted his shirt in your hands, grasping onto him. This certainly wasn’t what friends did. But it felt right to cling onto him. To mold into his touch and his embrace. Dally felt so incredibly meant for you the thought of not being with him hurt you.

He held onto you for just a bit longer before pulling back, “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. You’ve got me. Your brothers. All those friends. You’ll be just fine.”

You gave him a quick nod brushing the fogginess out of your eyes, “Thank you Dally.”

“Always. Now come on, let’s go eat before Darry force feeds you.” He stood, unwrapping himself from you, holding his hand out for you to take.

“Darry would, wouldn’t he?” You smiled taking his hand in yours happily.

He gave you that look, “Let’s not find out.” Before pulling you out the door. To nobody’s surprise were all three Curtis brothers not even subtly eavesdropping in on the conversation right outside your door.

“All of you. Unbelievable.” Your laugh let them know they’d called just the right person to brighten your spirits. Darry knew it was only a matter of time before you realized that he was your person. The thought terrified him. The older you got the closer the two of you grew. But time and time again Dallas had shown Darry just how much he loved you too. His actions and his words showed just how much he actually did care for you.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891

[lilystyles]

the sweetest thing.

this a hiatius series written by @lilystyles (a christmas themed fic!!)

y/n is harry's baker roommate with endless optimism and harry is a grumpy journalist who hates christmas, but likes her christmas cookies.

or y/n is harry's roommate and she loves christmas.

grumpy!roommate!journalist!H x sunshine!baker!roommate!reader

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gingerbread at midnight

during a chilly evening at the bakery, harry learns how to make gingerbread. (4.3k)

song for this chapter 'Last Christmas' by Wham.

hey guys i lost inspiration for this fic im sorry maybe next christmas i'll add more!! :(

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happy holidays everyone! <3

[heartpascal]

joel’s place

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader, hints of jesse x reader

▹— summary: you visit the cemetery

▹— a/n: this is inspired by the song robert’s place, simon robert french. i think it fits the situation perfectly :( — also i wrote this over many months so it may read a bit inconsistent, sorry! it also isn’t proofread, and by the end might’ve turned into just a string of consciousness idk

▹— warnings: major character death, grief and all that follows, mentions of scars & previous injuries, TLOU 2 SPOILERS, once again MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS, lots of angst, talk of canon typical violence, abby mentioned, ellie and dina mentioned, also can be read as platonic for jesse i think, long lasting injury effects (please add if there’s more! i’m rusty)

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything!) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915  @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa  @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being @hqkon (pedro!)

MASTERLIST if you can click on my masterlist, you can also do your daily clicks!

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Eventually, the snow bled into summer.

Time tumbled and warped, moved on, the world spinning, seasons changing and months passing by like nothing had ever happened. Sometimes, when you wake up, the sun shining in your eyes from a gap between curtains, the world feeling warm, you could pretend that nothing had. That the world was as it had once been.

And in the moments of waking, that’s easy. It’s second nature to slip into the past, into better times, where autumn fell and so did you. Where everything felt right in the world.

That, unsurprisingly, didn’t last very long.

But still.

You’re here, your house in Jackson unchanged, despite the year passing by unrelentingly. The only difference being the bloom of flowers at your doorstep, colours bright in the warm sun.

And you, of course.

If you’re honest, it’s probably you that changed the most.

With scars in new places, still aching with a pain that you were certain would never go away. Hair cut shorter, choppier, done by you in the middle of the night some time in the spring. Then there’s the shakiness to your hands, the tremors that linger despite the warmth. A slight limp when you would inevitably tread wrong on your ankle. And a new age to your face, a new hardship reflected in the bags that continue to weigh you down, after all this time.

You’re not sure that the people who were lost that winter would recognise you, had they been here now. There was a whole new air about you, too, lingering in every space you stepped into.

But still. You try not to think too much about it.

Instead, you gather a handful of flowers from your doorstep, bunched together into a makeshift bouquet that you tie with twine. The remaining blooms get a splash of water before you’re setting off from your house, stepping on soft grass until you reach the road.

From there, you wander along the path you know so well, that you have walked so many times. Gravel crunches underneath your soles with every step, unearthing the split second longer it takes for you to put weight on your ankle. It still hurts, but you don’t mind so much anymore. It allows some of your pain to be physical, rather than emotional. It’s a small mercy, really.

People used to call out to you when you walked this route, but they know better now, and don’t bother you when you carry flowers. That, you think, is a small mercy, too.

If you were to glance to your left, you’d see his house. Instead, you focus on your feet, ensuring you don’t roll your ankle again. As much as you try, you can’t accept that there’s someone other than him living there now. You don’t want to see his name pried off of the mailbox, Miller outlined from the five years that the sun bleached the uncovered wood around it.

You like to think that he’s still in there, somewhere, just down the hall. So long as you don’t look, Joel lives on in that house.

You could almost pretend that you weren’t going to his new home. His final home. His resting place, Tommy had called it once. But if you knew anything about Joel, you knew that the man couldn’t rest, not even in Jackson. Not fully. You’ve resigned to calling it Joel’s place.

It comes into view quickly, a mere stone’s throw from his house, and like every other time, you feel dread.

A wave of it crashes over you, leaving you gaping for air. It sinks down your throat and fills your lungs, your stomach, your very being. It’s an all consuming thing. You know his name is going to be carved upon a stone, instead of the mailbox where it should be, and every time you come here, it shatters the illusion. Each time, you have to pick up the pieces, and painstakingly put it back together again.

The flowers sit nicely, giving his place a burst of colour. It makes that pit in your throat open up again, and threaten to swallow your tongue. You know Joel wasn’t really a flower guy, but there’s not much else you can do. If he was here, you’d give him the bag of coffee that still sat useless in your cupboard. But he’s not.

“Hi,” You say into the still air, because you still can’t bring yourself to say his name here. There’s a part of you that refuses to believe it’s him, even after all this time. You practically fall to the floor as you lower yourself, and huff at the inconvenience your old injury still caused you. “It’s been a while.”

And it’s true — it’s been long enough that Zahir, the man who took care of the graves on a more regular basis, had removed the flowers from the last visit. They must have died quickly, which you found to be quite ironic. Still, you hoped these ones lasted longer.

“Dina’s going to have her baby in a few weeks, we reckon. She said that if it’s a girl, she’ll name her Talia. But if it’s a boy…” You smile faintly, just imagining what Joel would look like if he was truly here. “She said JJ. Jesse-Joel. I hope it’s a boy, if I’m honest. I think he’d have Jesse’s smile.”

A breeze shifts the air around you, and you fidget with the tongue of your shoe for a moment.

“Her and Ellie are still living up at that farm, with a whole bunch of sheep. It’s not far, but I don’t see them too often. Ellie doesn’t really show her face around here, much. I think she avoids it because of Tommy, and Jesse’s parents. I don’t blame her.” You continue, breathing in the warm air and hoping it’ll soothe some of the pain in your chest. “Jesse’s parents have tried to visit me, a few times. You would think I’m so stupid for avoiding them like this, I just know it.”

You swallow roughly, trying to push down the lump in your throat. More than anything, you just wish that he could answer you, wish that he could confirm your suspicions on what he would think.

“It’s just… it’s been hard, here. Since we got back. Everything just feels so different.” You scoffed. “Probably because everything is different. You should see Mike and Astrid trying to lead the patrols. Without you and Jesse…” You shook your head, trailing off.

The breeze shook some leaves free from their branches, and sent them swirling down to the ground, where Zahir would sweep them away later. You liked the man. He had been kind and respectful every time you had seen him here, and you appreciated how much care he put into the upkeep of graves of people he hadn’t even known.

Sometimes when you were here, it felt like you were the only person in the world. As if when Joel died, everybody else died with him. And in some ways, you think that might be true. Jesse died right after him, and Tommy was almost right behind him. And Ellie… she lost a part of herself in that basement. After Seattle, you were surprised there was anything left of her.

It was why you always felt relieved when Zahir showed up. He allowed you to realise that there were still people around you, that not everybody was buried with Joel. Zahir reminded you that other people were grieving, too. It helped to know that you weren’t actually alone in this experience, even if it felt like it.

You wanted to tell him how much you missed the two of them, how your life felt incomplete without them in it. You wanted to let the words fall from your mouth, wanted to observe as the breeze caught them and swept them away to somewhere that Joel just might have heard them. But you already felt silly, doing this. Speaking to him, knowing that he couldn’t hear a word of it.

What else could you do, though? Where else were you meant to put all of these unrelenting thoughts? What else could you do with the grief that threatened to bury you right beside the people you missed most?

“So much has changed here. It doesn’t feel like home, the way it used to.” You admitted to the open air, trying not to let regret or embarrassment consume you. The breeze could be comforting, if you allowed it to be.

It’s been a long time since you’ve allowed yourself to be comforted. Maybe too long.

All you can think is haven’t you suffered enough? Do you have to continue the seemingly endless cycle of pain that you have been trapped in for years? Shouldn’t you, after everything, be allowed some comfort?

“If I’m honest, I don’t think it’ll ever feel like home again. Not really. I guess that’s why Ellie doesn’t really visit.” You said, listening to the rustle of leaves, watching the petals on the flowers you’d brought shift. You believe it, too. You believe that Ellie refuses to visit because Jackson has lost its spark. Its livelihood. That, and you’re pretty sure she can’t bring herself to visit Joel’s place, or Jesse’s.

You don’t blame her. It had been one of the hardest things you’d ever done, coming here after returning from Seattle. You felt like some sort of sorry animal, failing to come home with the prey it was supposed to. Despite your best efforts, your jaws remained empty of prey. Your hunt had failed, had turned sideways, had left you feeling more sorrow than before.

How could you come here knowing that Abby was still alive out there? Knowing that, while Joel had been rotting underground, she had a life.

It had taken you a long time to accept that fact. To let it go.

Ellie was still holding on.

You suppose that you have always been better at knowing what went through Joel’s head. At rationalising things. You knew that going after her was never what Joel would’ve wanted for the two of you. But Ellie had always struggled with seeing his point of view. With seeing anyone’s perspective but her own, really. She could never understand Abby, just like she had never understood Joel after what he did to the Fireflies.

Joel would want the two of you here, not on some cross country journey for revenge. And you understand why — because that trip had caused you even more loss. It hadn’t fixed a thing, and at the end of it all, Abby was still alive.

Going after her wasn’t worth Jesse’s life.

If you had known the cost of that journey before you had left Jackson in search of it, you don’t think you would’ve gone. Not if it meant losing him, too.

A glance across the cemetery had your eyes locking onto another familiar headstone. It was still hard for you to face that one, knowing that you were the direct cause of Jesse’s death. Would he had left the safety of Jackson, if you hadn’t joined Ellie on her quest for vengeance? Would Abby have felt the need to defend herself, the kid with her, if you and Ellie hadn’t been so intent on killing her?

One of the worst parts about his death is that you could understand. Had you, Ellie and Joel not killed many people, defending those you cared about? Hell, hadn’t you killed WLFs to protect Jesse? You’d caused people this loss, too. Perhaps his death was just karma, finally catching up to you. But to reduce Jesse to that felt… wrong. He was more than that. So much more.

He should’ve been here. At your side, grieving Joel right alongside you.

Had you chosen to just grieve, rather than avenge, you wouldn’t have to do it all alone. If you had remained in Jackson while Tommy, Ellie and Dina left, you could’ve asked Jesse to stay. You’re almost confident that he would have.

But then you would’ve lost the others, too.

Either way, Jackson would’ve lost its spark of life.

“I think that, maybe, you guys were my home. And that’s why it feels like this.” You look away from the stone with Jesse’s name carved upon it. Admitting it just makes it feel more real, and you know that you will never feel at home again. Not like you did with them.

Your eyes water before you can do anything about it, trailing saltwater down your cheek. It crawls across the scar underneath your eye, and you feel the phantom pain of Abby’s fists upon your face once more. Everything in you aches, particles of loss and decay floating through your veins until it feels like it’s all you are.

But it’s not.

There’s still life within you, waiting to be let out.

Joel and Jesse don’t have that luxury. Which is why you feel like you have to honour them, like you have to actually live, instead of sitting here, wallowing in the pain of it all.

“I miss you.”

The wind brushes against your hair, your face.

“I’ll come back soon,” You promise, resting your palms against the ground to help you stand without aggravating your injury. “Maybe next time I’ll bring your guitar, show you what I’ve learned since we lost you.”

There’s a lump in your throat, and you can’t seem to swallow it. Your goodbye can’t get past it, and you know it will only worsen if you go across to Jesse’s place. You turn, swearing that you will have something more hopeful to tell the open air next time you come.

[impala-dreamer]

Save Me - Part One

A Short Story

~ Sometimes, when life seems the brightest, shadows creep in. After announcing their engagement to the world, Jensen's fiancé is kidnapped. With the help of a friend, she tries to fight her way back home to him.~

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader, Dean Winchester

7,160 Words Total. Part one: 3,209

Warnings: My kind of Super Angst. Blood. Injury. Kidnapping. It's really sad...

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo "No one's coming to save you. Get up!"

PART ONE ~ PART TWO

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Her thoughts were hazy; her head throbbing from the repeated blows. The blood that had trickled down her neck had dried and she could feel how matted her hair was around the wounds.

Her muscles ached, her skin was bruised and broken in more than one spot. The cramped trunk she’d been forced into and the bumpy ride had nearly crippled her. She’d tried to count the turns they took, the miles they raced across, but disorientation and fear had been too much to overcome.

Wrists and knees bound in scratchy, rough rope and eyes blinded by a scarf, Y/N was led from the car and dragged up a few stairs. She could hear a lock turn and the hinges of a door creak. Boots on a wooden floor; the heavy breathing of her captor.

The house was warm. Heat was pulsing up from hissing radiators and the smell hung heavy in the air, mixing with the stench of stale cigarettes and rotting trash. Still, she was grateful for the warmth. January in Indianapolis was freezing and the trunk hadn’t exactly been insulated.

“Where are you taking me?” she whimpered, cringing as the fingers around her upper arms dug into her flesh.

There was no answer.

“Please! Don’t do this. We can work something out.”

When she refused to take another step, she was yanked forward and thrown into another room. Her sneakers squeaked and she recognized the sound of cheap linoleum flooring under her rubber soles.

A kitchen. Knives. A backdoor, maybe.

She twisted against the tight hold. “Please, just let me go. I swear to god I won’t go to the cops. No charges pressed. Please. We can get out of this mess.”

The giant hand gripped her harder and Y/N groaned at the pain.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

A gruff voice shouted by her ear. “Shut up!”

She bit her tongue but refused to give up. “Let me go!”

With all of her strength, she pivoted to the right, shoving her elbow hard into the solid body behind her. She heard a pained grunt and the hand holding her released. She spun around the other way and tried to run, but it was no use. Still tied, her knees buckled and she began to fall.

The hands were back, yanking her harshly back onto her feet. She screamed and fist collided with her jaw. Sparks erupted in the blackness of her vision, pain spread across her face.

“Told you to shut up!”

Y/N held her breath and squeezed her lips shut.

Tugged forward again, she stumbled deeper into the kitchen and heard a door open. Cold air hit her face and she shuddered.

“Where are we going?” Tears soaked into the blindfold. “Please…”

Hands released her and Y/N teetered on the edge of what felt like the top of a staircase.

A basement.

She panicked.

“No, no, no!”

“I told you to shut the fuck up!”

His fist connected with her temple and Y/N fell. She counted four stairs before every sensation and thought vanished.

“You sure we should be doing this here?”

Y/N looked over from the edge of the bed at Jensen who was fixing his hair in the mirror. He was primped and picture perfect for a busy day at the convention. Tight black tee under a denim jacket, immaculately ripped jeans, and brown boots. Add to it all the longer hair and a beard- he looked a little too good.

He caught her eye in the mirror and smiled. “I do. I think this is the best place to do it.”

Y/N squirmed nervously and lifted her left leg onto her knee so she could retie her sneaker for the tenth time. Her engagement ring glimmered and she sighed happily at the diamond.

It was perfect.

He was perfect.

And yet-

“What if they don’t like me? Or they get mad, or-”

Jensen spun around and dipped his chin, looking at her with a stern gaze. “Then I’ll kill them. All of them.”

His voice had dropped to a deep, rough growl and Y/N laughed.

“OK, Dean.”

Jensen exhaled loudly and straightened up, returning to himself. He closed the space between them with two long strides and fell to one knee. He took her hand, the same hand that he’d held two weeks ago when he’d asked her to marry him.

“I promise,” he said softly. “They’re gonna love you.”

Her cheeks warmed and her tension eased.

“How can you be sure?”

Green eyes beamed as he smiled.

“Because I love you.”

Pain woke her.

Stabbing, white-hot pain that spread through the entirety of her left side. Though she couldn’t tell where it manifested from, several points along her body had made contact with the concrete floor and spikes of pain radiated from each one.

Her cheek was smashed against the frozen floor and her nose ached. Gingerly, she rolled onto her back. The scarf over her eyes had shifted a bit and she could see a faint stream of light surrounded by creeping shadows.

The air was frigid and damp, and smelled like mold. She shivered as the cold seeped through her thin clothing and into her soul.

Fear wrapped itself around her lungs and squeezed. Her breathing quickened, her sore jaw trembled. She tasted blood, felt every bruise, every splinter of bone. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the last twelve hours.

Late evening. The convention center. Walking from the loading dock to the back parking lot. Low hanging ceiling; giant yellow lights. Cars jammed in every spot. A dirty white van. A shiny black Explorer. An old gold Camry.

The Camry.

Something heavy hitting her head. Her ears rang. The warmth of blood oozed across her scalp.

She could feel the trunk closing around her, the thin upholstery. The stink of gasoline wrinkled her nose.

Her chest burned. Her throat closed.

She screamed.

“Somebody help me! Help!”

She thrashed against the ground; ropes still would tight around her wrists and legs.

“Help!”

Turning her face back to the concrete, she wiggled her forehead against the stone, pushing the blindfold up and away from her eyes. She blinked into the darkness and let out a hopeless cry.

The basement wasn’t big, but it was old and dark. Light streamed down from the door at the top of the staircase but she’d rather not have any.

Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, spiders lurked in corners, ghosts swept like cold breath over her skin.

“Please…” Tears flowed freely, dripping down her cheeks and onto the floor. She let go, sobbing into the darkness, lost and terrified. “Help me…”

The stage was bigger than she thought it would be; the curtains heavier. She stood off to the side, hiding in the wings while Jensen awed the crowd.

He really was something magnificent. With a tiny smile, he could captivate a crowd. One well-timed wink could send them to their knees, have them swooning and begging for more.

Y/N watched happily as he answered questions and animatedly told a few stories about his work on The Boys. He had a million stories and she would never get tired of hearing them.

She could feel the hour waning and nerves crept up her spine. She steadied her breathing and twirled the platinum ring on her finger. It was too big, she thought, but it didn’t matter. It could be a lump of camel dung and she’d love it. He’d given it to her.

Finally, Jensen cleared his throat and threw a glance over his shoulder at her. It was time.

“I’m sure most of you have heard the rumors,” he said, microphone clutched in his left hand. “So, I thought we’d put them to rest right now.”

The audience’s anticipation was nearly tangible. Hopeful silence rang through the room.

“If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to introduce you to my fiance…”

Right arm extended, Jensen gestured to Y/N and she took a deep breath before stepping out into the bright lights.

Her hands were numb. The skin around her wrists was bloody and stinging. In a panic, she twisted her hands, chewed on the knots, screamed through her teeth.

The desperate cries rang off the leaky stone walls and bounced back at her. She was sure that no one outside would be able to hear her, even if they weren’t in the middle of nowhere.

She had no idea, really, where she was. She did know that they had driven for a long while, and most of the journey had been on uneven, unpaved roads. Surely, they were well outside of the city and anywhere there might be neighbors nearby to hear her pleas for help.

Giving up and afraid of breaking her teeth on the knot, she rolled onto her knees and carefully shuffled over to the stairs. The wooden banister was old and unfinished, just bare wood hammered into place. She rubbed the rope against the edge, hoping to fray the strands and break free.

“What are you gonna do once you get those ropes off?”

Y/N froze and looked around, searching the shadows for the source of the familiar voice.

“Hello?”

“You got a plan?”

“What?” She squinted into the shadows but there was nothing there. She was alone.

“I said, do you have a plan to get out of here?”

“Who’s there!”

A deep, kind laugh. “You know who it is, Y/N/N. What you don’t know is how to get out of here.”

Her heart raced. She did know who it was, but she wouldn’t admit it. If she was hearing his voice, she was going insane. Or she was concussed, which seemed more likely.

Can you go crazy from that?

“Depends on how hard they hit you, I guess,” he said.

Y/N grit her teeth and tried to ignore him. She went back to work furiously rubbing against the post.

“Keep going, you almost got it.”

She sighed. “Go away.”

Another laugh, softer, under his breath. “You don’t mean that. You need me.”

Y/N groaned and kept at her task. Tiny specks of dust and fibers danced in the faint light and she picked up speed, forcing it harder into the wood.

The rope snapped before she could steady herself and she fell forward, smashing her forehead into the corner of the post.

“Fuck!”

Dizzy, she tore the broken twine away and sat back on her ass. She kicked her legs out and untied the rope around her legs. Finally able to move, she jumped to her feet.

The sudden movement was too much for her head and she fell onto the steps, palms crushing into the damp wood.

“Be careful…”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the phantom voice and crawled on aching hands and knees up the steep stairs.

Once at the top, she held her breath and pressed her ear to the door, listening.

If anyone was near, they made no sound.

Carefully, she stood up and grabbed the knob. Praying for release, she turned the brass but it caught halfway around. She turned it again and again hoping something would change, but it was locked.

“Hello!” She beat against the door, kicked it hard. “Help me! Hello!” Fists pounded, her throat tore. “Let me out!”

Someone on the other side kicked at the door and it rattled in the frame.

“Shut the fuck up!” he bellowed, scaring her even more.

Y/N jerked back from the door and felt all hope drain away as boots thudded across the linoleum and the lights went out.

To her surprise, the audience cheered. Smiles beamed up at her from the front row, applause washed over her.

Timidly, and with Jensen’s encouragement, she stepped up to the microphone stand and smiled.

“Hey, guys.”

Her cheeks were burning, her eyes squinting in the stage lights. She raised a hand to shield her face from the glare and looked out into the room. Every seat was filled and fans stood along the back wall. It seemed everyone at the con was in that room, watching Jensen give his big announcement.

She tried to take the mic but her hand was shaking terribly. Jensen came to her aid and pulled it from the stand. He kissed her cheek.

“You’re gonna be great,” he whispered. “They already love you, just go with it.”

Already, people were queueing up on either side of the stage, ready to ask a question should the lines be opened again.

“How’s it going?” she asked, receiving a loud cheer in reply. “Yeah, me too.” She laughed and took a shy step back. Her heart was racing, her lips hurt from smiling.

Jensen watched her with bright, loving eyes. He placed his big hand on her lower back and gave a gentle push.

His touch calmed her instantly. She turned to look up at him and everything else faded away. She’d be fine, he was with her. Always.

“Well, show them,” he said into the mic.

Y/N laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Go on…”

With dramatic, mock reluctance, she extended her left hand and showed off her new ring. It sparkled in the lights and the fans went wild.

She checked the door three more times. She twisted the knob until her palms were raw. She kicked at the wood until her legs ached.

In the darkness, she felt her way down the stairs and collapsed onto the floor. Her head was pounding and a sharp, unending ring blasted loud in her ears.

She lay on her right side, shivering and sweating at the same time. Her face was clammy and her eyes felt as if they were on fire.

“You have a fever,” he said. “That’s not good.”

Y/N turned towards the voice and gasped.

Leaning against the staircase railing was a ghost of her imagination, a handsome vision in a denim jacket and ripped jeans. Red flannel peeked out beneath the jacket and his pockets were full. His jaw was shaded with light stubble; his hair was short and fluffed upwards. His forehead was creased and he crossed his ankles and arms, staring down at her.

She shook her head but her vision wouldn’t clear. He was blurry but obviously there.

“Dean?”

He chuckled. “Who else?”

She sighed painfully and closed her eyes. “You’re not real.”

The apparition pushed off from the post and shrugged. “I’m more real than anything else you got right now. Who are you gonna talk to? That rat over there?”

She cringed. “What!”

He laughed outright and rubbed at the back of his neck. “You’re gonna have to toughen up real quick, Sweetheart, if you’re gonna get out of this.”

“There’s no way out of this.”

Dean crouched down, set his forearms on his knees, getting close to her. “There’s always a way out. You may not like it, but there’s always a way.”

Something caught in the back of her throat and she coughed hard. Violent pain erupted across her middle and she screamed, folding in on herself.

Dean’s worried hands floated over her body; his face contorted with helplessness.

“Hey. Hey! You’re OK. Just breathe.”

She coughed again and her limbs spasmed, twisting inwards.

“Hey! Y/N/N, come on.”

She imagined she could feel the heaviness of his hand on her shoulder.

“Shh… It’s a broken rib… or six. You’re gonna be OK.”

Her eyes were wide, her skin paled. “Can’t… breathe.”

“Hey, hang on… Stay with me!”

Another cough let loose a spray of crimson from her lips and Y/N’s eyes rolled back.

Dean’s voice echoed in her head and everything else faded away.

He kissed her on stage. In front of everyone. In front of a thousand cameras flashing and videos rolling. He kissed her hard, dipped her over his arm.

Y/N was embarrassed and thrilled and in love. It was hard to contain or sort through the emotions running through her, and when they walked off stage together, she started to cry.

Jensen spun around and bent down to reach her eye level.

“Baby, no… what’s wrong?”

She shook her head and tried to look away, but two giant hands framed her face and held her there.

“What’s going on?” he asked, green eyes flooded with worry. “Did I do something?”

She smiled and sniffled. “No. No, Jen, you didn’t. I’m just…” She took a shaky breath. “I’m so fucking happy.”

She took a shaky breath and lifted her head from the frozen concrete. The chill had entered her bones, chilling the marrow and numbing her digits. Her joints ached; the breaks in her body stung. She wiped at the dried blood on her mouth and tried to sit up.

It hurt too much to move.

“I’m thirsty,” she croaked. Her throat was raw and her voice crackled.

“You gotta get outta here.”

She growled. “Ya think? How?” She pushed up on one arm and glared his way.

Dean was standing in the dark next to the stairs. Hands shoved in his pockets; bottom lip tugged harshly between his teeth.

“I don’t even know where ‘here’ is!”

He sighed. “I know.”

“Or who they are!”

He pursed his lips, took a breath. “I know-”

“Or why the fuck I’m locked in a basement!”

Dean rolled his head on his shoulders, looking for answers on the ceiling. “That’s it.” He snapped his fingers and looked down at her.

“What’s it?”

“Why are you here?”

She rolled onto her ass and slowly tucked her knees to her chest. Every movement hurt, but it was better than freezing to death laid out like a ragdoll.

“I already said, I don’t know.”

He dropped his chin, narrowed his gaze. “Think.”

She shook her head. “I have no fucking idea.”

“They haven’t touched you,” he noted.

She scoffed. “Um… I don’t know if you recall that I’ve been bludgeoned and shoved into a trunk and beaten and-”

Dean held up his hand, surrendering and asking for patience. “I mean, they haven’t… touched touched you.”

“You mean like-”

“Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand down his face.

“So they’re not gonna like… rape me or anything. That’s good.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.” He scratched his head. “So why are you here? What do they want from you?”

Y/N shrugged and winced at a new found pain. Her neck was stiff, her spine tingled.

“Think!”

She startled. “I don’t know!”

“Think. What’s missing?”

“I don’t-” Her head hurt. Her vision unfocused.

“Come on, kid. Think.”

“My… my ring.” She reached for the diamond, but her finger was bare. “My ring is gone.”

Dean hummed. “Yeah. But what’s still here?”

She took stock of herself, struggling to remember what she’d worn that morning and what was left.

“My necklace,” she answered, touching her clavicle. “My jewelry. They didn’t take anything else.”

Dean came closer as he led her thought process along. “So, they…”

She swallowed hard. “This isn’t a robbery or anything. They don’t want to rape me. They… It’s got something to do with you.” She looked up into green eyes and a hard expression. “I mean, with- with Jensen.”

TO BE CONTINUED... Part Two

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[uhhlifeig]

Monster - October 17 - word count: 730 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Sirius watched the door creak open, the familiar shuffle of Remus’s steps echoing in the flat. There was no sound of a greeting like there used to be. 

Just Remus, slinking inside, shadowed eyes hollowed by exhaustion, a ghost of the man Sirius once knew. 

He looked older, weighed down by something Sirius couldn’t see.

“Moony?” the noiret ventured quietly from his seat, half afraid his voice would shatter like glass. 

Remus didn’t respond, just dropped his coat on the floor, and staggered towards the couch.

Sirius stood, stepping forward tentatively, slowly. 

He could see the strain in Remus’s every movement, the tremor in his hands, the way his eyes flickered but never settled on anything for long.

"Remus…?" he tried again, quieter this time. The man on the couch barely glanced up, his features rigid, before he dropped his head into his hands.

The older man’s heart twisted. There was no warmth left between them. 

Only distance. 

Sirius couldn't understand what had happened. It had been months since Remus stopped talking. 

The dog animagus, in all his desperation, still clung to some foolish hope that maybe it was the missions- maybe it was the war. 

Every time he reached out, the werewolf withdrew further, spiraling into a silence that Sirius couldn’t penetrate.

Now, Remus wasn’t even here, not really.

Sirius sat on the edge of the couch beside him, hands fumbling in his lap, unsure of what to say or do. 

There was so much he wanted to do- scream, to demand answers, but it wouldn’t help. 

Instead, he leaned closer, trying to catch a glimpse of Remus’s face. "Where did you go tonight?"

Remus didn’t answer. His breath was shaky, shallow. His lips moved, murmuring something incoherent, lost in a haze.

Sirius swallowed, forcing down the knot of fear in his throat. It was like Remus was slipping through his fingers- and no matter how hard he tried to hold on, he was losing.

He slowly reached out and put a hand on Remus’s back, rubbing it slowly, soothingly. 

“Moony, talk to me,” he whispered, voice strained.

The dirty-blonde man didn’t talk. His eyes were far away, clouded over as if he was seeing something Sirius couldn’t. Then, out of nowhere, the younger man flinched violently, jerking away from the gray-eyed man’s touch. His eyes darted around the room, wide, terrified.

“Remus?” Sirius’s voice cracked, and he reached for him again. The werewolf recoiled, shaking his head furiously, muttering under his breath.

“No… no, not real… not- not real,” he mumbled, his words fractured. His long, calloused fingers dug into his hair, pulling harshly as he rocked forward.

“Remus!” the noiret’s hands hovered helplessly, terrified to touch him, terrified not to.

“Not real,” Remus whispered, eyes squeezed shut as tears began to leak from the corners. “Monsters. Everywhere… I can’t- I don’t-” He cut off again, curling tighter into himself.

Sirius’s heart shattered at the sight, every piece of him aching to reach Remus, to soothe him, to hold him like he used to. 

However, Remus had pulled away so many times that now, the older man didn’t know how to close the gap.

“Moony, please. I'm here. I'm real. It’s just me," Sirius said, his voice trembling with desperation. "I'm not a fake."

Remus’s breath hitched. “Don’t lie,” he rasped, “You’re not real. You-” His voice broke, and his eyes- those beautiful, beautiful amber eyes- finally met Sirius’s. 

But that was before. Now, they were shattered, broken- and it made the dog animagus’s stomach turn. 

“You’re just another... vision.”

Sirius shook his head. “Remus, I’m right here. I’ve always been here.” He reached out, cupping the taller man’s face gently like he used to after moons, his thumb brushing away a tear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Remus’s expression crumpled. He leaned into Sirius’s touch for a fleeting second, then pulled back with a sharp gasp. “Don’t… I don’t-”

“You don’t…what?”

The taller man shuddered, hands trembling as he sank further into the couch. “They said you’d leave me because... because I'm a monster."

“No. No, Moony, you're not-"

The other man’s gaze had drifted, unfocused, staring at nothing. "It’s all falling apart... and I don’t know who I am anymore."

“I’m not leaving. You’re not a monster. I swear to you. You’re not.”

“You can’t save me, Sirius. You can’t stop me from becoming what I am.”

(loosely based off of @moutainrusing's "hallucination" (ch 7 of their wolfstar microfics on ao3) (my fave one btw <3333) (check it out :D . THIS IS A THREAT.) anyways RUE ILY)

@estellethewriter here ya go pooks

[lamemaster]

The Curse of Bloodlines (Thranduil x Feanorian reader)

Thranduil x Feanorian reader

Genre: angst (shit ton of it)

Summary: You wonder if your child would be born before the passing of Spring or if they would be born in the creeping days of fall. 'Not long now,' you whisper to your belly.

Part 2: The Curse of Heart | Part 3: The Curse of the Uncursed

Day 475th of staying in your room. The air carried hints of creeping spring. The cloying fragrance of blooming flowers made its way into your room from wide open windows that were never closed. You could not bring yourself to close them. They were the only reminder of the world that existed outside your room.

The afternoon sun left you feeling drowsy as you huddled closer to your favorite nook next to the windows. Resting your head on the wall, you stretched your back to alleviate the hovering ache that rarely left you these days. You gently massaged your swollen feet, or at least tried to with your belly getting in the way.

You wondered if your child would be born before the passing of spring or if they would be born in the creeping days of fall. "Not long now," you whispered to your belly.

"You would be the prince of the Woodland Realm. Everyone would love you like they do for your father. You would grow up with so many people looking after you," you sniffed as you felt the butterflies of your child's movement under your hands. "Your father would give you anything you could wish for. He is an ellon who cares immensely for his people."

You tried to focus on the little flutter that tickled your palm or the cool breeze. You tried to ward away the thoughts that plagued your mind. They had been frequent these days. A premonition of what was to come. You avoided those thoughts to protect your child from their shadow.

However, a sense of mourning clouded your heart. It was the realization that you would not live to see your son. You could feel it in your soul and your body. Long ago, your great-grandmother Miriel had been the first-ever elf to die on the blessed lands, and now you felt the same fate looking back at you.

You were a Finwean, the granddaughter of Feanor, and the daughter of Celegorm. You hadn't known it for the longest time. You had grown up with a single mother who never spoke of your father. You didn't dare stir the grief that lay heavy on your mother's heart. Your father's name was never uttered in your household.

Maybe that was the reason why you assumed your silver hair to be from your Sinda mother. You simply did not fathom the possibility of it being a paternal trait. You did not care for your green eyes, which seemed to be a gift from your grandmother Nerdanel. Never had you ever thought of belonging to the cursed bloodline of the Noldor. The Silmarils had never called for your soul, you were not oath-bound, and your soul didn't long for your home beyond the seas.

It fooled you and Thranduil, who once loved you. He truly did, at the beginning of your courtship when every second of your existence was spent next to him. You both had wed early, and none had objected. You had once been the crown princess of Greenwood the Great.

Then it had come. A letter from your uncle who wandered unknown shores. It was a letter that shattered your world. And the beloved crown princess of Greenwood the Great became a kinslayer's daughter. Child of an ellon who had once slain the King of Beleriand.

All was lost when you learned of your father. Your people were no longer yours. Your mother, an unknown elleth who had picked you up from an abandoned camp. Most of all, your husband and all his love were gone.

You should have resented your uncle or your father, yet you could not bring yourself to. It would have been easy to deny the claim in the letter. It could have saved your marriage, but how could you? It seemed as if it was meant to be. How else could your father's name find you despite all that had happened? How else could your uncle, whom many called a wraith, remember you?

So you bore all the hate, anger, and resentment that came towards you. It was all you could offer these people. All that you could give your husband, who refused to look at you.

Thranduil had waited for you to deny the claim in the letter. He had expected it to be a lie. You would have too if not for everything pointing to one truth. Your silence had been the only answer you could offer your husband, a fact that broke his heart.

Your bond stretched thin with the barest presence lingering. It lingered on the edge of snapping. Had Miriel felt the same way too? You seemed to share a fate similar to your great-grandmother's. Maybe someday you would get a chance to ask her.

You would bear it all for the sake of your child. Even the confinement of your room was an acceptable fate to persevere for your and Thranduil's child.

It had been an unspoken sentence laid down by Oropher. You were banned from the gardens and woods you grew up in. Stables, lakes, halls, kitchens...you were prohibited from them. It started with guards following your every step and ended with the room you had not left for the past year.

It could have been a prison cell if you had not been carrying the heir of the Woodland realm. Or maybe you would have been kicked out of your home. You would have accepted it. Maybe that would have appeased all those who had been wronged by your father.

Therefore, you did not mourn the weariness that lay heavy on your soul. Whatever doom awaited you would free Thranduil and your child from your existence. None in Greenwood would burden them with your family's wrongdoings.

[zootopiathingz]

A Promise in the Dead of Night

“I’m scared…”

Her voice is but a whisper, that Alastor barely registers her words at first. When he does, he feels himself tightening his arms around her, his mind already preparing to shield her from danger that he’s not made aware of.

Something’s been off about Charlie’s behavior and he hasn’t been able to determine the reason. From the moment she stepped in his room, he’s known she hasn’t been in her usual perky mood. It’s not unlike her to pay him a visit in the dead of night. Hell, it’s practically become routine for them. If he doesn’t end up falling asleep with her in her own bed, he can expect to find her hours later in his room, quietly requesting that she stay. And he never refuses. How could he possibly turn down such a request from the radiant, smiling princess of Hell?

But tonight, that gorgeous smile of hers that normally greets him when she enters a room was absent from her face. Her piercing eyes that could read all the secrets of his soul were puffy from tears she must have dried before coming to see him. She hasn’t uttered a word until now. She simply opened the door and walked over to join him on the sofa he sits on and crawled her way into his arms. He hasn’t questioned her, but he finds it odd that she had been so quiet. Not even a laugh, or even a breath. Has she been holding her breath the whole time?

Alastor brings his hand up to the back of her head that lays against his chest, raking his long claws through the soft strands of her golden hair. “Of what, dear?” He asks, his voice only slightly louder than hers.

She doesn’t answer. Not with words, at least. Instead she just further nuzzles her head against him, burying her face into the fabric of his coat like she’s trying to hide from something. Alastor swears he hears a faint whimper escape her—a sound that not only catches him off-guard, but fills him with rage. Several thoughts run through his mind like a herd of deer. What could have happened to her that would send her into such a fragile state? Who hurt her…?

Before jumping to conclusions, he decides to continue with his gentle approach. He shifts slightly, taking her chin between his fingers to lift her head away from his chest, her gaze instinctively meeting his. He’s met with the most heartbreaking look of vulnerability she’s ever displayed. He doesn’t like it one bit.

“What’s troubling you, my darling?” He questions her again, his thumb tenderly caressing the soft, milky skin of her face.

Charlie sniffles and briefly shifts her gaze downward as she struggles to answer in a way that makes sense. “I.. I don’t know.” She sighs shakily. She knows it’s a pathetic response, but she doesn’t know how to explain the hell-storm wreaking havoc in her mind.

Alastor stays quiet, only giving her a look that urges her to go on. And when she looks at him again, she does, however reluctantly.

“Oh Al.. I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach and no matter what I do, it won’t leave me alone.” Charlie lets out a small hiccup of a breath, leaning her head forward slightly, longing to lay on his chest again. “I keep having these horrible dreams. They play out differently, but they all end the same way…something bad happens, or someone attacks us, and one way or another, you get taken away from me. I don’t know what happens to you after. I always wake up before I can find out, but I’m afraid that it means you were…”

She pauses, not wanting to actually finish the thought aloud. She knows she doesn’t need to, anyway. Alastor can easily fill in the blank.

His signature smile, sealed by his lips at the moment, tightens at the corners. Charlie doesn’t see it, but his blinking eyes go wide for just a moment. It may be just a coincidence, it had to be. But what are the odds that they were both struggling with bad dreams about losing the other to some unknown force of darkness? Alastor hasn’t let it affect him like Charlie clearly has, because to him it shouldn’t have meant anything.

But to know that his princess was facing the exact same troubling phenomenon…that was a cause for alarm.

He doesn’t tell her of this. No, he refuses to worry her any more than she already has been. It’s his job to ease her worries, not increase them. It’s a burden he’ll bear for them both. What’s one more, anyway?

He pulls her in close to him as she snuggles into his arms. “Oh Charlie, you must not fret over something like night terrors.” He assures in a calming tone, trailing his hand up and down the length of her back. “They’re just dreams, after all. They cannot hurt us.”

“That’s the thing. What if they’re not just dreams?” Charlie argues, her body growing slightly tense at this thought she only just now realizes she has. “What if..it’s a warning?”

Alastor doesn’t even want to entertain the idea. He doesn’t want to imagine that that’s the reason behind their shared unconscious terrors. No, he won’t give into the fear. It will only consume them, and then they will be doomed to face it.

“You shouldn’t think like that, dear.” He says, leaning his head down, resting his chin atop of her head. “It will do you no good. You mustn’t let your fear control you.”

Charlie closes her eyes, her voice reverting back to its pitiful hushed tone. “I can’t stop it.”

There’s a brief moment of stillness between them. Neither dares to move from the warmth of the other’s touch. The air grows quiet, with only the cackling flames of the fireplace providing any source of sound. That is, until Alastor slowly lifts his head and pulls her back to face her again. The look in his eyes takes her aback. His grin is as wide as always, but there’s a subtle glimmer of sadness in his gaze that she’s never quite seen before. She’s not sure if she should feel touched that he’s grown so comfortable to express such vulnerability in front of her, or horrified of the meaning behind it…

“Then tell me what I can do to make it go away.” He raises his finger up to brush her bangs away from her forehead, before resting his hand against the side of her face, cupping her face in his palm. “Whatever it is, it will be done. Just name it.”

Charlie frowns softly, staring at him quietly for the longest minute. She’s not sure there’s anything he can do to make this all disappear. Alastor may be a powerful overlord, wielding immense power that has left even her impressed. But sadly, he can’t just snap his fingers and rid her of her fears like he wishes. Miracles like that weren’t possible down here in Hell.

There’s one thing he can do, though. As simple as it may be, it’s what she needs him to do.

Charlie leans her face into his palm, bringing her own hand up to hold his wrist as she looks deep into his eyes. “Just..promise me that no matter what happens, if anything happens, that nothing will tear us apart from each other.” She says, her voice trembling more and more with each word. “Whether these are just stupid dreams or not, I cannot lose you, Alastor. So please.. promise me now.”

Alastor gives her an incredulous look, raising his brow a little, just before he leans in, inching his face closer to hers.

“Charlie..my princess,” He speaks firmly, his voice lacking any static or filter that it normally carries, “I swear on my damned life, I will never let anything take you away from me. Not Heaven. Not Hell. Nothing is ever going to keep us apart. Do you understand?”

She nods slowly, and as she blinks the tears she’s been fighting back threaten to burst like a broken dam. Alastor kisses her, the tender touch of his lips bringing her a warm sense of comfort. He then pulls her back into his reassuring embrace, and at last the woman crumbles down. She cries into his shoulder, clinging onto him like she may lose him for good if she even thinks of letting go. He doesn’t say anything, knowing he’s said all he can to bring her solace and all he can do now is simply be here with her.

But they both know his words held nothing but truth to them. Charlie’s been the one good thing to ever happen to him in a long, long time. And he would sooner die again than ever let something rip that away from his grasp. He will hold onto her and use everything in his power to fight for her, and he will do it all with a smile on his face.

It’s alright, my love. Is his immediate thought when he hears that dreadful sound of her sobbing. He hugs her as close as he possibly can, letting his eyes fall shut as his face presses onto the mess of hair on her head. The shadow that resembles his shape looms over the pair, hovering its claws protectively over the woman in Alastor’s arms.

Anyone who tries to take you from me will be faced with a fate worse than death…

[thewulf]

Troublemaker || Dallas "Dally" Winston

Summary: Request -Hiiii! can you do a Dallas Winston x Curtis Sister Reader (maybe sodapop's twin?) who is soooo different than soda. She's a firecracker with a mouth on her that gets her in trouble? Dally finds himself repeatedly rescuing the Curtis sister reader, who always seems to get into trouble with her sharp tongue and rebellious streak... Read Rest Here

A/N: I kinda love this one deeply. Something about a troublemaker loving another one gets writing (alot) hahah hope you guys enjoy! Kinda OOC Dally at some points but idc, I love it!

Pairing: Dallas "Dally" Winston x Female Reader (Curtis Sister)

Word Count: 5.3k +

TW: choice words, fighting, punching, blood, general Outsiders TW

1. Clowns at the Drive-In:

The night was alive with the buzz of excitement at the local drive-in, the air thick with the scent of popcorn and gasoline. The flickering lights of the movie screen cast shadows across the rows of cars parked haphazardly, each filled with eager teenagers seeking a brief escape from the monotony of their everyday lives.

But for you, the Curtis sister, it spelled trouble. Perched on the hood of your twin brother Sodapop's car, you exchanged barbs with a group of Socs who had taken offense to your sharp retorts and fiery demeanor. Sodapop himself was inside the concession stand, chatting with a few friends, while your youngest brother Ponyboy was engrossed in a book, oblivious to the brewing confrontation outside. You’d never catch Darry at one of these movie nights anymore.

"You think you're real funny, huh?" one of the Socs sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he loomed over you, his companions snickering behind him.

You merely smirked, unfazed by the hostility radiating from the group. "Funny enough to make you clowns laugh, that's for sure."

Your words were met with a chorus of jeers and taunts, fueling the fire of your defiance as you squared your shoulders and met their gazes head-on. But just as the tension reached its boiling point, a looming figure emerged from the concession stand, cutting through the crowd with a swagger that commanded attention. For Dally always had his eyes on you. Especially after your parents passed.

Dallas Winston, the epitome of reckless abandon and untamed rebellion, emerged from the shadows like a predator stalking its prey. His presence alone commanded attention, the faint glint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he sauntered towards the confrontation with an air of nonchalance.

As he drew closer, his leather jacket seemed to gleam in the dim light of the drive-in, the scent of cigarette smoke trailing behind him like a phantom. His gaze swept over the scene before him, taking in every detail with a predatory intensity that sent shivers down the spines of those unlucky enough to meet his stare. Dallas freaking Winston.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Dally drawled, his voice low and dripping with utter irritation as he finally spoke, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation before him.

The Socs, caught off guard by his sudden appearance, turned their attention to him, their expressions shifting from hostility to uncertainty as they recognized the infamous greaser in their midst. But despite their feigned courage, there was an underlying sense of unease in their demeanor, a silent acknowledgment of the danger that lurked beneath Dally's cool exterior.

"This ain't none of your business, Winston," one of them muttered, his voice tinged with defiance but faltering in the face of Dally's imposing presence.

Dally merely smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he stepped between them and you, effectively cutting off any further confrontation with his sheer presence alone. His posture radiated confidence, a silent warning to anyone foolish enough to challenge him.

"I think it is now," he replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine as you watched from your perch on the hood of the car. “You made it my problem.”

There was a tense silence as the standoff continued, the air heavy with anticipation as both sides weighed their options. But before things could escalate further, Dally's gaze flickered towards the Socs with a silent warning, a promise of consequences should they choose to push their luck any further.

With a final, angry glance in their direction, the Socs begrudgingly backed down, their bravado no match for the steely resolve of the infamous greaser. And as they slunk away into the shadows, defeated but not defeated, you couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude mixed with a sense of awe at the enigmatic figure who had just saved you from a brawl you couldn't have won.

After Dallas stepped between you and the Socs, a cocky grin spread across his lips, revealing that usual glint of mischief in his eyes. "Your welcome, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance as he turned his attention to you.

You bristled at his audacity, your temper flaring like a matchstick ignited. With a roll of your eyes, you shot back, "Don't flatter yourself, tough guy. I could've handled those idiots just fine on my own."

Dallas chuckled, unfazed by your sharp retort. "Sure, looked like it," he remarked, his grin widening as he leaned against the hood of Sodapop's car, the leather of his jacket creaking with the movement.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest defiantly. "You know, not everyone needs a knight in shining armor to come to their rescue."

Dally raised an eyebrow, his expression turning contemplative as he studied you. "Maybe not, but it sure beats getting your pretty face smashed in by a bunch of Soc’s."

Your cheeks flushed with indignation at his comment, but you couldn't deny the underlying truth in his words. With a huff of frustration, you conceded defeat, albeit begrudgingly. "Fine, maybe I owe you one," you muttered under your breath, your pride refusing to let you admit defeat outright.

Dally's grin widened at your admission, a glimmer of triumph shining in his eyes. "You owe me more than just one, sweetheart," he replied, his tone teasing as he pushed himself off the car. and sauntered away, leaving you seething with a mixture of irritation and reluctant admiration.

While you watched him disappear into the darkness, you couldn't help but wonder what it was about Dallas Winston that both infuriated and intrigued you in equal measure. And as the night stretched on, you found yourself unable to shake the feeling that your paths were destined to cross time and time again, whether you liked it or not.

2. A Brush with the Law:

In the midst of your rebellious streak, you found yourself in a predicament that even your usually suave tongue couldn't talk your way out of. It was one of those nights where mischief seemed like the only way to break free from the suffocating grip of the mundane.

The evening began innocently enough, with you and a few friends roaming the streets in search of excitement. The city lights flickered like distant stars, casting shadows that danced along the pavement, teasing you with the promise of adventure. But as the night wore on, the allure of mischief grew stronger, pulling you deeper into its grasp with each passing moment.

It started with harmless pranks and playful banter, the kind of mischief that left a trail of laughter in its wake. But as the hours stretched on and the adrenaline surged through your veins, the line between harmless fun and reckless abandon began to blur. The world became a playground, and you were determined to make the most of it, consequences be damned.

By now, the cops knew you on a first-name basis from all the petty trouble you had caused. They had become all too familiar with your antics, chasing after you like a dog chasing its tail, only to watch helplessly as you slipped through their fingers time and time again. They had warned you countless times, given you more chances than you deserved, but tonight felt different.

Tonight, there was a weariness in their eyes, a sense of resignation that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. They were tired. Tired of dealing with your antics, tired of letting you off with a warning only to see you back at it again the next day. It was as if they had reached the end of their patience, the final straw in a long line of frustrations that stretched back further than you cared to remember.

But even in the face of their stern warnings and thinly veiled threats, you couldn't bring yourself to stop. The thrill of rebellion was a drug, intoxicating and irresistible, and you were hooked. It was a dangerous game you played, dancing on the edge of disaster with reckless abandon, but in that moment, it was the only thing that made you feel truly alive. You needed it.

As they cornered you in the dimly lit alley, their voices stern and faces etched with grim determination, the threat of spending the night in jail loomed over you like a dark cloud. Panic gripped your chest in a vise-like grip, squeezing the air from your lungs as you frantically scanned the surroundings for a way out. But the walls of the alley closed in around you, leaving you feeling trapped and helpless, like a mouse caught in a cat's claws.

Your mind raced with thoughts of the consequences awaiting you if you were to be taken into custody. You couldn't shake the image of your oldest brother Darry's disappointed face, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and concern as he realized the extent of your latest misadventure. You knew he would be furious, not just at the trouble you had gotten yourself into, but at the worry and stress it would inevitably cause him and your other brothers. The fear of facing Darry's wrath was almost suffocating, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest as you grappled with the realization of just how badly you had messed up. In your reckless pursuit of excitement and rebellion, you had failed to consider the consequences of your actions, the fallout that would inevitably follow in their wake.

Just when it seemed like all hope was lost, a familiar figure emerged from the entrance of the alley, his presence a welcome relief in the darkness. Dallas Winston stepped forward with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his piercing gaze locking with the officers' with an unwavering intensity.

"Easy there, fellas," Dally drawled, his voice carrying a hint of amusement that bordered on insolence. "No need to get your badges in a twist."

His words sliced through the tension in the alleyway like a well-honed blade, disrupting the somber atmosphere with an unexpected twist. The officers, taken aback by Dallas's nonchalant demeanor, exchanged wary glances, unsure of how to respond to his brazen defiance.

But Dally, ever the master of manipulation, wasted no time in seizing the opportunity to sway the officers to your side. With a casual shrug of his shoulders and a smirk dancing at the corners of his lips, he stepped forward, closing the distance between you and the law enforcement with a confidence that bordered on audacity.

"Look, we all know she's a handful," Dally continued, his voice smooth and persuasive, laced with an undertone of genuine concern. "But taking her in ain't gonna solve anything. Trust me, I've tried. You know what they’ve been through."

As he spoke, a flicker of empathy flashed in his eyes, a subtle acknowledgment of the turmoil that had plagued your life since your parents' untimely demise. He knew all too well the pain of loss, the ache of abandonment that lingered long after the funeral flowers had withered away. And though he rarely showed it, there was a part of him that understood the reckless desperation that drove you to seek solace in acts of rebellion.

The officers, their resolve waning in the face of Dallas's persuasive charm, exchanged hesitant glances, silently wrestling with their conscience. They knew the Curtis family's tragic history, knew the burden of responsibility that weighed heavily on your shoulders in the wake of your parents' death. And as they looked into your eyes, they saw not a delinquent, but a lost soul searching for a way to fill the void left behind by loss and grief.

With a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire world, the lead officer relented. His shoulders slumped in defeat; the lines of exhaustion etched deeply into his weary face as he stepped aside to allow you to pass. "Fine," he grumbled, the resignation evident in his voice, "but this is the last time."

His words hung heavy in the air, a somber reminder of the precarious balance between leniency and accountability that governed their duties as law enforcement officers. They had given you more chances than you deserved, turned a blind eye to your transgressions time and time again, but they knew that their patience was wearing thin. There was only so much they could overlook before the hammer of justice came crashing down with unrelenting force.

Dally, ever the opportunist, seized upon the moment of vulnerability with a triumphant smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He nodded in acknowledgment, a silent acknowledgment of their unspoken agreement as he draped an arm around your shoulders with an air of possessiveness. "Appreciate it, fellas," he remarked, his voice oozing with satisfaction as he guided you away from the alley, away from the looming threat of incarceration.

And as you walked side by side into the night, the weight of the world lifted from your shoulders, replaced by a newfound sense of gratitude for the tough greaser who had come to your rescue once again. You glanced up at him, the flickering streetlights casting shadows across his features, and offered him a tentative smile of thanks. It was a small gesture, a token of appreciation for his unwavering loyalty and unyielding support in the face of adversity.

As you looked at him, his cocky grin softened by a flicker of genuine concern, you couldn't help but wonder what it was about him that drew you in like a moth to a flame. His eyes, usually sharp and piercing, now held a warmth that caught you off guard, melting away the layers of cockiness to reveal a glimmer of vulnerability beneath.

But before you could dwell on it further, Dally's voice broke through your reverie, his words laced with a hint of amusement that conveyed the seriousness lurking just beneath the surface.

"You're quite the troublemaker, sweetheart," he remarked, his tone playful yet tinged with a note of concern.

You rolled your eyes in response, a smirk of your own tugging at the corners of your lips. "And you're quite the smooth talker, Winston," you replied, unable to hide the admiration in your voice despite your best efforts.

As the words left your lips, Dally's expression shifted, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. There was a weightiness to his gaze, a silent question lingering in the air as he studied you intently, his eyes searching for the truth behind your casual facade.

"Hey, are you actually alright?" he asked, his voice softer now, stripped of its usual playfulness. His concern was palpable, genuine, a stark contrast to the tough exterior he typically presented to the world. "This isn't like you, getting caught by the fuzz like that."

His unexpected tenderness caught you off guard, the sincerity in his question piercing through the layers bullshit you typically wore like armour. You hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the depth of his concern, before offering him a small nod of reassurance.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied, though the words felt hollow even to your own ears. You forced a casual tone, hoping to brush off the weight of his inquiry, the nagging doubts that gnawed at the edges of your mind. "Just got a little carried away, that's all."

But even as you spoke, you knew it wasn't just a momentary lapse in judgment. There was a restlessness inside you, a longing for something more than the mundane routine of everyday life, that drove you to seek out trouble wherever you could find it. And in that moment, as you stood before Dally with his piercing gaze fixed upon you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability wash over you.

Dally continued to study you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and understanding. He didn't press further, sensing that there was more to your story than you were willing to reveal. Instead, he offered you a small, understanding smile, a silent reassurance that he would be there for you whenever you were ready to open up.

"I get it," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "Just know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

His words caught you off guard, a flicker of warmth spreading through your chest at the sincerity behind them. And as you met his gaze, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the tough greaser who had dared to care when no one else did.

With a subtle squeeze of his arm around your shoulders, Dally offered you a reassuring smile, a silent promise that he would always be there to watch your back, no matter what trouble you managed to find yourself in. And as you walked side by side into the night, the echoes of his words mingling with the sounds of the city, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the tough greaser who had dared to care when no one else did.

3. Escaping a Sticky Situation:

As the Friday night lights illuminated the football field, casting a glow of excitement over the small town, the air crackled with anticipation. It was meant to be a harmless prank, a bit of mischief to inject some excitement into the dull routine of small-town life. But what had started as a simple joke quickly spiraled out of control, and you, the Curtis sister, found yourself in a precarious situation.

The prank had been innocent enough at first—a bit of good-natured rivalry between the Greasers and the Socs. However, things took a dangerous turn when the Soc boys, their egos bruised and their tempers flaring, decided to retaliate with more than just words. They targeted you, singling you out from the crowd, their menacing glares and clenched fists leaving no doubt about their intentions.

Your heart raced with adrenaline, panic clawing at your chest as you frantically searched for a way out of the tightening circle of Soc boys. But as the situation grew more dire, Dallas Winston yet again emerged like a savior in the darkness, his presence a welcome relief amidst the chaos and looming threat of violence. By this point you were convinced it was your brothers who had him watching you for how else could he, quite literally, always be there to say you from these situations?

As the chaos unfolded near the stands, Dallas Winston's arrival seemed almost surreal. At first, his laughter echoed across the small courtyard area, a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air. But as he surveyed the scene, his amusement quickly morphed into a glare of righteous anger.

"Buncha tough guys picking on a little lady, huh?" Dally's voice cut through the chaos like a knife, his tone dripping with disdain as he confronted the Soc boys. His words carried a weight of accusation, a challenge to their masculinity and decency.

As Dally's words hung in the air, the Soc boys hesitated, their usual boastfulness faltering under his scathing gaze. But one of them, bolder—or perhaps more foolish—than the rest, reached out and laid a hand on your arm, his grip tight and menacing.

Instantly, Dally saw red.

With a feral growl, he lunged forward, his fists flying in a blur of motion as he unleashed a barrage of punches on the Soc who dared to lay hands on you. Each blow landed with a sickening thud, the sound echoing across the field like a drumbeat of fury.

The other Soc boys, realizing their mistake too late, attempted to intervene, but Dally was a force to be reckoned with. With a ferocity born of righteous anger, he fought like a man possessed, his only thought to protect you from harm.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was likely only seconds, Dally's onslaught came to an end. The Soc who had dared to touch you lay crumpled on the ground, bloodied, and bruised, but alive.

Dally stood over him, his chest heaving with exertion and adrenaline, his eyes blazing with a mixture of rage and triumph. The other Soc's had long since fled, likely for help. But he didn’t give a damn. His attention was now on you. And as he turned to you, his expression softened with a mixture of relief and concern, seeing you standing there relatively unharmed. It was when he saw the tears in your eyes that he knew he had to do something.

Dally's gaze softened further as he approached you with caution, the fire in his eyes dimming to reveal a rare glimpse of vulnerability. He reached out tentatively, his rough hand coming to rest on your shoulder in a gesture of comfort. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence that had just unfolded moments before.

"Hey, it's alright, sweetheart," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm to the turmoil raging inside you. "You're okay. It’ll be alright." He attempted to console you as best as he could, however it wasn’t his strong suit.

But the tears continued to flow unabated, a testament to the fear and adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You tried to hold them back, to maintain the facade of strength and resilience that had always been your shield against the world. But in that moment, with Dally standing before you, all of your defenses crumbled.

Unable to contain your emotions any longer, you buried your face in your hands, the weight of the night crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You could feel the tremors wracking your body, the sobs tearing from your throat in ragged gasps.

Dally watched you carefully, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding. Without a bit of hesitation, he wrapped you in a warm embrace, pulling you close to his chest as if to shield you from the world's cruelties. His arms felt surprisingly comforting, a safe haven amidst the chaos that had engulfed you.

"Oh, sweetheart. It's okay to let it out," he whispered gently, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of your storm. "You're safe now, darlin'. I've got you."

His words washed over you like a gentle wave, calming the storm of emotions raging inside you. For the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace, to find solace in the warmth of his presence. As the tears continued to fall, Dally held you close, his grip firm yet gentle. He didn't try to offer empty reassurances or false promises. Instead, he simply held you, a silent pillar of strength in the darkness.

The Unexpected Thank You:

As the weight of the night's events settled upon your shoulders like a heavy cloak, you couldn't help but feel a wave of vulnerability wash over you. The adrenaline that had fueled you earlier now gave way to a profound sense of exhaustion, both physical and emotional. And in the quiet solitude of the street, with only Dally's presence beside you, you felt the walls you had carefully built around your heart begin to crumble.

"Thank you, Dallas," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper, tinged with a rawness you hadn't expected. "For everything."

Your words hung in the air, vulnerable and exposed, a stark contrast to the tough exterior you usually wore like armor. In that moment, you felt a sense of relief wash over you, as if a weight had been lifted from your chest. For so long, you had been carrying the burden of your troubles alone, too afraid to let anyone else see the cracks in your facade. But with Dally standing beside you, offering a silent anchor in the storm, you found yourself finally able to let go.

When you looked into his eyes, you saw something flicker beneath the tough exterior, something vulnerable and achingly human. It was a mirror of your own inner turmoil, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and loneliness that lurked within you both. And in that shared moment of vulnerability, you realized that perhaps, just perhaps, you were more alike than you had ever dared to imagine.

As Dally enveloped you in his embrace for the second time that night, his arms offering solace and refuge, a tender silence settled between you, broken only by the soft sound of your quiet sobs. In that moment, words seemed inadequate to express the depth of the emotions coursing through you both. But as you held each other close, your hearts spoke volumes, weaving a silent symphony of understanding and compassion.

"You don't have to be strong all the time, you know," Dally murmured softly, his voice a gentle caress against your ear. "It's okay to let yourself feel, to let yourself grieve."

His words resonated deep within you, stirring a bittersweet ache in your chest. For so long, you had tried to bury your pain beneath layers of confidence and defiance, afraid to confront the gaping hole that your mother and fathers absence had left behind. But in Dally's embrace, you found the courage to face your demons, to confront the rawness of your grief without fear of judgment or rejection.

With trembling hands, you clung to him, seeking solace in the warmth of his presence. And as you spoke of your mother, of the memories that still lingered like ghosts in the corners of your mind, you felt a sense of liberation wash over you, as if by giving voice to your pain, you could finally set yourself free.

"I miss her, Dally. I miss them," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper, choked with emotion. "Every day, it feels like a piece of me is missing. Like I'm lost without her. She was my best friend and now she’s just gone.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the relentless passage of time. And as you gazed into Dally's eyes, you saw your own pain reflected back at you, a shared understanding that transcended words.

"You're not alone, sweetheart," Dally replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I may not have all the answers, but I'll be damned if I let you face this alone."

In that moment, you felt a surge of gratitude and affection for the tough greaser who had stood by your side through thick and thin. In his arms, you found a sense of belonging you had never known, a sanctuary from the storm of emotions that raged within you.

In the hushed intimacy of your embrace, the turmoil within you quieted, replaced by a sense of tranquility you had never known. But amidst the stillness, a storm raged within you, a tempest of conflicting emotions that threatened to consume you.

With each steady heartbeat, you felt the tendrils of affection wrapping around your heart, weaving a tapestry of emotions you struggled to comprehend. The way his touch ignited a warmth deep within you, the way his voice soothed the turmoil of your soul — these were sensations you had never experienced before, and yet they felt undeniably right.

As you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you couldn't shake the realization that your feelings for Dally surpassed mere gratitude or admiration. It was something more, something you couldn't quite put into words but felt with every fiber of your being.

In the quiet of the night, you allowed yourself to explore these newfound emotions, to sift through the tangled mess of your thoughts and feelings. And in doing so, you came to a startling revelation — you liked him, more than you had ever dared to admit.

But the thought of confessing your feelings to Dally filled you with a heady mixture of excitement and trepidation. What if he didn't feel the same way? What if your friendship was forever altered by your admission?  Yet, as you glanced up at him, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, you saw a vulnerability in his eyes that mirrored your own. Perhaps, you thought, he felt the same way — a silent understanding that transcended words.

Summoning your courage, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to do. With a trembling hand, you reached up to cup his cheek, your touch feather-light against his stubbled skin.

"Dally," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "there's something I need to tell you."

As your eyes met, you sensed an unspoken understanding passing between you. Without needing further words, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. It was a tender gesture, filled with reassurance and affection, a silent promise of his unwavering support and care.

But before you could utter another word, Dally's hand gently tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes bore into yours with a intensity that made your heart race.

"I need to tell you something too," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the soft night breeze.

Your breath caught in your throat as you waited, anticipation coursing through every fiber of your being.

"Doll," he continued, his voice husky with emotion, "I've been wanting to say this for a while now, but I ain't never found the right words. I reckon there’s no fancy way to put it, so I'll just say it straight."

He took a deep breath, steeling himself before meeting your gaze once more.

"I love you," he confessed, his words hanging in the air like a sacred vow.

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission, emotions swirling within you like a tempest. For so long, you had harbored these feelings, afraid to voice them, afraid of what they might mean for your friendship, for your future. But now, as those three simple words hung in the air between you, you felt as if a weight had been lifted from your chest, replaced by a warmth that radiated from the very core of your being.

You searched his eyes, seeking confirmation of the truth you dared to believe. And there, amidst the depths of his gaze, you found it — sincerity, vulnerability, and a love that mirrored your own. It was a revelation that left you breathless, a realization that this connection you shared transcended the boundaries of friendship, binding you together in a bond that felt unbreakable.

"I love you too, Dally," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, as if afraid that speaking the words aloud would make them disappear into the night.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world fading into insignificance as you both basked in the sheer weight of those words. They held within them the promise of a future unknown, yet somehow certain in its inevitability. And as he pulled you into a tight embrace, you felt a sense of belonging wash over you, as if you had finally found your place in the world.

With his arms around you, you knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, no matter what storms threatened to tear you apart, you had each other. Together, you could weather any adversity, conquer any obstacle that stood in your path. For in each other's arms, you found strength, comfort, and a love that knew no bounds.

"Hey," he whispered softly, his breath tickling your ear as he held you close. "You don't have to say anything more. I'm here, and I ain't goin' nowhere."

For the first time in a while you felt a sense of peace wash over you, a profound gratitude for the man who stood by your side through thick and thin. With a heartfelt sigh, you nestled against him, finding solace in his presence as you stood together beneath the starlit sky. In his embrace, you found sanctuary, a refuge from the uncertainties of the world outside. And as you looked up at the twinkling stars above, you knew that your love would light the way through even the darkest of nights, guiding you towards a future filled with endless possibilities.

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[fics-and-quotes-andthelike]

We Still Have Time

Title: We Have Time (Part 2) - We Still Have Time

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Word Count: ~3,676

In which Dean has found the courage to be with the reader, but one mistake means risking everything.

Part 1

A/N: Part 2 of We Have Time! Thank you @procrastination20 for the idea, I really hope you guys enjoy it!

You’d always heard that long distance relationships were hard. 

It’s not that you didn’t believe your friends when they’d told you, it was more that it never really occurred to you just how hard it would be. That’s probably why you had agreed to it in the first place. 

Almost a year ago, after you and Dean had finished fixing up Baby, he and Sam had stayed in town for two more weeks, allowing you and Dean to get to know each other even better and decide that the two of you definitely wanted to try being in a relationship. You had a feeling that Sam had a lot to do with that decision from Dean’s end, but you weren’t complaining.

On the Winchester’s last day in town, Dean had finally fulfilled his promise and taken you on a ride. It had lasted through the night, and at one point you’d had Eye of the Tiger playing from the speaker, both of you half singing along as you tried to contain your laughter.

At the end of the day, Dean had left you back at your apartment with a gentle kiss on the lips, a tight hug, and a promise to come back.

After the brothers had left, Dean made a point to call you almost every day and tell you about the places that he and Sam were visiting. You found it odd that they made a point to never visit the same place twice, even if the town sounded amazing, but always reminded yourself that wanderers rarely tended to stay in one place.

Even better than phone calls were the rare times when Sam and Dean would swing by for a visit. Those were your favorite times, since Dean would always take you out on a date of sorts and stay for a couple of days before hitting the road again. Those visits would usually end just as quickly as they began, with Dean getting a call from another traveler, or Sam stopping by to let Dean know that it was time to go.

But if you were being honest, you wanted a bit more than that. You wanted to be able to wake up everyday knowing that Dean was nearby. You wanted to be together enough that you felt comfortable holding hands in public. You wanted to skip that two minute awkwardness that always took place when Dean apologized for not coming back sooner. You wanted him to stop avoiding questions about his personal life. You wanted Dean to be honest with you about why he kept a knife in his jacket and a hand on his phone whenever he was with you. 

You never complained though. You had agreed to a long distance relationship in the first place, and you didn’t want to give up Dean completely just because you couldn’t handle a few measly months away from each other.

Plus, you couldn’t blame Dean for the bits of secrecy, right? The two of you barely had any time together as it was, and he probably just didn’t want to spend the only time that you two had together focused on blurting out every single detail about himself when you could be spending time eating burgers and watching Untouchables together.

But still, every time you went out with your friends and their significant others, you couldn’t help but feel a little pang in your chest when you thought about the fact that you would probably never experience the same ease and comfort that came with spending time with someone who you knew would be around every day.

But you always shook off those negative thoughts. You knew that being with Dean was worth that feeling. What the two of you had was enough.

Wasn’t it?

~~~

Sam looked up in surprise, trying to catch Dean’s eye. “We were just there two months ago, we can’t go back now.”

Dean shrugged, avoiding Sam’s gaze as he cleaned out the barrel of his gun. “I’m not saying we’re going there for a vacation, I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to stop by for a few days.”

Sam scoffed and set his gun down on the table standing between the two brothers in their motel room. “What happened to being discreet? To never being in the same town twice?”

Dean looked up with a smile. “Well, we’ve broken every other rule in the books. What’s one more?”

“Dean, I know you like this girl, but we just can’t keep doing this.” “Hey, you’re the one who pushed me towards her in the first place.” “I know, I know. It’s just-” Same took a deep breath. The last thing he wanted to do was somehow get it into Dean’s head that he had to break up with you. He had to choose his words carefully. “I’m just saying that we need to be careful. We always have a flock of demons and angels tracking our every move, and the last thing we want is for her to get hurt, right?”

Dean froze.

Sam cursed under his breath. “I’m not saying we need to stop visiting her altogether, alright? I’m just saying-”

Dean shook his head. “No, you’re right. We’ve been getting careless. I’ll call y/n, let her know that I won’t be around for a while.” He walked out of the room without waiting for a response.

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. There had to be a way for Dean to keep visiting you while still keeping you safe, right? You shouldn’t have to break off your relationship just because of angry angels and nosy demons.

He grabbed his gun and continued to brainstorm as he worked.

If they could ward your house…but that would only attract attention. They could leave weapons with you, but that would mean giving you an explanation. An explanation that they would probably have to give you sooner or later anyway.

Sam’s eyes widened in realization. The only way that your relationship with Dean could ever work is if you knew. But Dean would never do that, not since there was a chance that things would get more dangerous for you.

Sam looked towards the door that Dean had walked out of, unable to make out words but hearing soft murmuring from Dean that sounded like a stream of apologies.

Sam sighed, dejected. What was worse? Never really being together because you knew that Dean was harboring secrets, or letting you in on the job so that the brothers could protect you while you and Dean were finally able to fully connect?

Sam took a deep breath and buried his face in his hands. Dean was going to have to make a decision soon, and Sam had a feeling that either way, none of you were going to enjoy it.

~~~

You were a good worker. You knew you were, your boss knew you were, and everyone else in town knew that you were.

In fact, every time someone from town had car trouble and had to bring their car to the garage, they asked for you specifically.

You might have been bad at long distance, but you were damn good with cars, and it was something that you would take pride in until the day that you retired.

You really were a good worker. But you were also a good multitasker. 

You’d found that out when you were young, when you had learned to do your homework while keeping an eye on the auto races that your parents would watch in the living room.

You had managed to keep the skill throughout your life, and were basically doing the same thing today, with half of your brain focused on getting cars repaired, and the other half of your brain screaming out in pain as you watched Formula Drift.

“He must be blind,” you muttered to yourself as you listened to the judges on television. You were working on autopilot, your hands working with the engine of a client’s car. “Blind or stupid.”

“I agree.”

You jerked upright, startled by the voice that had appeared from behind you. You whipped around, coming face to face with someone that you hadn’t seen in nearly a year.

“Dean!”

The older Winchester grinned, holding his arms out as you ran to him. He engulfed you in a hug, resting his chin on top of your head as you wound your arms around him.

You held on to him tightly, worried that he would fade away once again if you let go of him now. “I thought you were still on the road.”

You could feel Dean’s chest vibrate softly as he spoke. “I wanted to surprise my girl. Is that okay?”

You laughed lightly, pulling back to look up into his eyes. “Of course that’s okay, why wouldn’t it be?”

Dean’s eyes drifted over to the television. “You seem busy.”

You shook your head. “Not busy at all. Well, a little busy. Slightly busy with this car, but I should be done soon. Do you want to wait for me here? We can go out after, if you don’t already have plans with Sam.”

Dean smiled softly, keeping his hands gently planted on your waist. “Sammy’ll be fine on his own for a few hours. Today is all about you, sweetheart.”

You smiled and leaned forward, resting your head against his chest again. “I like the sound of that.”

~~~

You leaned against the bathroom door in bliss. You and Dean had gone out for dinner, and he’d taken you out for a ride afterwards.

You had offered your apartment up as a place for the two of you to watch a movie, but since your roommate was most likely there, Dean had insisted that you use his motel room since Sam would probably be out of the motel for a few more hours, giving you plenty of alone time.

When you’d gotten there, the two of you had gone straight to the bed to make yourselves comfortable while he put on Die Hard, per your request.

The two of you had barely even watched the movie, opting to spend time talking and catching up on what the two of you hadn’t said during your calls.

You learned a bit about his friend Castiel, which you thought was an interesting name, and he learned more about your roommate and a few new friends that you’d made.

By the time the credits were rolling, you’d somehow ended up sitting up against Dean’s side, his fingers combing through your hair as his other hand held one of yours.

He placed a quick kiss to the top of your head. “Should I take you back to your place? You got work tomorrow, wouldn’t want your boss firing you.”

You laughed lightly. “You’re probably right. Not about firing me, she’d never be able to replace me, but I should really get going. I’m going to run to the restroom real quick, I’ll be right back.”

Dean hummed in acknowledgment and released you, standing up to stretch as you made your way to the bathroom.

You closed the door behind you and smiled to yourself, leaning back against the door. You wished that you could always have this. That you could come home from work and spend time with your boyfriend, or at least know that he would be nearby. 

Your smile faded. You knew that you were only going to hurt yourself by holding onto those fantasies. Dean and his brother like to wander, and you didn’t want to be the one who held him back.

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the door. Maybe you could ask Dean if you could tag along. If you could be a wanderer with him and Sam. You would have to leave your job, but at least you and Dean would finally be together. It would be worth it. 

He was worth it.

A smile crossed your features once again. Maybe that was the solution. Maybe it could work.

You whirled around, a hand on the doorknob, ready to make the proposal to Dean. But you suddenly froze when you heard the motel door slam open and Sam’s frantic voice fill the air.

“Garth called. Possible vampire nest in the next town over.”

“Sammy-”

“If you want to stay head with y/n, I can scope out the area and let you know if I need backup-”

“Sammy!”

You heard a pause. Complete silence fell over the motel room. You could hear your heart pounding in your chest.

Vampire nest? Was that code for something? It had to be, there was no such thing as vampires. Right?

But deep down, you knew that something was wrong. The silence hadn’t lifted. If it had been some sort of code, someone would have spoken by now. 

You could hear Sam’s voice fill the silence, but couldn’t make out any words. Your heart sped up. The only thing worse than silence was not knowing what the brothers were saying.

And there was only one way to find out.

You opened the bathroom door slowly, and were met with the pale faces of Sam and Dean Winchester.

You swallowed heavily. “Hey, Sam.”

Sam forced a smile. “Hey. Sorry about that, we were just-”

“I get it,” you said, pasting a false smile on your face. “Brother code and all that. I think I’m going to head back. I’ll call my roommate.”

You saw Dean shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head slowly. “Y/n…”

“It’s fine,” you said, somewhat desperately. “Honestly, I’ll just call you tomorrow.”

“Please…”

“I’ll see you later, okay?” You moved to walk around them and right out the front door when Dean held out a hand to stop you.

“Wait, wait, wait. Could you…could you hear me out? Please?” Dean’s eyes were pleading.

You almost said no. You wanted to say no. Anyone who truly believed in vampires was not someone that you wanted to be in a relationship with.

But as you looked at him, you stopped yourself. You had just convinced yourself to leave behind everything for this man. You truly and genuinely loved him with all of your heart. Shouldn’t you at least give him a chance to explain himself? 

You took a deep breath. You’d had a sense that he was hiding something since the day you first met, but you’d decided to put your trust in him anyway. Maybe it was time for him to really earn that trust.

You nodded slowly and walked over to the bed, settling down and facing Dean. “Okay.”

Dean practically buckled in relief. “Okay?”

You nodded again. “Okay. Let’s hear it. I want the truth, though, Dean. The whole truth. Don’t deflect the way you always do when I ask about your family or your life. I deserve more than that.”

Dean nodded, pain in his eyes. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry about all that.”

You looked over at Sam, whose face was still ashen and afraid. “Alright then,” you said, steeling yourself.

“Let’s hear it.”

~~~

When you were younger, you used to go to sleepovers where your friends would tell you scary stories about werewolves and vampires that crept in the night, waiting until you were sleeping to jump out and pounce. Now that you were older and knew better, your boyfriend was telling you a scary story about how demons had killed his mom, and how that had set off a sequence of events that resulted in him and his brother becoming hunters of the supernatural.

Your thoughts were going off the rails when Dean finally finished his story. Could he be telling the truth? He certainly believed what he was saying, that was for sure. But how could there possibly have been a monster in your own town? How had nobody noticed? How had you not noticed?

Sam’s phone rang, snapping you out of your thoughts. He glanced down at it and looked up at you apologetically. “Dean, we’ve gotta go.”

Dean remained staring at you, his eyes pleading with you to believe him, to stay with him. To not let this change what the two of you had been building for years.

And you wanted to. Every fiber of your being told you to stay with Dean, that it was the only way for the two of you to make things work. And of course you wanted it to work. Dean had a special place in your heart now, one that you never wanted him to leave from.

But you couldn’t. How could you possibly live a life where your boyfriend and his brother believed in the scary stories that kids were told in the dark? Or worse, if it was all true, how could you leave everything and everyone behind, living a life on the run and trying to avoid being killed by monsters that basically crawled out of your nightmares?

You looked up at Dean and shook your head slowly. The disappointment in Dean’s eyes made your own eyes well up with tears. Then his mask went up, shutting you out as you felt shame boil up in your stomach.

You looked away. “I’m sorry, Dean. Truly, I am, but I just… I can’t.”

Dean nodded once, standing abruptly and sending a short look to Sam, who gave you a sad glance before walking out the door.

Dean looked back at you. “I know it’s a lot. I get it. But I’m gonna keep being honest with you, alright? Sam and I are only going to the next town over. I’ll text you the name of the motel we’re staying at.”

“Dean-”

“You don’t have to show up. If you don’t, no hard feelings, alright? If you do…”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment. 

Dean cleared his throat and stood. “I guess I’ll see you around. Or not.”

You watched as he made his way to the door. He paused for a moment, his hand on the doorknob.

“Bye, y/n.”

~~~

They hadn’t talked about it yet. 

After Dean had left you behind in the motel room, he’d silently climbed into the Impala and turned up the music full blast before peeling out of the parking lot and making his way to their next destination.

Sam, choosing to not start any kind of argument, had remained silent through the whole ride. So had Dean.

The hunt had gone smoothly, the Winchesters getting in and out in only two days. The whole time, the brothers only talked about the hunt and their leads, never once mentioning you or what might happen if you showed up. Or worse, if you didn’t.

When the hunt was over, Sam and Dean had wordlessly agreed that they would stay in the motel a little longer, just in case. But still, they didn’t talk about it.

Not on the first day, when the hunt started. Not on the second day, when the hunt ended. Not on the third day, when Dean spent all of his time at the motel, glancing at the door every now and then. And not today, the fourth day, when Garth had called and said that he needed the boys for another hunt.

Sam hung up the call, looking over at Dean. “I can head out if you want to catch up later.”

Dean shook his head, his mask planted firmly over his face as he gave a small smirk. “And let you have all the fun? I don’t think so.” He stood and grabbed his bag, making his way to the motel door, even as Sam tried a last appeal. 

“But, Dean-”

Dean turned, a hand on the doorknob. “C‘mon, Sammy, let’s get this son of a-”

Dean’s heart stopped as he opened the door. You stood on the other side, your face set and your arms crossed over your chest.

Your eyebrows were furrowed, your feet planted as if bracing yourself for an argument. You looked like you hadn’t slept in days, and you definitely looked like you weren’t leaving until you said what you wanted to say. As much as he hated to admit it, Dean thought that you looked a little like a hunter. 

“You’re here,” Dean finally managed to croak out.

You nodded, your face relaxing slightly. “I’m here. And I’m sorry for walking out.”

Dean nodded, his heart pounding and his brain still trying to register your words. “Does that mean-”

“It means I believe you. I’ve been doing some of my own research and some things started adding up. Anyway, look, I’m not going to pretend to understand what’s happening with you two, but I know that I want to learn. I want to be a part of your life, Dean, even if it’s scary and dark and I still can’t really wrap my head around it.”

And in less than a second, you were in his arms, his face buried in your neck as he held you like a lifeline. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close.

Maybe this was crazy. Maybe you were getting sucked into something that you weren’t ready for. But he had been honest with you. And you were willing to try.

 And that was what was important.

After a moment, you released each other and took a step back. You looked around Dean and offered a small smile and a wave to Sam, who gave you a wave back, a look of ecstatic relief on his face.

You looked back as Dean gave you a tired smile, reaching out a hand to grab yours as he gently pulled you inside. “You sure you’re ready for this? It’s no picnic, and giving you the whole story is probably gonna take a while.”

You smiled back and shrugged, the last of the tension in your shoulders finally easing. “I should know what my boyfriend does for a living, shouldn’t I? And don’t you worry. 

You and me? We still have time.”

[vanishingcherry]

NO ONE ELSE

pairing: ollie bearman x reader

words: 0.6k

warnings: anxiety, panic attack, attempt to break up, lots and lots of hugs

based on this request

masterlist

๑ ⋆˚₊⋆────ʚ˚ɞ────⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

You make your way past security, walking through the paddock to the Prema Team set up. You enter the garage, waving at the engineers as you walk past Ollie's car, going straight to his driver room.

It wasn't a happy visit, definitely one that neither of you would enjoy, but it was needed. You were already dreading the moment to come, but everything seemed to get ten times worse when you entered the room.

Ollie hadn't been expecting you for at least another couple hours, so the second you made eye contact with him, he broke out into a huge grin. Immediately putting his phone down, he walks over, pulling you into a huge hug.

You freeze at the contact, repeating what you had practiced in your mind like a mantra. Slowly pushing him away, you turn to look at your shoes, not wanting to see his reaction.

"Can we talk?"

When you finally look up, his face mirrors one of confusion and worry.

"Yeah, of course. What's wrong?"

Sitting down on the chair, you take a deep breathe, trying to calm the rising panic in your body.

"I think that we need to break up. It's not because of you, I promise. I just think that you're at such an important point in your career and I'm somewhat of a distraction. You deserve so much better than me, so I think it would be best if I just go and then you can find someone better." You speak fast, words mushed together in an attempt to get everything out as soon as possible.

The room stays silent. Too scared to look at Ollie, your eyes jump around the room, trying to find something other than him to focus on. A voice cuts through the air.

"No."

"What?" You ask in shock. Out of all the possible responses he could have had, this was one you hadn't prepared for.

"No. We're not breaking up, you're not leaving." His voice is confident.

"B-but thats not-"

You cut yourself off as you feel your heart thud in your chest. The blood pounding in your ears is overwhelming, and you don't even feel it when Ollie bends down and grasps your shaking hands in his own.

You didn't understand why he would just let you go, it was for his own good. It scared you, knowing that you could be the reason he fails, the reason he doesn't fulfil his dreams. You didn't want to be that person.

The next few minutes seemed to last hours and seconds at the same time. By the time you had calmed down, you found yourself being held by Ollie, holding him tight as you rest your head on his shoulder.

Through blurry eyes, you see Ollie lean back, wiping the tears off your cheeks.

"Do you want some water?" He asks softly, reaching over to grab his water bottle from the table when you nod.

You can feel him watching you with concern as you take a few small sips. Before you're able to say anything, he starts talking.

"I don't know what made you think I deserve better, love. If anything, you deserve better than me." Ollie's thumb strokes your hand, his voice soft as he makes eye contact, giving you a small smile. "We aren't breaking up okay? I want you, no one else."

"Are you sure?" You look up, frowning, voice laced with apprehension. "We haven't been dating too long, no one would think anything of it."

"Yes. I've never been more sure of anything, I promise. I don't know who or what made you think this, but we're staying together."

Ollie pulls you in once again. Wrapping his arms around your waist, you nod in his grasp, sighing in relief when you feel him close his eyes, head resting against your own.

"I promise... no one else."

[raerodart]

No one asked for this, but here’s how two other DogDays’ perished

[heartpascal]

fight the tide

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you face the consequences of going to seattle

▹— a/n: hello, this ended up being different to what i had planned. i hope yall enjoy anyway. its very angsty. very sad. at least to me. be careful with what you read. mind the warnings. love you.

▹— warnings: MAJOR TLOU 2 SPOILERS, suicidal ideation, or thinking about dying, almost hoping to die, major character death (referenced), canon-typical violence, eg murder, descriptions of blood / being covered in blood, kinda religious imagery / talks of divinity (no explicit religion mentioned), hints at a possible romance with jesse

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything!) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915  @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being (pedro)

MASTERLIST

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Setting off from Jackson was a distant memory, by now. It was hazed over, an image in your mind that didn’t seem to fit into reality, no matter how you tried it.

The past few weeks didn’t seem real to you, either.

More than once, you had found yourself waiting to wake up. As if all of this could be some sort of bad dream. A nightmare that you couldn’t escape, no matter how many times you pinched and clawed at yourself, trying to figure out how to prove that this wasn’t real.

Because, really, how could it be? This world, this city, it didn’t feel like it could be true. You didn’t feel like you, and this certainly didn’t feel like it was your life. Wherever you looked, the terrain showed the aftermath of a rampage.

Bodies strewn across the ground, puddles of red dripping down curbs, down cars, down buildings, down your hands. It was beneath your fingernails, caked into your hair, drying on your clothes. For a moment, you thought it was yours. It was the only plausible reason for why you were feeling so empty, wasn’t it? The only explanation for why your heart felt as if it would burst at any given moment.

This rampage was an act of such violence, such rage, it seemed unfathomable to you. You couldn’t remember a time where you had felt something so deeply that it presented as destruction. As a massacre.

That was the word for this, too. Massacre. All of these bodies were once people, once held love and life and the ability to hurt and kill others, just as you did. And when you looked closer, when you looked at their guns and their knives, the bows and the arrows, you knew they had been trying to kill you.

It made sense.

You didn’t want it to, but it did.

These people had tried to kill you, had tried to slaughter you, and they had ended up dead for it. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, either. Joel had killed more people than you could count, just for the crime of trying to bring you harm. It made sense that he would do it again.

“Joel?” You called, your voice echoing in the empty surroundings, bouncing off of bodies and weapons, off of the tangible feeling of death that hung in the air.

Your chest was heaving, breath entering and leaving your lungs so rapidly that it didn’t have time to supply the oxygen you so desperately needed. You hadn’t noticed how unsteady your breathing was, until you had spoken, until you had called out for Joel. It made you feel dizzy, all of a sudden, like everything was hitting you all at once.

For a moment, you didn’t notice that he hadn’t answered you.

But his silence lingered, and the only thing you could hear through it was the sound of your own panicking breaths.

That feeling from earlier — the one of your heart, which had been feeling as if it would burst at any given moment, revealed itself as a choked sob. It jumped out of your throat when you opened your mouth to call for Joel again.

Your devastation didn’t register, for more than a moment. Until you remembered why you were here, why there was a gun in your hand, empty of ammunition. When you looked around, you didn't find Joel. Instead, all you found was blood and death and your machete lay on the ground, a dent in the grass, covered in blood and gore.

There was something hanging over your head, something which felt as if it was holding your head underwater. It felt like the water was forcing its way down your throat, into your lungs, filling them up until all you could do was choke, heave on the lack of breath. Your head was exploding, pressure against the sides of your skull, pushing out, out, out, like a fungus was bursting through you. Only the vague feeling of your hand pressing against your head reassured you that you weren’t Infected.

The memories flashed before your eyes, distorting the image of destruction ahead of you, filling your mind with reality. Joel. Cracked skull, insides out. The unrelenting taste of iron on your tongue, your teeth. Getting on a horse in Jackson, and leaving. Fighting your way through Infected, people, even past Tommy. All in your search for vengeance, for Abby.

And all it had led you to was before you, laid out in death.

Did this make you a monster? Was it evil? You’re not sure if you believe in such a thing anymore, but if you did, you think it would look like a woman, braided hair, golf club raised in the air. But there’s this nagging feeling at the base of your skull, asking you, are you better?

You don’t know what it means. Are you better? Than what? Because of this? You want to ask Joel, but when you turn, he’s still there. Still lay out on concrete, skull scattered around the room, blood staining your skin.

It’s all you can think of. It’s all you can see. Even in the bodies around you, the people that you killed, you see a flash of white, a splatter of blood, and it’s all Joel. There’s the imprint of his boot in the grass, the sound of his voice in the wind, but the only heartbeat you can hear is your own.

Your knees press into the grass, and you stain your jeans with blood, but it feels soft. Softer than the concrete in that basement, softer than the frozen dirt in front of his gravestone. It’s welcoming, or something like it, and your heart aches with it.

A sound breaks through the air, pierces through the air that carries Joel’s voice, and it takes you more than a moment of your throat aching to realise it’s you. And there’s disappointment in that, you realise, that the only person here is you. Nobody is here to kill you, and nobody is here to protect you.

The sound coming from you doesn’t sound like your voice, doesn’t have any familiarity to you. It doesn’t convey words, but rather something harsher, something deeper, a sound which traverses language and time. It breaks these barriers, and empties the chest of something ancient, something eternal.

It wavers as time passes, it comes and goes, much like your recognition. Sometimes, you’re here, belting out something that doesn’t fit into words, and then you’re there, screaming out for mercy that never comes. And all you can hear is Joel, and he’s yelling at you, to you, but you can’t tell what he’s saying.

All you can see is his lips spelling something that he couldn’t say, that you couldn’t translate. You want to tell him you love him. You want to scream at him for going down there. You want him to pull you away from these corpses, but he can’t, and neither can you.

No matter how hard you try, there’s nothing you can do to pull yourself up, to overcome that weight that continues to drown you. It presses down on you until your nose is against the grass, and all you can smell is iron and dirt.

You stay there, one palm pressed against the machete that had been resting on the ground, the other gripping the dirt, for what seems like eternity. There’s no escape from it, nowhere you can turn to pull yourself from this mourning, this hell. And you know that nobody is coming to save you.

It sends a chill down your spine — tingling and bringing feeling back to limbs that had long-since turned numb, the realisation that you are going to end up just like Joel.

Here, against the ground, reduced to something less than human.

And — like Joel — there’s no fighting it.

If Abby approached, golf club raised to the heavens, you would accept it. You would welcome it.

Because surely, whatever would be waiting you, it would be better than this. This endless moment of suffering, of pain and grief so deep it encompasses your whole being. You wonder—hope that Joel would be waiting for you.

You feel guilty, a moment later, because you know that Joel deserves to rest—whatever that meant. And you also know that he had never done that, when he was around you. It was selfish to hope for him to be waiting for you, to hope that he would put whatever was awaiting him on hold, all for you.

Joel had been waiting to die for a long, long time.

Ever since Sarah.

And that fact sends a fresh wave of guilt through you, as if you could hold on to any more emotion, because Sarah was his daughter. She was everything he had wanted, since the moment she was born. And he had been waiting to join her. He had waited for Tommy, for Tess, and then for you and Ellie.

Maybe, Sarah sent Abby for him.

Maybe she got tired of waiting for her dad, whilst he feigned dad for two orphans, left alone in the bitter end of the world.

You try to think of her like that. Some sort of angel, a gift sent from Sarah, all to give Joel the mercy of death. To give him the easy way out. Because Joel didn’t have a choice about dying, Abby had made sure of that, so he couldn’t feel an ounce of guilt for leaving you and Ellie and Tommy to pick up the pieces, to carry his body home to an empty house, a dip in the earth.

It made sense to you, somehow.

Abby seemed so… unmovable.

She was like the force of nature. Nothing you, or Joel, or anyone, had done would’ve stopped her from doing what she did.

If you thought of her like this, as something divine, something above yourself, it was easier. It was easier to forgive yourself for failing to stop her, and now, for failing to end her.

But it also makes the guilt so much heavier.

And you don’t know how you can carry it, anymore.

Because if she was that, if she was something like a divine intervention, then you were doing everything that Joel had never wanted, for nothing. This, right here, this explosion of death, this blood, staining your hands, was what Joel had tried to steer you away from.

He didn’t want you to turn out like him.

Angry, burned, covered in blood.

Monstrous.

He was covered in the scent of stale blood, of death so old it had decayed to nothing, to earth and ash and life reborn. He was stained with it. Distorted by it. It had made his vision red, for as long as he could remember.

Joel didn’t want that for you.

Joel didn’t want you to end up here, knelt in the grass, drenched in blood and sweat, in guts and gore and everything wrong with this world.

And there’s even more guilt in that knowledge. You’re disappointing him. You can practically hear his voice ringing through the air, asking you what you were doing, why you were doing it. You could hear him telling you that he’s not worth all of this. It hurts that you can’t tell him otherwise. If he was here, you could have screamed at him, told him he was worth everything. But he’s not.

How do you carry that around with you? How can you? Are you supposed to drag the weight of Joel’s dead body behind you for the rest of your life?

He would tell you to let him go. He would tell you to live your life. But Joel had never really understood just what he meant to you, to everybody. He could never quite grasp the concept that he was loved, that he was one of the reasons you got up in the morning, one of the reasons you always fought to go home.

The problem is—you don’t want to let him go.

Your hand curls around the grass beneath it, sticky with blood, as if you could physically hold on to him. More than anything, you’re worried about losing the memories. If you let go of Joel, if you let his death fade to the back of your mind, would his life follow? Would you start to forget everything he had done for you? Everything he had meant to you?

Would you forget the sound of his laughter? The smile that only appeared on occasions, which lit up his entire face? The hug he greeted you with when you came home after a particularly hard day? The embarrassing talk he gave you about liking people your age? The feeling of having a father?

If you could, you would stay in those memories forever.

A ghost in your own past, haunting the man who had gone somewhere you couldn’t quite bring yourself to follow. You would go through all of that, the good and the bad, all over again, if it meant you could stay with Joel. Because despite everything, all of the things you had lived through, Joel Miller had become your home.

How could he expect you to let go of that? How could you be okay with that? After the life that you had led, you deserved to go home. It was hard not to resent Joel for expecting you to be okay with letting him go—divine intervention or not.

And you know, that if the tables were turned, if it were you who had been buried, if it was Joel who was here right now, he wouldn’t let you go. He would hunt Abby down, and he would make her suffer for what she had done, because Joel Miller was a force of nature, too.

Either way, he would have to find her.

So, shouldn’t you?

You think that you need to know. You have to find out if she’s this unearthly being that you have made her out to be. You need to know if you could’ve stopped her. If Joel could be alive, right here, right now.

There’s something so poetic about it all, you think.

Maybe, if you were in a better headspace, you could’ve figured it out. But really, what use was poetry in this world?

You’re working up the courage, the ability, to move, when you hear the footsteps crunching gravel just behind you. They’re heavy, purposeful, and you realise you’re still weeping, still screaming out for someone who can’t come. You think—hope—that this is Abby, here to put an end to this suffering. To these unending questions.

But there’s a warm hand against your back, a moment later, and no golf club swung at your skull.

“I’ve got ya, kiddo.” A voice says to you, hands grasping your shoulders, the twang of an accent so familiar that you’re reaching out, eyes closed, waiting for the person to reach back. When they do, your eyes open, but it’s not who you thought it was. You hadn’t died on this grass, and Joel wasn’t here to get you. Instead, Tommy stood in his place, his hands cleaner than your own.

When you look around, you wonder if you’re the monster that people will tell their children about. The person who ripped people to shreds, who tore them apart for no reason other than a quest for vengeance, one that wasn’t even fulfilled. Maybe, you think, you will become a cautionary tale. A warning for others. An example of what not to become, even in the apocalypse.

This was senseless. It was a slaughter.

All of these people are dead, and you don’t even know their names. They fought to protect themselves and the people around them, something of a team, maybe even a family, all because you are angry, and you are hurt, and you miss your dad. How many of these people have families at home? Families who will never see them again, because of you.

You know you’re not a divine being.

There was no otherworldly reason for your massacre. There was nobody behind a curtain, choosing your actions. No—there was just you.

What right did you have to decide these people should die? What right did you have to end their lives? Was one man—one dead man—truly worth this? Did he deserve to be the reason for your murderous rampage? Would he have wanted this? Would he be proud?

“C‘mere.” Tommy says, kneeling on the ground beside you, and shifting you until he could hold you tightly in his arms. If you don’t focus so much, if you let your mind wander, this could be Joel. It could be your dad hugging you, staining his clothes with the blood you’re drowning in. They’re similar enough, brothers, that you can imagine it is.

He’s holding you together.

“We need to get you out of here.” Tommy tells you, breaking the illusion you had been hoping to live in forever. You know he’s being patient with you — you can tell with every gust of wind that rustles the grass below you. Each one could bring more people, more bodies, yet Tommy refuses to rush you. Instead, he holds you tightly, like the cracks in your surface may lead to you bursting.

You suppose he’s right to worry.

His brother is dead. Joel is dead. And here he is, holding you in one piece, as if that wind could shatter you.

Selfishly, you don’t want him to be patient, or gentle, or kind. You want Tommy to show you some kind of mercy, to bring you peace of mind, of soul. But he can’t, unless he has some kind of insight that you don’t, unless he has ripped Abby apart and seen the divinity in her creation.

“C’mon,” Jesse says then, appearing out of seemingly nowhere. You hadn’t realised he was even nearby. Didn’t hear him approaching, though that could’ve been because of the unearthly wailing that had surrounded you. “I’m sorry,” He says, hand wiping at your face where it rests against Tommy’s shoulder. “We have to go. We have to go now. I’m sorry.”

And he does sound sorry—god, he sounds more apologetic than you had ever heard him.

You don’t know if he’s sorry for making you get up, for making you face the world again, or if he’s sorry that you’re even here, sorry that Joel is dead. You don’t know which you would prefer. You try to decide, and realise not long after that the two of them had pulled you to your feet, hands gripping you, waiting for you to hold yourself up.

“Jesse,” You choke out, reaching for him, as if seeing him for the first time. His hands are holding your own before you can even get out another word, uncaring of the blood that covers them. He squeezes once, twice, thrice, before he lets go to press his hands to your cheeks, grounding you, almost.

“It’s okay.” He says, and you can see in his eyes that he knows it’s a lie.

He takes your hand, pats your cheek, his forehead against your own for no more than a moment, before he’s letting Tommy take over, letting the man soothe his fatherly instincts. Uncle Tommy. You imagine a life where you would have called him that.

Tommy leads you away.

Away from the bodies, the gore, the guilt, hopefully. He grips onto you the whole way, pulls you along every time you stumble, holds you up whenever you long to fall. All the way until you reach a theatre, where Ellie and Dina have been bunkered, one of them tells you. We’re going home.

You wonder if they’re going to bury you in the ground, beside Joel. Home. You think it sounds nice.

[gtwscratch]

This Heart of Mine is Guilty (And Remorseful)

Summary: Grian breaks the rules of the games for Scar, and Scar confronts him about it. (set in Secret Life)

CW: Mentions of past cheating/killing/stealing, character self-deprecating

Word count: 1,233

=====================================

“He needs to log out..!” Grian says as he watches the Wither chase Scar, panicked.

“He can’t, we’re in the middle of a session, Grian,” Cleo responds, also a bit panicked, but she hides it better.

“I know but..! He can’t lose his first life..!” Grian doesn’t finish his sentence, but he can’t get the words out of his head.

He can’t lose his first life because of me again.

Grian knows he’s been awful to Scar. He knows he’s messed up over and over again. He’s let the urges of being a red life take him over and ended up killing Scar on more than one occasion. He’s stolen a life from him and lost it not even twenty minutes later. He’s cheated on him after finding out they were quite literally soulmates.

And yet, after all of that, Scar has shown him nothing but love and kindness and admiration and-

All Grian knows is that he has to stop this.

He watches Scar stumble and slow down, narrowly missing getting hit by a skull, and Grian feels something. There’s an itch just beneath his skin to do something—anything—and his wings puff up a little from the panic. Without really thinking, he pulls out his comm.

<Grian> Scar log out

<Grian> Scar log out

<Grian> Scar log out

Distantly, Cleo is talking, but Grian doesn’t hear her. All he can hear are hushed and angry whispers. The edges of his vision are purple as he continuously types out the message, praying that Scar is going to be able to read it.

Players are never able to log out in times of extreme danger like this—the Watchers make sure of that. But Grian himself isn’t a regular player. He’s mentioned changing the rules before, but he’s never actually tried to do anything. So maybe, just maybe..

Grian’s heart leaps to his throat as he sees Scar pull out his comm on the shore, nearly dropping it. He reads over the messages.

<GoodTimesWithScar had left the game.>

Grian could cry. His legs feel shaky, and his hand goes to cover his mouth with relief and shock. He did it. He actually managed to save Scar.

Grian feels lighter than he has since the desert.

He suddenly remembers that he’s not alone and looks over to Cleo who’s staring back at him with wide eyes.

“.. How did you do that?” she asks, wariness in her voice.

“Um..” Grian can’t think of a good excuse, so he settles for, “I’ll tell you later. We need to go.”

===============================

Grian knew there was going to be a punishment for saving Scar. The Watchers would never have let that happen so easily. And of course Grian doesn’t regret breaking the rules for Scar—he’d do it again in a heartbeat—but now his wings ache, and his back feels exposed as his secondary and most of his primary feathers have withered away. He’s also lost a life.

He’s exhausted after defeating the Wither, and it shows. He nearly stumbles, but a strong hand catches his arm.

“Woah there, take it easy, G.” Grian relaxes as he hears Scar speak and steadies himself with the man’s help.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, looking up at Scar’s green eyes. Oh, what Grian wouldn’t do for them to stay that beautiful green color.

Scar’s eyebrows are furrowed in concern, and he starts to lead Grian a bit away from the group of people celebrating the defeat of the Wither. When they’re out of earshot, Scar speaks up.

“Why did you do that?”

“What’re you talking about?” Even though he’s tired, Grian tries to play dumb.

The man sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You shouldn’t have used your powers like that for me.”

For a moment, Grian is alarmed before remembering he told Scar about the Watchers (and how he was one of them) while they were both half asleep and cuddling in some past season. Neither of them had spoken about it afterwards when they were more awake, so Grian had figured that Scar didn’t remember. Looks like he was wrong.

This time, he doesn’t deny anything strange happening. “In my defense, I didn’t for sure know if that would work or not.”

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have tried it at all.”

“But you were in trouble.”

“Grian, it’s me! I’m always in trouble!” Scar shouts.

Grian’s wings (or what’s left of them) puff up, a bit agitated. He was finally trying to do something right, and Scar didn’t seem to care. “Whatever, what’s done is done. It doesn’t matter.”

Grian’s a little startled when Scar grabs his arms, and he’s even more startled to see the anguish in Scar’s eyes.

“But it does matter!! You lost a life!! Oh, and your pretty wings.. I’m not worth that..”

“No, you stop that.” Scar’s words strike something deep within Grian. This is his fault. He’s the reason Scar doesn’t think he’s worth this kind of sacrifice.

“But I’m not! You are.. everything.. and I’m just me,” Scar says quietly. “So please.. don’t do that again.”

“.. No.”

Scar blinks. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m going to risk my life again for you if I can.” Grian doesn’t think he’s ever been so sure in something before.

Scar’s look of agony is now primarily replaced with confusion. “You-! We’re not even allies, let alone on the same team! Why are you so-!”

“Because I’m not hurting you again!” Grian quickly answers before Scar can even finish the question.

He didn’t really mean to say it—Grian just sort of blurted it out without thinking. He’s never been one to show any kind of vulnerability. However, unlike past instances, Grian doesn’t look or feel ashamed of the revelation. Instead, he stands his ground and speaks confidently (as confidently as he can as the adrenaline wears off.)

When Scar doesn’t respond, Grian continues. “I have been the cause of so much of your suffering in these games. Please, let me save you from something I caused for once.”

He watches as Scar’s expression softens, and he takes a step forward, pulling Grian into a gentle hug. Grian immediately reciprocates, clinging onto the back of Scar’s shawl like the man will disappear if he lets go.

“Grian,” he starts softly, “you know I don’t blame you for any of that, right?”

He doesn’t respond, and the silence is all the answer Scar needs.

“Well, I don’t. I know you didn’t want to do those things. You didn’t have a choice—none of us do. Everything that happened is in the past now. Yeah, it hurt a lot, but I knew it wasn’t really you.

“This is you. You’re trying to make amends for something I’m not mad at you for.” His hand slides to Grian’s waist, rubbing his thumb up and down against the fabric to reassure the avian.

“And, void, I do appreciate the effort, but please don’t be reckless.” Scar kisses the top of Grian’s head, eliciting a soft trill from his throat.

He leans more into Scar, feeling like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “You’re one to talk,” he mumbles. He finally lets the exhaustion of the day wear on him.

Scar chuckles softly and easily picks up the smaller man. “C’mon, you need to lay down.”

As Scar carries Grian off to find a bed, Grian starts to get more drowsy. He rests his head against Scar’s chest, and the steady beating of Scar’s heart soothes him into sleep.

Scar is still green.

I saved him.

=====================================

AHHH THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE AND SUPPORT WITH THE FIRST ONE SHOT!!! I wasn’t expecting so many likes and reblogs!! :DDD

I’m so excited to keep postinggggg :)))

I have one more one shot already in the works, but after that, I’m not sure when the next one will be. Maybe I’ll aim for weekly posts? Not sure yet.

[early-twentysomething]

Simmer; Melt

The Bear (2022) - Carmy x Sydney, slow burn, two-shot. Rated E.

Summary:

Claire left me a voicemail last night b-...before shit went down. Told me that she loved me.”

His voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s telling her a secret that nobody else can hear.

“And do you? You… you know…love her?”

His eyes, blue as lake Michigan, look straight into her’s.

“I don’t think I do.”

She drops his hand at that moment, she needs to get out of this room.

What does he mean by that, and why does he keep staring at her? What the fuck is that about?

Read Here on Ao3!

(P.S. - I also made Sydney a SZA enjoyer in this because it makes sense)