#did i name him after the vamp from the little vampire

[fatecantstopme]

Changed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: Enemies to lovers…the three times you and Dean/Sam work together and the final time when everything changes

Warnings: canon violence, cursing, use of pet names, body shaming, mentions of injuries and wound care. SMUT, face sitting, oral (F receiving) unprotected sex (P in V).

A/N: y'all I'm sorry, but I made Dean a total asshole for the beginning part of this. I had to for the storyline...don't hate me, it's got a GREAT ending.

You'd been hunting for close to five years when you first met Sam and Dean Winchester. The three of you happened to be working the same case in a small town in Ohio.

You and Sam hit it off instantly, but Dean was much more closed off and stand-offish. In fact, he was down-right rude most of the time. He made it very clear he didn't like you, nor did he want your help with the case.

Sam tried to get Dean to be a little more friendly, but it didn't matter what he did, Dean was not a fan of you and he showed it.

"If this wasn't an entire nest of vampires, I would be absolutely fine walking away from this," you said to Dean. "But I'm not about to let the two of you go in there alone."

"We don't need your help," Dean snapped.

"Well you've got it, so suck it up."

Sam stepped in. "Why don't we all just calm down."

"Shut up, Sam!" you and Dean yelled at the same time.

Sam threw up his hands and stepped back. He didn't wanna argue with either of you.

"I don't need help from some geek who probably can't even fight," Dean hissed.

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm a damn good fighter, Winchester," you growled.

Dean looked you up and down with disdain. It was very clear where his brain went and you did not appreciate his assumptions. Maybe you didn't really look like a traditional hunter, but you were good at it.

"No offense, (Y/N), but you don't exactly inspire confidence in your fighting abilities."

You took a deep breath and tried not to lash out. "You're an asshole, Dean Winchester, and honestly I don't care what happens to you, but your brother is a good person. You might both be amazing hunters, but I'm not letting Sam go in there without more than just you for backup."

Sam cut in before Dean could respond. "I agree with (Y/N), Dean. She's coming with us."

Dean shot his brother a dark glare, but Sam didn't back down. "You know what? Fine. If she dies, it's her fault."

"Fine with me," you snapped back at him.

Dean stomped out of the motel room, leaving you and Sam alone.

"I'm sorry about him," Sam said softly. "He's been different since Dad died."

You shook your head. "Don't apologize for him, Sam. I'm just worried his head isn't in the game and it's gonna get you killed."

Sam sighed. "I know. I'm worried about him too."

You let out a long sigh. "The only thing we can do is hope we all make it out of this alive."

Sam nodded his agreement. "Let's go before he gets even more annoyed."

You grabbed your gear and headed out the door after Sam.

As you'd predicted, clearing out the vampire nest required all three of you. By the time the last vamp fell to the ground--headless--you had more than proven yourself. Or at least, that's what you thought.

Sam, ever the gentleman, was extremely grateful for your help. "We couldn't have done it without you," he commented.

You were about to reply when Dean let out a rude scoff. You turned your attention to him with narrowed eyes. "Got something you wanna say, Winchester?"

He glared at you. "We would have been just fine without you."

"You know what? Screw you. If you wanna make terrible decisions that might get you killed, go for it, but don't drag your brother down with you."

Dean looked like he wanted to say more, but you'd stormed off in the direction of your car. You wanted to get back to the motel, shower, and go to bed. You needed to be on the road in the morning--on your way to another case.

Once you were out of earshot, Sam snapped at his brother. "Dude, what the hell has gotten into you?"

"What? You got the hots for the fat chick?"

"Don't talk about her like that, it's incredibly demeaning. Besides, she more than proved herself tonight."

"Whatever. Let's just get the hell out of here."

The next morning, you said your goodbyes to Sam, offering him your assistance in the future should he ever need it. You didn't bother to address Dean, knowing it was unlikely he would even respond.

Once you hit the highway, your mind began to focus on your next case--leaving the Winchester boys far behind.

**********

It had been close to 6 months since the hunt with Sam and Dean, and you were surprised to get a call from Sam requesting your assistance on another case.

"We think it's demonic omens," Sam explained.

You sighed. "How bad we talking?"

"We're not sure, but we could really use your help."

"Did you clear it with your brother?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line that told you everything you needed to know.

"Sam..."

"Look, I didn't say anything to him, but even he admitted we needed to call for help."

You sighed again, running your fingers through your hair. "Fine, but only because you asked."

"Thank you, (Y/N). I really appreciate it."

You hung up the phone and packed your bag to head to the middle of nowhere Oklahoma.

You didn't often meet people you didn't get along with, but Dean Winchester was certainly one of those people. You hated him and he quite obviously hated you. You weren't sure what it was about you he disliked so much, but you didn't appreciate the way he treated you.

There was something in the way he looked at you--disdain or disgust, you weren't sure, but you'd seen it in other men's eyes. You knew what it was...it was a judgment you'd seen a thousand times before. You'd struggled with your weight your whole life and some men (and women too) had the tendency to judge you based on your physical appearance.

It didn't help that you were a woman in a very male-dominated job. Male hunters had the tendency to judge you with a single look. It didn't matter that you were smart and capable--that you were a great hunter in your own right. All they saw was the outside and that was all they needed to decide what you could do--what you were capable of.

Unfortunately, Dean Winchester was apparently one of those hunters. Sam clearly saw there was more to you than appearances and you appreciated being given the benefit of the doubt. Sam had given you the chance to prove yourself and you'd done so, but that didn't seem to change Dean's perception of you.

You'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt more because of who he was. Dean Winchester was a well-known figure in the hunting community, as were his father and brother. You knew he was a truly amazing hunter and part of you craved his approval. There was also something to be said about the way he looked...the man was gorgeous in an almost offensive way. You couldn't stop yourself from noticing, but you were painfully aware he did not find you attractive. As stupid as it might sound, his disdain hurt you deeply.

You sighed as you stared out the windshield at the road ahead of you. You didn't want to focus on the negative, especially when you were on your way to face what appeared to be several demons. You needed to be on your A-game...you'd be damned if you let yourself get distracted by a mere man.

Several hours later, you pulled into the parking lot of the motel the Winchesters were staying at. You went up to the motel room door and knocked, sending up a silent prayer that Sam would be the one to answer the door.

Someone must have been looking down on you favorably, because moments later, the door swung open to reveal Sam Winchester. "Thanks for coming, (Y/N)."

You smiled at him. "Of course. You call, I come."

Sam gestured for you to come in. "Dean's out getting food."

"Oh." You didn't know what else to say--part of you wished he was here so you could just get it over with, but another part of you was glad to prolong the inevitable for a little while.

"He'll be back soon," Sam said lamely.

"Okay. Should I get a room then?"

Sam shook his head. "You can have my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

"That's absurd, you're significantly taller than me. I'll take the couch or get my own room."

"There are no more rooms," Sam said with a shrug. "So take the bed, please. I'll feel like an asshole if you sleep on the couch."

You chuckled lightly and tossed your bag onto the bed nearest the door. "Alright, fine. I wouldn't want to offend your gentlemanly sensibilities," you teased.

He smiled, but before he could respond, the door swung open and the elder Winchester walked through carrying a bag of diner food.

You swallowed thickly, hoping he wouldn't have anything nasty to say right away.

Unfortunately, it seemed your luck had run out. "What's she doing here?" Dean asked in annoyance.

"She's here to help," Sam answered.

Dean threw the bag of food on the table. "I'm sorry--when I told you to call for backup, this is who you called?"

"She was available and she's more than capable," Sam argued.

"I don't give a damn. You should have called someone else. She'll get herself killed--or one of us."

"She has a name," you snapped. "And she's right here."

Dean turned his attention to you and you could see the fiery anger in his gaze. You didn't understand what about you made him so angry, but he certainly didn't give you a chance to ask.

"Have you ever even faced a demon, (Y/N)?" The way he emphasized your name was dripping with condescension.

"Actually, I have. More than once."

A flash of surprise crossed his face, but was gone quickly. "How many people died when you did?"

"One," you answered, trying to keep your voice level. "The innocent woman some demon scum was wearing."

"Were you alone?"

"Every time."

If you'd expected Dean to be impressed, you'd have been sorely mistaken. "This will be a hundred times worse. Half this town is demon-infested and countless people will die. Can you handle that?"

"It's the job," you answered as calmly as you could.

Dean regarded you quietly for a moment, before seeming to accept your answer. "Don't get us killed." He turned away from you and sat down at the table to eat his dinner, ignoring you once more.

You glanced over at Sam who looked extremely uncomfortable, but he didn't comment on anything that had been said. Instead he asked his brother if he'd gotten enough food to share with you too.

Before you were able to say you'd already eaten dinner, Dean made an offhand comment that struck a nerve.

"I don't think we have enough food for her even if you and I don't eat."

Sam gasped. "Dean!"

You froze for a moment, tears pressing against your eyes, but you didn't dare shed them. You pushed your emotions down and took a deep breath. "I actually already ate."

"Thank god," Dean mumbled.

"That's it!" you snapped. "What the hell is your problem with me, Winchester?"

He looked up at you with an annoyed glare. "I don't like you and I don't trust you."

"I don't care for you either, but that doesn't mean you have to treat me like shit. I haven't insulted you a single time, but you've managed to insult me several times from the moment we met. Either shut the hell up or I'll be forced to fight fire with fire."

He raised a single eyebrow at you, but he didn't say a single word. You were surprised at his silence, but you were done with the conversation. "I'm going to shower."

As soon as the bathroom door closed, Sam threw a wrapper at Dean. "What the hell, man?"

Dean shrugged. "What? I don't like her."

"What the hell did she ever do to you?"

"She didn't have to do anything. I just don't like her."

"Fine, but don't treat her like that," Sam requested. "She doesn't deserve your animosity...and you're better than this."

Dean didn't comment one way or the other, his silence signaling the end of the conversation.

"That was incredibly stupid of you!" Dean yelled.

"Oh fuck off, Winchester!" you yelled back. "You'd be dead if I hadn't!"

"I didn't ask you to save me!"

The argument was a waste of breath, but Dean didn't want to let it go and neither did you. You'd saved Dean's life during a fight with a demon and it put your own life at great risk.

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice," you growled.

"You could have gotten Sammy killed, you idiot! He had to save your stupid ass because you wanted to play the hero!"

"Dean, that's not--" Sam began.

"Why can't you just be thankful you're not dead?!" you snapped. "And neither is your brother, for that matter!"

Dean's eyes were filled with a rage so dark it frightened you. "I don't understand how you've managed to survive this long on your own, but I doubt it'll last much longer if you keep pulling stupid stunts like that."

You'd managed to regain control of your temper, so you bit your lip to keep from yelling at him again. "You know what? I'm done. Don't ask for my help again."

"(Y/N) wait--" Sam called.

"No, Sam. I'm done. I can't put up with his attitude and you know what? I don't have to. Please don't call me again unless you're hunting alone."

You walked away from both men, fully expecting to never see either one of them again.

**********

Fate, of course, had other plans. One year later, almost to the day, you saved Sam Winchester's life...

You'd been working a case in a small town in Texas and you'd heard rumblings of a missing FBI agent who had been doing research in the town a couple days before you'd arrived.

You knew it was unlikely a real FBI agent had been conducting an investigation here...the events that had led you here clearly indicated the presence of a witch--a damn powerful one at that. As such, it was clear to you a hunter pretending to be FBI had been on the case before you.

You quickly put the pieces together and realized the witch you were hunting had likely kidnapped the other hunter and was doing god only knows what to him.

The more people you talked to, the more certain you were that the missing hunter/FBI agent was none other than Sam Winchester. All of the descriptions people gave you sounded exactly like him.

You tried calling his cell phone several times, but he didn't answer. You didn't want to place the next call, but you didn't see another option. You pressed his name in the phone and put it to your ear.

"Why are you calling me?" Dean's voice asked from the other end of the line.

"Do you know where your brother is?"

"I haven't spoken to him in a while."

"So that's a no?"

You heard him swear under his breath. "Why does it matter, (Y/N)?" he snapped.

"I'm hunting a witch that I think your brother was also hunting. He's missing."

"What do you mean, missing?"

"I mean no one in town has seen him in two days."

Dean was silent for a moment. "Where are you?"

"Lockhart, Texas."

"I'll be there by tomorrow morning."

He hung up without saying anything else, leaving you alone with your worry.

You knew you didn't have time to wait for Dean's arrival. You needed to find Sam...witches were no joke. You'd never forgive yourself if he died because you waited.

You started diving into your research, trying to identify the witch. This is what you were good at, but the added pressure of finding Sam clouded your brain.

You took a deep breath and tried to clear your head. You needed to focus--Sam needed you.

You turned your attention back to your work and noticed you had more clarity. Before you knew it, four hours had passed. You felt like you were no closer to finding this witch than you had been that morning.

You were about ready to give up for a while when you noticed something you'd missed before. You started flipping through the pages you had on the table in front of you and gasped softly. "Her," you mumbled, underlining the name on the page.

You quickly looked up the woman's address and within minutes, you were rushing out the door, on your way to--hopefully--save your friend.

When you pulled up in front of the house, every instinct you had told you you were in the right place. You couldn't explain why, but you just knew this was it.

You double checked your weapons before getting out of the car and making your way around the back of the house as quickly and quietly as possible.

You manage to get into the house without notifying the occupant and began creeping your way through the house, checking each room for signs of Sam or the witch.

You knew there was no basement in the house--Texas homes don't have basements--so there were a limited number of places Sam could be.

You'd cleared the first floor and slowly made your way up to the second floor. As you neared the first room, you heard two voices talking from farther down the hallway.

You immediately made your way towards the voices, moving slowly so as to not make any sound. As you got closer, you heard a female voice followed by a male voice you instantly recognized--Sam.

You continued on quietly until you reached the door. You listened closely, trying to make out what was being said.

"All you have to do," the female voice said, "is tell me who else you're working with."

"I told you," Sam's voice said angrily, "I'm working alone."

"Then why is there a woman looking for you?"

"A woman?" Sam's voice was laced with confusion.

"She's been asking around town about you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Sam cried out in pain and you nearly barged through the door on instinct. You controlled yourself, continuing to remain motionless while listening.

"Samuel...stop lying to me. Who is the woman?"

"I don't know," he insisted before crying out in pain again.

After a few moments, Sam spoke again, slightly breathless. "Look, if you're gonna kill me, just do it. I have nothing more to say to you."

The witch laughed darkly. "Perhaps you're right. You're of no use to me anymore."

Sam yelled in pain and you knew it was time to act. You swung the door open and entered the room with your gun pointed ahead of you. Your eyes quickly scanned the room, landing on Sam, who was sitting in the center of the room, arms tied to a chair. Your gaze next landed on the witch who was in the middle of chanting some sort of spell.

It took you less than a second to decide what to do, and that second was all you needed. You pulled the trigger and watched the bullet strike the witch's chest. She looked shocked, eyes locked on your face as she fell to her knees. Her gaze never left you as she took her final breath, now nothing but an empty vessel on the floor.

You ran over to Sam, taking in his injuries quickly. Seeing nothing of immediate concern you started to cut his bindings.

"(Y/N)?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Hunting a witch, obviously."

He chuckled lightly. "But how did you find me?"

"A little bit of skill and a whole lot of luck."

"Somehow I doubt that," he said softly.

Your eyes met his as you cut the final rope. You offered him a small smile, but remained silent.

"Seriously, (Y/N). Thank you."

You shrugged. "You would have done the same for me."

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again after last time," he admitted.

"Honestly, I didn't either," you whispered. "But when I realized you were here, I knew I couldn't leave you. I, uh--I called Dean."

Sam's eyes widened in shock. "You did what?!"

"I was worried about you and you weren't answering your phone, so I called him. I hoped he'd know where you were."

Sam sighed. "We actually haven't been hunting together for a while."

You nodded. "He mentioned that...but he's--um, well he's on his way."

"Great," he mumbled. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"I'm sorry," you said softly. "I didn't know."

"It's fine, (Y/N). You didn't know."

Unsurprisingly, Sam was staying at the same motel as you, so you drove him back. Once you arrived, you helped him out of his shirt and began to clean his wounds. Several of them were deep enough to require stitches, but there didn't appear to be anything life threatening.

"You're very lucky," you muttered.

Sam grabbed your hand, stopping you in the middle of a stitch. "It wasn't luck, (Y/N/N). You saved my life."

You sighed quietly and continued sewing his skin back together.

"I'm serious. I owe you my life."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I do. I guess both of us do now."

"What?"

"You saved Dean's life last year. He might have behaved like an ass, but he owes you his life as much as I owe you mine."

You finished the stitch and moved on to the next cut. "We're hunters, Sam. It's what we do."

"Doesn't mean I'm not grateful."

You offered him a soft smile. "Well then, you're welcome."

After about 30 minutes of constant wound care, you'd managed to clean and stitch up all his cuts. He'd been awake for almost 2 days at this point and just wanted a shower and some sleep.

He agreed to take a shower while you ran out and got some food that you practically forced him to eat before he collapsed on the bed, sound asleep within seconds.

You ate your dinner quietly, watching the large man sleep. You were incredibly glad you'd managed to save him--it would have haunted you forever if you'd been too late.

Eventually, you crawled into the other bed and passed out, forgetting for a moment that Dean Winchester was still on his way to Lockhart in search of his brother.

Early the next morning, you were awoken by loud, insistent knocking on the motel door. You dragged yourself out of bed, muttering under your breath as you made your way over to the door.

"Calm down, I'm coming," you hissed quietly. You looked through the peep hole and saw a slightly disheveled Dean Winchester standing on the other side.

You opened the door and he practically ran into the room, eyes searching the space for his brother. His gaze finally landed on Sam's sleeping form and his whole body instantly relaxed. Sam was peacefully still--exhaustion keeping him asleep.

You walked over to Dean and tentatively touched his arm to jostle him out of his trance. "He's alright," you murmured.

Dean shook his head to clear it and turned to you. "What?"

"Sam's okay," you repeated. "Just some cuts and bruises, but he'll live."

"What happened?"

You explained what had happened and how you'd identified the witch and found Sam.

"You saved his life," Dean whispered.

"He would have done the same for me."

"Still...you didn't have to, but you did it anyway. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled. "I do."

You were both silent for a moment before Dean continued talking.

"Sam and I--well, we haven't been talking lately. I--I would have been devastated if something happened to him before I could apologize. I was mad and stupid and I said things I didn't mean...but he's still my brother. I can't lose him."

For the first time since you met him, you saw something more to Dean Winchester--something beneath the facade. It was obvious he truly loved his brother and in this moment he was showing a rare piece of humanity that shocked you. Maybe beneath the gruff, rude exterior, there was something genuinely good.

"Why don't you get some sleep," you said softly. "I'm sure you're tired from your drive and Sam will want to see you in the morning."

Dean turned his gaze back to you. "Thanks...I--uh, I am kinda tired." His face told you he wanted to say more, but he couldn't find the words.

Your expression softened. "I'll take the couch. Don't worry about it."

He shook his head immediately. "No, go back to sleep. I'll take the couch."

You decided not to argue, instead crawling into bed and falling asleep quickly. Something about Dean's presence made you feel safe.

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of voices in the room. As you oriented yourself, you realized it was Sam and Dean talking quietly across the room. You remained quiet and still, ears listening to the discussion.

It was clear they'd been talking for a while and the conversation had turned to the current situation.

"I can't believe she saved you," Dean whispered.

"Neither can I, to be honest. I don't even know how she found me. She said it was mostly luck."

"A year ago, I would have agreed with that," Dean stated. "But now? She's saved both of our lives--I have to admit she's a damn good hunter."

A small smile played on your lips and you were glad they couldn't see your face from their angle.

"That's a lot coming from you," Sam said in surprise. "What changed?"

"Honestly? Me," Dean answered. "A lot has happened in the last 6 months Sammy. I've taken the time away to really get my shit together. I was just so damn empty and I was taking it out on everyone, including you. But I've said some terrible things to (Y/N) and I don't know how to apologize. Hell, I don't even know if she'd want me to apologize. I treated her terribly and I wouldn't be surprised if she hated me."

"I'm pretty sure she does," Sam said softly. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't apologize or you can't fix it. You owe her your life as much as I do...that should mean something."

"I know," Dean admitted. "I've been such an asshole to her. I don't even think I deserve her forgiveness."

"It's worth a shot, Dean."

You couldn't see Dean's face, but you could hear the emotion in his voice. It made you think he truly meant what he was saying. Before this moment, you wouldn't have even considered listening to a word this man had to say to you...but now you felt like you owed it to him--or maybe yourself--to hear him out, should he choose to apologize.

You'd gotten out of bed not long after overhearing Sam and Dean's conversation. After a nice shower, you were getting your things together to head back out onto the road--onto your next hunt.

"I'm gonna grab some breakfast," Sam called out. "You guys want me to bring you something?"

"Coffee and a breakfast sandwich, please," you said in response.

"Coffee and an absurd amount of bacon," Dean added.

Sam groaned. "You are so gonna have a heart attack."

"I'm not gonna live long enough for that, Sammy, so don't worry about me. Bacon is worth it."

You chuckled softly and Dean shot you a look. When he noticed the soft smirk on your face, he smiled in return. "I think (Y/N) agrees."

Sam sighed. "Whatever--I'll be back in a while."

You waved at Sam's back before returning your attention to your duffle. You threw your last couple items into it before zipping it up.

"So..." Dean said awkwardly from behind you.

You sighed heavily before turning to face him. "Yes?"

"I...I, um--fuck," he muttered. "I owe you an apology."

You folded your arms across your chest. "Go on."

You'd never seen him look so uncomfortable and a part of you was happy about it. You felt bad for feeling that way, but after everything Dean had said and done to you since you'd met, he more than deserved it.

"I've been a major asshole."

You nodded your agreement.

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "I've said some truly horrible things to you and uh--about you. Things I never should have thought, let alone said aloud."

He fell silent and waited for a moment as if he was hoping you would disagree.

"Is that all?"

He exhaled slowly. "Look, you saved my life and I treated you like shit--then you go and save my brother's life even after everything I've done."

"I didn't do it for you."

"No--no, I know. I just...I suck at apologies."

You chuckled lightly. "A bit, yeah."

"What I'm trying to say is--I was wrong. I was wrong about everything. I was wrong to treat you the way I did and I'm so fucking sorry, (Y/N). I'm sorry I hurt you and I'm sorry I was such an asshole. I don't have a good excuse--I was broken and hurting and I chose to take it out on everyone around me. I'm not trying to excuse what I did--I just want you to know that I'm not usually like that. I've spent the last year trying to find myself again and I'm closer than I've ever been. But, umm that's not the point--it's not about me. I--fuck--I'm just so goddamn sorry, (Y/N)."

You offered him a small smile. "I genuinely appreciate your apology, Winchester. Especially because I can see how difficult it was for you to do it."

He looked relieved. "I'm not good at this sort of thing."

"It's okay. You got your point across."

"Oh, one more thing."

"Hmm?"

"You're a damn good hunter."

You smiled genuinely for the first time and Dean couldn't help but notice how it lit up your whole face. Your smile was contagious--and he found himself returning the expression.

Before you could thank him, Sam came back with breakfast.

"Am I interrupting?" Sam asked.

"No, we're good," Dean answered.

Sam looked at you and you nodded. He looked relieved, but he didn't comment on the situation.

Dean's stomach grumbled and he reached for the bag of takeout. "Let's eat."

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Sam asked.

You shook your head. "I appreciate the offer, but I think you guys need some time alone. Rekindle your relationship, mend fences, etc."

Sam nodded. "Alright, but please call us if you need anything--and I mean anything."

He wrapped you in a hug, which you happily returned. "You know I will."

He stepped back and headed out to the car, leaving you and Dean alone.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye for now," Dean said.

You turned to him with a smile. "I guess it is."

You stuck your hand out and Dean shook it tentatively.

"We're not at the hugging stage yet, Winchester," you said lightly.

He chuckled softly. "I've gotta earn that?"

"Oh yeah," you teased.

Dean grinned, liking the teasing tone in your voice. "I'll work on it. Stay safe, (Y/N)...call us if you need anything."

You nodded. "Same to you. Keep Sammy safe, okay?"

"I always will."

**********

You dragged yourself across the floor of the old, dirty warehouse, pain radiating through most of your body. You heard the footsteps of the creature you'd been hunting as it crossed the room towards you. You could see your cellphone lying several yards away, your gun not far from it. You knew this was it--you were gonna die.

You were breathing heavily, the pain almost unbearable. You didn't want to die, but you knew you wouldn't be able to reach your gun in time.

The creature took another step towards you and growled lowly. You looked up at it and resigned yourself to death.

"Hey, ugly!" a man's voice yelled from behind the creature.

The creature turned in the direction of the voice and a gunshot rang out. The creature cried out in pain and dropped to the ground dead about a foot from you.

You released the breath you'd been holding, the sharp exhale making your ribs ache. You heard footsteps rushing towards you and what you saw made you smile a little.

"(Y/N)!" Sam yelled as he dropped to the ground beside you. "You okay?"

Dean was right behind him, coming to a stop on the other side of your body. You could see the concern in both of their faces as their eyes scanned your body, looking for serious injuries.

"Hey guys," you said softly. "I'm alright."

"Can you stand?" Sam asked.

You nodded and the boys started to help you up. You groaned in pain, exhaling slowly to try and ease it.

"Easy," Dean said softly. "I've got you."

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't comment. He just continued to help you until you were standing up fully. Dean's arm slipped around your waist and pulled you against his side, holding you upright.

"Lean on me, okay? I've got you." He turned to his brother. "You handle the monster, I'll get (Y/N) to the car."

Dean moved slowly, allowing you to lean into him as you limped beside him. "You alright, (Y/N)?" he asked softly.

"That damn thing beat the hell outta me...definitely some bruised ribs, pretty sure I sprained my ankle, and I've got some pretty deep gashes on my back and hip. Otherwise though, I'm peachy."

Dean chuckled softly. "Tough as nails, this one."

"Minus the whole 'almost died' thing."

"Hey, don't worry about that. Happens to the best of us."

"I've noticed," you said lightly.

He laughed. "Rude."

"Seriously, though, thanks for saving my ass."

"My pleasure, (Y/N). Besides, I owed you."

You whimpered slightly when Dean shifted to help you as you approached the stairway.

"Shit, (Y/N), sorry. You okay?"

"I'm fine," you lied through gritted teeth.

"Liar," he mumbled. "Hold still."

You did as he asked, watching in confusion as he took a step away from you, sliding his left arm under your legs and scooping you up into his arms.

You gasped in pain and surprise. "What are you doing?!"

"Sorry if that hurt you, but this will be a hell of a lot easier--and less painful for you."

"You are not carrying me down the stairs, Winchester," you hissed.

"You gonna stop me?" he asked harshly. When you were silent, he smirked smugly. "Didn't think so."

You held on tightly as Dean carried you down the stairs with shocking ease. You knew you weren't light and it surprised you he was able to carry you without issue.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, you stirred against him. "You can put me down now."

"Not happening. I'll put you down when we get to the car."

You stared at him in shock. The man in front of you was so different from the man you'd met almost three years prior. Hell, he was even different from the man who'd apologized to you 8 months ago.

"You've changed," you whispered.

He glanced at your face, cheeks tinged pink. "For the better, I hope."

You smiled warmly. "Definitely."

Dean had driven you back to the motel, leaving Sam to bring your car back. Instead of taking you to your room, Dean brought you to his and Sam's to get you cleaned up and to check your wounds.

"Alright let me see your back," Dean said gently.

You shifted to lift the back of your shirt up, allowing Dean to see the claw marks on your lower back.

"Shit, those are deep," he muttered. "You're gonna need stitches."

"Great."

"I've got everything we need." He got up and grabbed his kit, pulling out the supplies he needed to stitch you up. "So I need unhindered access to your back."

You looked up at him, unsure of what he was saying.

He bit his lip and shifted his weight. "I, uh...I need you to take your shirt off."

Your eyes widened. "Absolutely not."

"I'm not trying to make it weird, but I need both hands to stitch, so I can't hold your shirt up too."

There was zero chance of you taking off your shirt in front of Dean fucking Winchester. Absolutely not. No way in hell. He looked like that and you...well you didn't like anyone to see you without a shirt off.

"How 'bout I lay down on my stomach and pull my shirt up so it's out of the way?"

He sighed. "Fine, it's a reasonable compromise."

You nodded gratefully and laid down on your stomach, but the moment you did, you cried out in pain and rolled onto your side.

Dean was beside you in an instant. "What's wrong?"

"Ribs," you muttered.

"Shit..." he paused for a moment. "(Y/N) please let me help you."

You looked up at him, tears filling your eyes--a mixture of pain and embarrassment.

"Hey," he said softly. "You're okay. I know it's not fun, but I need to get you stitched up before the cuts get infected."

You bit your lip and nodded. "Will you turn around until I'm ready?"

Dean offered you a soft smile. "Of course." He turned around and waited for you to tell him you were ready.

You moved slowly, lifting your shirt off over your head, inhaling sharply at the painful movements. A whimper left your lips, the pain forcing the sound out.

It took all of Dean's self-control to not turn around when he heard your soft whimper, but he'd promised to wait.

You balled your shirt up in front of you, using it to hide your stomach and as much of your chest as you could. "Okay," you whispered.

Dean turned around slowly, keeping his gaze on your face. He was very tempted to look down, but he knew it would be unwelcome. He settled onto the bed behind you and began to clean your wounds.

You hissed at the contact, wincing away from him.

"Sorry, sweetheart."

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head--shock settling into your bones at the sound of the pet name.

You tried to remain still as he continued cleaning, despite the pain that was radiating through your body.

"Alright, they're clean," Dean said gently. "Time for the stitches."

You tensed up as he gently placed his calloused hand against your skin.

"Just relax, okay? I've got you."

You did your best to relax and Dean started to stitch your skin back together. About halfway through, Sam arrived back at the motel.

"Yikes," Sam said when he saw the deep gashes on your back. "Those look gnarly."

"Yeah, it's not great," you muttered.

"Sorry, (Y/N/N)," Sam commented. "I brought your car back though." He held up the keys with an awkward smile.

"Thanks, Sam."

"Sammy, why don't you go round us up some food?" Dean requested.

Sam raised his eyebrows as he looked between you and Dean. "Alright, sure. What do you want?"

"Burgers and pie," Dean said immediately.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yeah, sounds good," you answered.

"Alright, I'll be back." Sam grabbed the Impala keys off the table and headed back out.

"You still with me, sweetheart?"

"Mhmm," you hummed, voice laced with pain and discomfort.

"I'll be done soon enough," Dean said gently. "Then onto the ones on your hip."

"Fuck," you muttered. You'd almost forgotten about the deep cuts on your hip, but the pain started back up at the mention of them.

"I'm going as quickly as I can without giving you some seriously hideous scars," Dean whispered.

You smiled a little at the sweetness of his words. "Thanks," you murmured.

Dean found himself fighting the urge to place a soft kiss to your exposed shoulder. He wanted to provide you comfort, but instead he was actively causing you pain--and he hated it.

After several more minutes of silence, Dean finished his last stitch. "All done."

You sighed gratefully. "Thank God."

"Actually, it's just Dean," he quipped lightly.

You laughed warmly, but the action hurt your ribs, causing a soft groan of pain.

"While I liked hearing you laugh, I'd rather not cause you more pain than I have to."

"Then don't make me laugh, Winchester," you teased.

He grinned. "I'm just naturally hilarious."

You chuckled again, trying to suppress the sound to prevent any pain.

"Alright, lose the pants."

"Excuse me?"

"I've gotta get to your hip somehow, sweetheart," he stated.

You groaned softly. The last thing you wanted to do was be essentially naked in front of him. "Fine, but I'm putting my shirt back on."

"Absolutely not. That thing is dirty and ruined. You're not putting it anywhere near those cuts." He started rummaging through his bag and he pulled out a flannel shirt. "Here, put this on."

You looked at him in disbelief. "I don't think I'm going to fit into your shirt."

He looked confused. "Of course you will. Just put it on."

You took the shirt from him, still convinced there was no way it would fit you. He was a large man, but you had a very full chest and soft stomach...you were used to not fitting into a man's clothing.

"Turn around," you whispered.

Dean sighed softly, but he turned around to give you the privacy you'd requested.

You pulled yourself up with a groan, tossing your dirty shirt onto the floor. You slowly pulled the flannel shirt on over your arms and nearly gasped in surprise when you realized that not only did the shirt fit you, but it was a little big on you. You buttoned the shirt quickly, feeling more than a little pleased at the way it fit. Plus, you couldn't help but notice the shirt smelled like Dean--like soap, leather, and a little bit of whiskey.

"Can I turn around now?"

"Oh...yeah."

He turned around and felt a tightening in his chest as he took in the image of you in his shirt. He didn't know he'd feel this way when he'd given you the shirt to wear, but damn--he couldn't help but notice how sexy you looked in his clothing.

"Told you it would fit," he said with a smirk. "Even looks big on you."

You blushed. "So you were right one time."

He laughed. "I promise it won't be the last."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile remained on your lips.

"Now the pants."

"I am not taking off my pants, Winchester."

"How am I supposed to clean your wounds through your pants?"

You groaned. "God, this is embarrassing," you muttered.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart. I'm just trying to help."

You groaned a second time. "Fine," you grumbled.

Dean bit his lip and looked away. He needed you to stop making those damn sounds or he was going to lose his mind.

You looked up at him warily, making sure his gaze remained averted from you. You removed your pants as quickly as you could without causing yourself more pain. A few moments later, you were standing there in nothing but your underwear and Dean's shirt. Thankfully, the shirt was long enough that it covered you both in the front and back.

"You good?" he asked softly.

"Yeah...where--where do you want me?"

Dean groaned softly, desperately trying to keep his thoughts to himself. He didn't think you'd appreciate hearing where he really wanted you.

He kept his eyes trained on your face. "Lay down on your side so I can see your hip."

You swallowed thickly, feeling the change in the air of the room. You slowly lowered yourself onto the bed, shifting to lay on your side.

Dean grabbed a pillow. "Lift your head for me." You did as he asked and he slipped the pillow under your head to make it more comfortable for you.

He climbed onto the bed behind you and exhaled slowly, trying to keep his shit together. You looked gorgeous in his shirt, round ass barely peeking out from beneath it. He felt the strong urge to smack it, but he had a feeling you'd knock him out if he did.

"Damn," he whispered as he looked at the deep claw marks on your hip. "I think these are worse."

"Yeah, they don't feel great," you muttered softly.

"I'll try to be gentle."

Dean began to clean the wounds, sadness lacing its icy tendrils around his heart every time he heard you make a pained sound.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N/N)," he whispered.

"It's fine," you ground out. "Wait, did you just call me (Y/N/N)?"

He winced slightly. "I--uh--I did. Is that okay?"

You were quiet for a moment as you contemplated it. "Yeah...yeah it's okay."

He exhaled gratefully. He hadn't meant to call you a nickname--it had just kinda slipped out. He was glad it didn't upset you.

Dean had just started the stitches when Sam came back with food.

"Woah," Sam said as he caught a glimpse of the two of you on the bed--and you without pants.

"I'm stitching the wounds on her hip, you idiot," Dean said sharply.

"Oh--wait, why is she wearing your shirt?"

"Because hers was dirty, Samuel. Any more questions?"

Sam threw his hands up in defeat. "My bad--my bad."

"You better have brought me pie," Dean grumbled.

"I didn't forget the pie," Sam said in annoyance.

Your stomach suddenly grumbled loudly. "Apparently I'm starving," you said lightly.

"As soon as I'm done with the stitches, we can eat."

Sam held a container of fries out to you. "Want some?"

"Oh thank God," you muttered as you took the container from him.

"Quit moving," Dean admonished.

"Sorry," you said sheepishly. "Fry?"

He glanced at your extended hand and simply opened his mouth. You looked at him in confusion and he nodded to his hands. "I can't exactly grab it."

"Oh, right." You took a fry out of the container and held it out to him. He leaned forward and took the fry from your hand, a soft moan of enjoyment escaping his lips.

You felt a warmth spread through your lower body and your breathing became a little more labored. You swallowed thickly and averted your gaze, unable to look at him without blushing.

You continued eating your fries quietly as Dean finished stitching the cuts.

"All....done," Dean said softly as he finished the final stitch.

"Thank you," you said softly. You started to try and sit up and Dean grabbed you to help. "You're not gonna let me put my pants on, are you?"

Dean grinned ear to ear. "I mean, I do like you like this, but I'll let you put on pants--if you insist."

Your eyes widened slightly and you blushed deeply.

"But not your pants, of course," Dean said with a smirk. He dug into his bag again, producing a pair of well-worn sweats. "Here you go, sweetheart."

"Just because your shirt fits, doesn't mean your pants will."

He looked you up and down slowly. "Oh they'll fit, they'll just be a little long."

Sam looked back and forth between the two of you for a few moments. "Am I missing something here?"

"Nope," you both answered.

"Okaaaay..."

You leaned down to start pulling the sweatpants on and as you tugged them up your thighs, you realized Dean was once again correct. The damn things were gonna be loose.

You stood up slowly and pulled them up the rest of the way, tugging on the string to tighten them enough so they wouldn't sag. You looked down at your feet and chuckled at the fabric pooling around your feet.

"Need some help?" Dean asked lightly.

"Could you maybe roll up the bottoms? I don't wanna fall on my face."

He grinned. "It would be my pleasure."

He dropped to his knees in front of you, earning a gasp of surprise from you. He slowly rolled up one pant leg, looked up at you with a little smirk, then rolled up the second pant leg. He looked back up at you with the same expression on his face. "Better?"

You didn't trust your voice, so you simply nodded.

He pulled himself up, suddenly towering over you again. Your knees felt weak--and it had nothing to do with your injuries.

"Uhhh...dinner is getting cold..." Sam muttered awkwardly.

"Mhmm," Dean hummed, gaze still fixed on your face.

"We should probably eat," you whispered.

Dean's tongue slipped out of his mouth, wetting his lips. His gaze was almost hungry as he regarded you, a soft smirk gracing his handsome face. "I am quite hungry," he murmured. "Very, very hungry."

You felt your pulse quicken and your lips parted slightly. The way he was looking at you made you think he wasn't referring to a hunger for burgers or pie...but you knew that couldn't be possible. Dean Winchester didn't want you--not like that.

You took control of the situation, stepping around Dean to limp towards the table. Dean quickly slipped an arm around your waist to help you.

"I'm alright, Dean."

"I'm not letting you fall and worsen your injuries."

You smiled up at him as he guided you to a chair and gently lowered you into it. He sat down in the chair beside yours and grabbed a burger for each of you out of the bag.

Sam had already eaten his dinner, so he was just watching the interactions between you and Dean. It was obvious he was confused, and to be honest, so were you.

Last time you'd talked to Dean, he'd apologized for being a massive asshole, but this transition was completely unexpected. You didn't know how to address it, or frankly, how to feel about it.

Instead, you decided to ask a question that had been tickling the back of your mind. "So...how did you guys find me?"

"Oh, that was all Dean," Sam admitted.

"Well you're the one who identified this case," Dean said with a shrug.

"Yeah, but you figured out where the monster was taking its victims--and then we saw your car."

"When we got inside the warehouse, I heard you yell in pain and I just--well, I just took off," Dean said.

You looked at both of them with a warm expression. "Well, thanks for saving me."

"You already thanked me," Dean said softly. "Besides, we both owed you our lives."

"He's not wrong," Sam added.

"Well, I'm thankful either way."

"You're welcome, (Y/N/N)," Dean said with a warm smile.

Sam gave his brother a weird look before looking back at you. "You're welcome."

The three of you continued to eat your dinner in relative silence, Sam or Dean occasionally chatting with each other while you looked on.

You watched Dean quietly, really taking him in for the first time. He was so incredibly beautiful--almost painfully so. His eyes were so kind, so much kinder than they'd been when you'd met. More importantly, he seemed lighter--more whole, than before.

You felt a stirring in your chest as you gazed at him, hating yourself for it. You shouldn't have any feelings for him--you couldn't. You wouldn't put yourself in that position and you certainly didn't want to be another notch on Dean Winchester's bedpost.

"You alright, sweetheart?" Dean asked softly, shaking you from your thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"You were staring at the side of my head," he said lightly.

"Oh, sorry. I completely zoned out."

"Don't worry about it. You're allowed."

The smile you gave him quickly turned into a yawn. "I suddenly got really tired. I think I'll go back to my room to sleep."

Dean practically jumped out of his chair. "I'll take you."

You gave him an odd look. "I think I can manage to limp my way three doors down."

"Well, I'd feel better if I went with you."

Your expression softened. "Alright, alright. Lemme get my shoes on."

Dean grabbed your boots and sat them in front of you, but when you bent down to get them on, you gasped as pain radiated from your bruised ribs.

"Here, let me help," Dean said gently.

You gladly accepted his help, allowing him to get your boots on both feet. He helped you out of your chair and Sam stood up as well. He hugged you gently, which you returned in kind.

"I'm glad you're okay," Sam whispered into your hair.

"Thanks, Sammy," you murmured.

He stepped back and gave his brother a look you couldn't decipher. "I'm gonna shower and then hit the hay."

"Sounds good. I'll be back in a bit," Dean said before taking your hand and helping you towards the door.

Once you were outside, Dean was instantly more protective of you. Either he was worried about you falling on the hard cement or something attacking you. Whichever one it was, his protectiveness warmed your heart.

"Want me to carry you again?" Dean teased lightly.

You smacked his arm affectionately. "I can walk on my own, Winchester. Slowly..."

He grinned. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

"So about that...since when do you call me sweetheart?"

"Since today, I guess," Dean muttered.

"A pet name and a nickname in the same day...interesting."

"Interesting good or interesting bad?"

You looked up at him. "I haven't decided yet."

"Fair enough."

"This is it," you said as you stopped in front of your motel room. "Thanks for walking me over."

Dean gave you an odd look. "I'm not leaving you at the door, (Y/N)."

You chuckled. "I didn't wanna assume."

You unlocked the door and Dean helped you in. "Lemme check the room, okay?"

You watched Dean walk around the room, checking the closet and the bathroom for anything that might want to hurt you. Finding nothing, he came back into the room, much more relaxed than before.

"So no monsters in the closet?" you teased.

He smiled. "You're safe."

"I already felt safe," you said softly.

"Oh?"

You blushed and looked at the floor, a little embarrassed that those words had left your lips.

Dean crossed the space between you and slid a hand under your chin, lifting it gently to meet his gaze. "Are you saying I make you feel safe?"

His voice was soft and affectionate--it put you at ease. "Yes," you whispered honestly.

Dean smiled warmly. "That's the best thing you could ever say to me."

"Easy to please, I see," you joked lightly, trying to keep your cool.

"Not usually, but you seem to be an exception to the rule."

The way he was looking at you sent a warm feeling through your body and you felt heat pooling in your lower belly. His hand was still on your chin, but you wanted to feel it everywhere.

His thumb began to gently brush against your skin, hand sliding up to your cheek. You leaned into it and your eyelids fluttered closed for a moment. You felt dean's thumb brush gently against your lower lip and you inhaled sharply, eyes opening to meet his fiery gaze.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered.

You desperately wanted to say yes, everything in you was screaming to say yes...but you couldn't. You needed to know what his intentions were.

"What do you want from me?" you whispered.

He looked taken aback. "I thought that was obvious."

You took a step back and his hand dropped from your face. "I know your reputation...I don't wanna be just another one night stand or some story you tell the boys around the campfire."

He looked hurt--almost as if you'd slapped him. But he seemed to realize you were right...he did have a reputation. "I know it's hard to trust me...I haven't been good to you in the past, but this isn't some one night stand, pity sex thing. I want you. I want this."

"This?" you whispered.

"You're so damn strong, (Y/N). You're smart and funny, you're an amazing hunter and an even better woman. You're brave and selfless and so incredibly loyal. I'm sorry I didn't see it when we first met, but I see it now. I can see what Sam saw in you when we first met. I've spent the last 8 months thinking about you constantly. I want something real with you, (Y/N). It scares the hell out of me, but I need you in my life...if you'll have me."

You listened to his words and you heard the emotion in them. You could feel how much he cared about you--how deeply he meant what he was saying. "I never thought you'd want someone like me."

He looked confused. "Do you mean perfect? Because that's what you are to me."

You gasped softly. "What?"

"You're not a perfect person--none of us are, but you're perfect for me."

"Have you lost your mind? Any recent head injuries?"

Dean laughed lightly. "Nothing like that, baby. I want this--it's real for me."

"Why me?" you said so softly he almost didn't hear you.

"I think I just explained that, sweetheart," he said gently.

You gestured to your body as you said, "But I look like this--and you...you look like that."

He narrowed his eyes at you. "Don't you dare talk badly about your body, baby. Don't you dare."

Tears stung your eyes and you sniffled softly.

"Look at me sweetness," he said softly, taking your face in his hands. "I know I said some terrible things when we first met--some of them about your body. I said it because I knew it would hurt you--I could tell you had some insecurities and I played on them. I feel terrible for it--fucking awful. But I didn't really mean it, baby. I just wanted to hurt you. Please forgive me--please believe me."

The tears streamed down your face and he gently wiped them away.

"It's okay, beautiful. Talk to me."

You sniffed softly. "I forgive you, Dean...and I believe you."

He smiled warmly as he continued to wipe your tears. He stepped a little closer and placed soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and finally, your lips.

You leaned into the kiss, returning the affection in kind. When his lips left yours, he brushed the last tears from your face. "You wanna go to bed now, sweetheart?" he asked softly.

You smiled and shook your head. "I wanna get in bed, but I'm not feeling as tired now."

Dean smirked and his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him as gently as he could. "Oh really? And what would you like to do in bed?"

"I have a feeling you have some ideas."

"Oh baby, I have a lot of ideas...but you've been through a lot today. I don't wanna hurt you."

"I guess you'll just have to be really gentle," you whispered against his lips.

He groaned softly. "I can be gentle...I can be so fucking gentle."

You giggled softly and he smiled, pressing his lips against yours.

"I wanna manhandle the shit outta you just to prove to you that I can...but that'll have to wait until you've healed. For now, I want you to do exactly what I tell you to--and stop me if it hurts too much, okay?"

You nodded.

"Baby, I'm gonna need you to use those words."

"Yes, Dean," you murmured.

He pressed his body up against yours again and you could feel his erection against your abdomen. "You know, I just thought of something..."

"What's that?"

"I think that's the second time you've ever called me by my name."

"What? No--can't be."

"The first time was when you forgave me and then you just said it now...but you usually just call me 'Winchester'."

You thought about it for a moment and realized he was right. "I kinda like saying your name...Dean."

He groaned softly. "I fucking love it, baby. I'm gonna make you scream my name, pretty girl."

"We'll see," you teased.

"Is that a challenge?"

You grinned. "One hundred percent."

"Oh you are in for it now, gorgeous."

You laughed as he pressed his lips against yours before trailing kisses down your neck. He nipped at your pulse point and you moaned softly, earning a grunt of approval from Dean.

"Now remember," he murmured against your skin. "You promised to do what I tell you to, but if you wanna stop, just tell me, okay? I won't do anything you don't wanna do."

You sighed softly. "I trust you, Dean."

"Good," he whispered. "Now take off your clothes."

You gasped in surprise, but quickly started to unbutton your shirt. When it came time to take it off completely, you froze, the familiar discomfort sinking into your mind.

"Hey," he said gently. "Take off whatever you're comfortable with, sweetheart, but I want you to remember that I think you're sexy as hell, okay?"

You nodded and took a deep breath before sliding your shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes roamed your torso appreciatively.

"Can I take off your bra?" he asked softly.

"Yes."

He unhooked your bra with one hand, and gently pulled it forward, exposing your ample breasts to his hungry eyes. "Fuck..." he whispered.

You felt the strong urge to cover up, but you kept your arms at your sides, allowing Dean to take in every inch of skin he could see.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, (Y/N)."

You whimpered softly as his lips latched onto your nipple, one hand at the small of your back to hold you up and the other massaging your breast gently.

Your hands tentatively rested on Dean's shoulders, and you could feel the taunt muscles shift beneath his shirt. You desperately wanted to feel his skin against yours, so you curled your fingers into his shirt and tugged on it gently.

He released your nipple and looked up at you. "What is it, baby? What do you need?"

You bit your lip and shifted slightly. "I wanna feel your skin."

He chuckled softly. "Like this?" he asked as he ran his hands slowly down your sides.

You shook your head and reached for the hem of his shirt. As soon as your hand managed to touch it, he understood what you were asking. He stepped back and yanked his shirt off over his head.

As much as you wanted to feel his body against yours, you stopped him when he leaned back towards you. He looked a little saddened, misunderstanding your movement.

"I'm trying to appreciate perfection," you said softly.

He smiled and puffed out his chest slightly. "You're the perfect one, baby."

You looked up at him with a smile. "Take me to bed, Mr. Winchester."

He chuckled. "Yes ma'am."

He guided you over to the bed and he sat down on the edge, pulling you down with him. You straddled his lap and ground yourself down against his very prominent bulge.

You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the soft sounds you made. He grabbed ahold of your hips, careful to avoid the wounds on your left one.

"I think you should lose the pants, baby--underwear too."

You pulled yourself off of him, stepping back to slowly peel off your pants and underwear. Your hands were shaking slightly, nervous about being completely naked in front of him. When you stood back up, you found Dean's gaze glued to your body, eyes tracing every inch of you he could see.

He reached out to touch you, but you took a step back, making him look up at you in surprise.

You smirked slightly, feeling emboldened by the obvious desire in his eyes.

"Baby..." he said softly. "Come here."

You shook your head. "Not until you're naked too."

He raised an eyebrow at you, but a small smirk danced across his lips. He liked your commanding voice--he was almost surprised by how much it turned him on.

He stood up, eyes never leaving your face. He slowly took off his jeans, stepping forward to get out of them. He hooked his fingers into his boxers and lowered them slowly, keeping eye contact with you the entire time.

You inhaled sharply as you took in his size--much larger than you were accustomed to. Your eyes flicked back up to his and his smirk had widened slightly.

"Like what you see, pretty girl?"

"Very much, but I'm a little...concerned."

"About what?"

You looked down at his cock and back up at his face. "You're a little...large."

He laughed softly. "I'll be gentle."

"I'm more concerned about it not fitting."

He grinned. "That should not make me feel so good," he chuckled. "It'll fit, sweetheart. You'll see."

"I trust you."

He smiled and took a step towards you, arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer. He kissed you softly, hands roaming your skin, loving the feeling of your softness. "Fuck, baby--I wanna taste you. I need to."

You gasped softly as two of his fingers gently swiped between your pussy lips, collecting some of your slick. He brought the fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, a soft moan slipping from his lips.

"You taste delicious, sweetness. I want more."

He pulled you down onto the bed with him, tugging your body on top of him. You kissed him passionately, as you ground your hips against his cock.

He groaned into your mouth and his hands traveled up your back, massaging soft circles into your skin.

"Come up here, baby," he begged.

You pulled back, staring at him in confusion. "I don't understand."

He gently caressed your thighs. "I wanna taste you--come sit on my face."

"Do you have a death wish?"

He looked surprised. "What?"

"I'll smother you, Dean."

He rolled his eyes. "Then I'll die an extremely happy man. Suffocate me between those thick, sexy thighs, baby."

Your eyes widened, but you were more than a little intrigued by the concept. You'd never been asked to sit on anyone's face before and you'd certainly never suggested it. You had to admit, you'd always wanted to try it.

"Are you sure?"

"Fuck yeah, babe."

"Okay," you agreed softly.

Dean gently guided you towards his face, helping you straddle his head. His left hand gripped your right hip and he laid his right hand on your left thigh.

"Put my hand above your cuts so I can hold onto you," he requested softly.

You took his right hand and placed it just above the deep gashes on your left hip.

"Good girl," Dean praised. "Now have a seat and let me feast on you."

You lowered yourself onto his mouth, but didn't quite sit down. Instead of admonishing you, Dean dug his fingers into your flesh and tugged you down firmly.

You cried out in a mixture of surprise and pleasure as his tongue slipped through your folds. Dean groaned loudly as he began to devour you.

You had never in your life felt pleasure like Dean was giving you in this moment. The sounds that his ministrations pulled from your lips were absolutely sinful. Your legs had already begun to shake and you were gripping the headboard like your life depended on it.

"Dean, I'm so close," you gasped.

He moaned into your core and his fingers dug further into your flesh, blunt nails scraping against your skin. He didn't stop his actions--the desire to feel you cum outweighing his need to breathe.

Within moments, you cried out as your orgasm washed over you, your thighs squeezing his head tightly. Dean continued working you through your orgasm until you started to squirm away from him. He finally let you go and you leaned back onto his chest as you tried to catch your breath.

Dean moved you as gently as he could, shifting you to straddle his hips as he pulled himself into a sitting position, feet planted firmly on the floor beside the bed. He pulled you against his chest and brushed his fingers through your hair.

"You okay, baby?" he asked softly, lips pressed to your forehead.

"More than okay," you mumbled into his chest.

He chuckled softly as he held you against him, loving the feeling of your softness beneath his fingers.

After a few more moments, you sat up and bit your lip. "Dean?"

He smiled at you. "Hmm?"

"I want you to fuck me."

His eyes widened slightly and he shifted his hips under you, brushing his cock against your core. "I'm happy to oblige," he teased softly.

You sighed as he kissed you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned into the kiss and his hands slid down your body, lifting you slightly so he could line himself up with your entrance.

"Are you sure you wanna do it in this position?" you asked quietly.

"It's the only position where I can pleasure you, hold you close, and avoid hurting you. So yeah, baby, I'm sure."

You looked into his beautiful green eyes and smiled warmly. You could feel how much he cared about you and it warmed your soul.

"You ready?" he whispered.

"I'm ready."

He held his cock firmly, letting you take the lead as you slowly lowered yourself down onto him. By the time you'd lowered yourself completely, you were both breathless.

The stretch was incredible--unlike anything you'd ever experienced. You swore you could feel him in your lower belly--you'd never felt so full.

Dean leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavily as he let you adjust to his size.

"You can move now," you whispered.

"Just one moment, sweetheart, I--I need a moment."

"Are you okay?"

He looked up at your pretty face and smiled. "I'm fucking phenomenal, babe...but your pussy feels so goddamn incredible, so tight and warm--I just need a second to control myself."

You blushed at his praise, warmth rushing through your body at his words. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then his jaw, before finding the sweet spot on his neck that made him moan.

His hands dug into your flesh as he started to roll his hips against yours. You gasped softly against his skin, pleasure washing over you.

"Hold onto me, sweetheart," Dean murmured softly.

You did as he asked, clinging tightly to his shoulders and tightening your thighs against his.

Dean wrapped his arms around you, careful not to hold you too tightly or touch your stitched wounds. He pressed his lips softly against your collarbone as he rolled his hips again.

He gave you less than a second to get comfortable before he began to thrust up into you in earnest. His feet were planted firmly on the floor, allowing him to piston up into you.

"Dean!" you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

Each thrust was calculated and hard, making your body shiver with pleasure. He shifted slightly, pulling you more firmly into his chest, which changed the angle of his thrusts. The new angle allowed him to hit your g-spot with each thrust.

You moaned loudly and dug your nails more firmly into his shoulders and back.

"There it is," Dean murmured against your soft skin. "Feels so good, baby."

"Don't stop," you pleaded.

"I have no intention to."

His thrusts sped up to an almost shocking speed and your whole body vibrated with pleasure. You could feel your orgasm quickly approaching, but you couldn't voice it. The pleasure overwhelmed your mind--rendering you speechless.

"You close baby? I can feel you squeezing me."

In response, you nipped at his shoulder and moaned into his skin.

He chuckled lightly. "That's it, pretty girl. I want you to cum for me--wanna feel you cum all over my cock."

You whimpered softly, "Please."

"I've got you, baby. Let go for me."

Your legs had begun to shake and you cried out in pleasure as your orgasm slammed into you with surprising force. You called his name as he worked you through it, thrusts beginning to falter as he chased his own high.

"I'm close, baby," he whispered against your throat.

You used what strength you had left to clamp down onto his cock, squeezing him as tightly as you could.

"Oh--fuck," Dean gasped. He began to cum inside you, coating your walls with his seed. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder to keep himself from crying out at the intensity of his orgasm.

You relaxed your body against him as his thrusts slowed to a stop, forehead resting against his shoulder as you tried to catch your breath.

Dean's arms were still wrapped around you, holding you close to him as he came down from his high. He placed soft open mouthed kisses to your skin and whispered sweet nothings.

Dean began to shift his body as his member softened inside you. You whimpered softly, body too sensitive for any kind of movement.

"Sorry, sweetheart. You okay?"

You nodded. "I'm okay, just a little sore."

He grinned wolfishly. "That makes me feel good."

You laughed softly and smacked his arm affectionately. "It's a little bit of you and a little of that whole monster fight from earlier."

He made a pouty face, which only made you laugh more. The increased laughter hurt your sore ribs and you winced at the pain.

"Shit, sorry sweetheart."

"Not your fault."

He brushed your hair back from your face so he could look at you better. "You look so sexy right now, baby."

You blushed. "I look like I had the shit beat out of me."

"Nah, you look like you just got well and properly fucked," he teased.

You chuckled slightly. "It was quite nice, I must say."

He grinned. "Just you wait until you're all healed up--I'm gonna fuck you so good you won't be able to walk straight for days."

You gasped. "Oh my."

He licked his lips and kissed you softly. "I could kiss you all night long."

"As much as I would love that, I think we should take a shower. I'm exhausted."

"Alright, pretty girl." Dean stood up, still holding you. You wrapped your legs around his waist to avoid falling to the ground. "I've got you, (Y/N/N)."

You looked down at him. "I know."

He smiled and kissed you gently. "Shower, then bed."

"Yes, sir."

"Oo," he said happily. "I like that."

You grinned. "I'll keep that in mind for later."

Dean grinned back at you. "You're gonna be in for a wild ride, sweetness."

"Is that a promise?"

"Absolutely."

After your shower, Dean carried you back to your bed and laid you down gently. He crawled into the bed beside you and pulled you close so your head was resting on his chest.

He kissed the top of your head and ran his fingers up and down your arm. "I want you to come with us," he said suddenly.

"What?" you asked in surprise as you looked up at him.

"I want you to come hunt with Sam and I...permanently."

"Are you--are you sure?"

"I told you this was real for me, baby. I want to try this with you, and that means you should be with me. I mean--if you want."

You smiled at him and touched his cheek gently. "I would love to go with you."

He grinned happily and kissed you sweetly. "Excellent. I'm sure Sam won't mind."

"As long as we get our own room, I'm sure he won't," you teased.

He laughed. "Oh yeah, we're gonna need that."

You smiled and kissed his chest softly. You yawned and curled further into him, exhaustion finally weighing you down.

"Go to sleep baby. I'll be right here when you wake up," Dean whispered.

You fell fast asleep in Dean's arms and he watched you for a while before sleep finally came to him. He hadn't felt so full and happy in a long time and it was one hundred percent because of you. He felt honored you were willing to give a relationship with him a chance, despite everything that had happened between the two of you in the past. He was determined to do everything he could to make sure you never regretted that decision.

Buy Me a Coffee 💜

#dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x plus size reader #dean winchester x plus size reader smut #supernatural #supernatural smut

[beansandsprouts]

Not as Bullshit as I Thought

Summary: World where your soulmates first name is written on your right arm in their handwriting. Dean however thinks the whole concept is ridiculous. That is until he actually meets his soulmate.

Warnings: cursing (duh), brief mention of violence

Dean hated the concept of having a soulmate. With how much Chuck had fucked up the world he found it ridiculous that he'd somehow be able to decide that two people were perfect for each other. The idea was obscene, so he'd made the effort to always cover that name scrawled on his arm. He never went looking for you.

You felt much the same. A soulmate seemed like a stupid concept. There was no way in hell there was another person out there who was absolutely perfect for you. You didn't bother covering your mark, but you also never made any effort to find this mysterious "Dean."

Dean was hunting a vampire that had been terrorizing a small town. He'd already questioned the victim's partners, friends, and anyone else of interest. And he'd managed to figure out where this vamp could possibly be hiding.

He was coming back to his motel room after a late lunch to change out of his fed suit and into proper hunting clothes, and you were doing the same. You didn't see him but boy did he see you.

It was like you hit him with a truck. He froze in place as he watched you get out of your classic Ford Landau, your suit fit you perfectly. He felt like he'd never seen a woman so beautiful. The curve of your jaw and shape of your lips. It made his heart pound. He watched as you walked to your motel room door, swiftly unlocking it and stepping inside.

The moment you were out of sight he shook himself from his stupor. You were definitely hot, but right now wasn't the time to get distracted. He had a hunt to finish.

He prepped his gear and waited til the sun began to set, when he got back outside your car was gone. He didn't think anything of it, assuming you'd gone out for dinner. Maybe you were a business woman. He grinned at the thought, he liked the idea of someone as gorgeous as you being in power.

He drove to the abandoned cabin a few miles out of town, parking a little ways away so he could take them by surprise. He crept through the woods, machete in hand. But as he got closer to the cabin he heard the sounds of crashing and yelling.

Dean took off running toward the cabin, had the vamp already grabbed another victim? And they weren't dead yet.

He burst through the door in time to see you kick the vamp in the chest, causing it to stumble back. You were baring your teeth and there was a feral look in your eyes as you swiftly brought your machete down to behead the monster.

You looked over at Dean with blood sprayed over your face. You glanced him up and down, a slight smirk on your face.

"Seems like I beat you to it."

Dean stared at you in surprise for a moment, that bloodthirstiness he'd seen in you just two seconds ago had left him feeling things he'd never felt. He cleared his throat.

"Guess so."

You chuckled and wiped the blood on your face.

"I'm y/n. Nice to meet you."

Dean froze the moment you spoke your name. There was absolutely no way it was really you. But at the same time, he'd met others with that same name and never had he felt the way he was now. He stared at you, jaw dropped.

"Uh..hello?" You looked at him slightly amused.

"Dean." His voice was rough and gravelly.

Your eyes widened. The moment you'd seen him you knew there was something off. But you hadn't been expecting this.

"You're fucking with me."

"Afraid not."

The two of you stood there staring for a moment, unsure of how to go about this.

"Let...let me see your mark. Maybe it's a different y/n for you and a different Dean for me." Your voice sounded desperate. You really didn't want to be stuck with a soulmate.

Dean stepped forward and rolled up his sleeve, exposing his soulmate mark. Sure enough it was your name, in your handwriting. He looked at yours too. The both of you sighed.

"Damnit." He grumbled.

"You're telling me."

You both stood there in silence, just staring at the others mark. Neither of you had expected this. Neither of you wanted this. Yet here you were. Seems the universe ensured you'd at least meet each other.

"So...what do we do from here?" You asked and looked up at him.

He really was attractive. A strong jaw, defined lips that looked incredibly kissable, and pretty green eyes. You hadn't met a guy this hot in...well ever really.

"Hell if I know. I didn't mean to ever meet you. Never believed in this whole soulmate bullshit." He grumbled as he made eye contact with you.

"Yeah me neither."

You two stared at each other for a few moments before you sighed.

"I don't expect anything from you but I think at the very least I should treat you to dinner. For hijacking your hunt and all." A small smile tugged at your lips.

He couldn't help but chuckle at that and nodded I'm agreement, "I could get behind a free meal."

The two of you walked to your respective cars to meet at a diner back in town, you'd wiped your face off with a towel and changed into a new shirt before driving off.

When you got to the diner he was leaning against his car, arms crossed, waiting for you. His eyes grazed over your car as you pulled up.

"You've got a sweet ride." He says as you get out.

"You do too. 67?"

"Yes ma'am." He couldn't help but grin.

"Dinner time?" You gestured to the doors of the diner and he nodded, following you inside.

The two of you sat down at a booth, ordering some food before awkwardly sitting there.

"So...Dean Winchester I'm assuming?"

He chuckled, "Yep. And you're also a hunter."

"Sure am."

"How long you been doing the job?" He was genuinely curious.

"Since I was a kid. My parents were hunters."

He nodded, that explained why you took down that vamp on your own so easily.

There was another few moments of uncomfortable small talk until the conversation started flowing. It felt natural. Easy. Right.

Dean had the ability to make you laugh like no one else had. And your giggle and smile made his heart flutter for the first time in his life. He was having a hard time not immediately falling for you. He kept trying to remind himself that the concept of soulmates was absurd, but it was hard to believe that when sitting in that crappy diner with you felt like home. He couldn't remember feeling this comfortable with anyone. He found himself hoping you were also feeling this connection.

Eventually it had gotten late, you had both long finished your food and had been talking until closing. Eventually he walked you to your car.

"You goin back to your motel?"

"Nah, I'm taking off. Got a new case."

He seemed disappointed by your answer, but nodded.

"I could give you my number? Maybe we can meet up again after." You offered a shy smile.

"That'd be great." He had a huge grin as he offered up his phone.

You type your number in and sent yourself a text before handing it back.

"Got it. I'll uh...see you around, soulmate." You grinned back at him.

"Yeah, I'll see you."

The two of you stood staring at each other for a moment, neither wanted to leave. Dean took a hesitant step closer, you were mere inches from each other now. You felt your heart pounding. You'd never felt so at ease around someone.

"Could I...could I um..." Dean's tone was nervous, wanting to ask that question but not really sure if he should.

"Could you what?" You teased and chuckled as Dean's cheeks flushed red.

"Ah damnit nevermind." He grumbled and looked away.

You smiled and reached up to cup his cheek and turn his face to you.

"Yes. You can."

Dean's face lit up and his hands moved to your waist as he leaned in to gently press his lips to yours. He kissed you tenderly, enjoying the feeling of your lips on his. It gave him butterflies. It didn't take long for you to part your lips and he slipped his tongue into your mouth with a groan.

He wrapped an arm around your waist and raised his other hand to run his fingers through your hair, the action had you melting.

The jingle of the diner door opening as the staff left finally made you pull apart. You looked back at each other as a waitress shot you an amused glance and couldn't help but laugh.

"Maybe this soulmate stuff isn't as bullshit as I thought." He chuckled.

"I was gonna say the same."

You stood there in each other's arms for a moment before you leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips again and stepped back.

"I've gotta get going, but I'll talk to you soon Dean."

"Drive safe sweetheart." He said with a soft smile, hands stuff in his pockets while he watched you get in your car.

"Will do." You blew him a kiss as you backed up and pulled out of the parking lot.

Dean watched you leave with a goofy grin on his face. Maybe this soulmate thing wasn't so bad. After all, he seemed to have gotten a pretty damn good one.

-----------------------------------------

I'm so rusty with writing so I'm sorry if it's not as well done as previous stuff. I'm excited to get back into writing though! I didn't realize how much I'd missed it :]

Shoot me a message if you have any requests!

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean x reader #soulmates #soulmate trope #fluff #brief mention of violence

[viihoff]

How does Astarion and Tav's relationship develop during their romance? A little analysis and a really long post, part 1 of 2, first and second Acts.

Please note that this is an interpretation. Your Tav's relationships with Astarion might evolve in a different way, it's a mix of both canon and headcanon material. I just love analyzing people and writing stuff.

Act 1.

During this time, Astarion's in survival mode. Being thrown into the world, unknowing if he's free of Cazador's will or not, if he's being chased or not, Astarion resorts to the skeleton of his behavioral pattern - manipulation. He cannot trust Tav, both because he's a vampire (and vamps don't have a good rep, of course), and because the centuries he spent in servitude, deprived of any hope and freedom, thought him to rely on himself, only. He's lost, scared, bewildered. Astarion is drunk with the sense of freedom, but he doesn't know when or how it might end, what's out there for him, and what to do. Seeing Tav, he latches on to them, and starts to plan how to get the most out of them.

So, feeling where the wind's blowing, and seeing Tav as a solidified leader of the group, Astarion starts playing his game. He tries to appear charming and flirts with Tav (and sometimes not only them, but also Gale, Wyll, etc, he needs to have his options open) despite not being whatsoever close to them. It might appear, from Tav's perspective, that Astarion's just like that - overly flirty, promiscuous, a down to earth guy who seeks the simple pleasures. And, maybe, genuinely likes them, why not. But, of course, Astarion doesn't. He actively acts on the persona he created, not willing to share his true feelings yet. He might feel sympathy towards certain Tav's behaviors, like being self-serving, but he doesn't trust them. Again, yet. Even during the first and second sex scenes with Astarion, as he confirms in Act 3 if you didn't get his confession, it was only a transaction for him. His body for your loyalty and a faint chance of you being enamored enough not to stab Astarion in his back.

This is the reason why I don't believe that Astarion develops a crush on Tav in the 1st Act. He prayed for 200 years to the gods for him to be saved, of course they won't send an angel now who would magically sort his shit out for him and basically save him from Cazador, will they? It would be really unfair, after all these years, and totally unrealistic. So, everything he does is an act, confirmed to me by the way Petras acts when you meet him in Act 3. Same mannerism, same learned by heart 'honeyed words' Astarion uses on Tav to lure them in. The way he talks, gestures, plays with the pitch of his voice - Tav's constantly bombarded with the best tactics Astarion has developed to lure people in. There's only a number of times when's genuine - when you reject him, and when he's bitching during the cutscenes and over some of your choices. Right now, the only feeling Astarion's is comfortable to share is anger and mild dissatisfaction. All of his pain is saved for later.

I'm confident to say that spending the night with Tav was a 'duty' of Astarion's, as he himself believed, and he didn't get any initial pleasure in doing it. Of course, he did it willingly (and it was good sex, otherwise Tav wouldn't have been screaming Astarion's name into the night for everyone to hear, lol). However, it was no more than a type of physical labor one performs, totally mechanized.

Act 2.

This is when the immediate danger of being turned into a mindflayer is not a real life threat anymore and being 100% reliant on the good will of Tav isn't a survival strategy.

Genuine friendship starts to develop due to the time spent together and the good things Tav is ready to do for Astarion without asking anything in return. Everyone who's upset over not being able to start as friends with Astarion before initiating the romance - rejoice, I really believe it happens this way in the game. No matter the approval, Astarion begins to warm up to Tav and other companions only in Act 2, feeling comfortable and experiencing true camaraderie for the first time in his life. I say that because I believe that most of the bonding is happening behind the scenes, and the only thing we see is the byproduct. You cease to be a group of survivals in Act 2 and become a real team.

Thus, Astarion begins to feel safe. Not only thanks to Tav being compassionate towards him UNCONDITIONALLY, but because everyone else in your band is ready to protect him and one another. Astarion finds true safety, and, thanks to that, survival mode is finally off.

His mental capacities are finally free to start not only caring about his immediate survival (because he's surrounded by friends, and I don't care how apathetic companions act towards Astarion in his spawn ending, this shit is the result of time crunch, not the way the band would really behave, I'm sure of it), but observe. He sees the person before him, Tav, who does things and doesn't ask shit in return from him, who's genuinely compassionate and kind, and he finally stops viewing this as a weakness. Why? Because it was proven to him by Tav's actions that being a good person is a real life strategy and doesn't always leave you weaker than you were before, but stronger, with more allies and resources than before.

By observing Tav, Astarion sees and understands that there are people who can care for him, and they don't get crashed by the big bad world which is cruel and actively acts against you.

No, the world is indifferent, and shit happens because people choose to act like that. Cazador was a cruel monster to Astarion because he chose to, and Tav cares for him and stands for him because they chose to. There are people who he can trust.

This is the point when Astarion cracks. I believe that he falls for Tav not for their looks or certain temperament (this is the reason why you can romance him as a gnome who he is racist towards, lmao), but they way Tav treats him. He falls for Tav's protecting and kind nature towards him, and after that, I think, he starts seeing beauty in the looks, certain character quirks and stuff like that.

After you helped him decipher his scars and/or protected him from the blood merchant, all of his walls are down. He's a cup full of sheer admiration and gratitude, and, when he confesses, he still doesn't understand that he's in love. He thanks Tav for being there for him, and although he doesn't know what he feels or wants, he enjoys having Tav around him. Being with Tav gave him the strength to believe that good things can happen to him, too. Despite still being in danger from Cazador, he's finally hopeful enough to desire something beyond being away from his master.

He wants revenge. He wants to finally stop pretending. He wants closure. He wants to move on. And he wants Tav.

He wants to treat them the same way they treat him. He finally has the capacity to give back the kindness, because he was given enough of it for him to spare.

And then we move to Act 3, but I will do this part some next time, because this post is already ungodly long. I will also write about the way Astarion's relationship with Durge evolves and how it is a bit different from a standard romance.

Cheers, vampire lovers.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion x tav #text post #next time I will also include some Durge analysis #cause the relationship there is a bit different #you're more of on an equal footing there #I must have made so many mistakes writing this #sorry English is not my first language

[atinylittlepain]

I got love in my tummy and a tiny little pain

Vampire Joel 🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️

uh, hehe, well, this is 500 words... x2 :))))

got a little carried away, my love

Little Pinch

vamp!joel miller x f!reader

warnings | 18+ DUBCON/NONCON-ish, horror themes, smut-adjacent, dark!joel, if this ain't your thing keep it moving

...................................

“Thank you again for giving me a ride, really, I could’ve just called an Uber.”

“It’s no problem, honey. Sweet thing like you shouldn’t be running around on her own at this time of night anyways. Never know what kinda trouble might be out there.” The slow drawl of his words eases any tension she feels sitting in the complete stranger’s car. Well, not a complete stranger. She knows his name is Joel, and she knows that he saved her from a very insistent frat guy at the bar she was at, offering her a ride after her friends had ditched her. And she knows that he’s distractingly handsome, strong jaw under salt-and-pepper scruff, dark eyes and wavy hair, and a voice that runs straight down her spine, each word syrupy with his southern twang.

“How old are you?” The question leaves her lips before she can really think about it, immediately mortified that she did, though Joel just chuckles, glancing at her before focusing back on the road.

“Old enough to know how to treat a lady right. That boy didn’t hurt you, did he, honey?” A nervous laugh bubbles up from her throat at his words.

“Oh! N-no, he was just getting a little handsy, that’s all. I’m fine, really. Um, Joel? I don’t think we’re going the right way to my apartment.” If he heard what she said, he gives her no sign of it, keeping his eyes on the road, the glare of headlights casting shadows across his face. 

They drive in silence for a bit longer, nerves running cool skitters across her skin, both urging her to bolt and keeping her stuck still and mute in the passenger seat. But she nearly yelps when he suddenly swings a hard turn into what looks like an empty parking lot, what had been a roller rink sitting dark and crumbling in the distance. He puts the car into park with a sigh before resting both his hands back on the steering wheel, knuckles flexing and tensing, still not looking at her.

“J-Joel? Is something wrong?” When he does finally look at her, his head lolling over on his shoulder, something has changed in his face. Where his eyes had been crinkled with a smile, they’re now dark, almost vacant, his cheeks slack and his mouth in a slight frown, lips parted. And though he still doesn’t say anything, she’s seen enough true crime TV to know that she needs to get the hell out of here now. 

“Where you going, honey?” She claws at the lock on the passenger door, but it won’t budge, panic rising cold and clear in her throat.

“I– Joel, please open the door.” “Can’t do that, honey.”

“Please, I want to leave– I-I don’t want you to drive me anymore, please open the door.” She can feel tears starting to slip down her face and his emotionless stare only makes her cry harder, trying to get as far away from him as he leans over the console, crowding her against the door.

“Now why would you wanna do a thing like that? Don’t you know there’s dangerous people out there? So much safer in here with me, honey.” Yeah fucking right. She’s realizing that the worst thing she can do is piss him off, already noting the tick in his jaw and clench of his fist, and she thinks that maybe if she can keep him calm, get his guard down, she can find a moment to snatch his keys and escape. She takes a shuddering inhale, trying to stifle her tears, a thin, fake smile stretching across her lips.

“O-ok, you’re right. T-thank you for keeping me safe.” She can see the clench of his jaw ease slightly and much to her relief, he sits back in his own seat, keeping his eyes on her.

“Why don’t you come over here and thank me, honey?” Her stomach sinks at that, though she tries to tamp it down, knowing that this could be her opportunity to make a grab for the car keys. She nods, trembling fingers undoing her seatbelt. It feels like she’s watching herself from somewhere just over her shoulder as she crawls over the console, trying not to flinch when Joel’s hands wrap around her waist, guiding her to straddle his lap. 

She gasps when he presses her down over the crotch of his jeans, the obvious hardness there making her shudder as he chuckles at her reaction.

“How about a little kiss, honey?” She obliges him before she can think too hard about it, a quick peck before she pulls away. But judging by the laugh he lets out, it isn’t going to be enough for him.

“Oh, c’mon now. You can do better than that. That ain’t how you kiss them college boys, is it?” The idea is already forming in her head, and she tries for a shy giggle, though it comes out a bit breathless. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him in, licking into his mouth, kissing him for all he’s worth as she lets one arm pull away to reach behind them, fumbling blindly for his car keys. 

When she does grab them, she sighs, though Joel takes that as a good sign, only deepening the kiss more. She just needs to wait for a moment that he pulls away, and she knows she can make a run for it. But before that can happen, she feels something sharp slip across her lower lip, blood going metallic in her mouth as she pulls back from him and brings her other hand to her lips. Sure enough, red stains her fingertips.

“What– what was that?” Joel just grins, his other hand reaching around her back to wrench her wrist around, the harsh squeeze of his fingers making her drop the keys into his open palm.

“Sneaky little thing, ain’t ya? That’s alright, honey. I don’t mind a little sour with the sweet.” Her eyes must be playing tricks on her, because if she didn’t know any better she could swear that his pair of canines glint just a bit sharper in the dim light of the moon. She stills in his hold, unsure what to do now, her stomach twisting when he presses a surprisingly sweet kiss to her throat. But when he drags his teeth over the arc of her neck, she finally realizes that her eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on her.

“Hold still for me, honey. Just gonna feel a little pinch, but I think you’ll like it.”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller au #dark joel miller

[batwritings]

okay here me out! Hybrid au where reader is recruited into 141 and they’re all hybrids, like price is dragon, ghost a wraith, gaz a crow harpy, and last but not least soap is a werewolf. It’s pretty much common knowledge that wolves and vamps don’t mix, so when reader and soap first meet they despise each other, hate each other fr. Reader calls soap a dog, puppy, mongrel or mutt and soap calls reader a leech, bloodsucker and wtv. Now all this bickering leads to somewhere spicy, maybe all that hatred was actually sexual tension 🤷🏻‍♀️ heated and rough sexual tension to be exact. Alright thank u for listening in<3333

Sorry this one took so long friend! This is really similar to an AU that's out there for CoD and I wanted to be sure it was alright with that artist to write something with their concept. But without further ado, enjoy!~

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It was common knowledge within the hybrid community the bad blood (no pun intended) between vampires and werewolves. So when Price made the decision to add you to the team, you and Soap were immediately in an understanding. While yes, in front of higher ups things were kept professional, everyone could practically feel the tension in the room when you were both in there.

Yet nobody could quite tell just what kind of tension it was. See, it was very clear that, due to being the species you were, there was something negative between you and the Scottish sergeant. However it was also blatantly obvious that the two of you did hold some sort of strange fondness for the other.

"Nice work today leech," Soap chuckled, passing you after a mission debriefing. You rolled your eyes so hard anyone who saw you would probably think they'd roll back into your head. You set your gun back in it's locker, slamming the door.

The mission hadn't exactly gone...poorly. The job got done at the end of the day, but there were quite a few screws that went loose. The fact that they were by your hands didn't help the matter by any means.

"You got something to say mutt?" You growled, crossing your arms defiantly. Your day hadn't exactly been the best and you knew Soap knew this. You weren't exactly in the mood for the lapdog's "cutesy little pet names" as Price affectionately called it. You swore that dragon was delusional.

Much to your irritation, Soap was quick to get in your personal space. He had his arms above yours, all but pinning you to the lockers behind you. "I dunno, mate, do you?" Now you knew good and well that "mutt" was Soap's least favorite little nickname you'd given him, so his actions weren't a surprise.

What was a surprise however, was the fact that you could smell the pheromones on him. Being this close to you was turning him on, making you quirk an eyebrow. "Maybe I do puppy," you smirked, reaching down and boldly palming his erection. "You first."

Soap inhaled sharply, growling lowly as you touched him. His clawed hands came forward, swiftly pinning your free hand to the metal of the locker. He juts his knee up, making it and his thigh rub up against your sex.

It's your turn to blush, hand moving more intentionally now to make him harder. You let out a soft whine when he starts to rock himself back and forth, stimulating you. Bodies are moving on their own now, pure instinct driving the interaction.

You're not sure when you ended up kissing him, or when the two of you stripped from the waist down. But here it was, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, the werewolf that drove you absolutely insane, was helping hold you up as he fucked you against the lockers. You had your arms locked around his neck, nails scratching at the base of his ears as you praised him with soft moans of "good boy," over and over.

"So good," he groaned, claws digging slightly into the soft flesh of your ass as he fucked you roughly. A particularly sensitive spot gets brushed by the head of his cock and it has you letting out a keen of pleasure. Combined with the tugging of his knot against your hole, you knew you wouldn't be lasting long.

It was so rough, raw, and hot, the two of you nearly forgot where you were. Each of you was lost in a haze of pleasure, your noises quiet save for the slapping of skin and slight shuddering metal. You drew yourself closer the more you inched towards your climax to nip at his neck, barely nicking the skin to lap at his blood.

"Close dove, I'm close," Soap growls, his previous rhythm lost to the urges and instinct to breed you as his knot slipped inside you. The extra insertion and attempts to keep yourself from completion meant you could only nod dumbly as a sign you were fine with him coming inside you. With a howl that he muffled against your shoulder, he finished, the two of you locking together where you ended and he began. You weren't far behind, head smacking slightly into the metal as you came, drawing your own blood as you tried to keep yourself quiet.

You and the sergeant panted heavily as you came down from your respective highs. The brunette's tail was wagging ever so slightly behind him and you couldn't help but chuckle. There was a lightness in your chest that you couldn't place, but it was certainly nice to not feel at your teammate's throat for once.

"While the show was appreciated," came a voice that seemed to materialize from the shadows. Ghost appears to your right, body shifting out of his Wraith form as he leans against the locker room door frame. "Next time, maybe pick somewhere a little more secluded to work out your anger issues eh?" Both you and Soap couldn't help but flush in embarrassment.

"Sorry L.T."

#bat writes #anon reqs #cod x reader #cod smut #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish smut #johnny soap mactavish smut

[chronically-ghosted]

the only thing we have to fuck is fear itself

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5309

summary: You get drunk at a happy hour and tell Max to his face you don’t find him scary at all. He takes that personally.

warnings/tags: drinking, like two seconds of scary vibes, smut, (secret) established relationship, work hard, play hard, have secret sex with your coworker even harder

a/n: I’m so sorry to FDR for butchering his quote for the sake of a title, but i like to think that horny bastard would have loved my smut.

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Despite working at a place that was quite literally soul-sucking, your coworkers could throw one hell of a happy-hour. 

There wasn’t a bartender in a ten mile radius from the office who didn’t know you all by name, didn’t shout a greeting over the tightly-packed house the instant you walked in. Rarely was it just a single crew member at the bars – you often got accused of moving in a pack like a five-headed hydra that could drink double its own weight in liquor, beer, and frosés – and being only two-fifths human, the Monster Squad was an alcoholic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe because you actively promoted unity amongst the species, like poster children for positive and “non-toxic human-demon relationships” HR kept encouraging in their Monday-Funday email blasts, but your little group was something of a legend in the area. You thought any notoriety was more likely due more to your faces plastered all over the bars’ trivia night winner boards, but in the office, people tended to stare. Trish, a siren from Santa Barbara, loved the attention, said it was good for her skin – gave her a “dewy” look. Nita, the only other human in your group besides you, disagreed with Ken (a quarter leprechaun on his mother’s side) when Ken claimed the whispering came from the sheer volume of nonsense that started around 4PM in the office on Fridays and continued until you all left the office. Ken was of the belief that the notoriety was actually infamy – to which he was promptly booed and had to buy the next round. 

And yet, to yourself, to the quiet conversations you had in the bathroom mirror after two long island ice teas and whatever was in what the centaur bartender at Lucky’s called an “Ass Whooping”, you suspected there might be another reason the Monster Squad even had a name at all. Within your own fields, each of you were respectable – Ken and Trish were both heads of marketing and Nita oversaw a considerable team of engineers, with you of course a department leader over in legal – one member of your group was, let’s say, more well-known. 

Well-known because he was the flashiest, the loudest, and certainly the most demonic of you all: Max Phillips, VP of sales, money-maker extraordinaire, and a fan-favorite amongst your Overlords, the rest of the sales team, and anyone with working and interested sex organs in the near vicinity. 

To your complete and utter annoyance.

You don’t quite remember how you all came together, who brought who into the group, and when it was unanimously decided that you’d stop snatching up office workers like limes at $5 margarita night after Trish, but it was Max who kept you together, who set up the group chat (somehow mysteriously gathering all of your phone numbers after a very late night), who bullied anyone who responded to his weekly “winner winner liquid dinner” texts every Friday morning with a tepid maybe into coming out that night. He already seemed to know half of the bartenders in the city, all of whom were happy to send over a free round of tequila shots as a “thank you to Max’s friends”. While you’d never look a gift vampire in the mouth, you were suspicious of his influence. Was that vampire hypnosis real? Did he have a pack of lesser, baby vamps to send out to tenderize the hunting grounds?

One thing’s for sure, he definitely didn’t scare them into it. 

“Has Halloween, like, changed for anyone else?” Nita grouched over her second Sangria Spritzer two hours into another fantabulous happy hour at Heel Clicks. The four of you were huddled into your comically small booth up on the landing near the back bar – of course there were other seats available but this had the best view, the closest access to your favorite bartender, and at some point, the shoulder-to-shoulder proximity served as a way to counteract the tipsy swaying. 

Trish leaned around Ken, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Nita shrugged hopelessly. “It used to be one of my favorite holidays when I was a kid. I loved the candy, the costumes – all of it. But I really liked being scared the most.”

Ken sorted into his old-fashioned. “Well, if you’re still scared of things you were as a kid, Nit, I think you’ve got a bigger problem than seasonal preference.”

She elbows him and he knocks into Trish.

“Not like that . . . but, like, monster movies aren’t really scary anymore? I mean, I used to watch Ginger Snaps religiously around Halloween, but, uh, now that I know an actual werewolf and he’s the nicest little old man in accounting, I dunno . . . it’s just not the same.” 

“Sorry to burst your bubble on monsters,” Ken shrugged. “But I personally cannot relate. As a member of the Free Folk, my people have always been welcomed, seen as bringers of good will towards man.”

“You know there’s eight movies where a leprechaun murders literally dozens of teenagers, right?” You turned to Ken over Nita, your entire right buttcheek hanging off the edge of the booth. 

“Oh, yeah, baby Jennifer Aniston,” Trish mused, thinking. “If that’s what your uncle looks like, Ken, then I posit Halloween is still fucking creepy.”

“Halloween is definitely creepy and it sucks.” Your ringleader has returned with electric-green jello shots. Max Phillips carried a tray with one hand, his immaculate blue jacket gone to display firm forearms underneath his white, rolled-back sleeves. “Bunch up, kiddies, Daddy’s back with treats.” 

Half the group groaned, the other squealed in delight.

Max hip-bumped you, his ravenous cologne immediately making you think unwise thoughts, as he pushed his way onto the bench absolutely not made for this many people. He looked back at you as he passed out the drinks.

“Now why are we all in agreement that Halloween is a lame holiday?” 

“Nita claims that because she personally knows a werewolf – Ned, right? – she’s not scared of monster movies anymore.”

Max scoffed. “Well, there’s your problem right there. Werewolves were never scary to begin with.”

“What monster movies have you been watching?” Nita gaped at him. “Maybe it’s bad representation, but all the movie werewolves can tear you to shreds!”

Ken nodded solemnly. “This is why affirmative action is so important.” 

Trish smacked him over the back of the head. 

“So, what?” Max continued, crunching up the jello in its plastic cup. “Now that you know me, a vampire, you think all Dracula movies give blood-suckers a bad rap?”

“No, being a human-sized mosquito with too much hair gel is doing that all on its own.” You smirked, dead-eyed, at him. Behind you, Ken and Trish snorted so hard they almost spilled their drinks. 

Max narrowed his eyes at you, in a look he only gave you when you wouldn’t let him ease around legal loopholes “for the good of the business”. Only Nita seemed to be oblivious. 

“That’s a good point, Max.” She thoughtfully stirred her jello with her pinky, unsticking it from the sides of her cup. “I mean, I guess I never watched that many vampire movies to begin with.”

Max broke his heated staring contest with you to look around at Nita, elbow pressing up into your chest as he leaned forward on the table. “I can promise you, doll face, vampires have been and always will be more terrifying and lethal than werewolves.”

“Not the argument I think you want to make, mate,” Ken murmured as you shifted yourself to face Max entirely. 

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us all –,”

“Nope,” Trish called down the row, “we’re taking this shot before you two get into it again.”

“To Ned!” Ken yelled. 

“To Ned!” 

Plastic crunched, tongues slurped, as jello ungracefully slipped into every open mouth down the bench. You licked your lip, tip of your tongue green. Max watched the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“So, enlighten us, Max, why should we be so afraid of you?” 

Max grinned out the side of his mouth. “One, I’ve seen more bite out of a pomeranian than one of those Tribbles. And two, whatever-wolves can only get it up once a month. I’m all monster, all the time, baby.”

At this, everyone groaned.

“Dollar to the Dick Jar!” Trish smacked her hand on the table.

“Here, here!”

Max pouted as he took a dollar out of his wallet and slammed it into the center of the table, payment towards tips or the bill or whoever suffered the most due to The Dick. 

“Face it, buzz,” you shrugged as he put his wallet away. “You’re just not scary any more, if you ever were.”

“Is that right?” 

Fuck, you were in a lot of trouble. Beneath the table, his thigh soaked yours in heat. 

“That’s right.”

“You know what is really scary?” Ken muttered, digging around in his crushed up for the last remnants of jello. “Kelpies.”

“Ah – yes! They’ve got sloppy fangs covered in algae!”

“Hey – that’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

Heel Clicks was hands down one of your favorite bars in the area. Devoted to the local music scene in the area, the vibe was a mix of old 70s rock bands, modern steel, and whatever justified lots of mounted horns and hairy cow-skin stools. The drinks were great, seasonal too, and there was always live music on the patio out back. In a twist that you found particularly cool, the old rum-runners tunnels had been converted to comfortably spacious bathrooms in the basement. Behind the solid oak door, the noises from the above bar are nearly entirely muffled, making the slow descent to the bathroom something of an out-of-body experience when you’ve had a few and the sudden silence is almost an echo. 

Plus, these fucking stairs are a death trap. 

You embarrassingly clutched at the railing, the wooden stairs at far too sharp an angle even if you were sober as a judge, much less at a Monster Squad happy hour. 

Stupid Max and his stupid drinks and his –

What was that?

You stand up right on the third to last step, listening. 

In the half darkness in front of you, there are three paths available. To the left, employee storage, the lights above the door flickering, the sign reading “do not enter” pulsating in and out of visibility. To your right, another door, maybe an exit. Always unmarked and always locked every time your drunken curiosity got the better of you. 

And across from the stairs were the bathrooms, left women, right for men.

God, what year is it? Shouldn’t it all just be gender-neutral? You think to yourself, a tad bit more aggressive than you’d usually oppose the gender binary – primarily to wash out the rising concern at the back of your neck.

You are alone down here. It’s obvious. It’s not like there’s that many places for some dastardly villain to hide. Four shut doors and three hallways. Unless some maniac was curled up under the stairs, you are the only person in the basement. 

At least, the only person you can see. 

You don’t realize how sweaty your hands are until you try to continue your way down the stairs. You take a step and nearly slip, the eyes you know are on you somehow laughing. 

One blinking light. No where for anything to hide, so why are you so nervous? You are an adult woman, for god’s sakes. You make it to the floor, the most likely candidate for your demise behind you and –

The stairs creaked. 

The empty stairs that you just walked down creaked and you nearly leap across the hallway to put space between you. Heart in your throat, you make the monumentally stupid decision and call out, “hello? Is anyone there?”

As if the serial killer was just going to announce himself, give up the whole element of surprise.

Blinking through the bleary haze of too many drinks, you take out your phone and flip on the light. A white beam chases back the encroaching darkness, a frantic worried ghost peering through the gloom. And yet, like you consciously know, there’s nothing there. But the darkness feels heavier, the eerie distant noise from the bar above so quiet and removed the sound is more of a memory – the idea of what comfort and community should sound like. But it’s not. It’s too far gone – if anything were to happen, it’d be hours before they found you. If they did at all. 

“Oh my god,” you scold yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Get a fucking grip and go pee and then go back up those fucking stairs and –,”

Okay, that was definitely breathing.

Breathing, right behind you. Ragged, hungry, disembodied breathing, in your ear and your heart ricochets into your chest. Your own breath turns short, choppy, panic swelling into your ears, over your fingers. You think you might drop your phone, your fingers are so numb from fear, so you clutch tighter, the trembling throwing white light across the paneled wood in a craze. 

Be rational, this is crazy, there is nothing down here! 

The stairs snarl again and you squeak, all but bolting for the women’s bathroom, desperate to put at least some space between you and those fucking stairs, put some boundaries between –

The door is locked. When the fuck is this door ever locked?

Panic recedes to overwhelming rage because fuck, fuck, fuck, now you’re trapped in here – you can’t go back to the stairs – you rattle the handle, shaking the door against its lock –

“Fucking let me in!”

The light above the exit door goes out. And then the other. You throw all of your weight against the bathroom door. You claw at the handle, begging it to give way. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck – you can hear the darkness breathing –

No, speaking – it’s saying something, chanting, mocking, calling out – calling out your name –

The door suddenly unlocks and you stumble forward – into something solid –

Its hands grab you and like a fucking fool, you played right into its trap. 

It turns you, throws you up against the tile wall, its claws around your shoulders, cold tile against your cheek and you whimper. Whimper when you feel the soft pin-prick of fangs against the back of your neck – fuck, this is how it ends?? – and –

“Got you.” 

That voice.

That condescending, snide, bratty, little –

You elbow the solid body behind you and Max lets out a puff of air, staggering back. You whip around, nearly snarling in his smirking, beautiful face. The bathroom is dark, black tiled walls and floors with a faux-wooden sink and dim lights across the top of the mirror. In the flushed orange light, his eyelashes encourage thick shadows under his eyes and in the collar of his throat. If it wasn’t for that insufferable smile, he’d look painted from thin brush strokes and heavy scarlet paint. 

Caravaggio, eat your heart out. 

“Max, what the fuck was that?” 

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hit him, at the top of his ribcage. “Oh, c’mon, it was just some fun. Saw you sneak off after you got Nita’s drink and thought I’d mess with you just a bit.”

You sigh, willing your heart to slow down, throwing your gaze to the ceiling and dropping your head against the tile.

“God, you asshole, I thought I was gonna die.” You swallow and move your hair out of your face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I what?”

“You scared –,”

That smile, the crack of fangs across his mouth, widens, the bottom of his lip rolling back over the cut of his teeth, those brown eyes melting into a warm, obscene black, as he meets you hip first against the wall. 

His hands climb over your waist, as though daring you to hit him again, and your thigh muscles tighten. Your hands instinctively trace the exposed skin left by his opened collar at the dip of his throat when he comes closer, chest pressing up against yours, nose against your temple. 

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this easy for him. You sigh through your nose, eyes rolling shut, when he nips at your cheek.

“I think you were supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am,” you groan. “I’m livid. I’m enraged. I’m –,”

His thumb brushes your ribs – not tickling, not entirely touching, but just reminding. Reminding of the force behind his touch, behind his teeth. 

“Baby girl,” he chuckles softly, the sound running down your neck like rain, “you’re melting in my arms.” 

“This doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.” You focus on the softness of his hair between your fingers, the heat of the back of his neck beneath the pads of your fingertips – resolutely ignoring the radiating scent of his cologne coming from up under his collar. More than once had he come across you in his apartment bathroom, sniffing that bottle like some dopey perv looking for a quick fix. Of course, instead of admonishing you, he bent you over his sink and fucked the daylights out of you, his wrists singing with the smell of that cologne. Now he wore it to work wherever he wanted something from you, particularly to overlook some pesky lines of legalise. 

In the hallowed darkness of the bar’s bathroom, he drops a single kiss just below your jaw, inches beneath your ear. He grumbles when your pulse there quickens, and again his fangs find a curve of skin to press against – a reminder. 

Always reminding, always lurking, a threat without a promise.

And he knows exactly what that does to you. 

You release a full body shudder when his hands drop lower, guiding you back against the wall, fingers rounding around your thighs. Like interlocking pieces, your bodies slide together, your arms curling around his neck, the heat of his chest branding yours as it forces you against the wall. You’re breathing all wrong again, but for different reasons this time. You catch a flash of the ink-well darkness of his eyes when he nuzzles out of your neck to admire the mess he has made of your skirt.

“Can I fuck you in this or is this thing too tight?” He asks, like he specifically didn’t get on his hands and knees and beg you to wear that gray pencil skirt only twelve hours earlier. 

You lean up, snagging his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him roughly and showing him he’s not the only one with a little bite. He groans softly, one hand curling into your hair at the base of your skull, and he licks you, from the front of your lips up to the valley of your mouth. He tastes like the sweetness of his whiskey n’ coke, his tongue rubbing the flexing muscle of yours, the sharpness of your molars. You could spend hours just sucking on his plush mouth. 

Maybe he did scare you. Maybe he should have scared you more, the threat of anyone discovering your relationship a real danger to both of your careers. Maybe it should have scared you, how little you cared about any of that when he palmed your breast over your shirt. 

You inhaled over his mouth, popping off his lips with a moan, his hand cupping you roughly as he dove in to suck marks on your neck. Every moment that passes, you feel your skin ratcheting up with heat, blood almost hot. He thumbs your perk nipple through your shirt and you arch your chest, his massive palm nearly cupping your ribs to your spine.

“Max, either you figure out how to fuck me in this skirt or you owe me a new one.”

“You want me to rip it off you?” He slurs, eyelids heavy, his thigh slides in between your knees, the fabric preventing him from going higher, to the place where you both need him. You groan in frustration and his hands squeeze your hips at the sound. “Tell me fast, baby, because I can’t–,”

“For the love of – just fucking lift it up–,” His hands fumble over yours as your fingers curl under the hem, his own want making that brilliant mind for numbers almost stupid. His warm fingers overwhelm your own as they push your skirt up your waist, and then dig around the line of your pantyhose. 

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to Fort Knox me out of your pussy? Why are there so many layers?” 

You hiss at him as you slide out of your heels and shove your nylons to the ground, hopping on one leg to take them off your feet. “It’s like you’ve never undressed me before.” 

Freed of the chaos of your underthings, Max’s hands rush to his belt, the clinking of the metal sending shivers down your back and straight up your cunt. He doesn’t notice because he’s obsessively watching your thighs. “I’ve never undressed you with our coworkers a floor above us and probably becoming increasingly suspicious about where the fuck we are–,” 

You take him by the back of the neck, hand clenching around the starch white of his shoulder. He comes to you, zipper digging into your hip bone as he pulls you up off your feet. For once that chatty mouth is quiet, open and wet with desire as he takes in your flushed face, the blood pumping under your tits. Max is nothing if not almost supernaturally consumed by the look, feel, texture, and taste of your tits. 

The look on his face is one of those reasons you tend to throw caution to the wind, why your heart almost feels too big for your chest, whenever he’s around. 

He hooks an arm around your low back, tilting your hips forward. You feel the heat of his cock somewhere below you and it takes all of your strength not to grind down. 

“Max –,” he’s not even inside of you and you’re already begging. You bite down on his ear to stifle whatever was rising up your throat. 

“Hang on, baby, I gotta make sure you . . .”

Using your shoulders as counterbalance, he holds himself up against the wet warmth of your cunt, breath stuttering as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds. That bratty aloofness is gone; he wants to sink so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t even get you ready – but you’re already so wet –,”

You don’t resist grinding down now and he knocks his shoulders forward, needing movement, but fighting against the urge to buck up into you, gasping from the feeling of your cunt. 

“Please, Max, just –,”

“Yeah, I know, baby, okay, just, I gotta . . .” 

He angles himself and you arch your back, unable to watch with the mess of your skirt around your waist, but he finds it, finds your opening, the place he loves to mark, and without any warning, thrusts his length up into you. 

The stretch, the surprise, the ear-ringing split between being empty and then stuffed so full – you can’t help but moan so loudly, you sing to the ceiling. For a moment, your bodies hum with the stillness, the blood in your cunt pulsating around him, you claw at his broad shoulders, need him closer, needing that smell of him that haunts your empty bed as far inside of you as his cock is. His hips stutter and he presses one hand against the tile by your ribs, teeth clenched against the sensation. 

“When I fuck you, every time feels like the first time. Every goddamn time.” 

It’s not particularly the confession it could be, but you shake your head, clearing it of anything stupid like feelings for Max Phillips, your chin brushing his jaw, his nose against your ear. 

“Then do it,” you whine. “Just fuck me, Max.”

With a groan that could be mistaken for a snarl, he lifts you both up right, pushing your hips down and spreading yourself over him. You lock your ankles around his back a second before he pulls out halfway, then to jerk back in with such force and precision your eyes roll to the back of your head. He sets a pace that has pleasure weaving a tight drum just under your stomach. Each sweaty thrust fires sparks up your spine. He really is so fucking good at this. 

This is the release you need, you both need. Sure, it’s an after-effect of having a high-powered job, but it’s also more than that. Max fucking you is unfortunately very often the highlight of your day. He knows what you need, how you need it – how hard to drive his cock into you, it makes you tongue-tied and dizzy. The fast pump of his cock, how it feels to split you apart over and over again, the back zipper of your skirt digging into your back – it’s too fucking good.

“Don’t know where you get off giving me orders,” he grunts, the pounding of his hips into yours rapidly shoving you up your ascension. The slapping, wet noise in the empty room is obscene. “I’m a fucking VP, little girl, and I–,”

You tense your muscles around his cock and he fumbles, his knees buckling momentarily. 

“Do not fucking bring up the org chart right now,” you hiss, your own edge yanked away when he stills. “I’m almost there–,” 

Quicker than he’s been all night, Max lunges forward, mouth open and teeth bare. He bites your neck and then he bites you. 

Fangs puncture your skin, not deep, but enough that your body is thrown into a messy coil of nerves and adrenaline. It knows you could die like this, even if you’ve only ever called the vampire a mosquito to his face, and triggering a self-preservation instinct, your body trembles from the sudden blast of sensation.

Your pupils dilate further than they were, your skin becomes overly aware of every drop of sweat, every flutter of hair, every rub of flesh – and your fucking nerve-endings feel like static, as if brushed by lightning. 

Pleasure so-white hot it almost burns roars up your spine, slick coating his cock inside you, and you cry out. Wail in his ear. Begging him to make it better. To give you your release. The feel of his cock pounding up inside your now-overly ripe cunt brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck – Max, p-please –,”

“Can you handle it if I touch you?”

You shake your head. “Yes, yes, please, touch me.” 

“You can’t keep screaming like that,” he scolds you breathlessly, the punch of his hips bouncing you against his cheek. For all his vampire stamina, the flush of exertion across his cheeks is truly staggering and a triumph for your ego. Flecks of blood dot his mouth. “Someone’s going to come looking.” 

“I don’t care,” you groan, angling your hips to take more of him. His hand not on your back cups under your knee, tugging it higher up his torso. His pace is relentless, overwhelming – with his weight on top of you, and his cock up under you, inside you, you’re consumed by Max Phillips. “Whatever you do, d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“You scared I’m gonna?”

“Yes,” you whine. You can feel your heart pounding out its shape into your ribs. 

“Good girl. And good girls get to fucking come.”

Balancing your increasingly limp body, he holds you up right, his hand snaking beneath your skirt, between the sweat of your thighs and his torso, and –

He thumbs that buzzing bundle of nerves, “come for me, baby”, and you do. You come screaming, the tension snapping, vision sparkling with stars, and you are shoved over the edge. You don’t know you’re wailing his name until he comes too, all concern for getting caught seemingly gone as he begs you to continue as he fills you up with his pearly, gooey cum:

“That’s right, say my name. Say my fucking name, sweetheart.” 

His hips thrust weakly, some instinct choking him until he makes sure every drop of him stays in you. You’re going to be dripping for hours. 

His skin is fire-hot beneath his starched white shirt. You’ll be thinking about that for days afterward when you see him in the hallways of the office. 

This is what scares you the most. When you realize it's over and neither one of you want it to be. 

Shaking from exertion, Max slowly sets you down, unwinding your legs from his waist, your ankles trembling against the cold tile. You couldn’t imagine putting your nylons back on, the thought of that pressure against the curve of your lower stomach while you are so full of his cum practically unbearable. 

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes intentionally avoiding you as he inspects where he bit you, breath coming in ragged, long gasps. Sweat darkens the hair at his temple and that post-fuck blush is staggeringly gorgeous on him. He pricks his thumb on the sharp edge of his fangs and with a scarlet bead balanced on his thumb, he smears his blood against the puncture wounds, like someone would wipe dirt away from a loved one’s skin. 

It doesn’t really hurt, but the effects leave your neck tingling. You’d never say this out loud, but you fucking loved when he did that. 

He steps away without looking at you, giving you time to adjust your skirt, your hair in the mirror. You help him straighten his collar because it’s not like he can use the mirror to check himself.

He grins, the flush fading far too rapidly from his cheeks. 

“What are you going to tell them?” You nod to the stairs on the other side of the wall. “This can’t look good for us.” 

“You got attacked by a werewolf on the way to the bathroom. I saved you.” 

“Thought you said werewolves weren’t scary.”

He shakes his head, smirking, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Just said I was the bigger monster between the two of us.” 

“My hero.” You turn your head until his lips drink in yours. 

It is dangerous, your feelings for him. 

He taps you on the butt, pulling away. The lines around his eyes do an excellent job of masking the hurt in the brownness of his eyes. 

“Gimme five, then you come up. Can’t have you looking so completely debauched.”

He kisses you again, betraying whatever amounted to “cool and collected” he attempted for, and without another word, he slides out the door. 

His smell lingers in the air long after he does. The throbbing of your cunt also serves as a fantastically bitter reminder.

You go back to the mirror because yes, you could not have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign that said, “hi, yes, I did just get my back blown out.” You try to fold your hair around your ears at least a dozen times before pulling it back in what you hope to be a casual pony-tail. You toss your nylons into the trash can, pleading that the “oh, I tore them in the bathroom” excuse might hold an ounce of water. 

You think about what’s waiting for you a floor up and your stomach clenches. 

Fucking Max could upset the dynamics of your little group, your little Monster Squad. Whatever the stupid office bylines were, your happy-hour social group is one of the bright spots in your life, especially while working at a place run by those bastard Overlords. 

And Max knew that. He didn’t want to risk your long-term happiness for his short-term. 

Max didn’t scare you because he was a monster.

He scared you precisely because he wasn’t.

You open the bathroom door and return to the world. 

#max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips smut #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters

[anacecherry]

I was looking through the Fionna and Cake trailer to look for scenes we haven't seen in the show yet, and I noticed how most of them are most likely from the same episode. So, on this post, I will be talking about my theories/speculations for Episode 7, The Star.[Spoilers for the episode synopsis under the cut]

So this is what we know about the episode right now.

My first theory was that the title came from whatever happens in the gumlee subplot or maybe it was about Cake being "the star" of the vampire hunters, but then my friend Will reminded me how the previous episodes were all names of characters (Yes, Im counting Destiny idc), and said it could be a nickname for a pre existing character. Maybe it could be this world's Marcy's "Vampire Name". I dont know enough on the topic to be able to tell if it would fit in with the theme the vampires in Stakes had, but it does have an article at its start.

For the first screenshots we have these. The first image shows up near the end of the trailer, its 3 vampires attacking. I think these two are back to back, as the vamps are exactly the same. In the second image the third vampire is in the background and appears to have knocked Fionna down, with Simon standing next to the vampire. Maybe Cake does that attack in rage due to them hurting Fionna.

This is a one second scene and the frame where the explosions dont cover up the whole screen is very hard to catch, but these are the same garlic bombs Peppermint Butler had in Stakes. Maybe the Bubblegum of this universe, along with Pep But, is working with the vampire hunters.

Following up on what I said about Marcy having a "Vampire Name". When I first read the synopsis I assumed that Marcy was the one leading the vamp hunters, as it only makes sense. Being a Vampire hunter was a big part of her backstory that led to her *becoming* one. But I then realized, what's going on here, might be completely different. Not only is she already a vampire, both in the trailer and on the poster this Marceline looks pretty smug for someone presumably fighting for her life, and she has that dress which looks very "royal"(to me, at least).

I thought maybe she embraced being the vampire queen, and attacked the humans, but that wouldn't make sense. Why would she hurt the beings she wiped out an entire species for? And then it clicked: this Marcy never had a Simon at all. She was found by vampires instead of him. Remember the conversation Simon and little Marcy had at the beginning of episode 2?

Someone rich? Living in a castle? With people trained to tend to their every need? Sounds a hell lot like a king.

This conversation is going to come up again. Simon is going to find out that No, Marcy would NOT have been fine if he didn't find her. He's going to see what would really have happened to her if she never met him. In all the past episodes Simon's been constantly told that he sucks, that Ice King was "better" and "more fun". He's been feeling like he truly did not matter and had no value, that it would be better for everyone if he just went back to being Ice King. He's going to see that that's not true, that he does matter. That Marcy values and needs him, even if things are different now. Maybe he won't get it immediately, but he might start doubting his decision to wear the crown again. I'm so confident in this I will eat my door if it doesn't happen.

Human huntress wizard with a garlic arrow. Obviously its from this episode. She must be a hunter(duh) and maybe she's the leader as well. Or maybe Im right about Bonnie being there and *she's* the leader.

Im only assuming this scene is from this episode bc the background color scheme is similar, I dont have any other evidence for it. It may be after Cake beats the vampires, where she gets approached by the hunters to join in. Im kinda basing this theory off the voice line that goes along with it in the trailer ("Now that is a party I don't wanna miss" Who'd wanna miss out on the fun of hunting evil vampires?), but the voice line may be about something else and she could be praising herself to the hunters here (she just has that vibe in here).

A gun(?) Lowers down to face the gang. They smile at it nervously. The ground theyre standing on is wet, and so is Cake. I don't know the reason for that, because they didn't immediately come here after leaving the Winter Kingdom. They might have gotten their clothes wet on some other universe and then came to this world, or maybe this is after they fight the vampires and they somehow got splashed with water during the process. I came up with two possibilities of what might be going on here:

Option A) It is the vampires spotting and trying to kill them. If thats the case they might've destroyed the gun before it could shoot them, or maybe Fionna got shot and thats why she's down on the scene where Cake is attacking. Both end up with the 3 vampire goons attacking.

Option B) It's the vampire hunters seeing them, either after the fight or right as they arrive, and they think the gang are vampires as well until they show their teeth

This isn't from the trailer its from a magazine. I think its from this episode because of the background, like that Cake screenshot. This may be after Cake is recruited. Fionna seems to be annoyed so maybe Cake is doing something wrong and Fionna's disagreeing with her. Or maybe Cake's trying to annoy Fionna and it's working. My friend @weirdlizard26 said this about it, which is far better than what I came up with:

And that's it for the speculation! I wanted to talk about the rest of the scenes in the trailer as well but 1) this post is long enough as it is and 2) tumblr image limit is not being kind to me rn. I might make a separate post for those if I get the motivation. Untill then you'll have just one post of me going insane rambling about what could happen in a show about an old man having an existential crisis and a girlfailure with her cat.

#tagging time #at #adventure time #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #fionna campbell #cake the cat #marceline the vampire queen #marceline abadeer #huntress wizard #ace's cherry #fionna the human #<- I forgot she had 2 tags

[cece693]

Pain (Lestat de Lioncourt x Male Vamp. Reader)

This small fic came to me while looking through Pinterest. You know those little 'aesthetic' quotes? Well, it came from this one specifically:

'I loved you even when it hurt.'

This fic includes things from both the movie and TV show, so no specific Lestat was used for inspiration. Enjoy.

Summary: On the anniversary of his transformation, m/r can't help but remember his past: one that includes his ex-lover and sire, Lestat de Lioncourt.

M/n was tired. Though his outward appearance betrayed no signs of aging—no wrinkles, no gray hair, no creaking bones—the weight of centuries bore down on him. As he gazed at the midnight sun, a harbinger of his impending retreat to his coffin, m/n decided to indulge himself and spend more time out in the open. After all, this was the only time he could enjoy the new wonders of the world, yet this was not just any ordinary day. Tonight marked the anniversary of m/n's transformation into one of the undead.

Reflecting on the past, m/n reminisced about the persuasive allure of Lestat, the vampire who had sweet-talked his way around rationality, promising a life brimming with pleasure and abundance. In the initial decades, it was a splendid existence.

Lestat had a way of making m/n feel truly special. The once mundane aspects of mortal life were now elevated to extraordinary heights in the vampiric realm, and Lestat made sure m/n felt the full extent of his newfound powers.

There were moonlit strolls through shadowy alleyways, where Lestat shared the secrets of their immortal world. He spoke of the intoxicating thrill of the hunt, the taste of forbidden blood, and the freedom that came with transcending the limitations of mortality. Lestat created a world where every moment felt like an eternity of bliss. However, m/n should've known his novelty would wear off. Lestat was a man driven by desire and ambition, wanting to taste the newest and finest things in life. What would m/n offer to such a monster who had already taken everything? So when Lestat's attention was redirected to another human named Louis, m/n felt pain.

He was angry at Lestat for casting him aside, yet the blame couldn't be placed on him alone—m/n should've known that a creature such as Lestat could never be tied down, despite how much he proclaimed to love you. So, when the ethereally beautiful vampire introduced Louis as his newest creation, a realization dawned on m/n. Lestat wasn't his anymore.

And Louis, the unwitting figure in their love triangle, bore no blame for his and Lestat's fallout. M/n grappled with conflicting emotions, attempting to cultivate hatred towards the vampire who seemed to have stolen Lestat away. Yet, against his own efforts, all he could muster was pity. For as much as Louis and Lestat showcased their 'love' through tender kisses and clandestine touches, m/n saw through the facade.

In the quiet moments when Lestat thought no one was watching, m/n observed the flickers of longing and boredom in the vampire's blue eyes. It became evident that the passion between Louis and him, while palpable, was also marred by perpetual restlessness. Not even months into Louis' stay did the cracks in their relationship begin to manifest themselves.

"Out with Antoinette?" Louis would hiss, the accusatory tone hanging heavy in the air, ensuing another argument between the two. As the discord between Louis and Lestat escalated, M/n found himself unwittingly becoming a refuge for Lestat. The vampire, seeking solace in the familiar, turned to M/n whenever the storms of conflict raged with Louis. In those moments of anger, Lestat was M/n's again, yet it also drove him to the brink of madness and unhappiness.

He had days, if lucky, where things would go back to how they were—a semblance of the love they once shared. But whenever the storms settled between Louis and Lestat, m/n would be relegated to loneliness once more. One day, unable to bear the emotional rollercoaster any longer, he confronted Lestat. The air was thick with tension as they stood facing each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between them.

"You can't keep doing this, Lestat." M/n pleaded, the frustration and anguish evident in his voice. "Keep me here when you clearly love Louis. How would you like it if I were to do the same?"

M/n regretted saying anything as Lestat's eyes darkened, and a snarl emerged on the vampire's lips. In a sudden, swift motion, Lestat pinned m/n to the wall, his grip firm and possessive. The room seemed to close in as Lestat hissed, "You belong to me."

"I don't belong to anyone." M/n retorted, anger engulfing his body.

Lestat laughed coldly in his face, grip tightening, he smirked. "That's where you're wrong, love," he taunted, his voice dripping with both amusement and cruelty. "I own you…"

The possessive declaration sent a chill down m/n's spine, his anger giving way to a growing sense of unease. Lestat's dark laughter reverberated in the confined space, echoing the shifting power dynamics between them. Trapped against the wall, m/n felt the weight of Lestat's control, a dominance that left him conflicted and vulnerable.

Lestat's smirk widened, his gaze predatory as he continued, "You're mine to protect, mine to control. I've tasted your blood, felt your heartbeat sync with mine. You're bound to me in ways you can't comprehend."

M/n, trapped against the wall, felt a cold chill run down his spine at Lestat's words. The once cherished intimacy between them now felt like chains, binding M/n to a fate he hadn't fully understood.

In a moment of intense emotion, Lestat, fueled by the strange dance of power and desire, leaned in, capturing m/n's lips in a possessive kiss. The meeting of their mouths was both a declaration of dominance and a desperate attempt of Lestat's to re-establish his control over m/n. Perhaps, in his pursuit of novelty and excitement, he had unknowingly neglected his first creation in favor of the alluring Louis. However, what neither m/n nor Louis knew was that, hidden beneath the layers of Lestat's charismatic exterior, there existed a capacity for love.

As Lestat's lips sought dominance in the heated kiss, there was an intricate play of emotions beneath the surface.

The neglect that m/n had felt wasn't an absence of love but rather a reflection of Lestat's internal struggle to navigate the complexities of immortal relationships. Lestat, a vampire with a history of numerous lovers, had reveled in the pleasures of passion without feeling a deep emotional connection—until m/n entered the picture. Even his intense relationship with Louis didn't compare to the profound connection he shared with m/n.

As the intensity of their heated kiss began to wane, Lestat pulled away, his eyes fixed on m/n with a mixture of possessiveness and intensity. "If you dare to run away," Lestat whispered, "Know that I'll drag you back to my side. And that's a promise."

#interview with the vampire #x male reader #male reader #claudia iwtv #iwtv #vampire #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire armand #vampire chronicles #anne rice

[nomizombie]

[But aren't vampires scary...?] // vampire!König x GN!Reader

cw: blood (obviously!), biting, some injury

[SFW] ; blood (obviously!!), mutual pining (?), human rights violation el oh el, könig has social anxiety, gender neutral, no usage of y/n [A/N] ; was thinking about vamp könig whos actually really awkward and not the cool vampires like in movies... in fact, other vampires would probably assume he was a werewolf with his size.

You had never met a man like him, or more accurately, creature, like him.

He was terrifying, larger than life. His presence took up the whole room. Yet, it was invisible. Almost like he was transparent and you were the only one who could see him.

You met him at a bar. He didn't seem like he fit. Sitting in the corner, sipping on some cheap beer, observing everyone. Very out of place for somewhere like here.

You walked over to him of course. Seems like a guy like him just needs some company right?

Wrong.

It only took a few drinks before he dragged you outside. In some dinky alley, slamming your body against a wall and sinking his pearly white fangs into your neck. Sucking and slurping up your blood eagerly.

Quiet apologies in a subtle accent as he continued drinking and drinking. He gripped your body so tight, you couldn't move a muscle. As he bit deeper, the pain was so excruciating that you felt your consciousness teeter over the edge. One more second, minute, hour, he kept promising you.

By the time he was done, you were so lightheaded you felt like you were going to pass out, if not from the pain it would be from the blood loss. You struggled to even stand, swaying from side to side.

He apologised again.

"I-I am very sorry- It was, I'm starving you see? I'm so sorry-" You cut him off as you fell, leaning onto his body for support.

"Scheiße, did I feed too much?" His trembling hand gently lifted your face up.

You stared at him, half-lidded and woozy. Not good.

He immediately hoisted you up on his back.

"I'll take you to my apartment okay? Is that fine? I mean you don't really have a choice- Ah, you're too out of it to understand anyways."

Before long, you were laying on a couch in some living room you had never seen before. Still lightheaded, but feeling a bit more grounded, you sat up, observing your surroundings.

"König?" You called out his name. Difficult to say yet the more you said it, the more familiar it felt to your tongue.

He immediately appeared in the hallway, holding a warm towel, a mug, and some bandages.

"Ja? Are you alright? I'm so sorry-"

You fell back down again onto the couch. The room spun when you sat up.

"Oh gott..." He rushed over to you, almost dropping the mug and towel he held.

"Ah, it's the blood loss..." He sighed, "I was too excited, sorry."

He looked up at you through his brows as he dressed the bite. How could such a worrisome guy be the one who had you pinned against a wall for blood hours earlier?

"It's... alright." You winced in between words. It was still sore and throbbing even after- how many hours?

"What... time is it...?" You hissed as he cleaned the wound.

"Oh- Well, around two in the morning. Why?"

"It's that late already...?" You threw your head back in exhaustion.

Silence enveloped the two of you until you finally asked what had been on your mind since the alleyway.

"You're a vampire?"

"Ja." He said quietly, now wrapping clean bandages around the teeth marks.

"I thought... vampires were only in movies."

He shook his head, chuckling a little.

"I'm very much real, aren't I?"

You stared at him, squinting in the dark.

"Oh yeah..." you slurred. The alcohol and blood loss made for a deadly combination.

"Get some sleep, and well, I'm sorry, 'bout the uhm- biting." He stammered, pausing between words. He began to stand up.

"Wait-" Your hand shot out, grabbing onto his.

"S-Sorry?" His eyes widened under his balaclava. They were so emotive that it wasn't hard to tell what he was thinking.

The coldness of the room. The silence of the apartment. The darkness of it all. It was so stifling.

"Can you... stay?" You said meekly. Voice cracking from no liquids.

He couldn't speak, stuck looking at your pleading eyes and bandaged neck. After a few seconds which felt like much more, he finally remembered to respond.

"Oh- of course."

Plopping himself back onto the couch, he sat next to you as you leaned onto him.

"Sorry."

Of course, he couldn't help but apologise again.

"It's okay. You said you were... hungry... right?" You looked up at him, he had his eyes fixed on the muted TV in front of the two of you.

"Still- I shouldnt have... I got too... excited. I haven't had fresh blood in m-months.."

"It's alright-"

You paused as you felt something dripping onto your right shoulder.

As you turned, you saw his face. Crazed. Salivating.

"I-I'm sorry it's just- thinking about it makes me..."

"My blood was that tasty?"

You swear you could've seen a small tinge of pink bloom on his face. It may have even reached the tips of his ears.

"No it's not.. I mean- Not yours particularly- I'm just starving..."

You grinned at him.

"I'm not tasty?"

He couldn't bring himself to respond and the sleepiness was returning to you. Vampires are supposed to be scary right? So why are you here, getting all nice and cozy with one? It was going to be a long night for the two of you.

divider: @violetbudd

tysm for reading! :) might expand on this au as well as I alrdy have some ideas for a second chapter !!!

#. ˚₊‧꒰ა 🧟🧠 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ #°˖ ⊹ ꒰✒️꒱ ♡ #vampire!könig #fanfic #fluff #könig #könig call of duty #könig cod #könig fluff #könig x y/n #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #vampire #könig x reader #könig fanfiction #könig modern warfare

[apomaro-mellow]

I wanted to write somethin where Eddie’s friends were basically supportive minions and it kinda turned into an urban fantasy too

Eddie ran his tongue over his fangs while looking over the letter in his hands. Then he pursed his lips.

“You don’t think it’s too much? It’s a lot of flowery language.”

“I thought we agreed flowery would keep him from finding out its you”, Jeff said.

Eddie paced around while holding out the love letter. It was addressed to Steve. His own name was nowhere to be seen. He’d be signing it as a secret admirer. 

“Eddie, are we sure Steve isn’t using his powers on you?”, Gareth asked.

The vamp in question rolled his eyes but didn’t blame them. As far as incubi went, Steve was a pretty powerful one. But his abilities didn’t work on vampires, who had their own powers of compulsion. It was how Eddie knew the tender feelings in his unbeating heart were real.

“I’m sure. Now are we sure about this?”, Eddie presented the poem again, practically shoving it in their faces. “It doesn’t really feel like me.”

“It has enough you in it”, Jeff reasoned. “If you put too much of yourself, he’ll realize its you.”

With that decided, Eddie put the letter in Steve’s locker and waited. He was leaning as casually against the wall as he could and hoped he wasn’t imagining the blush on Steve’s face as he read it that morning.

-----------------

The first letter went over so well, Eddie sent in more. He thought he was doing pretty well on the whole ‘secret admirer’ thing until Steve walked right up to him and thanked him for the latest letter.

“How did you-?! I mean, I’ve got better things to do than write you sonnets.”

“Right, because there’s other vampires in this school who would compare me to an awesome riff that makes their fingers tingle.”

Well if he was caught, he might as well go all in. And the next step in the courtship handbook was to give him flowers. The question was what kind, which was how Jeff and Gareth found themselves in a flower shop bright and early on a Saturday.

“Duuude, it was a full moon last night, you gotta give me more warning”, Gareth complained as the floral scents assaulted his nose.

“You’ll live. Now what color should I get?”, Eddie asked.

Jeff looked around the shop. “Isn’t the type of flower more important?”

“Yeah”, Gareth agreed. “An incubus would know all about flower language.”

Despite the idea of getting a certain type of flower to communicate his feelings, it ended up being an argument between Jeff and Gareth over a blue flower vs a yellow one.

“He wears blue all the time. That’s gotta be his favorite color.”

“If you paid attention to the millions of times Eddie obsessed over him, you’d know yellow is his best color.”

It amused Eddie to no end to see his little minions help him decide on a bouquet for Steve. Eventually a decision was made. And he handed them off to Steve while picking him up for their first date.

-------------------

“I’ve heard of elder vamps who have legions serving under them”, Steve mentioned one night as they smoked atop Eddie’s trailer.

“I just got the little lambs that follow me right now”, Eddie said.

Steve hummed in response. “But between you and me, with our powers, we could have an entire horde of minions.”

“You’re so sexy when you talk about talking over the world.”

Eddie swallowed the smoke Steve blew in his face, then pressed their lips together. He had to make this man his forever.

--------------------

Gareth had procured the precious metals. Jeff had kept the fires burning. They both agreed that a blue gem was the way to go, with a dark band. Eddie had procured some of Steve’s blood.

Over the molten metal, he poured it, murmuring a spell under his breath like a prayer. Then he drew his own blood from his wrist and let it mingle with his love’s. After the forging, it was bathed under the moon’s glow for three nights. After, Eddie looked at it was a scrutinizing gaze.

“You don’t think a promise ring is too much?”

“At least 40% of people at our school would cream their pants if they got one”, Gareth said.

Jeff gave him a friendly elbow. “Steve’s gonna love it, man.”

Eddie smiled at the ring in his fingers. Such a little thing. And yet it held so much weight.

“And if he doesn’t Jeff can curse him”, Gareth supplied.

“I can”, the other nodded. “In a heartbeat if he breaks yours.”

“Don’t count Stevie out so soon boys. I’m thinkin’ this one is forever. You’re gonna have to start callin’ King Steve ‘my lord’ pretty soon.”

#apo writes #fanfiction #stranger things #steddie

[xdaddysprincessxx]

Sweet Creature

Vamp Ezra x SW!f!reader

Warnings: Dark/Dead dove, tw: sexual assault (it’s not explicit but it is there, sex work IS NOT glamorous) Vampirism, sex work(reader is a high end escort), finance bro talk (idk it’s like one sentence), boot riding, blood, p in v (wear a fucking condom my dudes), neck biting, oral (f receiving), I believe that’s it, lightly edited, all mistakes are mine.

A/n: if you can’t tell by now that I have a raging boner for vampires, well then idk what to tell you.

Moodboard made by moi 😇

The cold, winter air hits your face as you walk out of the Hilton hotel. You pull your faux fur coat tighter around your body as you make your way to the car sitting at the curb waiting for you.

Opening the back door and ducking your head as you lower yourself into the black Rolls Royce your mistress sent for you. Sliding over the black leather seat, you quickly got comfortable and relaxed as your driver pulls off to take you back to your shared townhouse. About two years ago, you met this beautiful woman named Serena and the two of you became friends. She knew of this “job opportunity” and told you how perfect you’d be for it. She explained how all you had to do was go on a date with this old, rich guy. He’d pick you up, take you to dinner and drop you back off at home after. He would pay for everything and all he wanted was your time and attention. Easy right? Wrong. You went on that date with what’s his name? Richard or something? He picked you up from her place, took you to this super fancy restaurant, ordered pasta and lobster for you and made sure to keep your wine glass full. After dinner, once the two of you were in his car instead of going towards your friend’s apartment where he picked you up from, he took a different route leading to a sketchy ass looking hotel. You weren’t in the most sober mindset so it didn’t really occur to you to be scared or nervous. Richard had been lovely all night. You followed him inside and it became a huge regret of yours very soon. You see Richard was not a nice man at all. It didn’t matter that you said no. You said yes to going to dinner with him. You said yes to spending his money just fine. After he had his fun, he left you laying on the bed covered in his spend and tears running down your face. He did leave you six thousand dollars in an envelope on the dresser for you. The money didn’t take away the pain but it did help dry your tears some. And that’s how you found yourself working for Serena as one of her girls. You’ve managed to make a name for yourself in the escort industry. Billionaires, athletes, actors, if they had money and a dick, they asked for you. By name. You had the best pussy and you weren’t this little submissive girl to them either. You had a sassy mouth on you and you weren’t afraid to tell them where,what,how and why. That was part of your appeal. You were effortlessly cool and dominating in a way that these men liked and craved from a woman. All too soon your ride came to an end as you pulled up to your townhouse. Braving the cold once again, you got out and walked up to the door and let yourself in.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Another Friday night and you unfortunately found yourself stuck going to this gala as some finance bro’s date. All you wanted to do was stay home, lay around in sweats and eat junk food and watch your fave true crime shows. But here you are in a gorgeous black, floor length strapless dress with a high slit on the side. The gala is held at the Four Seasons Hotel and you already know your date has a room ready for after the event is over. Your walking around with a flute of champagne while you listen to these old, rich dudes talk about whatever out of touch shit they talk about. That’s when you spot this little patch of blonde hair attached to these beautiful brown curls. Ezra. You’ve never gone on a date with him but he runs in the same circle as the guys who do hire you so you’ve met him before. He’s always such a mystery to you. There were rumors about him. People always said they’ve never seen him during the day, he only shows up to events at night, he refuses to be photographed, and a few have said he’s a biter. One girl you knew from working for Serena, she had gone on a date with him except she said he never ate in front of her, only drank a little wine and claimed he bit her neck. She even had these weird little puncture marks. Unfortunately like a couple of days after that she went missing. The rumors never bothered you though, a lot of the men who frequent Serena’s are very weird. You have noticed how he always seems to undress you with his eyes every time you see him. A huge part of you wished he would call for you and whisk you away from this lifestyle. Standing with what’s his face, Derek? No. Steve maybe? Anyways You get lost in your little daydream about the man you wished you came with when you suddenly feel the eyes of someone watching you.

“Well hello gentlemen and ladies.” You hear a southern, husky voice say. You turn your head to the left and see Ezra has made his way over to your little group. Standing there in an all black tux, eyeing him up and down, your cunt clenching when you saw the boots he had on. As dominant as you are with your clients, Ezra is the one man you want to submit too. The one you want to kneel down for and do as he says.

“You look extra delectable tonight birdie if I do say so myself.” Ezra says to you, causing your cheeks to heat up as you blush

“Oh thank you Ezra, your flattery is always welcomed.” You say back, doing your best to brush off the fact this man affects you greatly.

“Ah Ezra how are you? We were just discussing the current stock market situation and who should be dropping what stocks. Care to chime in?” Your date says.

“As much as I would love to discuss the stock market I actually came over to whisk your lovely date away for a quick word.” Ezra replied as he held out his hand towards you, hoping you’d take it and leave with him.

Taking his hand and thanking whatever god is out there for this rescue, “Of course, I’ll be right back honey” you tell your date, handing him your champagne flute before you walk hand in hand with Ezra out of the gala.

Once the two of you were out of the ballroom, you cleared your throat, “So what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“I saw how beautiful you looked tonight and couldn’t let you continue to go to waste out there. Those men never deserved you birdie.”

His words caused a deep blush to cover your cheeks. Finally he’s calling on you. He wants you! You’ve been waiting on this for what feels like forever. Ezra is actually whisking you away even if only for the night.

The two of you finally stop in front of suite 108, Ezra let’s go of your hand to grab the key out of his pocket and quickly unlocks the door, ushering you inside. Taking a few steps in, Ezra comes up behind you placing his hands on your hips as he guides you over to the king sized bed. As the two of you come to a stop at the foot of the bed, you notice a floor to ceiling mirror directly in front of the bed, along with these gorgeous blood red roses sitting in various vases around the room. Some roses were even laying on the bed. Turning around in his arms you lift your arms around his neck,

“What’s all t-“ Ezra cuts you off, placing a finger over your mouth.

“Shh no more questions. I’ve been watching you for awhile now birdie. Always with a different man, selling your body. I know you hate it. I’ve been waiting for the right time but unfortunately there isn’t a right time so I’m taking you. Make you mine. Mine to love and feed on and use as I please.” He says before ducking his head down and leaving a kiss on the base of your throat. He makes his way up your neck, leaving a trail of kisses, causing your brain to shut off almost instantly.

“You always smell so divine my love. I can hear your delicious blood flowing through your body, your heart beating as if to say it’s mine for the taking,” he says in between kisses, “mm yes you will be the most tasty little treat I’ve had the pleasure of having.”

Now that’s a very weird way of saying he wants you. What exactly does that even mean? He can hear my blood? You aren’t exactly vanilla when it comes to sex but blood play is a new kink for you. Tilting your head back to allow him more room, Ezra starts to suck right below your ear earning him a beautiful soft moan to tumble out of your mouth. Soon his mouth leaves your neck as he starts to guide you down towards the floor.

He’s still standing, just bent over as you are almost on your knees in front of him. He pushes the tip of his boot in between your legs.

“Sit down birdie. Go on. I’m not a patient man.”

Without hesitation, you straddle his boot, sitting all the way down. You can feel it all along your wet cunt. Looking up at Ezra, who’s now standing straight up again, you can’t help but squirm ever so slightly as he reaches down and swipes his thumb on your bottom lip.

“That’s it pretty girl. Show me how well you can ride my boot.”

You begin to rub your cunt on his boot just as he asked, taking his thumb in your mouth. You lightly suck his thumb as you hold onto his leg and ride his boot. You can feel yourself get wetter by the second. The dominance he’s showing over you is the biggest turn on ever. All you want to do is show him how good you can be. You keep your eyes locked with his the whole time. You start to feel him tap his foot up, hitting your clit as you ride. Your little red lace thong you had on was completely soaked at this point. It barely covered you to begin with, now it’s practically useless but you love it. You can feel the sleek black leather, the little ridges of the seams, all it does is make you start to ride him faster wanting to feel ecstasy.

“Oooh that’s it birdie. Rub your sweet little cunt just like that. I bet you’re soaked aren’t you? Ah yes. Yes you are aren’t you birdie? Look at you. Riding my boot and sucking my thumb wishing it was my cock. What a beautiful sight you are.”

You have drool running down your chin and you just know his boot is soaked from your juices. You’re so close it’s almost embarrassing how quick it’s taken you just from rubbing yourself on his boot. It makes you feel like a damn virgin discovering your clit for the first time. Ezra removes his thumb, pinching your face as he pulls you up off his boot and turns you in his arms to face the mirror.

Forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror that’s when you notice, you can only see yourself! But Ezra is right there! Why isn’t he in the reflection looking back at you too?

Still holding your face, Ezra runs his nose up the side of your neck, inhaling deep. “Scared yet birdie? You really should be.” He says in a low gravelly tone. Once he spoke those words, your eyes went wide as he opened his mouth wide exposing his fangs as he bites down on your neck.

You try to scream, your mouth dropping open as this searing pain heats up your whole body. You try your best to flail your arms when the pain changes to a sweet sweet sensation that you find you never want to go away. Raising your arm, you find his head and card your fingers through his hair. Gripping onto his luscious brown curls, you do your best to keep his head right where you want him.

All too soon Ezra lifts his face away from your neck, blood dripping down his chin. His entire lower face is covered in the liquid. It’s the most erotic sight you’ve ever seen. With your hand still in his hair, you push his face towards yours, kissing him deeply. You feel him push his tongue into your mouth, tasting the metallic liquid you can’t help but want more of it. You suck his tongue best you can, continuing to kiss him as if your life depended on it.

Ezra pulls away, blood colored saliva strings connecting you two. His lips all plumped and bruised from the intense kiss you two shared. You feel his hand pull on your dress zipper as his other hand roams all over your body. In an instant you feel your dress fall exposing your bare breasts and soaked thong. Ezra slowly moves down, taking a breast in each hand. He gives each nipple a gentle suck before he continues on his way down.

Ezra’s on his knees in front of you as he looks up giving you these big puppy dog eyes. You reach down and cup his messy, beautiful face. He lifts one of your legs so it bends,

“Such a sweet, beautiful creature you are birdie,” he says before placing a kiss on the inside of your knee, “Now you’re a child of the night. You’re mine for the rest of eternity.” He tells you as he goes to peel your thong off your body. You help by stepping out of it, placing your hands on his shoulders for stability.

“And you’re mine Ezra. If I’m yours, you are mine.”

He growled in response, his eyes rolling back in delight. “Of course my love. We belong to each other now.” He says as he goes to lick a wide stripe up your wet slit. His big hands gripping the globes of your ass as he starts to lick into your cunt, exploring your entrance with his tongue. Your fingers card through his hair, gripping tight and pulling him more into you as you begin to rub your pussy on his willing mouth. You’re mesmerized looking at Ezra on his knees, eating your cunt like it’s his last meal. He looks up at you as he puts his lips around your clit and sucks. You’ve been ate out before but for some reason this is the greatest feeling you’ve ever felt. In fact everything feels better than it ever has.

Just as soon as you get close once again, Ezra pulls away. It’s as if he knows your close and he’s just teasing you. You let out a frustrated whimper as he pulls you down onto the floor with him. Laying you on your back, he climbs on top of you as he goes to kiss you again. Your tongues licking into each others mouths, you can taste yourself on him making you moan out loud. You can feel Ezra’s free hand go down and start to unbuckle his pants. He pulls away as you both go to work to free his cock from their confines. As soon as you see his thick cock you let out a gasp as you go to wrap your hand around him. He’s easily the biggest you’ve ever seen, your hand doesn’t even fit around him. Giving him a few pumps, he goes to move your hand away as he takes over, rubbing his cock through your soaked folds, collecting your wetness on himself before notching himself at your entrance. He pushes into you in one swift motion before he begins just pounding the shit out of you. His heavy balls slapping on your ass as his thick cock stretch’s you out like you’ve never been stretched before. It takes your breath away, all you can do is lay there with your arms wrapped around him tight and just take what he gives you. He dips his head down and starts sucking and leaving wet open mouth kisses on your neck. The only noise in the room is the wet slapping of your bodies meeting and the soft moans and grunts coming from you both. Ezra slows his thrusting down, grinding his cock deep inside of you making your eyes roll back. The two of you lost in the all of the sweet pleasure. Ezra’s face is hovering over yours as the two of you stare deep into each others eyes. The feeling of his cock massaging your walls has you both doubled over in ecstasy.

Without speaking, Ezra picks up speed again thrusting deep in your pussy. His forehead falling on yours as his eyes close, you feel him snake his hand down and his thumb gently circling your clit is your undoing. You hit your high, screaming out loud as he lets out a loud moan, laughing a little, “That’s it birdie cum for me. Soak my fucking cock my sweet creature. Nngh that’s it baby fuck I can feel you choking my cock. Just like that baby that’s it ooh. Oh fuck,” he grunts out as he hits his high. You can feel his cock throb and pulse deep inside you, his thick load coating your walls. His face still pressed to yours, his aquiline nose smooshed next to yours as you both lay there, catching your breath. You smile, breathing out a little giggle before you kiss the side of his mouth.

“So forever huh? I get to enjoy this for the rest of my days?” You say as you open your eyes to see him above you with a silly little grin on his face.

“I told you birdie. We’re children of the night. I’ve made you mine. And I have no problem reminding you every day and night that your mine and mine only.” He said punctuating that last few words with a deep grind of his cock.

“That’s fine with me.” You say with a breathless giggle. The two of you lay like that for awhile before he got hard again. He took you in every position on every surface that night. The next day you two stayed in bed, curtains closed. Once night hit, you left with Ezra, hand in hand, ready to spend eternity with him.

A/n: okay sooo we will def be seeing more of these two again!! I hope y’all like this! Every like/reblog/comment makes my day and I appreciate every single one of you babes!

Tagging my fellow vampire lovers: @patti7dc @multiversed-daydreamer @lumoverheaven @iamasaddie @toxicanonymity @bonezone44 @survivingandenduring @neverwheremoonchild

#vampire #vampire ezra #pedro pascal #ezra prospect #pedro pascal cinematic universe #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #spooky fic #dead dove do not eat

[holylulusworld]

Snap of fingers (1)

Summary: You only tried to help...

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: language, creature reader, mentions of death of a vampire

A/N: Phew...I finally dared to open my old folder filled with unwritten requests to write some of them. This one took like forever. Sorry.

Part 1/?

“So, get this,” Sam lifts his gaze from his laptop to tell his brother what he found. “Castiel said the deaths could’ve been caused by an ancient creature. One no one knows anything about.”

“Very…interesting,” Dean turns his attention back toward the food in front of him. “What a way to spend our day off. Research and ted talk about ancient creatures.”

“An undiscovered one, Dean,” the younger hunter tuts. “Imagine, we are the ones finding a creature no one saw before. We could name it too!”

“We could…name it,” that picked Dean’s interest. “What can it do? Does that thing have powers?”

“Castiel said, that the werewolf and the ghoul just stopped breathing…I mean,” Sam shrugs. “I can’t describe it. It seemed like they aged within seconds and died of heart failure.”

“Odd-“ Dean buries his fork into the food. “Maybe it’s a life-stealer or a breath-taker,” he grins. “No! It’s a heartbreaker!”

“Can you just not,” his younger brother mutters. “There is a monster stealing life or something out there. What if it decides to go after people too?”

“We will kill it,” Dean slurps his noodles to rile his brother up. He eats noisily, grinning as Sam makes a face. “Just let me eat my food first.”

“Hmm…what do we have here,” you watch two tall men, one with cute bowlegs, walk toward the building you just checked out. “Oh no. There is a monster inside, guys.”

Debating to follow and warn the men, or just use your powers you watch them enter the building.

“No, I can’t do it again. I had to take the werewolf and ghoul down as they wanted to kill me, but that vampire didn’t try to harm me.”

You harrumph.

If you don’t follow these innocent men, they are going to get sucked dry. On the other hand, they will get scared of you.

“Just a little peak. Maybe they don’t run into the vampire.”

Hurriedly making your way toward the building you try to remain calm. If the vampire attacks you, it will be the first time that you reveal your powers in front of people.

“Goodnight, and thank you for the fun while it lasted,” one of the men grins as the vampire loses his head. “That was…easy.”

You gasp as the bowlegged man cleans his machete with a bandana. “Dean,” the other man says, “we should get rid of the body and go back to the bunker.”

“Sammy, let me have my fun.”

“Bunker—” you wonder aloud as the men pick the vampire’s body up. One of them holds the vampire’s ankles while the other one grabs the dead creature by its arms. “They are strong and are living at a bunker. Uh—and they got weapons too! They are hunters!”

“Sam.”

The body drops to the ground, and you are crowded by the two hunters seconds after you revealed you are hiding in the dark.

“Another one?” the taller man looks you up and down while the other one aims his machete toward your head. “A shame they got you, sweetheart. You’re a cute one.”

“HEY! I’m not a vampire,” you dodge Dean’s attack, screaming as the machete hits the wall behind you. “Watch it, hunter. You can’t just walk around and attack innocent bystanders! I came to warn you!”

“Warn us,” Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Wait a second.”

“She’s a vamp!”

“Show us your teeth.”

“Fine,” you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. “See, I’m not a vamp and I see a dentist too if I find the time.”

“I don’t trust her, Sammy,” Dean dips his head to watch you step closer to eye the hunters with curiosity. “What do you want?”

“I never saw a hunter before,” you get a little braver and touch Dean’s chest. “Do all of you wear flannel? Is this magical? Maybe like armor.”

“It’s just warm and comfortable,” the hunter grumbles and slaps your hand away. “Don’t touch me. What are you doing here? Who are you?”

“I checked the building before you did,” you shrug. “I was looking for a place to sleep. Sadly, the abandoned building was already occupied by that vampire. Right when I wanted to go back to my car, I saw you walk toward the building.”

“A girl sleeping all alone at an abandoned building,” Dean furrows his brows. “Sounds fishy to me, Sammy. What do you think?”

Sam is rather curious. He looks you up and down until he sees a pendant dangle from your neck.

“Where did you get this?” He points at the necklace your grandmother left you, and the pendant in shape of an hour glass.

“My grandmother gave it to me before she died,” you touch the pendant, and it starts to turn black. “It’s special.”

“I saw this before, Dean,” Sam whispers now. “Do you remember the creature I was talking about?”

“Hmm…vague. I got wasted that night,” the hunter sighs dreamily. “Good times…”

“It’s her.”

Dean immediately stands a little straighter. He grits his teeth before jumping at you to tackle you to the ground.

“Hey! No touching!” you fight and squeak. “No! Don’t touch the pendant.”

You push Dean off you and crawl away. “Stay here, monster.”

“I’m not a monster,” you grumble. “I never hurt anyone.”

“I bet the werewolf and ghoul have a different opinion,” Dean grunts while trying to get a hold of you. “Stop wiggling. Jesus Sammy, help me.”

“That werewolf tried to feel me up, and the ghoul wanted to eat me,” you sass back while wiggling in Dean’s grip. He has his arms wrapped around your upper body and one leg hooked around legs to keep you immobile. “I stopped them to save my life. It’s called self-defense.”

“She’s not wrong, Dean,” Sam interjects. “Castiel said no people got killed that way. Only the werewolf and ghoul. Leave her be.”

“I don’t trust her! She just killed them!”

“I didn’t want to,” you mutter. “They left me no choice.”

“Dean.”

“Sammy, you can’t trust her.”

“I do not trust her, but we don’t have time for this. We should get rid of the body and get out of here,” Sam says. “Let Castiel check on her.”

“We won’t take that thing with us!” Dean protests but releases you. “What if she kills us?”

“I’m still here, you know,” huffing you cross your arms over your chest. “If you want to get rid of the dead vampire go ahead. I’ll be waiting outside.”

“Wait—what?” Dean cocks his head. “What do you mean with you are going to wait outside? Hey, I’m talking to you.” He grunts as you walk toward the exit. “Breath-taker, wait.”

“That’s not my name,” you coo while walking out of the building. “See ya, hunter boy…”

“She’s leaning against my car, Sammy! And she got bags! BAGS!” Dean complains loudly as the hunters make their way toward Dean’s car. “Hey, get off my car! No one touches my BABY!”

“Baby?” you frown. “You’ve got a baby in your car? Sir, you shouldn’t leave a baby alone in a car while going on a hunt! Bad things could happen!”

“I don’t have a baby! You are leaning against my Baby!”

“Your b—what?” turning around you look at the black Impala. “Oh, you are calling your car Baby, I get it now.”

“Sonofabitch! I swear if you scratched my car I’ll end you. I don’t care what kind of monster you are.”

“I’m not a monster,” you snap at Dean. “I’m…uh—I don’t know. My grandmother called my abilities one of the lost powers. I never got to know what I am.” You sigh deeply as the hunters are staring at you. “What? I’m half-human, that much I know. Granny said my mom had something going on with a guy named Chronos.”

“C-hronos? Like the fucking god of time?” Dean chokes out. “Like the guy, we killed some years ago?”

“DUDE!” Sam rolls his eyes as Dean stares at you like you grew a second head. “Can you just not tell her we killed her dad like that?”

“I already knew a hunter killed my dad,” you pick your bags up from the ground. “He wasn’t a nice guy. Chronos absorbed the life-force of mortals…”

“Sammy, we can’t let Chrono's daughter run around town. She could wreak havoc,” Dean whispers. “Do you think we should bring her to the dungeon?”

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#Snap of fingers #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x y/n #request fill

[sarcastic--metaphor]

I’ve read your Winter’s Night fanfic on AO3 before it became private for members only

(you you are literally the person that has made me but the effort to finally send my email for an invite just to continue your work)

Reading your work and my long experience as a reader of many fics I felt that my feral likings could match up yours some way.

Sadly due to issues I’m unable to fully write my own fics but as you can see I can lay some good ground works and idea paths. So I tend to, if I accidentally find a fav author on here, and they ask ideas slip a lil something and scuttle back into my corner.

Idk tarot cards but I think when it comes to how the show uses it OGMarcy and STAR!Marcy are perfect example of right side up and upside down. So if those cards are right then I agree.

And for some reason I just believe in my heart of heart, that Simon’s blood after the many many years of Ice King May have a special tasting blood, maybe a satisfying chill after feel with a sweet or minty kick to it. So when they do manage to run away and VK managed to survive (if they tried killing running away and he could still drain blood from Simon) he’d want the special blood back and his daughter but also the blood.

Cause Bonnie DID say the vampires have hunted their food to near extinction so changing Simon probably won’t be in his best interest if he thinks rationally. But judging by the situation it can be said VK seems to be ignorantly impulsive to literally have his peoples food source dwindle like that and it obviously rubbed off on Marcy based on how she described her killing of Martin.

lmao my fic was never supposed to be publicly accessible because (for weird and convoluted reasons) making it locked helps prevent AI scraping, but im glad u got an Ao3 account its actually so worth it

Marcy being the Star is interesting to me as someone who is kinda familiar with the tarot cards. Upright it (loosely) represents hope, healing, and purpose. Inverted it means (again, loosely-there's lots of different interpretations) loss and arrogance... which is pretty in line with Star!Marcy lmao

((Fun fact- I first wanted to name Vamp!Simon The Hanged Man bc it represents wisdom/sacrifice, but thought it was just a little too much of a mouthful and a little too on the nose. The Hermit is also a great fit for him thematically but it feels mean to call him that lol. So I think I'm going to stick with calling him Temperance bc it represents patience, but more importantly the inversion of it means conflicting interests. It's also a fun bonus for literally just me to have Simon be the only vamp named for a virtue and not a tarot figure, to imply he's different from the rest))

I don't actually want to say much about your ideas with the VK bc I feel like once i get started, I'lll just ramble and give away all my ideas about the fics I have planned 😭 but VK being cruel and possessive is good food

#fionna and cake #simon petrikov #the vampire king #vampire au #someone help me i can't stop writing F&C fics #ramblings

[alpaca-clouds]

Styria sisters headcanons

After talking about this with @autumnmobile12 about this yesterday, I thought I might as well share some of my headcanons for the Styria sisters. Some of them are closely based in what we learn in the canon. Others is stuff that I just made up. After all we have very, very little canonical information about them.

Let's start with Carmilla. Who is probably the one, we do know the most about. We know she got turned by a vampire, who was a "cruel old man" and whom she killed. This makes it quite likely that she in fact does originate from Styria - something that obviously also fits with her novel counterpart.

Part of my headcanon for her as a human is, that even back then she was struggling with the expectations society put on women. Her mother died, when she was young, so first her father and when her father died her older brother put those expectations on her. She fled her first abusive marriage by becoming a nun, but when she was in the monastery her sire saw her and wanted her. At the beginning she came willingly, because she wanted the power he promised. But of course he was just another abuser.

After she killed him, his followers wanted to kill her. But it was Morana, who saved her life. And it was with the help of Morana and Striga that she took over the castle. At the time Morana had her fledgling with her - Laura. Who obviously became her romantic partner.

Oh, and I put Carmilla's birth date into the year 1029.

I wrote about my headcanon for Lenore before. A lot of my headcanon for her comes from this one bit of dialogue we get for her: (Paraphrasing) "I grew up in a castle just like this two hundred years ago. I was five years old when English soldiers came climbing up the toilet chutes with knives between their teeth."

Now, this tells us she is just around two hundred years old and the place she came from had a violent conflict with England at the time. Around two hundred years before the show, so in the late 13th century, England had two wars happening shortly after the other. First another war with France (I mean, it is England and France, what do you expect?) and then the first war of Scottish Independence.

Given her name (that was actually pretty popular in 13th century Scottland) and her red hair, it would make sense for her to be Scottish.

Now, based on her design, she was also fairly young when she got turned. Probably in her late teens. She clearly looks a lot younger from how her face is drawn compared to everyone else.

Something else that makes a lot of sense, as we know her parents got killed, is that she might well have been taken as a hostage, which was something the English did to Scottish gentry.

From this comes my headcanon: She was born in 1287, making her five years old, when war started. She got taken as a hostage by the English, living in luxury, but very much inside a golden cage. Also suffering quite a bit of abuse. She was made to marry at age 15, got pregnant at age 16, had complications and died during child birth age 17. But she was "lucky" that a vampire was nearby, who took pity on her and turned her. That vampire being Laura, aka Carmilla's girlfriend and Morana's fledgling. The two tried to return to Styria from there, but on the way back Laura got killed by English soldiers.

Lenore did somehow manage to make her way to Styria, though she arrived there as a ferral vamp.

We see in the series quite a bit of tension between Carmilla and Lenore. And this is my headcanon reason for it: Lenore came to Styria without Laura.

Morana is kinda in an odd position for me. Katie Silva, who designed her, said, she immagines Morana to be from Ancient Sumer. Buuuut... Ancient Sumer as a civilisation ended around 1500BC. Though it included, obviously, Ancient Babylon. And there is kinda my issue. I set Babylon as the origin of vampires. And if there were vampires left from the time, the knowledge about where vampires came from, would not have been lost.

So... I decided she was from Ancient Persia. Specifically from the North of the Ancient Persian empire, though she was living there at a time the empire was already expiring. Though at the same time, vampires were still part of normal society and ruled together with humans.

But of course Ancient Persia was another empire, that ended. So, in the end, her home was turned to dust. And when she became adrift, she was originally with some other vampires from her home. But bit by bit all of them died. Some of them got killed, others chose the sun. Leaving in the end only Morana. She drifted for a bit, but the Romans did not make Europe a hospital place to be at the time - especially as a vampire - so she drifted further east, spending almost five hundred years in Asia. Part of this she spent in Japan together with Cho. But when Cho went off the deep end, she left, returning to Europe in the end.

Something, that she learned over the time, was that cooperation with humans was not possible.

During the middle of the 11th century she ended up with this sick girl, that would not leave her side. Which is Laura. And who was very, very insistent on being turned. So, when Morana looked for a safe place for Laura to spend her fledgling years, she went for one of the vampire kingdoms - Styria. Arriving there just days after Carmilla killed her sire.

It is also, when she meets Striga.

Lastly we have Striga. My favorite sister. :D Love this wonderful big woman. (All I wanna do, is see you turn into, a giant woman xD)

Now, we do know very little about her, outside of her admittance of not being able to forget an implied to be bad past. She also has an Eastern European accent, though - again - langauge is another messy topic in Castlevania.

I looked into it and her voice actress is from Croatian heritage, so I decided that Striga is from that area. Which would make her of mixed Slavic origin, as before the slavs got to Croatia some Arabian people were living there. It might explain her hair, too.

I am meanwhile fully in agreement with @g-vlssz here, making Striga a trans woman. I just think her design really well fits this interpretation.

My backstory for her is, that she was a human mercenary to feed her family - that is her younger siblings - hunting bandits and monsters. But at some point she got sent after a group of vampires ravaging the country side. This was Lazarus and his men - a vampire stemming from Ancient Rome. When she fought him and managed to hold her own for a bit, leading him to turn her.

Now, just like Carmilla's sire, he was a cruel old man, being abusive towards the men (and the one woman, though Striga was not out at the time) following him. When he learned about Striga's human siblings, he went out of his way to kil them. Striga was with him a good while, until the troop made their way to Styria this one winter as well - just after Carmilla had killed her sire. And when Lazarus tried to take the place over, Striga managed to kill him.

I put Striga's birthday right at the beginning of that millenium. Into the year of 1004.

And, yeah... That is basically my headcanons for the four sisters.

I really adore those four and their sad, sad stories. :D

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #council of sisters #styria #styrian sisters #headcanon #carmilla castlevania #carmilla #lenore castlevania #morana castlevania #striga castlevania

[sweetkiller690]

Fuck it, Juice Bar Regular Hcs

Herb (Bloom) Cookie

Herb is 25 years old (Oldest, minus Vampire)

He is autistic and has symptoms such as a lack of fear, unusual eating, trouble understanding others' emotions, hyperfixation, and sleeping habits.

He is Wasisn (a mix between Asian and White)

Originally from a forest near the Hollyberry kingdom

5'6 (Shortest one in the group)

Bisexual, uses neoprouns (plant/plantself), and is Poly

Major weed smoker

His mother is Matcha Cookie (he doesn't know)

She left him a forest full of carnivore plants and expected them to eat him.

Instead, they raised him as his own and you can guess how that fucked him up lol

He was adopted (found and kidnapped) by Sea Fairy and Moonlight at the age of 6.

Took quite a bit for him to get over his eating habits, but currently, he is fine.

He is the owner of a flower shop with his only current employee being Tumeric Cookie (oc)

The only reason why he has one employee is because of Cookiesnap.

Stronger than he comes off as. He can easily carry Mint and Sparkling at the same time

He usually has dirt on him because of all the time he spends in his garden.

Has a scar on the right side of his face, he doesn't really remember how it got there.

Relationships

Mint choco: "I like him, he's very sweet but a little dumb. His music helps my plants grow. I love listening to his music,,

Vampire: ''He stinks of red wine but at least he is decent. Wayyyy too clingy but has good intentions. I saw him on the floor passed out once.,,

Sparkling: "He's a pussy, he faints at the smallest drop of jam. He works himself half to death. At least he makes good drinks. ,,

Sparkling (Champagne) Cookie

Sparks is 24 years old

He is Hispanic

Originally from the Hollyberry Kingdom

The only one whose father didn't leave for milk

6'0

Gay, Cis and Polyamory

Workaclohic

His mother is Strawberry Fizz Cookie

His father's name is Yellow Wine Cookie

A major disappointment to his parents

He was going to be a professorial healer but dropped out

He faints at the sight of jam.

He owns a bar (duh) and he is the only one working it.

He has a pet yellow parakeet named Cocktail

His hair fizzes a lot. He got used to it and tuned it out.

Has a mole on his the right part of his face

Relationships

Mint choco: ''He's a sweetheart, a kind cookie who never puts himself first.,,

Vampire: 'He needs to go home to his sister. He is OK?? Just done having to drag him home every night...,,

Herb: ''He is an asshole. Not everyone is fine with jam on their floor! At least he makes good blunts.,,

Mint choco cookie

He is 23 years old (The youngest)

He is Blasiain (Black and Asian)

He was originally from the Dark Cacao Kingdom.

Mint is a resulted of an entanglement with Chocolate Bon Bon and Dark Cacao.

Meaning in a technical sense Mint choco is royalty

Bon Bom left the kingdom shortly after he was born.

He doesn't know that Dark Cacao is his father.

Chocolate Bon Bon would promote toxic masculinity.

Took a while to break away from that way of thinking. And when he finally did he started to let his hair grow.

5'8

Pan, Polygender, and Polyamory

Workaholic (Not as bad as Sparkling tho)

Wayyyyy too nice to others

Keen on giving people chances, especially when they do not deserve them

Loves tall vodka

Semi-famous violinist who works off of gigs.

Has a bit of freckles because why not

Relationships

Vampire: ''He may be drunk all the time but he is still a good guy.,,

Herb: ''Oddish but I still love him no less. His garden is beautiful, with such wonderful plants!,,

Sparkling: ''He worries me, I doubt that he gets enough sleep. Go to bed!,,

Vampire (Wine) Cookie

Vamp is over 2,000 years old but is mentally and physically 25

He is white

They used to live near the Hollyberry kingdom

Vampire's father is Mulled Juice Cookie.

His mother was a cookie and has long passed away.

Mulled Juice abandoned him and Alchemist

His abandoned started his drinking habits

6'7

Bisexual, Demiboy (they/him), and Polyamory.

Way to lazy

He is just an acholic

Since he isn't a full Vampire he doesn't need jam to survive but without it, he is sluggish and low on energy.

Uses wine as a replacement for jam

Doesn't have a job but still lives in a lavish mansion

Literally uses red wine to survive

They have been trying to grow facial hair (hasn't been working)

He can see in the dark and hear extremely well but not as good a regular Vampire

Relationships

Mint choco: ''I enjoy listening to his music when I'm getting over a hangover. ,,

Herb: ''He is a good pillow... ,,

Sparkling: ''His great... I love all the wine,,

The sillies

#cookie run #juice bar regulars #cookie run kingdom #herb cookie #mint choco cookie #vampire cookie #sparkling cookie #headcanon #headcanons #my hcs #hcs #turmeric cookie #cookie run oc #crk #cr kingdom #cookie run ovenbreak #chocolate bonbon cookie #dark cacao cookie #mulled juice cookie #matcha cookie

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Trapped

To her credit, Joey isn’t panicking. Yet. There are dried tear tracks on her face, but she’s not screaming or yelling.

Maybe it’s just practical. Nico had sure as hell screamed when that silver trap snapped shut on his leg, and no one came running. Maybe she’s already figured that out.

Joey is never one to waste her energy on a lost cause.

But Nico doesn’t know when to give up. 

He lunges at the vamp beside her, trying to draw attention away from Joey and onto himself. He’s pretty sure she’s been bound to the dual I-beam support pole that’s one of the few parts still standing in this old factory, but if he can give her half a chance to get away, he’ll take it.

All he succeeds in doing is hitting the end of the chain that is apparently welded to one of the floor beams that’s now buried under a dense tangle of rank grass and decaying weeds. Which is also how he missed seeing the trap waiting for him.

That, and he was paying a little too much attention to Joey, and the monster holding a silver-bladed kukri to her throat, to watch where he was stepping.

He can’t pry the trap off his leg. Every surface is coated in silver. Touching it burns his hands. The kind of grip he’d need to pry it off would leave him in so much pain he’d never be strong enough to manage it.

He can feel the trap’s teeth sinking deeper into his leg with every move he makes, but still straining to reach the flat piece of rusting steel he can see beneath another tangle of brownish leaves. If he doesn’t have to touch the trap…

The vamp steps forward, glances down at the exact piece of metal Nico’s fingers are inches from, then catches it with his boot, sending it flying, clattering, to the far end of the crumbling room.

Nico bellows something between a scream and a roar, lunging at the vamp but nowhere near close to touching him. He falls back to the floor, leg burning as the trap’s teeth dig in even further. The more he struggles, the worse it will be.

He’s not sure exactly how this day went so badly wrong, but he does know when it did. 

He’d thought it was taking Joey a long time to finish up on the third floor. But after he’d walked through every room calling for her, he’d found her mop bucket next to smashed glass with a note taped to the mop handle.

An address, and a warning. To come alone or get his mentee back in a coffin for good.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want my fledgling back.” The vamp snarls. “And you made sure I couldn’t take him.”

Nico’s first mentee was a mother of three, Roxie Conover. His second was Javier Avila. The third is Joey.

They’d never been able to determine who Javy Avila’s sire was. 

Well, they know now.

Not that Nico has a name to put with the face.

A face staring down at him while holding a blade to the neck of his mentee.

“You took something of mine,” the vamp hisses. “Now, I’m going to take something of yours.”

“Don’t you touch her. You can do whatever you want to me, just let her go.”

“Oh, no, that just wouldn’t do. I want you to know that you are powerless to stop me. Nothing you can do but watch.” He steps back slightly and swings the blade with a practiced arc, and Joey flinches back from it. “Trapped, just like I was in one of the hunters’ cages, while you took away what was mine.”

It’s starting to make a certain amount of sense. Javy was bitten in Nevada. Nevada is quite literally the wild west of hunting. There’s one official agency operating in Las Vegas, but the rest of the state is more or less patrolled by vigilantes with all sorts of fringe attitudes toward vampires, who are hard to find, harder to shut down in any legal or effective manner. A group who likes holding onto their captures and experimenting with potential cures must have had this guy.

Nico can’t say he’ll be too sorry if this vamp left a trail of destruction in the wake of his escape, but nothing excuses what he’s doing right now. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if both the knife and the trap are some of those vigilantes’ gear that this vamp decided to bring along; they’re not even close to common usage among vamps, but they’re exactly the kind of thing hunters who skirt the edges of legality are known to use. He’s not sure what group it is that favors this combination of weapons, traps, and long term captivity, but Sierra Stoker and her team probably know. 

If he lasts long enough to pass that information along, he imagines they’ll be more than willing to at least find out if this guy left anyone standing.

But at the moment, it’s not his survival he's most concerned about.

“Listen to me. She’s not my fledgling. She’s not mine.”

“But you care about all these like they are. See, that’s the problem. You traitors are ruining the natural order. Sire and fledgling. How it’s meant to be. You step in, on the side of the humans that hunt our kind down like animals, and you separate us from our children. Weaken our bonds. Make it easier for the humans to pick us off, one by one.”

“Then you don’t wanna kill her. She’s one o’ us.”

“Don’t you get it yet? She’s not one of mine.” The vamp snarls. “Which means killing her is doing my fledglings a favor.”

The knife moves away from Joey’s neck, but Nico knows that’s not a good thing. Staking is the preferred method of killing vampires, since it’s far easier to conceal stakes than a knife big enough to do the job right, but decapitation will do the trick as long as you impale the heart after. It’s a more complicated, but flashier method, and enough Sunrisers favored it that Nico knows the basics. Like the fact that to get a quick, clean cut, you need the arc of a wide swing. Trying to cut with the blade close to the body is time consuming and messy.

He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is about to watch Joey die. 

This time, the metal pinning him down is wrapped around his ankle instead of stabbed through his thigh, and this time the terrified face of the person he promised to protect but can’t is Joey, not Vin, but the past and the present are blurring around him, and he can’t quite tell if he’s in a warehouse in New York or a derelict factory in LA. 

All he knows is, he’s going to have another person’s death on his conscience for the rest of his unnatural life.

Then Nico hears a footstep behind him.

“Put down the knife.”

He’s got to be hallucinating from the silver in his blood, because there’s no way Maira Lawson just happened to appear exactly when he needs backup.

The vamp moves in a flash, putting himself behind Joey and holding the knife to her throat, pressed tightly again, so much so that Nico can see and smell a bead of blood welling up and sliding down the blade.

“I think maybe you should put your weapons down.”

“Last chance.” Lawson’s voice is even. She’s a negotiator, a highly skilled diplomat. She knows when to push and when to back off.

Nico has to remind himself that Joey’s life is in the hands of the best possible person for the job.

The knife presses a little deeper, and a drop of blood splashes onto the cracked cement just as the crack of gunfire echoes through the space.

The vamp drops the knife and drops like a stone, howling.

Several figures move at once, feet shuffling while snapping repeated warnings of “don’t step in another one of those traps” with “you watch your own step” as the reply. 

Someone kneels next to him, hands working around the trap’s springs and jaws. He’s dimly aware that it’s Kira Burke, who he’s passingly familiar with from the agency, but he’s paying the most attention to Joey. She’s slumped against whatever cable was holding her to the support beam, almost unmoving as two more of the hunters free her. Someone cuffs the vamp, then drags him away, but it’s hard to see anything right now with the lights the humans need in order to see cutting back and forth across the area, occasionally swinging to hit him directly in the eyes.

He just needs to see that Joey’s okay. 

“I’ve got it. Pull your leg out, now.” Burke’s voice is strained, she’s got the jaws of the trap pried apart but he knows she won’t be able to hold it forever. He yanks his leg free and struggles to stand, shifting weight off his bad leg. He has to get to Joey.

He takes one step before he stumbles.

“She’s alright. Sit down before you fall down,” Lawson orders, stepping in front of him. 

He does, mostly because if he fell, he’d fall on her, and no one would ever let him live that down.

She’s brought the cavalry, looks like. John and Sierra Stoker, and parts of both their teams. Burke from John’s, as well as Barrett from Sierra’s. John’s wrestling the vamp into cooperation, while Sierra and Barrett work on freeing Joey. Actually, it looks like Sierra’s doing most of the work getting her loose, and Barrett is keeping her calm. Of all of them aside from Nico, he’s the one she knows best. 

He hasn’t actually realized Jemison is here as well until he catches a glimpse of the guy climbing down from a crumbling section of wall, slinging a well-worn rifle, without a scope, across his shoulder.

“Don’t you wear glasses?” Nico asks as the kid walks up. Not that he’s not grateful, but the slightest missed shot could have put that bullet through Joey’s skull. 

“For reading. I’m farsighted.” Jemison replies. “I was barking squirrels with my dad since I was old enough to hold the rifle steady.”

Nico doesn’t want to even ask what that means. 

He’s just glad that today, it means Joey is alive.

“Heard you were having a little trouble.” Lawson bends down beside him, inspecting the damage done by the silver-toothed trap with a grimace. “After he tried to get into the Avilas’ house, I got a call from Javy. He said his sire had shown up and tried to make Javy let him in, but thankfully Javy was able to refuse and block him out. We sent a team to his house as soon as we heard. Everyone’s okay, just shaken up. Unfortunately, given Javy’s one of the people who drives his work van home, I guess this vamp saw it in the driveway. The team found one of the windows punched out, and the clipboard with staff schedules that Javy said he always kept in the glove box was gone.” She frowns. “I tried to call you and warn you someone would probably be coming after you, but never could get hold of you.”

Probably because he left his phone behind at the last job in a rush when he realized Joey was missing. 

“H-how’d you find us?”

“Nico. When you were getting your business started, who gave you vans?”

“You guys. You were replacin’ half the motor pool and…” He trails off. “You never pulled the trackers. You sneaky…”

“Don’t say what I think you’re going to say,” Lawson replies. “It was in the agreements you signed when you leased the fleet.”

Damn. He really needs to start paying more attention to fine print.

Although in this case, it probably saved him and Joey. 

The vamp is hauled out past them, snarling and snapping at Nico until John Stoker wrestles him into the back of a holding van that’s just pulled up to what used to be a loading bay door. 

“He won’t be a problem much longer. Once we match his venom to Javy’s kit, he’ll get the stake.”

Honestly, after what this vamp has been through, that might be a mercy. 

Quick footsteps clatter across the open space, and then Joey is collapsing onto the floor beside Nico, a hand finding his and wrapping cold fingers through his own. 

“What’s a vamp doing running around with gear from the Hawthorne Hedge?” Sierra Stoker asks, holding the knife up and tilting it as the light in Lawson’s hand catches the blade, running her fingers over a pair of branching, entangled H’s stamped into the metal near the hilt. 

Knew she’d recognize the handiwork.

“Same with the trap,” Jemison answers, flipping it over and pointing out the stamp on the bottom of the plate. “Maybe he was a vigilante who got turned?”

“From what I could tell,” Nico manages, trying to sit up and wincing when it jars his leg, “he was one of their captives, managed to break himself out. There might not be anything left of that group, depending on how thorough he was.”

“Looks like we’re going to be heading to Nevada to check it out. Again.” Stoker grins. “And it’s gonna be my turn as road trip DJ.”

Jemison and Barrett both groan, but the Stokers just high-five as John returns from the van. 

Sierra’s team move off in a cluster, discussing their next move, and Burke walks up with two small packs of blood in her hand. 

“You’re both injured. No arguments.” She places a pack in each of their hands, then backs off, along with the others, to let the two of them feed in peace.

Nico ignores the blood in favor of putting an arm around Joey’s shoulder. She’s probably in some sort of shock, and while the blood will take care of the physical damage from tonight, there are deeper wounds he’s worried about.

“Hey. You okay?”

“No. I will be, but…not right now.” She’s shaking, the tension bleeding out of her. “You?”

It’s probably not wise to lie to her if she’s been honest with him. “Not really.” He pulls her in against him, running a hand over her hair the way he’s seen her do with Olivia. “I’m sorry.” It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. This vamp took her because of him. Because of what he’s done. “This is my fault.”

“For helping someone else just like me?” Joey’s voice is muffled in his sweatshirt. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He doesn’t have anything to say in response to that. Just sits there and holds her and wishes doing the right thing didn’t have so many consequences.

(You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter @whump-place @the-lovely-wren

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday17 #hostage situation #minor lady whump #in the sense that she's the hostage #bear trap #josefina quintero #domenico pontevecchio