#They could be in the middle of the wood and hunter would still find a pillow to launch at luz' face when she would say that to him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yandere-daydreams · 11 months

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Title: Saved And Fucked By The Moth Man.

Pairing: Mothman x F. Reader (Cryptozoology).

Word Count: 3.6k.

TW: Death/Gore, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Inhuman Anatomy, Generalized Monster-Fucking, Car Crashes, Reader's Pretty Questionable In This One, and Blood.

Based On The Results of This Poll.

You thought it could’ve been a bird, at first.

A raven, or a crow – you weren’t entirely sure. Something big and black that flew so quickly, you hadn’t been able to make out anything more specific than a dark blur and the vague impression of feathers before it was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the forest before you could realize that you'd reflexively swerved to avoid it, before you could do anything to stop yourself from crashing into the base of an oak so tall and so opposing, it wouldn’t so much as shake under the force of the collision. By the time you stumbled out of your wrecked car, the windshield shattered and the engine utterly decimated, whatever threw you off-course had been gone, and you’d been left alone on a country backroad in the middle of nowhere - bruised, sore, and miles away from the nearest city. Really, the only way your night could get worse was if—

Thunder cracked somewhere in the distance, quaking through the otherwise silent forest. You glanced up, searching for the sky through the dense canopy of overlapping branches and finding it overcast. It’d rain, pretty soon, and you’d be left lost, injured, and drenched.

Well, at least now, it really couldn’t get any worse.

You fished your phone out of your pocket and pressed your back against the most in-tact side of your car, checking if you had reception for the millionth time. Of course, you didn’t, and of course, your battery was in the single digits – too low to justify using your flashlight and risking leaving yourself alone in the dark with a dead phone and no way to call for help if you did, somehow, manage to make it to the border of civilization.

You considered crawling into what was left of the backseat of your car, turning off your phone, and hoping someone else drove down this godforsaken road in the morning, but before you could let exhaustion dampen your better judgement, you heard something in the woods rustle, the sounds of displaced leaves and cracking twigs standing out against the stillness of the woods. Somewhat hesitantly, you turned towards the disturbance, half-expecting to see wolves or coyote or, as unlikely as it was, the same over-sized bird that’d gotten you into this, but instead, much to your relief, you found a group of three men – hunters, judging by the riffles slung over their backs, the dirt caked into their shoes. None of them were wearing visibility gear, and you couldn't say it seemed like a great idea to go skulking through the forest in the middle of the night, but you were already out of your comfort zone. You couldn’t be sure what people walking around in the woods at night were supposed to look like, and at that point, you didn’t really care.

You grinned, moving to call out to them, but the oldest of the group was already addressing you, already stepping out of the forest and onto the road. “What do you think you’re doing out here, darlin’?”

Your expression faltered, but you kept your spirits up. It was fine. This was fine. You could deal with a little backwoods chauvinism until you got to a mechanic. “Got into an accident,” you said, nodding towards where your car where it bent around the oak’s trunk. “No service, either. I guess I wouldn’t be able to bother one of you kind people to call a tow truck, would I?”

There was a long, silent pause. The two younger men exchanged a glance. Again, the oldest spoke to you. “This is private property, y’know. Not a lot of folks come through this patch of woods.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know. I… I’m just in town for the convention.” One of the younger men slid his rifle off of his shoulder, taking it in both hands. The other followed in-suit. “It’s a beautiful area. If I had to get stranded, I’m glad it was here.”

“So, no relatives nearby? Nobody who’d notice if you didn’t get home in the mornin’?”

You pressed yourself against the dented metal, your smile now strained. “You know what?” You asked, forcing out an airy chuckle. “I think I’ll just walk for it. How far could the next town be, right?”

He held up a hand, signaling to the rest of his group. You heard something click, caught boots scraping against rough pavement, and watched a broad grin form across the older man’s features. “Looks like there’s gonna be a hunt tonight after all, boys.”

Your first reflex was, somewhat counterintuitively, to laugh. The sound was jarring, too loud and too stilted, cutting your lips and catching in your throat like pieces of broken glass.

Your second, triggered when one of the younger men moved to step toward you, was to run for your life.

Without thought, without hesitation, you broke into a dead-sprint. There was a holler behind you, a round of hollow clicks and earth-shaking thuds, and then, they were chasing you.

You couldn’t be sure how far you made it. It felt like you ran for seconds, or days, or years. It felt like you traveled miles, or feet, or just a few steps. Everything looked like the same repetitive blur of trees taller than your eyes could follow and roots that jutted from the earth like pikes. Their footsteps remained constant, never growing closer or farther away, always lingering somewhere just behind you, always just barely breathing down your neck. Fuck this. Fuck your car. Fuck this entire goddamn town and their stupid convention. If you made it out of this alive, you’d spend the rest of your life as far from this state as you could get. Coming here had been a stupid idea to begin with, a spontaneous trip planned at the last minute and based on a half-baked desire to see something that probably didn’t even exist. You just thought you might’ve been able to see—

Your foot caught on a half-buried stone, and you were sent crashing into the earth, your shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. You were left on the ground, cursing under your breath and holding your aching arm as you scrambled to get back on your feet, to keep moving before your would-be murderers caught up with you. You weren’t fast enough, though – you couldn’t be, not when they’d always been on your heels, not when you’d already given them an opportunity to put their quarry out of its misery. You’d barely started to push yourself up when they emerged from the tangle of trees, guns cocked and hunting knives drawn. You shrunk into yourself, threw your arms over your face in a last-ditch effort to protect yourself, despite knowing that a bullet would tear through your skin like paper, despite being able to picture your body lying lifeless on the forest floor, bleeding out in the dirt like a wild animal. The last thing you saw was the oldest man, raising his riffle and aiming towards your chest before you shut your eyes.

You heard a shot, sudden and deafening, but the impact never came.

You felt something whip past you. There was a scream, wordless and torn and cut short with a ragged screech and a wet, visceral sound – like flesh being carved open, like teeth tearing into raw meat. It was all you could do to curl into yourself, sinking into your self-made shelter as the forest descended into the sounds of carnage, only falling silent when there was nothing left to cut down. Even then, it took you long, agonizing seconds to open your eyes, to take in the gore splattered across the grass and dirt, the guns that’d been bent and twisted into shapes they weren’t meant to hold. A disembodied leg laid to your side, the torso it’d been ripped from impaled on a branch nearly twenty feet off of the ground. Clumps of torn muscle and split entrails shined reddish-silver in the limited moonlight, but you could only focus on the gore for so long.

Only a few yards away, a man stood in front of you. Only, it wasn’t a man, not really, not when you looked beyond its – his? hers? theirs? – vaguely humanoid form. Its long legs and lanky arms were coated in a thin layer of grey, shaggy fur that grew shorter and finer over its defined chest. You could make out curved talons extending from its massive hands, a pair of ringed antennae curled back along its scalp, a pair of tattered wings folded against its back. Its head might’ve been the strangest part of its anatomy; low and stooped, too round to resemble anything human and too featureless inspire anything but an uncanny sense that you weren’t supposed to be here. From a distance, the only thing you could really make out was its eyes. They were gigantic, nearly spherical – orbs of pure crimson that seemed to glow in the dim light.

Before you could stop yourself, your attention drifted downward, to the space between its legs. It took you an embarrassingly long moment to recognize what you were looking at – the shaft absent of all veins or definition beyond a perfect spiral ridge that coiled from the base to the flushed, lilac-shaded head. The tip was tapered, ending in a sharp slant and budding with something white and thick. The entire thing looked almost painfully erect, inflating it to a size that, even when compared to the rest of its massive body, sparked a raw, preservationist kind of terror inside of you. Fear took root in the pit of your stomach, sprouting up and into the hollow of your chest, making it difficult to breathe, to resist the urge to curl back into yourself and never come out.

Second to only your fear, just as pervasive and twice as instinctual, was your arousal.

It would’ve been impossible to read its nonexistent expression, but as it shifted its weight, turning to face you, you could’ve sworn the creature was looking at you with as much interest as you held for it. Its scarlet eyes were wide and unfaltering, its gaze only growing more intense as it took a step in your direction, then another, approaching you in slow, tense increments. Despite its stiffness, it didn’t seem awkward or nervous, let alone afraid of you. If anything, it seemed like it was trying not to scare you, even if you couldn’t say there was much weight behind the gesture when you were sitting among the viscera of its last three victims. Still, you held your ground, not daring to so much as blink until it was standing in front of you.

From a distance, it’d been inhumanly tall. Now that it was close enough to touch, it seemed downright monstrous.

With jerky, unpracticed movements, it reached down, towards you. You waited for a beat, then another, and when it failed to pull away or bury its talons in your chest, you hesitantly placed your hand in its palm, a knot forming in the back of your throat as its claws folded and everything up to your wrist was completely encompassed. With a sharp tug, it pulled you to your feet and held steady you when your legs, still shaking, proved too weak to hold your weight. You let out a fleeting, nervous laugh, and in response, it chittered – the sound high-pitched and tittering. It was cute, in the way seeing a lion play with a ball of yarn would’ve been cute. You were still eminently aware that the creature in front of you could end your life, but still.

“Hey,” you managed, eventually, unable to think of anything else to say. You didn’t even know if it could understand you, but you weren’t sure what else to do. “Did you… did you save me?”

Another round of chittering, a slight glimmer in its otherwise blank stare. You smiled. “Thank you, I— I’m not from around here, and I didn’t know I’d have to look out for people like that.” You bowed your head, attempting to let your eyes fall to the ground, but rather, your eyes found its cock again, pressed against its abdomen and leaking. The adrenaline that’d coursed through your veins a few minutes ago was already starting to fade, making room for something else, something closer to an anxious sort of zeal. Something that made you want to do something less than advisable.

Slowly, doing what little you could to stop your hands from shaking, you reached out, your fingertips barely brushing against its soft cheek. It nuzzled into your touch, earning a small smile, a trickle of a laugh. “Poor thing,” you mumbled, almost comforted by the fact that it couldn’t respond, couldn’t mock your poor-excuse for a seductively saccharine tone. “Do you need help with that?”

You saw its talon’s twitch, its wings flutter almost imperceptibly against its back. You weren’t aware that you were moving, not until your back was pressed against the rough bark of the nearest oak, until you felt the clawed hand that it’d wrapped around your waist drop to your hip, then your thigh. The tips of its curved talons scraped against your skin as it ran its claws from your waist to your knee, cutting through the delicate fabric of your shorts and panties and discarding the material without a second thought. The open air was cold against your exposed skin, but something quickly replaced it – a gentle, oppressive warmth that seemed to sap the chill from your skin. Your legs were thrown over its shoulders, held in place by its massive hands as it buried its face between your thighs. You barely had time to straighten your back, to brace yourself before—

Oh.

It was more tongue-like than you’d expected.

Not to say that it was a tongue – you weren’t really sure what you should call it. Long, split at the tip, just rough enough to earn a breathy gasp, a new wave of heat rushing from your core to your head, obscuring your few remaining rational thoughts with a shimmering haze. Its tongue (tendril? proboscis?) ran over the length of your exposed slit, leaving a trail of thick, viscous saliva dripping down the inside of your thighs before jerking its head upward and finding your clit, the tip of its tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as soon as it recognized the airy sounds now falling steadily from your lips for the unabashed moans they were. It was almost experimental, the way it bent and curled its tongue, clearly working towards a quickly approaching goal but constantly looking for a way to get there that much faster, to make your legs twitch that much harder, to force the coil writhing violently in the pit of your stomach wind up that much tighter.

It was all you could do to arch your back against the oak’s trunk and clench your eyes shut, your hands falling to the softened ridge between its curved antennae. Only half-consciously, your attention dominated by the feeling of its coarse tongue swirling over your clit, you raked your fingers through its cropped fur, doing what you could to show the creature your appreciation, your gratitude. You tried to be gentle, but the curling tips of its tongue slipped into your tight entrance and the world burnt white, your body jerking forward and your nails biting into its scalp. There was a deep, guttural sound from somewhere deep in its chest, and its hands rose to your hips, claws scrapping lightly against your skin as its tongue fucked into you. It was thin, but long and so flexible – twisting and coiling against the sensitive walls of your cunt, never repeating the same blissful pattern of thrusts and thrashes more than once. You found yourself grinding into its mouth, seeking out whatever friction you could with the clumsy movements of your hips. The pressure, the weight, the sensation – it was more than you could handle. You could already feel it, a certain tightness in your chest, a tension in your core that—

Without warning, without satisfaction, it pulled away from you, leaving you empty and quickly coming down from a high that you never quite reached. You let out a long whine, more desperate than disappointed, and as if to apologize, the creature nuzzled against the inside of your thigh, chirping softly. Thankfully, your reprieve was a short one. With its hands still on your hips, your body still held aloft by its inhuman strength, you were dragged away from the oak and into its chest as it stood to its full height. Your chest was slotted against the creature’s, the pointed head of its cock pressed flush to your dripping cunt. Its wings fanned out, its hips rolling against yours, and a sharp, aching moan was drawn from your lips as it thrust into you, finally filling you to the brim.

For a long moment, it was all you could do to bury your face in its chest and try to put together a coherent thought. Only half of its length was inside of you, and yet, you could practically feel it pressing into your core, rubbing against the walls of your cunt, the cork-screw ridge that ran from the tip to the base threatening to split you open. It didn’t, though, and even if it had, you couldn’t be sure you would’ve cared. Before the creature could even begin to move, to fuck into you from below, you were grinding against it, mindlessly and desperately trying to chase that fullness, that peak. It didn’t take long for the creature to answer your fervor. There was a raised notch just above the base of its cock, a notch that caught on your clit as it beat into you with heavy, rough strokes. A talon was dragged down the back of your top, tearing the fabric away and allowing its tongue to lave over your chest. All of its gentleness, all of its restraint was thrown aside as its claws dug into your hips, cutting through skin and tinting your pleasure with an intensity that wouldn’t have been possible without a drop of pain.

A scream, wild and euphoric, was torn from your throat, and you wrapped your legs around its waist, dragging your own nails over its back as you fought to keep some part of yourself grounded. Even that was an effort made in vain. You heard its wings shift, felt the air rush against your skin, and suddenly, you were breaking through the canopy – speared on the creature’s cock mid-air, being fucked against the backdrop of the dark, velveteen sky. The shock, the adrenaline, the thrill was enough to leave you clenching around the creature’s cock, your vision burning white as you came undone. You might’ve been able to come down, to melt back into its thrusts and its affection, if something hadn’t clicked in its chest, if its wings hadn’t started to move a little faster, if something hadn’t happened and the creature hadn’t started to emit a sort of reverberating droll – the sort throbbing vibration that only seemed to make the friction against your clit, the feeling of it stretching you open more perfect. You couldn’t be sure how long you stayed in that hazy, half-conscious state – limp and moaning in the arms of a monster, always either spilling over your high or riding out the aftershocks. It only came to a climax – a real climax – when the creature stiffened against you, its cock twitching violently inside of your cunt. It pulled you as close as it possibly could and, with one last wave of pulsing reverberation, released something thick inside of you – viscous and warm and translucent. Like sap. Like nectar.

Light-headed and blissed-out, you buried your face in its chest as it began to descend, the sound of your giddy laughter muffled by its fur. This time, when it pulled away from you with an apologetic chirp, you didn’t complain, only pressing one more lingering kiss into the curve of its shoulder and letting it draw back. Your legs were too weak to hold your weight, so you braced yourself against the nearest oak as the creature disappeared into the dark of the forest, returning a few moments later with a bundle of bloody fabric in its arms. A shirt – a little torn but mostly in one piece, taken from one of the hunters’ corpses, clearly meant to replace your own ruined clothes. You smiled as you slipped it over your head. It was a size too big, and it was sure to raise a few questions, but it would do until you could find help. Whatever ‘help’ meant, at that point.

When you were finished, the creature took you up again; wrapping an arm around your waist and catching you under your knees, pulling you against its broad chest. This time, as it soared over the forest, you were able to admire view, the star-lit sky and sprawling woodland before it landed where the forest had started to thin and give way to the outskirts of a small town. Slowly, carefully, it lowered you to the ground, keeping you upright when your unsteady balance wavered. You laughed and, for longer than a moment, you held its unblinking gaze, Eventually, your hands fell into its claws, your smile turning bitter-sweet and sentimental. “Will I ever see you again?”

There was a slight chittering, a gentle squeeze to your hand. You felt its tongue against your cheek and let your eyes fall shut. By the time you could bring yourself to open them again, Mothman – because it was Mothman, you could only deny it for so long – was gone, barely a silhouette in the distance. You heard the crack of thunder, and watched it fly away as the sky broke open and rain spilled out.

The next day, you would learn that a bridge about twenty miles outside of the city the creature left you in had collapsed the night before, killing hundreds.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere prompts #yandere monster #monster x reader #monster fucking #yandere mothman #mothman x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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enavstars · 6 months

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Some characters in the Cyberpunk au (part 1)

I tried to make Echo and Zane more robot-like since robots are pretty much treated like people regardless of their appereance. And Garmadon's design is from when the rgb are kids so he's younger (he's not an Oni in this au).

Characters details from within the story:

Echo

Echo is created by a younger Julien (like in his 30s) as a test run for his project to build himself an assistant to deal with his chronic disease, which, despite not being deadly per se, it could still leave him impaired in the long run and therefore he needed some sort of safe net just in case.

But sadly, the prototype's AI ends up being deficient for his purpose as he is not able to process neither human emotions nor their needs, so after much deliberation, Julien decides to set him free rather than letting him collect dust in his storage.

However, Echo could not fit into the city's human society either, as people would not accept his strange speech nor behavior. This eventually culminated in an assault by one of the problematic gangs that sprouted up after the crisis, where they thrashed the helpless robot relentlessly and even managed to damage his voice module. He then was trashed out to the Outside, and from there, mauled and hopeless, he wandered aimlessly and without a purpose in life for a long time.

But at one point through his senseless journey, he stumbled upon a couple of abandoned kids crying in the middle of the woods. Even though he did not understand what their tears meant, he was curious, so from then on he started acting as their guardian.

Thanks to them, slowly but surely he began to learn about human emotions and, as he could only do little beeps to communicate, he also figured out a way to communicate without words. Although sometimes he was still lacking as a caregiver, he worked hard to develop the necessary skills to look after their (newly discovered) basic human needs, like fishing and hunting. He even takes a third kid in after Kai and Nya find another lost boy in the woods and convince him to keep him.

As they grow, he also begins to teach them how to be self-sufficient, because he is painfully aware that he would never be capable of being a better parent due to his poor programming. It is in this context when, years later when Echo finds a potential job opportunity as the ferryman to the city, the RGB urge him to take the chance, knowing that he wants to work to feel more useful and wanting to have more solo adventures.

Even though he was reluctant to leave them behind, he is now the happiest he's ever been and still looks after his children whenever they need him (even going so far as to risk his job) out of his gratitude for granting him another chance in his doomed life.

Ronin

Currently retired, he used to be a renowned mercenary and bounty hunter in his youth. However, he gradually gained more and more enemies and got himself into more and more dangerous trouble (which is why he’s a full cyborg now), until eventually, battered and grown past the age of peak physical strength, he decided to quit to save his ass.

From then on, he started looking after the demon children around the most miserable parts of their struggling segregated neighborhood in exchange for minor treasure hunts; this is why he is now protected from his remaining enemies, as many of them grew up to become members of some of the local gangs (also as an added bonus Garmadon is a pretty ominous legend and people are kind of afraid of hurting demons because of him, but more on that later).

Although he lives rather isolated from the rest of society because of his (extensive) criminal record, he still manages to make ends meet with the treasures he got from all his exploits and the profits of the little side quests he tasks the children in exchange for his care.

No he’s not charity, he’s a wine uncle, but he is an asshole to everyone (especially humans) except the kids. In fact, even though he does not give out help for free, he always ends up rewarding them with his teachings and advice and about life on top of the food and shelter, so almost every child he's taken under his wing ends up becoming pretty competent to face the harsh society they live in.

And in particular, he grows to like the RGB a lot because he recognizes their wit and appreciates how cunning they can be, sometimes even negotiating with him and being capable enough to uno reverse his little tricks on the kids like they are equals (for example, Nya stealing her brother’s bionic eye blueprints to avoid being totally dependant on Ronin for maintenance).

In fact, later on when Nya introduces him to Jay (a human) to be his apprentice as a mechanic, she somehow convinces him despite his hate for his kind.

Bonus: when he meets Jay at first he’s irritated at him because he takes his fear and shyness as racism, but the kid is just intimidated by the sassy cyborg (don't worry, eventually he figures it out and the child grows on him, Jay is too cute).

(I will talk about Jay in my next post dw)

Zane (24NE)

He’s the successful final product of Julien’s project, a kind and refined assistance nindroid knowledgeable in human care. His role is very important to him, so when his father died he lost all purpose in life and, unable to deal with his grief on top of that existential crisis, he became depressed and stagnant, trapped in his own mind inside his creator’s abandoned home and slowly wasting away due to his mental stress and a lack of maintenance now that nobody could look after him.

And he stayed in that sorry state until the RGB found the house and, upon looting it for supplies, Nya stumbled upon the nindroid lying dormant next to Julien’s bed. When she wakes him up, his rusty voice module is damaged and he can’t speak properly (Julien is shit at making those apparently), so she repairs it as best as she can and as a result, he eventually becomes their friend.

Although they were wary at first, they understood his situation, and in the end they decided to help him by introducing him to Doctor Rashid (an oc) to learn more about biology and medicine.

Speaking of, I’ll talk more about Dr. Rashid in another future post but basically he’s an oc of mine I inserted in this au, a friend of Kai and Nya’s and sort of a parental figure.

Garmadon

He is an elusive red-eyed demon, the rarest of his kind, and a criminal brought to legendary status. Now vanished and rarely ever seen amongst the city shadows, he used to be an undefeatable wandering warrior. He would spread chaos everywhere he went and, along the way, he would mercilessly murder anyone opposed to the Demon’s Rights movement.

However, one day he disappeared suddenly from the face of the earth. But his legacy carries on to this day: he is feared universally, considered an antihero by his followers and a bloodthirsty criminal by the rest.

A few months after his disappearance, though, a human woman named Misako gave birth to a demon child with ominous red eyes. Soon, people started making the connection and his mother, who by that point had developed a deep hatred towards demons, was put under such public scrutiny that she ended up abandoning him on the Outside to leave behind the city and her trauma along with it.

Sadly for Garmadon, it was too late when he finally learned that he had a son. He’d left Misako pregnant without either of them knowing, and after he was gone she had been unable to reach him. For that reason, when he came back to the city years later and at last he found out, in the end he decided to let Lloyd be with his new family, as he he realized he had no right to take him in after being absent the entirety of his short life when he already had the two loving siblings looking after him.

After that, he turned back to his wandering, and he was barely ever seen again.

#art #ninjago #ninjago cyberpunk au #ninjago zane #zane julien #ninjago ronin #ninjago echo #ninjago garmadon

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hope-drunk · 1 year

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- wicked games | abby anderson

| you disobey abby, and she teaches you a lesson

| content warnings: daddy kink, spit play, hunter prey kink, top!dom!abby, bottom!sub!reader, abby’s kinda mean, f!reader, penetration, use of strap, pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart, sweet girl), spanking, voyeurism, oral for like 4 seconds, i proofread this like one time so if you see mistakes avert your eyes.

| word count: 2.4k

You liked playing games with Abby.

It was the first clear day in weeks, the sun was shining, and the mushy ground wasn’t an issue to you. You wanted to go outside, see the sun, do anything, really. Abby, however, had told you it was too dangerous. The scars would be out because it was clear, and she didn’t want you caught in the middle. You, obviously, didn’t listen to her.

You found an old picnic table that was under a tree. Walking over, you made sure the wood wasn’t rotted before you sat down. You decided it was good enough and took a seat on the top of the table, opening your book to read in the shade. It was peaceful out, despite the humid air, and you were enjoying your alone time, easily getting sucked into the novel that was in your hands.

It was calm until it wasn’t, Abby burst through the back door of the building and it felt like a different type of storm had rolled in.

“Shit.” you mutter under your breath. You get up as quietly as you can from the old creaky table, and wander behind one of the large tree trunks, peering around occasionally to see if Abby is close.

“I know you’re out here, if you come right now, I won’t be mad.” Abby says, but she certainly sounded like she’d be mad. She sounded like she was mad.

Whether it was fear, or a secret desire for her to find you, you stayed put behind the tree.

“I’m going to give you about ten more seconds to come out, or I’m going to come and get you.”

You moved, but not to Abby. You walked further into the bulk of trees, and you could hear Abby counting in the distance. Once she had gotten down to one, it was scarier than when she was actually counting. You stood as still as possible, not knowing where she was, too afraid to look past the trunk.

“You wanna play games? Fine, but you better not let me find you.” Abby said, and you heard her combat boots start squishing in the mud.

Panic swarmed your head. You knew you didn’t have anything to actually be afraid of, Abby would never hurt you, but she didn’t take well to you directly disobeying her. You find it in yourself to look out, and you see Abby at the table where you were sitting, inspecting the book that you had forgotten in your hurry. You try to think of the best strategy, but nothing seems good enough. It was useless to try and hide from her. The book makes a distinct thud on the table.

“C’mon, baby. This is useless. Come out, now.”

You want to go towards her. The pet name along with the dominant tone of her voice makes your head swirl. But you only rush further into the woods. You run your hands over your face, trying to calm yourself down. You can hear her getting closer to you.

Abby lets out a scoff. “You’re leaving footprints in the mud, sweetheart.” she yells. If she saw how close you two were, she would realize she didn’t need to raise her voice for you to hear her.

You’re quick to glance down at your feet, eyes being met with dirty shoes. You go to look around the tree, ready to give yourself up, but Abby isn’t there. You find yourself tracking her footsteps now. If you had had the upper hand at any point, you certainly didn’t now. For a moment, you wonder if she’s left you out here. But then, you feel her strong hands on your hips. She pulls you against her, your back against her chest, and you feel the familiar bulge in her pants rub against your ass.

“Found you.” she whispers in your ear, sending chills all over your body.

She uses her grip on your waist to turn you around. Abby’s gray eyes were now almost black. You felt completely boxed in by her.

Cowering under her gaze, you let out a simple, “Hi, Abby.”

She scoffs at you, “The innocent act isn’t gonna work now, princess. Turn around and put your hands on the tree.”

You stood and stared at her. Partly trying to process her words, but also wondering if she was really going to do something to you in public. The thought of it sent a wave of warmth throughout you.

“Did I stutter?” Abby said, and you scrambled to do what she asked of you.

She hummed in contentment, rubbing her hands over your body again, before she’s bunching the dress you have on around your waist. She moves you slightly, arching your back so she has a better view of your backside.

You feel the wind hit your ass and you suck in a breath of air.

You crane your neck to try and look at her. “Abby, what if someone sees?”

“No talking. Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna stay still with your hands on the tree, and the only sound that comes out of your mouth is gonna be you counting how many times I spank you. Got it?”

You nod your head, turning to stare at the bark on the tree.

The first slap comes hard, it has your body lurching forward, and a quiet whimper comes out of your mouth.

“Count.”

“One.” you say in a broken voice.

Another slap.

“Two.”

And another.

“Three.”

You get to six before you start crying, and on the ninth you’re shifting your weight between your legs, trying to send a hint to Abby that you’re reaching your limit without actually telling her.

She understands your movements, “Last one.”

She lands a harsh smack to the right side of your ass, one so hard that you can't help the sob that you let out.

“Ten.” you say in a soft voice.

You stand up straighter, letting the dress fall back down, the fabric feels rough against the bruising flesh. You turn around to face Abby, and her eyes soften for a second as she sees your wet eyes and cheeks.

You sniffle, “Sorry I didn’t listen, Abs.”

“Mm, I bet you are. We’re not done yet, though.”

She connects your lips, and it’s hard to keep up with her speed. She puts your hair into a makeshift ponytail and yanks your head back, earning a gasp from you.

“Open.” she says.

Your mouth falls open easily, not wanting to displease the dominant woman again. Abby lets a long string of spit run into your mouth, and you swallow it without her asking.

She coos at you, “If only you were this good earlier. Get on your knees.”

Your knees meet the slightly muddy ground, and you wince at the mess that’s gonna be left on you. Abby unzips her pants, not bothering to even push them down her legs. The strap bounces out from where it was bound, and you swallow harshly.

“Open up, baby. You’re gonna get my cock all wet for me, yeah?” your head grows fuzzier at her words, and you look up to her with wide eyes before your jaw goes slack.

Abby’s quick to run her hands through your hair, getting a good grip before she’s inching your wanting mouth closer to her strap. You try to remember to breathe through your nose as she forces you down on the plastic dick. Abby holds your head down on it for a few seconds before pulling you all the way off. You gasp for air, trying to regain your composure. There’s drool hanging out of your mouth, and through your blurry vision you can see it start to drip to the ground.

“One more time, princess.”

She moves your head back to her cock, barely giving you time to adjust to the thick length back in your throat. When she pulls you off again, you can’t help but cough. She doesn’t let you recover though. Before you can do anything, Abby’s pulling you up from the ground. Once you’re standing, on wobbly legs, Abby bends down to remove your panties. She lets out a small laugh at the wet patch on them, and runs a quick finger through your folds before she shoves the cotton fabric into her back pocket.

“You get off on me chasing you, baby? You wanted to play a game, huh?”

Your face heats up, and you try your best to avoid eye contact with Abby’s threatening gaze. She stands to her full height and grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“Tell me, you liked it, didn’t you? You were getting off on it. I think you wanted me to find you, isn’t that right?”

The words slip off your tongue, “Yeah, wanted you to come and get me, Abs.”

She looks down between your bodies, “Well, I’ve certainly got you now, babe.”

That’s the last thing you hear before everything gets muffled. Abby’s strap fills you up to the brim, and you let out a deep moan of pleasure, the fear of someone hearing you no longer crossing your mind. It’s you who’s looking down now, Abby has one of your legs hiked up around her waist, and you can see the strap disappearing and reappearing from the bottom of your dress. Whines are falling out of your lips at Abby’s fast-paced thrusts.

“Oh– God. Please.”

“What, baby? That feel good?” Abby laughs at you. “Tell Daddy how good it feels.”

“Feels really good, Daddy. Think m’gonna–”

Before you can finish your sentence, Abby’s pulling completely out. You let out a no along with a cry.

Abby sports a faux frown, “Girls who run from their daddy don’t get to cum.”

“But— I said I was sorry! Please Daddy. I’ll be good, please.” You’re clawing at Abby’s broad shoulders, bucking your hips back towards the glistening strap.

You don't think you’ve ever been this attracted to her. Clad in a green tank top and her cargo pants. Such a simple outfit, but it makes you feel like you’ve been caught for a real crime. Your head keeps growing fuzzier as you whine and buck at Abby. She wipes a stray tear that falls on your cheek, then you’re full again.

A pornagraphic moan comes from deep in your chest. Abby lifts you up completely this time, and you waste no time wrapping your legs around her hips. Her strong arms are holding your thighs, keeping you steady against the tree as she bucks into you at a ruthless pace. She’s placing sloppy kisses along your neck, letting out grunts as she does so. You try not to make the mistake of telling her you’re about to cum again, scared of losing the impact of her strap on your gummy walls. But Abby knows your body better than you do.

“Y’wanna cum, don’t you, sweet girl?”

Figuring it’s better to tell her the truth, you say, “Yeah Daddy, wanna cum really bad.”

Your eyes are getting glossy again as you try to hold in the bubbling feeling in your stomach.

She hums, pulling away from your neck to look at you. “You gonna be a good girl if I let you cum? Gonna listen to me?”

Abby starts thrusting impossibly harder.

“Yes! Gonna be good, I’ll do whatever you want, please.”

In the moment, it’s true. The only thought in your head is pleasing Abby, you would do anything for her, and let her do anything to you.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Do you think you deserve it?”

Your legs wrap around her waist tighter, trying to pull yourself down to Earth and answer her question, but all that comes out of your mouth is incoherent babbles, pleas for her to let you finish.

“Alright, okay. Give it t’me, baby.”

Your orgasm washes over you, and it feels like time slows down. You can still feel the strap slipping in and out of your dripping cunt. You whine at Abby’s pace, realizing she’s not slowing down at all. You try to get away from her, but it’s near impossible from the position you’re in. You aim for pushing her shoulders instead, still not able to form a sentence.

“Nuh uh, don’t try to run again. You’re gonna cum again f’me.”

“Daddy– can’t. Too much.” you mumble, still trying to push her away.

“Hey, you said you’d be good, right? That you’d do what I want? I want you to cum again, so you’re gonna do that. I know you can, sweetheart.”

You give her a weak nod, along with a sniffle.

“Okay, I’ll get you there, just focus on me, yeah? Gonna get you there, gonna make you feel real good.” she says. You think the last part was mostly to herself, but the thought slips from your head as soon as you start focusing on the thick fake cock inside of you again.

Your moans only get louder, and so do Abby’s grunts. The familiar feeling starts moving into your stomach again.

“Daddy, gonna cum. Please, please, can’t hold it.”

“That’s alright, baby. Go ahead, been so good for me.” she says while planting a sweet kiss to your cheek.

If you thought the first orgasm hit you hard, the second one was like nothing you’ve ever felt before. This time though, Abby did stop her thrusts. Through your blurry vision, you could see her panting hard. She brushes a hand over your forehead, getting rid of the sweaty hair that lay there. She holds you up for a moment longer before slowly letting you back down. You wince as the slick runs down your legs, and once you’re fully on your feet, you groan, putting your chest against Abby’s and wrapping your arms around her neck.

She lets out a chuckle, “You’re okay, promise. Did such a good job.”

“Never gonna run from you again, gonna be good.” you say, it’s muffled from how you’re standing, but Abby still hums in acknowledgement, rubbing a comforting hand up and down your back.

You both stand there like that, trying to catch your breath. When your mind feels clearer, you let out a small giggle.

“What?” Abby says.

“Why’d you wear the strap out here? What if I wasn’t even outside?”

“Manny saw you come out here and told me, I knew where’d you be.”

You pull away with a gasp, “That little snitch!”

She laughs again, “You can give him hell later. Let’s get you cleaned up, princess.”

#abby anderson fan fiction #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fic #abby !#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson

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katsukikitten · 1 year

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A zombie apocalypse au for @medusashima collab! Find the collab master list HERE! Be sure to give the others a read too!

Warning: graphic, violent, and sexual content intended for adults 18 or older.

Synopsis: Shelter isn't hard to come by in the End but good, untouched, shelter is. When you find paradise in the middle of a dead field in the shape of a 900 square foot home you start to break a few of your important rules. Always keep moving and don't help anyone. Especially if that anyone is a hot headed blonde bounty hunter sent to settle score you'd rather forget.

Peachy Keen Master List

Chapter One - Never overstay your welcome, keep moving

Winter

It scares you at first, the mummified body facing the door in the cramped living room of the home you found tucked away in a field of corn long past it's harvest.

Petrified you, like the farmers that sat facing one another. In wooden rocking chairs, gnarled fingers slack around the handles. Coming closer to inspect and seeing no signs of teeth marks or infection. Letting loose the held breath you kept as deft eyes looked over every liver spot and wrinkle in the leathery skin. No fluid on the hardwood floors beneath their rocking chair or in the blankets around their shoulders.

And by some miracle, the cold, the house didn't smell like rot.

You figure they must have died earlier this winter, it lasted damn near since October as the Earth naturally cooled in the fall of the human race.

With critical climate change hitting irreversible levels and long lasting damaging effects in just a few short decades, Mother Nature took matters into her own hands. Doing what she does best.

She evolves, she changes and grows, makes a deadly cocktail of pathogens and fungi that rids her realm of blight.

Humans.

You were just surprised a nuclear war didn't wipe humanity off the map first.

You hadn't meant to live this long, six whole years in the apocalypse, honestly you were one of the many who'd rather take their own lives. Least then you had a say in how and when you went.

But the body has a funny way of forcing you to survive. To dissociate in some feeble attempt to keep the body going for an organ that tortured itself daily with endless, grueling tasks and for what?

So you could experience your first kill? Watch your friends and family die when the Feds bombed cities instead of trying to quarantine sections? Of you walking until your feet bled, fleeing the city just to live in the outskirts to hear the screaming and wails as the undead met the living? Tied to a tree limb with your worn belt to sleep or maybe it was so you could loot the dead man for his tent but not without putting a bullet between his eyes as a parting gift first.

No longer does Grim accept the coins laid upon the eyes of the dead. Now payment for a safe travel down the river Styx is paid with the bullet lodged into the third eye of the deceased.

A tradition sure to be passed down to the generations to come.

Despite the rage you've aimed at yourself for still living, the home was a welcoming sight. The old farm house made of gray cinder block, stout in the field of the tall stalks that you yearned to see each sweltering summer when you were stuck in the city before the world went to shit.

Now the sight of the dried crop makes the nostalgia coat your tongue thickly, like the bitterant of a large pill.

You think you choke when you swallow.

Still even with the two harmless corpses it was an amazing find. The shingles of the roof are all in tack and the old wood stove holds the reminiscence of a charred log and ashes.

Logs lining either side that would last through the winter and then more still kept under an open awning out back. Plenty of birch wood to burn white smoke making you sigh in relief.

First things first and with the few hours of sun you had left you needed to get to work burying the couple. Half debating over taking their rings that were about to fall off before thinking better of it.

Grabbing the shovel from the makeshift shed and going to the edge of the corn field out back. Only you were stubborn, stupid enough to fight the frozen ground as you shoved the sharp spade into the Earth. Moving it to your will as sweat collects on the inside of your thermal undershirt making it stick to your back and the nape of your neck uncomfortably.

Your calloused hands protect you from the biting wood as you spend the better part of your day light going six feet down. Using the height of the shovel as a measuring stick.

I wonder if their kids and grandkids will visit. I'll have to make a good marker so they won't miss it.

And then it hits you. The realization of what you're thinking. Fat droplets blurring your vision as you chide yourself over wasting quickly dwindling time.

You hadn't even cried when you watched your friends being torn apart from the force of the bomb but here you were crying over two strangers and their imaginary family.

Except they weren't imaginary were they? They were hung neatly throughout the home.

Ya know the multi generational home that you planned to squat in. The one with the warped photos in warm senpia of when the family first arrived and built the modest country home to the vibrant color photo of the grandparents smiling ear to ear as their kids and their kids' kids stood on the still sturdy porch with corn cobs in their small hands.

Another sob racks through your body forcing you to take a break from carving out your last foot hold so you could climb out of the grave you'd just dug.

Should you start digging your own now too?

Since no one else was going to be around to do it.

Once you're back in the house you try to think of the logistics of bringing the pair out. You start with the wife, taking her delicately preserved body with the blanket around her shoulders.

"’Xcuse me." You murmur to her as you lift her up, surprisingly light compared to the other corpses you've carried or moved. Careful to avoid banging her up against the door jamb accidentally before you make it out the few yards to the edge of their little property.

Easing her down into the hole using the long and strong quilt that she must have made until you could slip it from beneath her to bring the fabric back up.

"Sorry." Another involuntary pleasantry as you scoop the husband and his quilt up. Repeating the same action until he rested beside her as much as he could be. Dropping the first and second quilt over them as if tucking them in. You just hoped they wanted their holy matrimony to be reflected in the after life as well.

Rooting around in your pocket for the few spare ammo you've got left.

"For the toll." You murmur dropping a bullet each before tackling the grueling task of shoveling dirt back into the hole you half killed yourself to dig. Returning to the house only to place their wooden rocking chairs at the foot of their grave before heading inside for the night.

Telling yourself not to look for their names, refusing to and that the wooden rocking chairs would have been enough.

But it gnaws at you as you move around their furniture to better suit you, as the old wood stove fills the home with a warmth, with a luxury, you've long since forgotten.

Knowing full well she would have been the type of woman to have a farmer's log.

A handwritten one or a more accurate family log written in the old bible that sat on her night stand.

You left it alone, thankful they hadn't died in their queen sized bed as you moved it into the living room frame and all.

The moon shining bright over head, peering in through the kitchen window over the sink as if to check on you. To see if you were still awake.

And of course you were, when was the last time you've ever had a restful sleep?

Your mind back to the "holy book" specifically the one with the worn leather and cracked spine. Even to the end the wife was a woman of faith, a bible open on the coffee table that you quickly used for kindling.

Because what has God ever done for you?

He sure as fuck wasn't as merciless as he claimed to be.

Although he'd given her and her husband an easy enough death hadn't he?

You were sure the rest of her family didn't meet the same gentle fate.

In the end there was only one true God and that was Death.

Ever waiting and watching, coming to steal you away before you could even blink with nothing to show you ever existed at all save for your own headstone, least til that crumbled away.

You jolt out of bed, rushing towards the book as if it whispered your name all this time and now it was shouting.

Screaming, demanding your undivided attention until you flip open the front cover. Old cursive greets you as the pages sigh, rolling over birth and death dates until you're forced to flip to the back, finding the first two names without death dates but plausible birth dates that would line up to their age and the End. Slamming the generations old book as you rise.

Finding yourself outside, bare foot. Knife in your hand and your breaths coming out in ragged puffs.

Scrapping along the tops of the wooden rocking chairs like a woman possessed, carefully carving the letters into the headrest of the rocking chairs.

Stepping back in a fever to admire your work, feet numb from the biting cold ground before you turn on your heel.

They echo back to you as if you'd carved each curving letter into your psyche instead of the smooth stained grain. Unsure if the haunting was that of thanks or scorn and you were sure a poltergeist was the least of your concern.

Even as you drift the names burn your retinas as if to remind you whose home you spent the night in.

ASTRID EMROY

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning you find yourself trapped in the house by deep snow so you poke around the home. Rearranging some things here and there but not to disturb the personal belongings just yet.

Even though you know you won't stay long, never breaking one of your many rules that lead you to survive this long. But why not disturbing their belongs matters to you, you aren't sure.

Maybe it's the way that this home is untouched. Truly loved and lived in, while the other houses you've squatted in were long since looted. Ransacked and trashed, taken back by the unforgiving weather and those desperate enough to defile what was once someone's home.

For others, their Hell within four walls and maybe the big End meant nothing to them anyway. Besides, it wasn't like you weren't one of the many who rooted through homes and hissed when you found nothing of use, just fading photographs and old DVDs and CDs. Shit that didn't matter now.

Right now you were mostly looking for a good pen with a plan to roughly guess the year so you could add the rough date beside their names and put their bible up somewhere. As if compelled to end their chapter properly so that they may live on despite, their bloodline most likely having died long before them.

The couple really didn't have much and you were sure if you tried you could dedicate one small wall and bookshelf to their personal belongings to honor them. The thought makes you suck your teeth, so easily you cling to sentimental bullshit, out of spite now their things would be lucky to be stored away in a box.

On the dusty coffee table are two sets of coasters, tops well worn from sweating drinks, a black leather book and a copy of The Great Gatsby with a broken spine.

The book peaks your interest, hadn't read it since highschool and even then that felt like a foreign memory. Of harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed loud enough you were sure you'd go deaf to them after having lived in silence for so long. Tossing the tattered paperback onto the old wood top before your fingers grab for the worn leather spine, flipping the pages to see dozens and dozens of entries.

You settle into the old couch, the fire in the wood stove keeping the place warm as the sun lazily bleeds in through the windows to provide you with just enough light to read as you flip it open you're met with a threat.

If ya settle here ya better watch over our goddamn farm.

The cover page makes you snort, flipping the thick page to consume what you could, hoping there would be some hints on where they stashed their canned goods and supplies. Even if it didn't provide you with anything, at least it helped past the time.

Jan 31 20XX Six years after the "Rapture"

It's ain't all fucking peachy keen as I'm sure ya can see and I'm comin to realize that I ain't built to live forever.

And if I was, I couldn't imagine a worse hell than this.

If ya settled here in our little house I've got some rules.

No drinks on my damn coffee table without a coaster. I got plenty of 'em. The ones from my birthday (they got cats on em but the paint'll be rubbed off by now I'm sure) or the ones Emroy made outta small trees. Hell use a book if ya gotta.

Two, you best sweep this home. I don't care where ya came from or who ya came from, what god you do or don't worship but there is one thing for certain, house as old as this has a spirit and ya best keep it happy. Open the front and back door (good cross breeze in the sweltering summer) and you sweep my damn house.

Or I just might be the spirit that haunts ya.

Reckon that's it. So I'll quit my belly achin and step down from my soapbox to learn ya a thing or two.

Now if you're a country folk and from 'round these parts y'all'll know two things. When snows a coming, or rain, y'all can smell it real easy in the air. Can't tell ya the smell but if you know ya know. And the second being it always snows heavier in the next coming weeks before spring than it will in the dead of winter.

Now if you're from the city or just can't smell like ya used to, Bets the cow will be able to tell ya. She won't come out, simple as that and by the next day snow'll be up to your knees and Bets will look at you like she told you so.

Hopefully she'll live that long, seems this disease ain't affecting the animals like it is us folks. Reckon we didn't pray hard enough or some preachy shit Gran would've said. Now if the cow ain't there to tell ya, the farm log will. Use yer head, you'll see the pattern even with the blasted greed fueled heat spikes. It's best to prepare for the worst. We've enough canned rations to last us a lifetime in the cellar but Emory and I are old as dirt, it won't last forever but as long as these hands can can, they'll can what he grows.

Emory, my husband, says hello. Wants me to tell the "stranger" that's you I reckon, that the Great Gatsby is worth the read and that if ya find yourself with nothing to do, which ya will eventually, you should read it.

Go on now, get back to surviving and be sure to dust my damn picture frames too.

Yours truly,

Astrid & Emory.

Pushy. You think to yourself but relish in the fact that old folks like to ramble, even in written form. Quick to explore the home to find the cellar doors in the fading short lived light of winter before realizing the age of the home.

Shit, it's probably buried under a whole foot and a half of snow, you could exhume it now but you and twilight always seemed to have bad luck.

It's when you've been raided most and almost bitten more times than you can count and after finding this place you don't wish to push your luck. Even if the undead were few and far between in bumfuck nowhere.

Flipping open the cabinets in the kitchen you find a few manufactured canned meats. Fingers smoothing out the old label for any sign of denting or damage that could lead to botulism. Finding none makes you pop open the can to sit atop the old black wood stove, glass casting the room in a soft orange that rivals the sunset. It makes you pull the blinds closed in caution, not wanting any light to attract unwanted guests and when the wind howls you wrap tighter in one of the many blankets lying around.

Three days pass and there is only so many times you can study the farm logs and widdle wood into pitiful shapes with your dull knife before you drive yourself mad. Still avoiding the books for now in some sort of spite or rebellion to God knows who before you're outside and bundled up. Shovel in hand as you scrape the metal spade all along the foundation of the house until you hear a satisfying tink.

Your luck would be to start in the wrong direction and have to walk all the way back around the house just for the damn thing to be on the left side of the back porch instead of the right. Shoveling away the icy snow before coming across the wooden cellar doors. You wonder if you'll have to replace them soon but your curiosity of the future dies when you spy a combination padlock. Sucking your teeth pull a bobby pin from your hair, straightening it out and wiggling it between the rusting dials, scraping it around before feeling the soft give of the locking mechanism. You jab roughly and the lock pops open making you smile as if you hadn't picked anything ten times as hard.

Taking the steps into the deep cellar where the air was cool yes but warmer than outside. As if it were deep enough in the Earth to stay a balmy fifty degrees even in summer heat. Flash light paints the darkness in harsh white when you spy a candle and a box of matches into an enclave built right into the old cobblestone.

Once the fire flickers to life you switch your flashlight off, pocketing it as the candle washes the old glass jars and few metal cans aglow.

Jarred jerky catches your eye first as you snatch for that, then a small jar of syrupy looking strawberries, as bright red as when they were first picked, making your mouth salivate. The place neatly organized and labeled, the metal cans of all of those beef stews that were upstairs despite there only being enough of those left to last through this winter. Even if you stretched them out with water. Finger following the shelf lining to try to find more sweet fruit coming across the word peaches under a layer of dust.

Delight you look up, just to find the shelf empty and the sight of it makes you snarl.

But at least you had your strawberries.

They taste like late spring, like your childhood when you'd pick the berries at the local farm. How the sun beating down on your back made them taste that much sweeter in the field. A little reward paid by the sweat on your brow and the money your mother would toll out for the fresh fruit.

Well, well worth the price.

Spring is coming like her book says and you sweep and dust her house.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou Katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #kitten writes bakugou 🖤🐈‍⬛ 🖋️

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tales-of-snaktooth · 22 days

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Snak Eye Sky

Snak Eye Skies are a rare occurrence on the Tooth Islands. The sun will temporarily be replaced by that of a giant Snak eye (as most may have been told at least, some believe it’s something completely different), dimming the landscape, instantly turning a bright sunny day into that of dusk.

During this time, grumpuses must avert their eyes, bow down their heads, and whisper their praises and thanks for being able to survive on the island due to the plentiful Bugsnax. Grumpuses must not look directly at the Eye, or else judgment will occur, as well as a curse.

Once this short period of time is over, grumpuses are allowed to continue with their regular activities.

There are still many questions to have about this occurrence, but it’s said that one specific grump’s experience with a Snak Eye Sky had lead to possibly the most influential moment in Snaktooth Island’s history.

The Hunter

Hundreds of years ago, a Falls Valley grumpus was out hunting for Bugsnax in the blazing sun. They spent their time; perhaps too much of it, hiding perfectly in the shadows, waiting to ambush the next unsuspecting Snak that crosses their path.

After what felt like an eternity, they were alerted by the faint call of a strabby. At an instant, they sprung out from their hiding spot, and grasped the Snak in their claws. Finally, something to bring back home! But…thanks to this Snak, they had wasted so much time waiting around under a tree, and just for a small bug like this?

They’re lucky the sun’s still out…

So, in an act of pure spite and frustration, they dug their claws into the juicy flesh of the strabby, and yanked its wobbly eyes clean out.

The strabby was distressed, crying out and wriggling in their paws; it was probably the first time The Hunter had ever seen a Bugsnak in such disarray. They didn’t even act like this while being eaten! This odd occurrence hadn’t bothered them, though. They were going to eat it anyway, there was no use in worrying about whether or not it could see it happen.

They were finally ready to head back home, when suddenly the world around them seemed to get…dimmer? But it was the middle of the day? The sun was shining on their fur just a moment ago, what happened? Annoyed, The Hunter looked up to see if some grumpling was playing some prank on them.

But the sight they saw was no grumpling, or any sort of grumpus…

It was horrifying.

As if the sun itself had vanished right above their head. That blazing, bringer of day, was gone, replaced by some sort of ring of light surrounding pure darkness. Like an eye—a Bugsnak eye—staring down at them, judging them.

They were getting judged, by some higher being. The Hunter’s fur had bristled like a pine from The Woods, terrified yet entranced by the sight. They stood there, staring straight up until they ended up fainting from the shock of it all.

Waking up after who knows how long, finding their way back home was an incredibly difficult task. Their eyesight had degraded terribly, as if that Snak Eye had put a curse on them. But once they recognized that they were deep in the familiar territory of Falls Valley, they knew they had to alert their leader immediately, and that he in return should notify the rest of the island’s grumpuses as well.

An island-wide gathering was held deep in the night. Thousands of tired grumpuses were confused and aggravated, but The Hunter—The Cursed Hunter and their leader knew their experience needed to be shared to all of the island’s inhabitants. Once they had recounted their horrifying hunt, a number of grumpuses in the crowd were skeptical, but a vast majority were intrigued in their tale, with a few backing up their claim of that strange sudden nightfall in the middle of the day.

When asked what this would mean for the future of grumpus society, The Cursed Hunter exclaimed that this was due to the collective disrespect and selfishness of all the island’s grumpuses. That they have all; especially The Cursed Hunter themselves, had taken the Bugsnax for granted, and they must all pay their dues or else the island won’t stop at cursing one foolish grumpus. This explosion might might've just been a delirious, sleep deprived, post-supernatural-experience rant from The Cursed Hunter, but the Falls Valley leader agreed with everything they had said. He ended up making the call to set an island wide obligation to worship the Snax, as they now all know the immense power these creatures hold.

Many grumpuses were rightfully upset and shocked that he was willing to make a call that the entire island; not just his own territory, should follow, but the other territory leaders had chosen to go along with his decision. Both due to the power the Falls Valley territory has compared to the rest, and the possible power the Bugsnax also have. This wasn’t a risk they were willing to take for their alliance and their subjects.

While the rest of the territory leaders had openly agreed to these new laws, a few had doubts on how beneficial these will actually be for the future of the island and the grumpuses themselves. Specifically the call to hold monthly, day long ceremonies focused solely on the worship of Bugsnax and end with the sacrifice of a grumpus, which definitely shocked a number of grumpuses in the crowd and a few leaders as well. But the Falls Valley leader assured them all that it was a necessary precaution to take to insure the safety of the entire island from whatever power had harmed The Cursed Hunter. And that if any other Snak Eye Skies ever occur again, grumpuses will now know what to do to prevent the possibility of judgment and curses.

The island wide gathering was dismissed, and thousands of grumpus prepared to wake up to a completely new life the next day.

Currently, while the Bugsnak Worshiping laws have either loosened or intensified in certain territories, many grumpuses still pass on the story of The Cursed Hunter and the Snak Eye Sky, ways to remember how much power these strange creatures have over them.

#solar eclipse tiiiime #i wasn't able to see it cause of the clouds. but hey i got an excuse to share this TofS story lore thingy #rip The Hunter you would've loved those Solar Eclipse Viewing Glasses #Stone Era #Tooth Island Info #Bugsnax

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sailing-through-hawkins · 7 months

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ready for your bite

✧ written for 'suck' ✧ word count: 480 ✧ rated: T ✧ cw: none ✧ tags: vampire!eddie, confident steve, suggestive ✧ @steddiemicrofic (〜￣▽￣)〜✧

"Hello? Is anyone here? I'm sorry to intrude, but there's a terrible storm -"

"And so you enter my home?"

Steve gasped, spinning around to find a man, watching him from the shadows. "Please," he says. "Allow me to stay for just the night, until the storm passes."

The man stares at the droplets running down his skin. "Of course. Come, I'll show you where you can dry off."

Steve inhales when he hears the window click open, the hinges somehow quiet despite it being so large and heavy.

He stays silent as a weight starts to creep on him, tangles of curls brushing against his bare skin, only letting out a sigh when a feather-light touch grazes down his throat.

"What a pretty bride you'd make."

The words are soft, almost wistful, and his heart races, which means the game is over.

"And why," he drawls, opening his eyes to stare up at the shocked Edmund above him. "Would I not be a groom?"

"I - you're awake?" Edmund says and Steve almost coos.

"Is this the part where you ravish me in bed?" He raises his brow, moving his body languidly across the sheets, watching as Edmund watches. "Where you tie me down, bite my skin and suck the life out of me?"

"I don't - you knew?"

"Oh come on," Steve rolls his eyes. "A big spooky castle in the middle of dangerous woods with a single occupant who has no reflection?"

"How could -" Edmund sputters, still caging Steve to the bed. "There are no silver-backed mirrors here!"

"Brought my own," Steve grins, shifting along the sheets again just to see Edmund's eyes flicker down.

"You're a hunter," he accuses, but he doesn't move.

"Something like that," Steve agrees, and he strokes a hand up Edmund's arm and shoulder, curling it around the nape of his neck. The vampire's eyes never leave his but damn, the way they widen. "I'm really just a man, looking for some shelter from the terrible storm outside."

"The storm passed an hour ago," Edmund says, even as he follows Steve's hand pushing him closer.

"Mm, but it's so cold out there," Steve pouts, both of his arms wrapped around Edmund's neck, his bare chest pressed against the silk of Edmund's shirt. He watches him swallow with a smile. "Will you leave your poor fiancé to shiver just after you promised me forever?"

"I - you - this isn't how it's supposed to go?!"

Steve pulls him in closer, pushes Edmund's face into his neck, relishes in the sound of his gasp. "Why not? Everything's going according to your plan, I am simply asking if you intend to get my blood all over these fine sheets."

"What are you?" Edmund says softly, nervously, into Steve's skin.

"Why don't you start drinking," Steve grips his hair with a smile. "And find out?"

#EDIT: IT WAS THE WRONG WORD COUNT FIXED IT NOW #sailor✧writes #steddiemicrofic #au content: vampires #steddie #microfic #i cranked this out in half an hour and it didn't go the direction i originally intended but this was way too fun not to keep #the vibes of human (kinda) steve being so confident over flustered vampire eddie is just immaculate really #did steve mean sucking his blood or sucking his di -#you'll never know

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uncouth-the-fifth · 1 year

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Mandy Davis, you punk ass bitch - Sam Winchester/Reader (for #samweek2023)

read it on ao3. masterlist.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader. Tags/Warnings: just fluff! Word Count: 2k Notes: for @ghostsam and @suncaptor's Sam Winchester Appreciation Week :) happy birthday baby boy!!! ily ily ily <;3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

The alarm clock in Bobby’s guest bedroom was a little busted, so you weren’t crazy confident that it could get you up at midnight like you wanted. True to form, you were hauled ass-first out of sleep a little after two in the morning, and staggered out of bed bleary-eyed and cursing.

What kind of sick freaks tortured themselves like this? Very, very dedicated girlfriends. Just like you’d predicted, the other side of the bed hadn’t been touched. Sam was probably still downstairs, straining his neck over a book and adding to his exhaustive research notes. Totally clueless. You groped around the floor for the spare pajama pants you’d stolen from him ages ago and hopped into them as quietly as you could. The house was serene but not quiet, filled with the natural creaks and sighs of the old wood and the flutter of the loose siding in the breeze. You knew it would be impossible to stay silent on the stupid ancient stairway, but you were determined not to wake Dean. There was no way you were letting him beat you to this like he had last year. Pouring all of your hunter chops into the task, you snuck down the stairs like a goddamn ghost, and made sure to throw Dean’s door two gloating middle fingers in the dark. Eat that, Winchester.

Every inch of the first floor was covered by safe blue darkness, except for a teeny circle of buttery lamplight that you followed to the kitchen. Before you turned the corner, you made bets with yourself about how Sam would be sitting: hunched completely over the kitchen table, that’s for sure, probably rubbing at his aching neck and glaring at what he was reading.

When you were close enough to see, you let your footsteps be heard so as not to scare him. Man, you were good. The same angle you’d pictured and everything.

Sam pried his face away from his research and squinted at his watch, then at you, sheepish. “Oh, hey… sorry. I promised that I’d be up hours ago.”

You knew he was already finding ten ways to beat himself up over it, so you drew yourself towards him with an understanding smile. “No sweat,” you waved it off, “I’m glad you’re still up. It means I get to do this.”

The first chance you got, you pounced on him, sliding up behind his chair and squeezing your arms around his shoulders. Sam made a pleased little sound that quickly became embarrassed—you scooped up his face and started smushing noisy kisses everywhere you could reach. Sam pretended to squirm and groan for your benefit, but he was a lousy actor. Just a few kisses melted him like butter.

As he relaxed, so did you. Sam wrapped a loose hand around your wrist, and you gave him one more deep kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Sammy.”

“So that’s where this is coming from,” Sam realized. He started scrubbing sleepily at his eyes, sighing and laughing without humor, “God, I didn’t even know it was May.”

You hid your evil smile in Sam’s hair. “So… I take it I beat your brother to saying it first?”

“You did,” Sam confirmed. Just by hearing his voice you knew he had on that small, dopey smile that he reserved only for you.

“Fuck yeah,” You hiss in victory. You put on a whole show to get a laugh out of him, pumping your fist and salsaing in a happy circle.

A few tired chuckles seep out of your boyfriend. He sounds beyond exhausted, and you’ve got it so bad for him that just that makes your heart throb with sympathy. Feeling stupid and in love and obsessed with him, you fall down into the closest empty seat and take Sam’s hand, wishing more than anything that the whole world would throw him a party. He deserved so much more than what this shitty world ever gave him. Even the small gift you’d managed to pull together for him didn’t feel like enough.

“I have two gifts for the birthday boy,” you tell him, holding up two important fingers. “Do you want to open them both right now?”

Sam has had a sum total of two good birthdays in his entire life, so he props a hand on his thigh and shrugs. He’s never been very eager to make a thing out of May 2nd. “Whatever you wanna do.”

You make a sound like an incorrect gameshow buzzer. “Wrong! Birthday boy makes the decisions today.”

There it is. Sam cracks an even bigger, shier smile, sinking into his seat a little bit. “Okay, okay,” he relents, “...Can I open them now?”

“Of course you can,” you flirt, and start to feel around under the table. It is your greatest joy in life to mess with Sam, and for a moment you’re flooded with that joy when you find the gift with your hand, pull it loose from where you taped it, and slap it onto the table.

Sam’s face blooms with amused disbelief. He’s been grinding away at these books for hours, and of course, his birthday gift was right under his nose this entire time. “You masterminded all of this, didn’t you?” He guesses, smile growing, “Is the second one under my chair? Behind my ear or something?”

“Close,” you admit, and gesture him in. Dutiful as ever, Sam listens, only to be pulled into a deep, loving kiss. “She’s right here,” you murmur.

It’s a really dorky gift to give him, but more than anything you want this day to be special for him. Underneath all the teasing attitude you’re throwing around, you’re overwhelmed with the urge to do something for him, to make up for the myriad of shitty birthdays he’s survived, and the strength of it could pulverize every monster in the whole damn state. A content hum drains out of him. You kiss him like you could squeeze the fear out of him with your hands, curling your fingers through the tufts of hair at his neck and stroking his scalp.

When you draw back, Sam’s face is bright red. He gives you this bashful look like he’s never in a million years been kissed like that, and instead of getting smug, you just feel plain happy. “I love it,” Sam confesses, “That’s the best birthday gift I’ve ever been given.”

You’re sure that’s not a tough race to beat, but hey, it’s nice to hear. Sam gives your hand a sweet squeeze before scooping your actual, physical gift off the kitchen table. The gift-wrapping resources at Bobby’s house were pretty lacking, so you got creative with some paper bags, twine, and markers, wrapping your gift in the paper and then drawing stars all over it. Sam stares at it for so long that you consider making fun of him, but even the stupid impromptu wrapping paper you came up with is something he’s never had before. You’d kind of hoped that he’d just tear into it, but Sam takes the time to carefully untie your twine knot to keep the paper intact, his long fingers moving delicately along the string.

Packed inside the paper is a set of envelopes. They have teen-you written all over them, from the color of the envelopes, the glitter pen your decorated them with, and the old stickers all over the sides. Some are creased and folded awkwardly, others have smeared pen and peeling stickers. Every single one has Sam’s name written on one side.

“This is your handwriting,” he notices, curious. “...What are these?”

“These,” you enunciate, trying to contain your excitement for his reaction, “are all the love letters I wrote for you in high school.”

Pure delight slowly transforms Sam’s face. His jaw drops, and the second he realizes the absolute treasure trove of glorious teenage embarrassment he’s holding, he slaps the letters protectively to his chest. “No—way,” he gapes, eyes sparkling. “No. There’s no way. There’s no way in hell you’d ever just give me such quality blackmail material like this.”

But you did, because for whatever reason you’re totally into this loser. Those letters are full of the cringiest, sappiest writing one can possibly imagine, back when you’d convinced yourself you were a poetry-writing god and were utterly obsessed with Sam. (Well. Some things never change, but). The two of you hadn’t started dating until much later, so you figured he’d love to see just how long he’s been driving you insane. And, yeah. Blackmail material. If anyone else but Sam ever read these, the galactic weight of your embarrassment would instantly blink you out of existence.

“That’s how much I love you,” you tell him, shrugging. That simple.

The biggest, dorkiest grin takes up his whole face, and you force yourself to relax, happy to know you’ve at least given him this one thing. Without hesitation, he fishes the first letter out of the pile and carefully peels it open. The actual letter is on plain notebook paper, and, to Sam’s utter delight, is also penned in glitter.

He clears his throat and reads the heading. “Ooh. March 6th, 1998.” His smirk is a little too evil for your liking, “We would’ve been in… tenth grade?”

You shove your face in your hands and groan.

“Dear Sam,” he says, in a high, girly voice. You smack him on the shoulder for the shitty impression of you, which just makes the laughter splitting his sides even louder. “Today, I saw Mandy talking to you by your locker—”

“Oh god.”

“She doesn’t even try to hide her stupid crush on you,” Sam reads, biting back giggles. “At least I’m subtle about it.”

Not true. You were not at all subtle about it. God, this is torture… But it’s been a long time since you’ve heard Sam sound this happy.

“I swear, Sammy, I wanted to punch her lights out so bad. She doesn’t even know you, or your family, or what we’re all really like.” Sam throws you a mean little smile at this next part, “Nobody knows you like I do.”

He loves to fuck with you just as much as you love to fuck with him, so, of course, this sends Sam into a full-body fit. He’s bent over the table wheezing for breath just a couple minutes later. You try to hold on to your shame, you really do, but he’s just too damn cute. Sam never laughs like this anymore.

You stuff your blazing hot face into his shoulder, pouting. “Are you happy, now that you’ve humiliated me?”

Sam slouches back in his chair, his whole face bright with humor. He’s so happy that he pulls you out of your chair and loops you into his lap, where you can feel every bit of his bassy laughter seeping through your back. A big, long arm seals around your waist and keeps you close to him, and while you’re distracted by his warmth and hands and cologne, he’s trapped you.

“I am,” Sam confesses, and it’s even more embarrassing how your whole body floods with butterflies. “Think you could keep reading these to me? I wanna hear them in your voice.”

Pfft. Okay. Whatever. With his stupid cute face. “Sam…” I warn.

“Authenticity! And hey,” he budges you, “I thought the birthday boy makes the decisions today?”

You make a face, just to remind him who he’s testing here. But he’s giving you the same pretty, boyish smile you wrote about in these letters a hundred times, the tension in his body gone, and the whole world is quiet just for the two of you. And yeah, it is his fucking birthday.

Sighing, you find the spot where Sam left off. He thanks you with some kisses to your shoulder that make you consider writing poetry about him all over again, and the two of you snuggle close.

“Sleep with both eyes open, Mandy Davis, you punk ass bitch. I know where you live!”

taglist: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon

#samweek2023 #sam winchester appreciation week #sam winchester week #sam winchester #uncouthspn #user uncouth #spn #supernatural #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader

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robinette-green · 2 months

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Robin's Spooky AU DCA Romance Fics

These are fics that have creepy critters, spooky settings, monsters and sometimes blood

Spooky Stories from the Daycare: Night of the Fox!: (tag)

Halloween tale full of scares and fluff! Creepy crawlies and candy! Our story is set in Japan in the 80’s! Sun and Moon had decided to have a little adventure out to a cabin for Halloween but they get lost in the woods. Y/N, a kitsune who resides in this forest, is displeased at having trespassers wonder into there territory and will do everything in their power to scare away the two animatronics.

Hellfire to Warm the Heart:

There I was, standing in the rain, my ears still ringing from the door slamming behind me. Everything had gone downhill so fast. First, my job fired me without warning or reason then, unable to find a new job, I was evicted from my apartment due to being unable to pay rent. With my suitcase at my feet, I stared blankety down the street. What was I going to do? I had nowhere to go. My family had cut ties with me years ago, and I didn't have a friend to speak of. Was there a shelter I should go to, or would I be sleeping on the street tonight? "Oh, dear! Are you okay?" I flinched, not expecting anyone to speak to me. Looking around, I saw an expensive black car parked at the curb, and a back window rolled down. As I watched, the back door opened, and a man, preceded by a large black umbrella, exited the car. As he straightened, I took a step back, gazing up at a towering individual standing before me. Dressed in a pale blue suit, this guy had to be almost 7 feet tall, towering over me. His hair was shimmery gold, making him look like a sun. Golden eyes glittered as, with a soft smile, the man asked, "You look to be in a bit of a bind. Would you like some help?"

Stars in the Darkness:

You find yourself living in a cabin in the middle of the woods. After cleaning up the mess from the previous occupant, you find a broken statue that seems to have been living in the forest, covered in moss and lichen. Deciding that it would be wise to put the statue back where it belongs, you fix it up and lug it out through the trees to place it back in its home. This pleases something living in the darkness of the trees, and little gifts start appearing on the porch of the cabin. The creatures in the dark seem to like you. You should be careful not to do anything that would anger them now that you have their attention.

Little Assistant:

MC is the assistant to the CEO of Fazbear Entertainment. As Vanessa kidnaps and kills children while attempting to bring Springtrap back to life, MC is forced to clean up the mess and cover up the disappearances. MC is also tasked with keeping an eye on the Daycare attendants, keeping them in line as they are forced to help kidnapping children. “Did you do it? How do we know if it worked?” “We’ll have to test out some command code on him. Everything uploaded without issue, but they do have minds of their own. He may put up a fight.” I wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, wanting as little to do with this as I could get away with. They had already forced me to help with so much, cleaning up all that mess, all that red, covering up the disappearance. Shuddering, I looked through the glass into the daycare beyond. Deep in the dark, I could see two red eyes glaring out at us, furious. I couldn’t blame him. The virus they had activated in the night mode daycare attendant was going to be used for something horrific.

Two Hunters and a Bloodsucker: (tag)

My life is good for what it is. Except that I’m dead. Well, undead. I’ve been undead for about 15 years now, and I haven’t aged a day. Being a vampire hiding among humans can be difficult at times, mainly dealing with sunlight and avoiding mirrors, but I manage. I’ve been living and working in this little town as the town blacksmith for about 7 years now, and I’ve become a full-fledged member of the little community here. I thought I had been doing a good job hiding my presence among the humans, but one day two of the most well-known vampire hunters came into town. If they find out what I am, they will kill me, but both of them have become intent on becoming my friends and maybe more. How can I keep myself from being discovered when two hunters are trying to romance me?

Stars and Webs (LateNight DayDreams):

Running form those hunting you, you fall into the web of a beast that should be more terrifying than the humans who want to end your life. But the creatures that finds you seems to want to keep you alive rather than eating you for dinner.

Murder's Doll (LateNight DayDreams):

a small child forced to live on the streets is abducted by Eclipse and raised to be sold off as a pawn. the first year of MC's life they live with Eclipse's charges, Sun and Moon and are tutored mercilessly until they are finally sent off to boarding school. after finishing school, MC is married off to an abusive husband but is eventually saved by Sun and Moon.

Colorful Lights (LateNight DayDreams):

You used to be an acrobat, working at a carnival that was a home to you. After a fire and a nasty fall, your home was left to rot. Coming back years later you’re captured by the people who’ve taken over the place. Saved by some old friends, you learn some unsettling truths about them.

Our Feathered Friend (LateNight DayDreams):

Children kept held captive for experimentation Y/N being turned into a harpy Being reunited with lost loves

Living (LateNight DayDreams):

MC is a living doll created by the Mad Scientist Eclipse.

Some of these won't be finished and some are OLD writing of mine. you have been warned. Please don't let that stop you from reading these and enjoying them <3

#glitter rock #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #dca fandom #sun and moon x reader #fnaf sun and moon #dca fanfic #glitter rock writing #dca ss #spooky stories from the daycare #two hunters and a bloodsucker #hellfire to warm the heart

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underground-secret · 8 months

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

description: The boys and Y/N are still looking for John Winchester, now following after the coordinate clue he left.

warnings: cannon violence, blood, death, missing persons, usage and mention of guns, cursing (i think)

tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld

word count: 6,856

Wendigo

(Masterlist/ Next Chapter)

November 10, 2005

Sam jerks awake from the passenger seat of the Impala, Dean driving while a song from the Foreigner’s plays from the radio.

“You okay?” Dean asks voice clear with concern

Sam glances at him and then away, “Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Another nightmare?” Dean asks him, but Sam doesn't answer, only clearing his throat

“You wanna drive for a while?” Dean asks instead.

I look up from my book, with a questioning look.

Sam laughs practically reading my mind, “Dean, your whole life you never once asked me that.”

“Just thought you might want to. Never mind.” Dean brushes off.

“Awwww, Dean, you softie” I say smiling widely with a laugh.

He catches my eyes in the rear view mirror giving me a gruff “No”, but the glint in my eye doesn't go away nor does the smile on my face.

He can deny it all he wants but I know he’s a softie, it’s one of the many many things I love about him…that made me fall for him

Sam laughs, piggy backing off of my teasing, “Look, man, you're worried about me. I get it, and thank you, but I'm perfectly okay.”

“Mm-hm” Dean hums, and I have to agree with him here. There’s no way Sam’s okay, his girlfriend just died in front of him in the same way his mom was killed, I don’t think anyone would be okay after that.

Sam rolls his eyes, grabbing a map from the glove department, “All right, where are we?”

“We are just outside of Grand Junction.” Dean responds.

Sam folds the map, “You know what? Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon.”

“Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you wanna find the thing that killed Jessica—“ Dean reasons getting cut off by Sam

“We gotta find Dad first.”

“Dad disappearing—and this thing showing up again after twenty years, it's no coincidence. Dad will have answers. He'll know what to do.” Dean remarked.

“It's weird, man.These coordinates he left us. This Blackwater Ridge.” Sam points out.

“Hm? What about it?” I ask

“There's nothing there. It's just woods. Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?” Sam answers.

“Lots of things could be and or happen in the woods.” I explain just as we drive past a National Forest sign reading "Welcome to LOST CREEK COLORADO National Forest".

The Impala is parked next to a sign that says "RANGER STATION Lost Creek Trail, Lost Creek National Forest". Meanwhile we’re inside, Dean looking at the decorations while I look at the trinkets around.

Sam’s being the helpful one here looking at a 3D map of the forest, “It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.” He informs.

“Dude, check out the size of this freaking bear.” Dean calls out looking at a framed photo of a man standing behind a much larger bear.

“And a dozen or more grizzlies in the area. It's no nature hike, that's for sure.” Sam adds on looking at the photo.

“This will certainly be interesting then” I murmur, picking up a little wooden bear from a shelf holding it up for the boys to see.

“You guys aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?” A Ranger says from behind the boys, both of them whipping around startled.

I put the little bear down quickly, locking my hands behind my back with a tight smile on my face.

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

Dean grins raising a fist, “Recycle, man.”

I have to bite on the inside of my cheek to not laugh, so as to not break our cover.

“Bull” the Ranger calls, and suddenly I don’t feel like laughing.

“You're friends with that Haley girl, right?” he adds

“Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger…Wilkinson.” Dean goes along with it.

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

Dean shakes his head as the Ranger goes on,

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

“We will. Well that Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?” Dean replied.

“That is putting it mildly.”

“Actually you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date.” Dean adds, clever guy.

We leave the station, Dean holding the paper he asked for laughing

“What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?” Sam asks him.

“Ew, please don’t answer that.” I groan, trying to ignore the pang that rings through my heart at the mere suggestion.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, looking between me and Sam.

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?” Sam explains, rounding the car to the passenger side.

“I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?” Dean reasons.

There’s a pause where no one says anything nor do we move to get into the car.

“What?” Sam asks

“Since when are you all shoot first, ask questions later, anyway?” Dean asks back in return.

“Since now.” He answers, opening the car door and entering.

“Really?” Dean looks from me to the car.

I took a step forward giving Dean’s upper arm a reassuring squeeze. It was meant to be helpful at best but squeezing his arm made me feel the hard muscle underneath his jacket and my head went blank for just one second, my hand lingering.

My face flushed as I gave him a quick smile, entering the car myself.

So much for being inconspicuous.

Dean didn’t move from outside the car for a moment longer, staring where I was standing previously, before throwing open the driver’s side door.

We stand outside the Collins house, the door opening by who I assume to be Haley Collins.

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

Haley hesitates, “Lemme see some ID.”

Clever girl, I have to admit.

Dean pulls out a fake ID holding it up against the screen. Haley looks at it, then at Dean, who smiles.

She takes the lie, opening the door for us, “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” Dean says simply.

“That yours?” Haley asks Dean, referring to the Impala out front.

“Yeah” He answers.

“Nice car” Shs compliments.

Their brief conversation ends as she leads us into the kitchen, some younger guy sitting at the table on a laptop.

In the corner of my eye I see Dean mouthing something to Sam who rolls his eyes back, but I couldn’t tell what it was about

“So if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?” Sam starts off.

Haley places a bowl on the table answering, “He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now.”

“Well, maybe he can't get cell reception.” Sam offers but that theory gets shut down quickly by Haley as she responds, “He's got a satellite phone, too.”

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

The boy on the laptop answered this time, “He wouldn't do that.”

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

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asks her as she places food down on the table.

“Yeah.” She answers pulling the pictures up quickly,

“That's Tommy” she points.

She clicks two more times showing another picture and then a video, she presses play.

“Hey Haley, day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.”

“We will find your brother.” I tell her with a reassuring smile as I continue, “We’ll be heading to Blackwater Ridge in the morning.”

“Then maybe I'll see you there. Look, I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy. I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm gonna find Tommy myself.” Haley claims voice and face full of determination.

“I think I know how you feel,” Dean pipes in.

“Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?” Sam asks, cutting into the slightly heartfelt moment.

“Sure.”

The bar where we sat was a little loud, the sound of pool ringing in the background.

Sam sits across from Dean and I, me sitting on the inside of the booth; a habit we’d picked up when we were younger.

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

“Anything before that?” I ask him, leaning forward a bit more.

Sam pulls out newspaper articles sliding them between me and Dean.

“Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack.” Sam speaks as we read the article titled

‘The Lost Creek Gazette.’

GRIZZLY BEAR ATTACKS!

UP TO EIGHT HIKERS VANISH IN LOST CREEK AREA

HIKERS DISAPPEARANCE BAFFLE AUTHORITIES'

Families continue search and rescue efforts in spite of disappointing [...]

“And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936.” Sam adds, his laptop now pulled out.

“I know bears can be dangerous and all but do people really believe a bear is responsible for eight plus, people’s disappearance. There’s no way a bear would be so pattern like.” I say baffled.

“Yeah well people believe what they want to when nothing else makes sense” Sam answers opening his laptop, continuing with his information

“Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork. Okay. Watch this. Here's a clincher. I downloaded that guy Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out.” He turns his computer towards Dean and I, going through three frames at a time. A shadow crosses the screen.

I squint at the shadow as Dean says, “Do it again.”

He adds, “That's three frames. That's a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.”

“It’s actually just the reverse flash” I joke

Sam breathes a short laugh, understanding my reference, as he closes his laptop.

Dean looks between the both of us, “Nerds.”

I laugh nudging Dean with my body, “Oh you know you love us” I tease.

“Yeah yeah” he answers playfully, shoving me lightly.

Dean then hits Sam causing him to look up,“Anyway I told you something weird was going on.”

“Yeah, but I got one more thing” Sam adds, bringing back the serious energy. “In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

“Is there a name?”

Mr.Shaw, the only survivor of these attacks, leads us inside his house with a cigarette in his mouth as he talks to us “Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—“

Sam interrupts, “Grizzly? That's what attacked them?”

Mr. Shaw takes a puff of his cigarette, takes it out, and nods.

“The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?” Dean adds, a pause hits the room before he continues, “What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?”

Another pause, he adds, “If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.”

“I seriously doubt that. Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” Mr.Shaw sits down, “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”

“Mr. Shaw trust me when I say that we’ve seen things, crazy things, there’s nothing you could tell us that we wouldn’t believe” I speak honestly.

He doesn’t answer for a beat, grumbling underneath his breath before finally responding, “Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like...no man or animal I ever heard.”

“It came at night?” Sam asks.

He nods.

Sam asks another question, “Got inside your tent?”

“It got inside our cabin. I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it. Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.” Mr.Shaw clarifies.

“It killed them?” Sam questions.

“Dragged them off into the night.” Mr.Shaw shakes his head adding, “Why it left me alive...been asking myself that ever since.”

Another pause rings through the room before he lifts a hand to his collar, “Did leave me this, though.”

He opens his collar revealing three long scars, claw marks.

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

LATER

We walk the length of the motel corridor, discussing our new found information.

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

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

“Corporeal? Excuse me, professor.” Dean mocks,

“Seriously, that's some big word use” I add on laughing.

“Shut up. So what do you think?” Sam ignores our teasing, well Deans teasing. I wasn't really joking, this time.

“The claws, the speed that it moves...could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog. Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's corporeal. Which means we can kill it.” Dean answers using Sam’s big word.

We exited the motel entering its parking lot, heading to the Impala.

Dean opens the truck and then the weapons box, propping it up with a shotgun, as he always does, before putting guns into a duffel bag.

“We cannot let that Haley girl go out there.” Sam reasons leaning in.

“Oh yeah? What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?” Dean answers, and I have to agree.

“Yeah.” Sam replies.

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

“I gotta agree with Dean, there’s no way we’d be able to convince Haley anyways so there’s no point in trying.” I pipe in.

Dean picks up the duffel, throwing me a smile. Most likely because I agreed with him this time.

“And finding Dad's not enough? No we gotta babysit too?” Sam argues slamming the weapons box shut, then the trunk.

Dean stares at Sam.

“What?” Sam asks.

“Nothing.” He answers, throwing the duffel bag at Sam turning to walk away.

Sam stares at me and I shrug not knowing what that was about with Dean either.

The next day

The Impala pulls up. Haley, Ben (her other brother), and some other guy in shorts stare at us as we get out of the car.

I handed Sam the duffle bag that was riding with me in the back seat. Securing my brown messenger bag across my chest, carrying some more witchy belongings that might be of aid including my spell book.

“You guys got room for three more? Dean calls out.

“Wait, you want to come with us?” Haley questions.

“Who are these guys?” Mystery man in shorts asks.

“Apparently this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue.” Haley comments, eyeing us up.

Sam heads past us all, clearly not wanting to be here any longer then we have to.

“You're rangers?” Shorts man asks.

“That's right.” Dean confirms.

And I can already tell that we’re going to be bumping heads with this shorts wearing guy.

“And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley picks out.

Dean looks down at himself causing me to look down at myself feeling a little conscious now that Haley pointed our outfits out. But hey I’m prepared for the cold wearing a long sleeve shirt, a black sweatshirt, my fleece corduroy jacket that I always wear, and…jeans (to me this seems very logical).

“Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts.” Dean replies simply heading past Haley.

“Wait, I'm sorry, why would we wear shorts? It’s already cold out and as it gets darker that’s only going to worsen plus wearing shorts leaves you more vulnerable to whatever is out there.” I point behind,me towards the woods, adding, “And I’m just gonna assume here that you short wearing man are supposed to be this, uh, hunter? Haley mentioned yesterday.”

I hear Dean huff a laugh a couple steps in front of us.

Short wearing man didn’t take too kindly to my questioning, “What, you think this is funny? It's dangerous back country out there. Her brother might be hurt. And it’s Roy.”

Sam turns back as Dean calls out behind him, “Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be. We just wanna help them find their brother, that's all.”

Dean passes Sam, and I begin walking after them.

The group hikes through the forest, Roy leading us followed by Dean, Haley, Ben, me, and then Sam holding up the rear.

“Roy, you said you did a little hunting.” Dean says, making conversation.

“Yeah, more than a little.” Roy answers, sounding quite proud.

“Uh-huh. What kind of furry critters do you hunt?” Dean keeps the convo going.

“Mostly buck, sometimes bear.”

Poor bears.

Dean passes Roy taking the lead, “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?”

I laugh maybe a little too hard, I bite my bottom lip remembering the serious circumstance in which we’re here.

Roy grabs Dean, “Whatcha doing, Roy?” he asks.

Roy grabs a stick poking something behind Dean.

A loud snap rings through the quiet forest, a bear trap, Dean was one step away from walking into a bear trap.

“You should watch where you're stepping. Ranger.” Roy drops the stick, retaking the lead.

Roy drops the stick and retakes the lead as we continue hiking.

“It’s a bear trap.” Dean points out.

I catch up to him, giving him a hit on the arm looking at him with a face full of worry. Has he been in more dangerous situations than a bear trap? Yes. But I can’t help but worry, even over the stupid things.

His face softens and he gives me a smile.

Haley caught up to us immediately calling out, “You didn't pack any provisions. You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You're not rangers.”

She grabs Dean's arm, “So who the hell are you?”

Ben passes us by, Sam and I look at Dean. He gives us a look that tells us to go, that he has it covered and we do.

LATER

Roy’s leading the way still, this time the following order is Sam, Ben, me, Haley and Dean.

“This is it. Blackwater Ridge.” Roy announces

Sam passed him as he asked, “What coordinates are we at?”

Roy pulls out a GPS, answering, “Thirty-five and minus one-eleven.”

Dean goes up to Sam, catching my wrist as he goes by pulling me after him.

“You hear that?” Dean asks. We listen. Its dead quiet.

“Yeah. Not even crickets.” Sam confirms.

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

“You really shouldn’t go off by yourself” I warn.

“That’s sweet. Don’t worry about me” He waves his gun pushing past us to retake the lead.

Stubborn shorts man.

Dean turns back to Ben and Haley as they catch up, “All right, everybody stays together. Let's go.”

Sam, Dean, Ben, Haley and I are looking around near a particularly large rock before we hear Roy yelling for Haley.

She runs over to his voice, the rest of us following closely.

“Oh my God.” The tents are torn open and bloody, all the supplies being scattered.

“Looks like a grizzly.” Roy announces.

We all sort of break off, not far from each other, looking around for any clues or anything of the sort.

Haley begins yelling for Tommy, practically throwing her backpack down as she goes through the campsite. Sam moves to catch up to her, I don’t hear the conversation as I focus on the tracks I found. But whatever he said got her to stop yelling

I crouch to see the tracks better, getting Dean's attention as he crouches next to me before calling out for Sam. He comes over, joining our crouching party.

“The bodies were dragged from the campsite. But here” I point, “the tracks just vanish.”

“I’ll tell you what, that’s no skinwalker or black dog” Dean adds standing up, heading back to the campsite, Sam and I following.

Haley’s picked up a cell phone that I assume is Tommy’s from the blood on it. She’s hunched over on the ground crying.

Dean crouches next to her, “Hey, he could still be alive.” he says reassuringly.

“Help! Help” a sudden voice yells out. Almost in sync, our heads snap towards the direction of the voice.

Roy leads the way everyone running after him

“Help! Somebody!” the voice yells out again.

But when we reached where it was coming from there was no one around.

“It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn’t it?” Haley asks and I nod.

“Everybody back to camp” Sam orders, we obey as we run back.

All of the supplies are missing, and suddenly I'm grateful for carrying my bag with me even if it only slightly got in the way of my running.

“Our packs!” Haley yells, pointing out the obvious.

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

“What the hell is going on?” Haley commands.

“It's smart. It wants to cut us off so we can't call for help.” Sam informs.

“You mean someone, some nutjob out there just stole all our gear.” Roy corrects.

Sam goes over to Dean and I as Roy goes on this ‘nutjob’ theory, “I need to speak with you, both. In private.”

We follow him a little bit away from the group, “Let me see Dad's journal.”

Dean hands it over, Sam opens it and flips through until he finds a particular page.

“All right, check that out.” Sam turns the book so we can see it better pointing to a First Nations–style drawing of a figure, more specifically a Wendigo.

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

“It does make sense though. I mean the claws and especially the way it can mimic a human voice” I explained. Getting eager head nods from Sam, “Exactly” he adds.

“Great. Then this is useless” Dean sighs,taking out his pistol. Being the only way to kill a Wendigo is silver through the heart or fire.

Sam gives back the journal heading past us back to camp before stopping, “We gotta get these people to safety.”

Back at the campsite, Sam addresses the group, “All right, listen up, it's time to go. Things have gotten...more complicated.”

“What? Haley asks.

“Kid, don't worry. Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it.” Roy buds in and all I can think about is how stubborn this man is.

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

“One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders.” Roy lists out.

“Relax” Dean cuts in.

“We never should have let you come out here in the first place, all right? I'm trying to protect you.” Sam says.

Roy steps up to Sam getting in his face, “You protect me? I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night.”

It’s then I decide I'm not going to get in the middle of this argument, seeing as this will definitely turn into a ‘who’s more macho’ sort of deal.

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

Roy laughs, “You know you're crazy, right?”

“Yeah? You ever hunt a wen—“ Dean cuts Sam off, pushing him.

“Chill out.” Dean orders.

“Stop. Stop it. Everybody just stop. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him.” Haley informs, and as much as it’s a stupid stubborn choice it is her brother.

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

“How?”

It’s pitch dark out now, our only source of light being the campfire that was built.

Deans drawing a Anasazi symbol, for protection, around the campsite as the rest of us are kind of just sitting around the fire.

“One more time, that’s—“ Haley asks poking at the fire

“An anasazi symbol, it’s for our protection. The wendigo can’t cross over them” I explain for at least the fifth time.

Roy laughs, holding a gun over his shoulder.

I give him a sharp gaze as Dean says, “Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy.”

Dean finishes the symbol sitting next to Sam and I, Sam being in the middle.

“You wanna tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?” Dean asks him

“Dean—“

But Dean cuts him off, “No, you're not fine. You're like a powder keg, man, it's not like you. I'm supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?”

Feeling as this is going to turn personal quickly, more of a family/brotherly moment that wouldn’t include me, I get up giving them a nod and a look that lets them know I'm giving them privacy. I move to sit near Haley, instead.

A few minutes have gone before suddenly someone screams and it isn’t anyone in our group, “Help me! Please!”

It’s almost most definitely the wendigo.

I see Dean stand, readying his gun as another “Help!” rings through the normally quiet woods.

Sam pulled out a flashlight, throwing one to me before flashing it around in an attempt to see if the wendigo is close by, I follow suit doing the same.

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

“Inside the magic circle?” Roy mocks.

“Jesus Christ Roy, yes!” I exclaimed, Roy getting on my nerves.

“Help! Help me” The wendigo yells, mimicking a human voice, growling following.

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

Haley turns, talking to her younger brother, “It's okay. You'll be alright, I promise.”

Something rushes past, Haley shrieks.

“It’s here.” Sam announces.

Roy shoots the rustling, twice.

“I hit it” he yells running off to see what exactly he hit.

“Roy! No!” I yell after him

Dean turns to Haley and Ben, commanding them, “Don’t move.”

Haley grabs a stick lighting it on fire as a weapon. Dean gives me and Sam a nod, queuing us to run after Roy.

“It's over here! It's in the tree!” Roy announces.

Sam and I use our flashlights, looking to see where Roy went. But we wind up with nothing.

It’s day now, hours since Roy went missing.

Now we sit trying to explain the whole supernatural stuff we encounter.

Sam’s sitting against a tree stump holding his dads journal whilst me, Dean, Haley, and Ben are among the tents

“I don't...I mean, these types of things, they aren't supposed to be real.” Haley states.

“I wish I could tell you different.” Dean replies, half shrugging.

“You can say that again” I mumble.

“How do we know it's not out there watching us?” Haley asks

“We don't. But we're safe for now.” Dean answers.

“How do you know about this stuff?” She asks

There’s a pause where you can see the gears turning in Dean's head as he considers an answer, “Kind of runs in the family.”

“Literally” I mermer underneath my breath, we hadn’t told them I was a Witch, which was probably for the better considering we’re being hunted by a Wendigo and they had just learned that the things in the dark are real.

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

Haley stands nodding

“Well, hell, you know I'm in.” Dean answers, “Same here” I add.

Sam opens the journal to the wendigo page, turning the book around for Haley and Ben to see.

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

“They're hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man. Sometimes an Indian, or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter.” Dean adds to the information.

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

“Well, it's always the same. During some harsh winter a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp.” Dean answers.

“Like the Donner Party.” Ben offers.

“Nice reference” I compliment before joining in on the info train, “And, uh, cultures all over the world actually believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities like speed, strength, immortality…” I trail off

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

“So if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive?” Haley points out.

“You're not gonna like it.” Dean answers simply, glancing from Sam to me then back to Haley.

“Tell me.” She orders.

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

“And then how do we stop it?” Haley asks

“Well, guns are useless, so are knives. Basically we gotta torch the sucker.” He holds up a can of lighter fluid, a beer bottle, and a white cloth aka the makings of a molotov cocktail.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean leads the group, molotov cocktail in hand, as we follow the trail of claw marks on trees and blood.

It’s a while later when Sam starts leading the group.

“Dean. Y/N”

We catch up quickly, “mhm?” I hum in question

“You know, I was thinking, those claw prints, so clear and distinct. They were almost too easy to follow.” Sam talks, pointing out the bloody broken tree branches.

“Ah fric-“ My commentary gets cut off by growling, we whip around the trees rustling.

Haley’s standing under a tree looking up, blood dripping on her. When suddenly she leaps out of the way a corpse falling to the ground with a thud.

Roy’s corpse.

“His neck's broken.” Dean announces, examining the body as Sam helps Haley up.

More growling surrounds us.

“Okay, run, run, run, run, go, go, go!” Dean yells and without a second thought we take off. The sounds of our boots hitting the soft dirt.

In the corner of my eye I see Sam retreating backwards, I stop running, turning to see if he’s okay.

Bens on the ground, getting hauled up by Sam. I head closer towards them in case the wendigo decides to show up knowing I can at the very least hold it off.

“Come on, I gotcha, I gotcha.” Sam reassures Ben, as we start running again.

A scream, noticeably Haley’s racks the forest.

“Haley” Ben asks skidding to a stop.

Sam and I stop running, noticing that Dean and Haley are nowhere to be seen.

Sam bends down picking up Deans molotov cocktail, the bottles broken.

“Dean!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“If it keeps its victims alive, why would it kill Roy?” Ben asks, walking in front of us.

“Roys shooting probably pissed it off” I answer wrapping my arms around myself, hoping the worry in my voice isn’t apparent.

Ben leans down picking something up, turning towards us holding up a peanut m&m. He moves over revealing a trail of them, “They went this way.”

I smile, Ben hands over the m&m to Sam who laughs.

“It's better than breadcrumbs.”

He tosses the piece of chocolate away.

We follow the trial carefully, coming up to a mine entrance marked with a sign that reads

‘WARNING! DANGER! DO NOT ENTER EXTREMELY TOXIC MATERIAL.’

We all look at each other shrugging before entering.

Sam leads the way, flashlight shining ahead.

There’s a sudden growl, he quickly turns the light off pulling Ben and me against the wall.

A tall white figure with long fingers stalks towards us, Sam having to cover Ben's mouth before he screams.

The Wendigo takes a different tunnel, only just missing us.

We keep going, the floors creaking below our feet.

A particular step made the floor creak a little too much, but before I can even take another step forward the floor collapses underneath us.

I groan quietly at the hard landing, trying to contain my coughing from the dust and destroyed wood. I looked down, noticing that the hard landing was a pile of bones.

I get up swiftly feeling grossed out, Ben must have just noticed the bones as he leaps backwards. Sam helps him up as he reassuringly says, “Hey, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay.”

We look up, finding Dean and Haley hanging by their wrists from the ceiling. My eyes widen and I feel my heart physically drop. I’ve been hunting before, even with Dean a couple of times. But I've never seen him hurt, not like this, not during a hunt, not being tied up.

Sam runs to Dean, Ben to Haley.

“Y/N! Cover us?” Sam orders and I move, breaking out of my freezing. I have my back towards the others, my hands lit up with pure white energy, ready for the wendigo. I knew it wouldn’t kill it, but at least I could keep it back.

“Haley, wake up!” Ben yells and I’m tempted to turn around but I know I shouldn’t.

“Dean!” Sam yells.

“Hey, you okay?” I hear Sam ask from behind me.

I hear Dean suck in a breath behind me, “Yeah.” He grumbles.

“Haley, Haley, wake up, wake up!” Ben yells again.

In the corner of my eye I see Sam cut down Dean and then Haley, moving them to an empty patch of floor. As they move I follow, still covering them.

Dean makes a pained noise. I clench my fists, the white energy still surging around them.

“Dean, you okay?” I ask, still not turning around.

He groans in pain, “Yeah. Yep. Where is he?”

“He’s gone for now” I answer simply.

Haley runs past me to a figure hanging in the corner, she starts crying, it’s then that I know it’s Tommy.

She touches his face gently, his head jerks up and she jumps back with a shriek. She turns towards me, eyeing me and the boys behind me, I don’t make eye contact.

Not because I don’t want to help but because I don’t want her to see my eyes, knowing my irises would be purple. Stupid thing to worry about when literal energy was coming from my hands, she’d see that before my eyes. But, still, I was scared for the moment she asks what the hell was going on with me. When her or her brothers do. It’s a rooted fear that no matter how much time goes by I can’t seem to shake.

Sam heads over and cuts Tommy free.

“We’re gonna get you home” She tells him.

A hand touches my shoulder and I tense, flinching slightly, even though it felt familiar.

“Relax” Dean whispers near my ear sending a shiver down my spine.

“You don’t have to be so stiff trying to protect us, cause look what I found” He holds up two flare guns pointing to a pile in the corner full of stolen supplies.

“Flare guns. Those’ll work” Sam says grinning.

Dean laughs and twirls the guns in his hands, and I can’t help the smile that makes its way onto my face.

We head down the tunnel Dean and Sam in the lead with their flare guns as I keep to the rear of the group.

“Looks like someone's home for supper.” Dean comments at the growling we heard.

“We’ll never outrun it” Haley points out.

Dean looks back at us, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Sam answers and I nod.

“All right, listen to me. Stay with Sam and Y/N. They’re gonna get you out of here.” Dean plans.

“What are you gonna do?” Haley asks Dean.

He winks, walking and yelling, “Chow time, you freaky bastard! Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, I taste good.”

Sam waits until Dean is a safe distance away, “All right, come on! Hurry!”

The Collinses follow him down the tunnel, as I continue to hold down the rear.

We hurry down the tunnel before we hear more growling.

Sam points the gun in the direction, then lowers it turning to the Collinses.

“Get him outta here” He orders

“Sam, no”

“Go! Y/N get them outta here, Go!” he orders

I turned to the family making sure I no longer was using my powers as I pushed them out of there.

A moment later I hear Sam running after us, catching up, “Come on, hurry, hurry, hurry” he says, and I let him get in front of me as we reach the end of the tunnel.

I half turn to see the wendigo right behind us. I pivot the rest of the way around, quickly letting my hands light back up with energy during the half second that I moved.

I move my hands in front of me throwing a large energy blast right at the tall white creature, sending it a few feet back knocking it into a tree (the one that got in the way of it getting thrown further).

“Get behind me.” Sam tells the Collinses, hiding them behind himself as I stay in front of him.

The Wendigo approaches again and I throw it back again, a little harder this time.

I keep my hand in front of me, still lit with white energy as I bring my other hand down, flicking it swiftly, conjuring a flare gun into my hand.

I let the wendigo stalk a little closer before I raise my hand with the gun, I aim, pulling the trigger.

Just as Dean comes up a foot behind the wendigo, pulling his trigger.

The flare I shot goes off first, Deans following a second later. The wendigo goes up in flames.

“Teamwork” Dean says grinning at me.

I huff a laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An ambulance loads up Tommy, two police officers interview Ben as Sam stands behind him.

“So…what was that whole thing back there with you” Haley asks me hands in her pockets, her and Dean both already patched up.

“I, oh, um…I’m a witch” I answer, feeling as if I'm shrinking inside myself. Telling people has never been a part I enjoy much.

“You're in the journal?” She asks

“I mean not me specifically but witches, yes. Most witches aren’t good, quite the opposite really…” I tail off looking down, feeling uncomfortable.

“Thank you.” She says leaning her head down to catch my eyes before adding, “I don’t know how to thank you guys.”

I just smile at her, glad to have helped but also glad to have moved away from the awkward conversation.

But when I look over to Dean, he’s smirking lasciviously.

“Whelp that’s my que to leave.” I announce, not wanting to know her answer. I turn around, heading to the Impala, a certain stabbing feeling echoes in my heart and I know it must be jealousy.

Which is stupid because 1. it’s not like me and Dean are even together, and 2. Dean does not like me in any sort of romantic way.

“Must you cheapen the moment” I hear Haley comment as I walk away, leaning on the hood of the Impala.

A minute or so later Sam joins me, and then Dean.

“Man, I hate camping.” Dean remarked

“Me too.”

“Amen.”

“You know we're gonna find Dad, right?” Dean asks, and I know the question is for Sam.

“Yeah, I know. But in the meantime? I'm driving.” Sam says all proudly.

Dean tosses him the keys smiling widely

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #slow burn #wendigo #forest #fanfiction #fanfic #the hunter and the witch

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silent-stories · 1 year

Text

𝟐 𝐀.𝐌 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

Summary: One night, Dean calls to tell you that Sam left him and that you are the only person who seems to care about him now.

Pairing: Dean × GN!Reader (Standford era!Dean)

Warnings: a bit of angst, a bit of fluff

Word count: 1728

Dean's pov:

Dean had parked the Impala in front of a house he knew well but he hadn't had the courage to ring the bell yet.

He had turned off the heat inside the car for some time and he was starting to feel the chill of the night, but he didn't care that much anymore.

Well, nothing really mattered anymore.

People left him, people didn't really care about him so there was no point in caring for himself.

As his hands reached the wheel, undecided about what he should do and thinking it was really immoral to bother someone at two in the morning, someone who was most likely asleep and didn't want an extra problem in their life, he remembered something that was inside the bag on the passenger seat, next to him.

His hands rummaged inside it among newspaper clippings, lighters, a gun and some old phones, until he found what he was looking for.

He turned the two wrinkled photos over in his hands.

The first portrayed him and Sam as children, during the day of Christmas, Dean held in his arms a newborn Sam in front of the lit up tree that every year they used to place in the livingroom of their house. A house that had burned down many years before but that Dean remembered too well. Dean also remembered the day Mary took that picture, it was the last Christmas they had spent as a family.

At the time, things were certainly better than they had been lately.

He still had a home, a mother, his brother hadn't left him and his father was... different. He was a better man at the time, maybe. Dean no longer knew what he could consider a certainty in his life.

God, Dean. Don't be sentimental.

He slid the second photo over the first one.

That one had been taken about six months before, it portrayed you and Dean in front of the Impala, his arm was around your shoulders and you were both smiling, in the background was the woods you had just finished hunting in.

Just before Sam took the picture, Dean had said a stupid joke that wasn't funny at all but you had laughed out loud anyway, like you always did and that made Dean smile too.

Dean observed the way your body tended slightly towards his, as if you enjoyed having him close.

He hoped it was really like that.

What would he do if you left him too? What if one day you went to the other side of the world and Dean would find himself alone?

Or what if, even worse, you said you weren't moving but you just didn't want Dean to be a part of your life anymore?

He found no answer, but he knew he couldn't live if he lost the last person who still seemed to care about him.

With a sigh he dropped the photos back into his bag and, after rubbing his hands that were starting to get cold, when he was about to start the car again and leave, something that made him change his mind caught his attention.

A light in the house in front of which he had parked the Impala had just turned on.

Your pov:

It was almost two a.m, but you couldn't sleep. Thinking you probably shouldn't have drunk all that coffee during the day, got out of bed and headed to your living room, hoping to find some kind of documentary on penguins that was boring enough to make you fall asleep despite the caffeine in your body.

After you dropped onto the couch and wrapped yourself in a blanket, while you were zapping between channels, your phone started ringing.

When you read Dean's name on the screen your heart skipped a beat, and not just because you liked Dean more than a friend since you were about thirteen years old, but because when a hunter called you in the middle of the night it was possible that something bad was going on.

"Dean?" You asked as soon as you clicked the green icon on the screen.

"Hey Y/N, how are you doing?" You heard his voice tremble slightly, but it was probably just because the line was noisy.

"How am I doing? I'm fine, what's happening Dean?" You asked. You were sure there was a reason he was calling you at two in the morning and it wasn't just to ask how you were doing.

"Dean?" You asked again when you didn't get an answer. "I'm starting to get worried, are you okay? Are you hurt or ..."

"I'm fine." Dean finally answered.

You hoped it was true.

"Dean... Are you drunk?" You asked hesitantly, it wouldn't be the first time Dean called you after drinking too much, but you hoped it wouldn't happen again.

"No. No I'm not drunk, please, I swear. Don't hang up." He answered quickly, almost as if he was afraid that you could actually end the call after only thirty seconds.

He didn't know you would gladly listen to his voice all day without ever getting enough of it.

"Okay, okay. What's going on?"

"Sam left." He said and you could almost hear the pain in his voice.

"What?"

"He went to study in Standford." He explained.

So that was why he was calling in the middle of the night, because his brother left.

"Oh... well, if that's what he wanted..."

"And what about what I want?" He asked.

"What do you want?"

"A family." He whispered.

You almost felt your heart break.

"Dean, you have a family. Just because Sam has decided to leave this life doesn't mean that..."

"He didn't leave this life, he left me. Like everyone. In one way or another everyone is leaving me." He said.

"I'm still here."

He didn't answer for a few moments and you almost thought he was the one who ended the call.

"Dean?"

"You are the only one, Y/N." He finally spoke "You're the only person who still cares a shit about me, or so it seems. So please lie if you have to but tell me you won't leave me because I could never handle losing you too."

"Dean..."

"Please, Y/N, tell me you'll stay. "

You sighed. "Dean, why don't you come in? I'm sure you'll feel better here."

"How...?" He started asking.

"I can see your car from the window, dumbass. Come on, get in."

"I don't know if that's a good idea." He mumbled.

"Look, I don't have pie or any other kind of cake and I don't think there's anything good on TV right now. All I can give you right now is a hug." You said while on the other side you could hear only silence. "C'mon, Dean. It's not much but I bet that's what you need."

You didn't received a reply.

"Dean, you still there?"

You heard a knock on the door.

Dropping the phone on the couch, you quickly headed for the door.

"Hey." That was all Dean said when you opened. You could see from his expression that he was tired and you wondered when was the last time he had slept.

"Hey." You answered with a slight smile as you let him in and Dean closed the door behind him.

As soon as he turned to you and was about to say something, he stopped when he saw your open arms stretched out towards him.

"C'mon, it's okay." You said as you wrapped your arms around his torso.

For a moment you thought he wasn't going to hug you back, but then you felt his hand gently rub your back, holding you close to him. You could feel through the fabric of your shirt that his skin wasn't as warm as it usually was.

"It doesn't just seems, okay?" You said a few moments later as you led him to the couch and you settled down next to each other. "I care about you, I really do. And I promise that I don't need to lie when I tell you that I still want you in my life, that you make me happy, that I won't leave you."

Dean stared at you seriously for a moment before a low chuckle left his lips.

"Come here." He said as he put his arm around your shoulders and pushed you close to him, almost like the photo you took a few months earlier and which was now inside a frame on your bedroom nightstand.

You smiled like that day.

"Maybe I shouldn't have called you at two in the morning." He muttered as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I wasn't sleeping." You said.

"Yeah, I saw the light on, what were you doing?" He asked as he casually tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear with one hand.

"I was looking for a documentary about penguins." You laughed.

"About penguins? Who the hell wants to watch a documentary about penguins?" He asked shaking his head.

"Someone trying to fall asleep maybe?" You answered as if it was obvious, causing Dean to laugh.

You could see he was more relaxed than a few moments ago and his voice sounded calmer than when you talked to him on the phone.

"You have a nice house." He stated after a few moments.

"It's just a house." You answered.

"Oh, I know."

"You know you can come here whenever you want, right? If you want to talk or if ... if you don't want to. You know where to find me. I'm afraid you'll have to sleep on the couch though."

"Your couch is better than any motel bed." He muttered, his arm still around your shoulders and his voice a bit sleepy.

A little smile formed on your lips.

"You're staying for breakfast tomorrow, right?" You asked.

When you didn't get an answer, you looked up, finding a Dean with his eyes closed and his head dropped slightly back, a slight buzz came out of his mouth.

You couldn't help but smile again.

You grabbed the blanket on the couch and threw it on you and Dean, after snuggling better against his body and placing your head on his shoulder.

"Goodnight Dean."

Tags: @eevvvaa @spn730015 @supernatural111222 @youcancallmelily @clairenovakanddeanwinchester @dads-on-a-hunting-trip @3amstillawake @supernaturalmess @marvelandsupernatural @agirlwatchingalotoftvshows @candy-coated-misery0731 @impalaslytherin @rudy-the-winged-wolf @dean-winchester-6767 @tigergirllolipop @roseblue373 (the last tag doesn't work)

#dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean fic #dean winchester fic #spn fic #supernatural fic #dean winchester fanfic #spn fanfic #dean fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #standford era dean

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blueberry-pride · 1 year

Text

Sing Me A Melody

Centurion Follower Event Special (March 1-25) Warnings: N/A Request: Hi, can I request about mc/Yuu loves to sing and rook and mallues write a poem about how they admire their songs ^^ (I really like poems and singing I think it'll be Soo cute ✨)

Berry: So I accidentally messed up with the original one in my inbox TvT hopefully this still finds its way to that anon because I actually really like this idea <3 Haven't written poems in a while but it was fun getting back into it!

"To what do my sharp ears have the chance of hearing?" He chuckled as he peaks from afar. Standing still, blending into the woods as he watches (Y/N) as the light dance through their skin, their voice echoing through the trees, leaves gently falling down like rose petals around them which has the hunter enraptured.

Would spend the next few days, trying to find your voice once more. Planning out his schedule just so he could spend just a little time to watch you in your moment.

Watches from afar as to not scare and interrupt your singing but just couldn't help himself singing a lonely duet for a while. Be it singing along with you or adding his own verses. He often finds himself to be in a more lovesick mood, humming and swooning (Vil and Epel are giving him the side-eye)

To describe his style of poems, I think he'd write like hundreds or even thousands (you can't stop a man who is this passionate) and they all vary depending on the song you chose to sing that day. Very sweet, charming and passionate for your eyes only.

You'd come across these poems as Rook would have them in a sort of scavenger hunt. Easy to find and navigate but loves the thrill of it when you realize it'll lead you to the place you'd often sing at. There, you'd find him, smiling softly with a single red rose in hand. Would you care for a duet (Y/N)?

My words, my pen, and my heart could not do you justice

But by the stars above,

Your voice, your melody and your presence…

is your dialect, a showcase of love

I may know and speak a many from far and near

But you, mon amour'

You speak in a language that only my heart can hear

Through you, I see beauty, I see your grandeur

My pen, Your Melody, My heart to your presence

May we sing together in our decadence

No matter what we may speak, no matter what is sung

Our ballad will go onward as the day is still young

"I've heard countless melodies and ballads for my kingdom, and for my honor..." He thought to himself but he couldn't stop his feet from walking towards the familiar voice near Ramshackle. "But never have I been struck down like lightning by a melody as soft and gentle as rain."

The Fae prince was already poetic and smitten from the first time he heard your voice and each time he watches from afar, he grows even more fonder of you. Would often just stop in the middle of what he's doing if he hears you humming from across the hallway. (Don't make him shush you)

Whenever he doesn't know the song your singing, he'd go to Lilia or even others for help on the matter. (A very funny scene is him bothering Leona about it as well if he' catches sight of the lion's in the vicinity). Similar to Rook, he's also the type to hum to himself as he goes about his usual walks at night or around the dorm. All while his dorm is curious to what got their dorm leader so enamored by a love song..

His style of poems has quite the difference in comparison to Rook's. Malleus' are what I believe to be honest, sentimental with a all the love showered into each verse. Devotion and sincerity in its purest form all while sprinkled with ornate words that are only fitting for such a Fae of his caliber.

I see this story befitting of a secret admirer trope. Malleus would be the type to send poems night after night, happily watching from a far just to see you smile upon reading them. He'd leave it by your doorstep up until You'd come back earlier than expected to accidentally catch him in the act.

"Well isn't this quite a predicament we're in child of man."

The stars don't hold a candle

in comparison to how radiant you are tonight

The darkness, where I've lived for long and alone

Yet your sweet words, The heart in your song felt like home

How I feel for you can be the making of a story

Path of thorns, wall of flames, or even if I was pierced by ivory

No matter, lull me to sleep with your symphony

And I shall let it be

Of shadows, of storms and curses I master

All to hear your melody, my symphony

Give us a serenade as I waltz you to our Happily Ever After

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twstファンアート #twst wonderland #twst headcanons #twst x reader #twst mc #pomefiore #twst rook #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #twst malleus #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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wearywinchester · 2 years

Text

Lost and Found

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When an argument after a hunt leads to you determined on finding your own way back to the car, you find yourself lost and found.

Requested by Anonymous: “i would love to see some more protective angsty fluff!! i'd love to read something like back to you again! that's my comfort fic”

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: angst, swearing, arguing, mentions of injury, blood, fluff, kissing

Stupidity. Mistakes and stupidity was the running theme of that entire hunt from the very first start of it down to the last minute of it. Mistakes that resulted in injuries that could’ve been avoided, even if they were minor. Mistakes that only brewed a certain green eyed hunter’s anger till that simmer turned to a boil and he nearly was sent over the edge.

Little by little, more fuel was dumped onto that fire. One thing after another it roared, burned hot from within him. He didn’t hold any of that anger towards you, not truly, but he was angry at just how little you cared about the fact that you’d gotten hurt. He wasn’t truly angry with you, but his anger has a funny way of bubbling and spilling over, searing any and everything when he tries to communicate, or lack thereof. He’s got this way of experiencing his emotions so intensely, for years and years, but even with the time that’s passed and the experience he’s got with them, handling it doesn’t come easily to him.

He was angry, he was pissed, beyond that at your nonchalance of how the hunt has gone. It went as far south as it could get and then some, it was nothing but disastrous and it bugged him to no end.

To top it all off, the anger that’d boiled over was fuel for an argument, one that bounced off the trees in the woods you walked through, echoing in the vast expanse and bouncing back the angry words you’d spoken. An emphasis on the retorts the two of you’d been making.

To top it off, two pissed and stubborn hunters going head to head in an argument never went well. Two stubborn hunters with a temper hotter than anything resulted in the stupidest thing you could’ve done that day.

You’d gone and walked off, went out on your own to find the car out of spite, just to make him mad and it worked. Man, did it ever work. He initially egged you on, told you to go ahead and go because Dean Winchester had a history of saying things he always comes to regret once they spew from his mouth in the heat of the moment. But when you did, when you did go off by yourself just like he challenged you to he’d shouted your name till his voice was all but raspy.

At first he thought you were messing with him, trying to piss him off by digging your heels in and ignoring him. But after a few minutes pass and he still didn’t hear your grumbling voice or your stomping footsteps crunching the leaves or snapping twigs littering the ground, that’s when that panic started to settle in and that singing, burning feeling grew hotter in the pit of his stomach till it was near unbearable. Your efforts on being spiteful had gone and gotten you lost in the woods, a place that looked the same no matter where you turn and it was an absolute nightmare.

You were lost.

This wasn’t some haunted abandoned hospital, it wasn’t a ghost ridden house that contained his search within brick walls and gave him some hope. It wasn’t a building he could find you in. It was the middle of the freaking woods, a playground for monsters just dying to swoop in and steal you away from him in no time. The mere thought of it made his stomach twist and churn. The simple idea of a monster laying its hands on you with nothing but intentions to harm you made his mind turn into a frenzy as he clenched his fists a little tighter than they’d been before.

He was burning up inside. The anger in the pit of his stomach becoming nauseating as he stood amongst trees for as far as he could see. He spent what felt like a lifetime looking left and right, calling out for you, each time a little more frustrated than the last as his voice echoed back.

It’d been two hours—two hours of looking for you until he finally did.

It was more than obvious he was pissed, he didn’t need to say it. He was tense as he walked along a step ahead of you, his footsteps heavy as his boots came down and pressed against the muddy ground.

Each and every time you snuck a glance at him, you could’ve sworn that crease between his brows deepened just a fraction more than it had the last time and the time before. His jaw was tense with anger and his cheeks were flushed the palest shade of pink beneath spatters of freckles, a telling sign of his feelings. Dean Winchester rarely ever flushed, so when he did, no matter how slight, you knew he’d really been worked up.

He was huffing, every other breath it seemed, he was walking along with heavy footfalls, scuffed leather boots snapping twigs and pressing into mud with every step. It didn’t help that you were just as angry, with him and with yourself for getting yourself lost out of spite just to piss him off.

To be fair, he egged you on and told you to do it, that’s what you told yourself.

The silence was deafening despite the constant crunch under his boots paired with yours, despite the grumbles under his breath about which direction is the right one to go in and how the hell the two of you were supposed to find your way back out. It was quiet between the two of you and you wanted nothing more than to just know where the car was so you could bolt, so you could run off and meet him there.

Sure, you’d have to sit in the car with him for the ride back to the motel, and it’d be just as quiet and tense and near maddening as it was right in that very moment. But at least you’d get a small reprieve to distract you from the bout of emotions raining heavily upon you like there was a nasty rain cloud right above your head.

It was mainly anger, and a whole lot of it, swirling around and not getting any better it seemed. It was picking at you and you felt it in your chest, in the pit of your stomach as you walked next to the hunter that’d been the cause of it.

Your face was burning hot from it even though the rainy weather was colder than comfortable, your hands clenched tightly to the tattered cuffs of your jacket sleeves. You were flushed and freezing all the same.

You hated the way that hunt went, so far south you were quite sure it couldn’t have gotten any worse save for you getting dead. It was a mess of mistakes and clumsy accidents and you wanted so desperately to scream, to put it behind you and never think about it again. You hated hunts like these, setting you back by a million miles as it dented your ego as a hunter, severely bruised the way you saw your ability in hunting monsters for a living.

It put you in the worst mood imaginable, made you angry and want to cry all the same as you stomped along, wanting so badly just to be by yourself. By yourself preferably not in the vastness of the woods for a second time because that wouldn’t do you any good. You wanted your own space to cry and feel pitiful with your efforts in that hunt today because the last thing you needed was for the older Winchester to see you cry.

That would only further your hurt and upset more than it was.

You were already a frustrated, emotional mess and you felt like you were ready to burst and crack, break into a million pieces in a moment’s notice as you walked a pace behind him. The very one that wasn’t helping you be any less angry when he was a part of what had been causing it at the moment.

“Would you take it easy with the huffing and puffing?” You say, mild annoyance in your tone as you walk. “Can barely hear myself think.”

A moment passed, fleeting before you heard his chuckle. It was a humorless snort, one that was accompanied by a head shake as he glanced at you briefly. His amusement by your words only made you more frustrated, but he really wasn’t all that amused more than he was irritated.

“Don’t think you’ve done much thinkin’ today anyway, sweetheart,” he says, looking ahead as he continues to walk.

But you stop, you pause your steps as your brows knit together deeper than ever as you scoff. He notices, he notices that you’re not next to him anymore, he notices there’s no stomping footsteps, he notices when he hears that very scoff that’s practically out of this world with how dramatic it is. He notices and he slows his walk, fully turns around to face you when you open your mouth.

“It wasn’t my fault and you know it, Dean. There was nothing I could do to make it any different,” you say, voice loud but not quite yelling.

You watched as his gaze narrowed at you, lips parting as he stepped a little closer to you and if it were possible, steam would be coming from his ears. His lips pursed momentarily, nostrils flaring as a brief moment of quiet passed between the two of you.

“Nothing you could do…” he scoffed, incredulously at that. “Nothing you could do? Y/n, that’s a bunch of bull and I ain’t buyin’ it.”

You rolled your eyes, jaw clenching as you turned your head away from him. You hadn’t seen it, you failed to notice the way his eyes bounced along the side of your face, his gaze lingering on the sharp scratch running just above your eyebrow and curving up your forehead some. It lingered and it took everything in, the sight of even something so simple as a scratch on your skin having bugged him to no end and he hated it. It drove him nuts and he didn’t know how to express it any other way than frustration.

But you didn’t notice that, the way he looked at that scratch that was borderline worse than that. You didn’t see the flurry of emotions that flickered across his face while you weren’t looking, that look he’s got hardening once your gaze fell on him once more. A gaze that brought together an unhappy look.

“It was either me getting a few bumps and bruises or that monster getting away,” you say, a little louder than the last time you spoke.

“Then let the damn thing go!”

His voice was loud, faintly echoing amongst tall trees and dripping rain. Cutting through the sound of the inclement weather and the rustle of leaves under muddied boots as he makes a slight shift in his foot. He shouted as he stood there, chest heaving and he knew he let his frustration get the best of him. The both of you did. He’d gone and let his anger boil over and he hated it.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean. It’s a freaking monster,” you say.

He knew that, he knew that fact very well and he didn’t give a crap. It’s one monster out of hundreds and hundreds roaming around in places they haven’t even gone to yet. They were everywhere, millions of opportunities to take down more in the years he’s got left to kill them. He was only twenty-six.

There were hundreds and hundreds of monsters left to hunt in your lifetime, he could live with one freaking monster getting away if it meant you wouldn’t get hurt. He doesn’t give a damn about some supernatural douchebag right now, he never cared about them as much as he did you.

He wasn’t being ridiculous, he was worried more than anything.

You didn’t get it, you didn’t get how much it bothered him. How much it drove him crazy. You didn’t get it and you never have, and maybe you never will because you’re just about as stubborn as him and there was no changing that. It makes him crazy when you go off and do whatever on a hunt just for the sake of keeping others safe. He admired it but hated it all the same because he knew it meant you’d put yourself in danger to keep someone else out of it.

He was the very same way and he hated the idea of losing you to some monster. It may have been selfish, but he didn’t have it in him to care about that.

“Call me what you want, I don’t give a crap. But you almost got yourself killed today with the stunt you pulled today, you realize that?” He says, not quite so loud as before but still plenty. You opened your mouth to retort but he wasn’t finished. “We almost had a damn hunter’s funeral. So you can be pissed all you want, cause you don’t seem to care about what the hell went on back there. And you damn sure don’t care that you ran off in the middle of the freakin’ woods cause you’re mad at me. It was stupid and you know it, Y/n.”

Your brows furrowed a little more, your jaw clenching tightly as you swallowed down the lump that was adamant on sticking in your throat. You felt the tears that wanted to well up and spill down your cheeks, your felt they sting and burn. He wasn’t wrong, you’d done some stupid things that day. You went off in those woods and got yourself lost. It was something that scared you way more than you would ever admit, not that you needed to because Dean knew you better than anyone else. But you were terrified till you heard his voice call out for you, terrified until you saw the green eyed hunter after thinking you never would again.

He was right, but you’d never admit that.

You were tangled up in a million different emotions, torn between wanting to dig your heels in and make the angry Winchester angrier, and wanting to bury your face in his chest. You were torn but you were quick to make your decision.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, pushing past him and fully intending to walk ahead by yourself once more no matter how much it scared you after getting lost the first time.

Those leaves and sticks crunched under your stomping footfalls once more, but it was brief, it wasn’t long before his hand wrapped around yours. The action was quick to keep you from taking another step to keep you from getting lost for the second time that day. You were stubborn, unbelievably so and he knew that for a fact but he’d take you hating him over losing you any day.

He could handle that, that’s what he told himself. He could just barely handle you hating him but he wouldn’t forgive himself for a single second if he let you storm off for another time that day after what happened earlier. He wouldn’t let it happen no matter what but especially not now.

You turned around to look at him, gaze narrowed and lips pursed but you didn’t tug your hand away. You simply looked at him for a fleeting moment or two before you let out a huff, walking alongside him. You were less than thrilled, both of you were.

You were tense yet the opposite all the same, your hand limp in his as he kept you close this time around. He had anger in his step, frustration in his stride as he walked amongst tree after tree in this place that felt endless. It wasn’t helping his mood being stuck in a place that constantly reminded him of that hunt that day, it didn’t help at all as he walked a step ahead of you.

But despite being that one step ahead of you, his hand was still clasped around yours, gripped a little tighter than normal.

“Would it kill you to loosen the death grip, Dean?” You ask, a tone in your voice that didn’t help his mood.

You weren’t quite done digging your heels in.

“Considering I’m not up to wandering around looking for you for another two hours while you run off on me, yeah sweetheart, it would kill me,” he says, less than thrilled.

You roll your eyes, scoffing as you try and pull your hand away this time but his grip only tightens a little more.

“Oh shut up, Winchester,” you grumble, just loud enough that he’d heard it.

He rolls his eyes, something you didn’t see as he walks along with slightly heavier footfalls. You were only adding fuel to the fire, you knew that, but the anger running through you to match his was something that was still simmering within you.

You were miserable, cold in the middle of the woods and everything looked the same. It was a steady drizzling rain, something that added to your discomfort just as much as the scrape along your knee and the bruised knuckles you got did. You were on the brink of tears as your anger and frustration mixed with the dull pain you felt, with the fear you stuffed down deep.

It took a little after that, it’d been a little while. Of walking amongst trees and drizzling rain, of chilly temperatures as your clothes grew wetter from rain. Of no words exchanged between the two of you as you walked, your shared footsteps having been the only sound the two of you had made for some time.

It took some time, a little bit of time for you to simmer down, for that anger to slow its boil until it cooled off enough for you to quit being so stubborn. Because after a while, you quit being so limp in his grip, curling your fingers around his hand and holding it just a little bit tighter.

It was subtle, so subtle but he noticed every bit of it. He felt the way you gave in, knocked down that wall of anger just enough to give into the fact that you wanted his comfort. You would never admit that, you’ve got too much pride to do that. You barely wanted to admit it to yourself even, but you were shaken up, too tired and bothered by the events of that day to care about holding onto your anger so much that it keeps you from realizing that green eyed hunter wasn’t going to let you get hurt again, to get lost again.

But you kept quiet, didn’t say anything as you kept moving along. He didn’t say a word other than the occasional clear of his throat, or a swear under his breath when the hike through the woods seemed like it’d never end.

You wanted nothing more than to shower, to stand under warm water and wash the day off of you, tears surely mingling with the water. To wash away the stress and dirt and watch it rinse away. You just wanted to tend to the injuries that stung, surely irritated and red as your jeans chafed and rubbed over the sensitive skin. You just wanted to climb under the blankets of that motel room bed and take comfort in the sound of the thunder and rain rather than be stuck in it.

You wanted nothing more and the bout of relief that washed over you had been insurmountable at the sight of that sleek black car waiting for you just where Dean had left her. Waiting to be climbed into and hightail it out of there and back to civilization. You were tired, both physically and emotionally and the desire to sit was nearly too great as you dropped his hand in favor of gripping the handle on the passenger side door.

You sighed as you took a seat, closing the door before the rain could pelt down too much on the interior. It was safe in there, safe from monsters, safe from rain, safe from the chilly temperatures that made it impossible for you to warm up.

The trunk of the Impala slammed closed, Dean rounding the side of the car before tugging the driver’s side door open and sitting down, the car jostling before he got situated and closed the door. You could tell he felt the same relief you did, that he felt the same comfort that he’d finally been settled within his car rather than being stranded out in the elements like the two of you’d been for hours.

He turned the car on, that familiar roar sounding and the vents pushed out cool air till it started to warm up. You sat there for a few moments, sat there in park till you noticed the way his hand hovered over the clutch, hesitant to put it in drive. Your brows furrowed and he could feel your gaze, speaking up after a moment.

“You’re gonna freeze if you keep that jacket on, it’s soaked,” he says, turning his head to look at you.

“‘M fine,” you mumble, that stubbornness not quite having left yet.

“Y/n, I can feel you shaking,” he says, no humor in his tone as he purses his lips.

You huff and roll your eyes, turning your head away from him as you wrestled with your rain soaked jacket to get it off, the mere struggle itself doing plenty to heat you up some. But in that process, the cuff of your sleeve, that metallic button it’d had, it scraped across that scratch on your forehead just enough for it to hurt. Just enough to make it a little bit worse.

He notices before you can feel it, notices the drops of crimson forming and beading over the irritated scratch, building up just enough for it to trail down your temple in a dripping line of crimson that was slow to fall. You felt it soon after, felt the tickle on your skin and you’re quick to wipe it away, swipe it with your finger tips before he noticed but it was already too late.

You gave him a glance, one that spoke for you but he returned it with one of his own.

“Can we go?” You ask, impatience weaving around your words.

You may have been stubborn, but you’ve got nothing on Dean Winchester. You knew he wasn’t going to give in that easily, you were positive as he lifted his hand, the pad of his thumb brushing along that scratch with the gentlest touch you could imagine. He was tender with the action, his brows furrowed deeper than moments before.

He looked at it for a moment before his hand dropped in favor of opening the glovebox, digging around a bunch of fake ID’s and various old flip phones before he grabbed a small plastic box and closed the glovebox. It was that first aid kit he’d kept in there ever since he was eighteen. He always kept it fully stocked, always, flipping open the lid to reveal that it was indeed full just like you knew it would be.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, copying your earlier words.

There was no talking your way out of him cleaning this scratch up, and it’d be foolish to think there was a chance in you doing that.

He ripped open a package, pulling the small antiseptic wipe from it and unfolding the little square, turning in his seat and bending his knee so he could face you.

You barely looked at him, tense as you crossed your arms over your chest. He lifted his hand once more, gentle as he swiped the wipe along your skin, blotting away any blood and dirt that could get in it and make it worse. The alcohol stung and it burned, making you tense your jaw in a way that he noticed.

He sighed softly as he discarded the dirtied wipe in exchange for a fresh one, this time having tried a different approach. His hand was calloused and warm as it settled on your cheek, turning your head to face him. It didn’t drop from your cheek as he moved to clean up that scratch a little better, keeping it there to keep you from shying away from the sting of that wipe and he wished it hadn’t hurt, he really wished it didn’t.

You took notice of that as his thumb brushed over your cheek in a pattern, a back and forth pattern that comforted you more than you’d admit as you fought to let it show.

“‘S a little better,” he said, clearly displeased that you’d been hurt in the first place.

His hand lingered on your cheek, his gaze on you as you lifted your own and caught it. It’d been the first time in the last forty-five minutes that you truly looked in his eyes for longer than a few seconds, the furrow in your brows a little softer, and much less filled with anger as you swallowed thickly.

You saw the way the corner of his mouth quirked up every softly, slight as his eyes bounced between yours. He tucked your hair behind your ear with a gentle swipe of his fingers, the very tips of them brushing over the curve of your ear.

It was only a matter of seconds before he’d tucked the first aid kit back into the glovebox, before he reached over the back of the seat, snagging the flannel blanket from the footwell that’d been tattered and well worn.

His smile was soft but much more visible if you let your gaze linger for long enough, vanishing some at the side of that scratch. But he wrapped that blanket around your shoulders, tucking it around you until he felt it’d been sufficient enough. He’d wrapped it around you and turned away, foot on the brake before putting the car in drive.

He hadn’t started moving yet, hadn’t started cause he felt your gaze on him again. He always could. He turned his head to see it to be true, your gaze much softer as you let out a quiet sigh through your nose.

You bit the inside of your cheek, your mind racing with the thought of why you were even mad at him to begin with, and why you still were. You weren’t.

You couldn’t be, not as you still felt the warmth of his hand on your cheek even though it wasn’t there anymore, or the warmth of the blanket around your shoulders. You couldn’t after feeling just how gentle he’d been tending to your wound, gentle as he always was. It was next to impossible to continue your anger, you knew it was and you simply couldn’t continue with it, not without feeling ridiculous and absurd.

You were quiet as you scooted a little closer on the bench seat, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek before you let your head rest on his shoulder.

He sits there for a second or two, and it’s not long before you feel a kiss press to your forehead, lingering as his smile is faint, growing softly. It’s a smile that goes unseen but he doesn’t need it to be seen, knows you can feel it, can tell it’s there. He doesn’t say anything as he sets off down the dirt road to make his way to a paved street, to make his way to the motel.

You may have gotten yourself lost that day, may have gotten hurt, but he’ll always find you.

—

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