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forbidden-sunlight · 2 months

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yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario: A Wendigo's Violent Love Part Three

Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], violence, OOC, spoilers for the first season of the 2024 show, possessive and obsessive behavior, Alastor is in denial of his feelings, possible angst.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the back button on your phone or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Hey guys, welcome back to another installment of A Wendigo's Violent Love. I am honestly overwhelmed with how much people like this series, and I wouldn't have come this far without the support of this community. I'd also like to give a special thanks to @a-witch-of-writing-desk, @illuminaresblog, and @yourdoorisunlocked with this piece.

Without their insight and assistance in writing this chapter, it probably wouldn't have been posted until early or late April because of my workload.

The scene where Rosie and Alastor reminisce about how they first met was inspired by a comic illustrated by the incredibly talented @notherpuppet. I won’t spoil what it is exactly, so I will leave the link here.

On another note, the Hobby Horse mentioned here is a direct reference to the weapon in American McGee’s Alice: Madness Returns video game.

So, with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on in tonight's broadcast with Hell's one and only Radio Demon!

Reblog to support content creators! ❤️

Part One

Part Two

Cannibal Town was a place unique in the Pentagram.

Its streets were lined with buildings that possess a vintage charm in which Alastor cannot help but treasure dearly; after all, it closely resembles the era he lived through in New Orleans. Everything in the town fitted like a tailored glove to the charming cannibal; from its automobiles, the residents’ everyday attire, and even how they greeted each other, tipping their hat off or curtseying with a smile. No one is fully dressed without one~! Who could ever think that it isn’t a lovely place to live in, of all the possible places to live in the Pentagram? Just follow Rosie’s rules and you would be fine~!

But the thought of his delightful friend reminded him that he had not come here for an afternoon stroll, nor to enjoy a delicious cup of coffee at a cafe and not even to see if there were any new meat shops open for business. He needed to speak to Rosie, discreetly.

She was a sensible woman whose establishment, a modest two-story building stationed right where the town’s plaza, offered consultation and other goods for all to enjoy; from the latest fashion trends to comestics to glass displays of ringed pinky fingers, there was something for everyone. No one had to venture outside of the Pentagram for anything. Rosie knew exactly what the citizens wanted and how to protect them. That’s why she is the leader, the one to talk to if anyone wants to do any business here. To set up shop without her permission…well, it was free for all.

He strode down Main Street, smiling and politely greeting a charming group of ladies who called out to him in surprise, currently feasting on some hapless soul who had walked through without following the town’s dress code. For a moment, his mind wandered to the impossible notion of you walking beside him, your gloved hand tucked into his arm with a parasol raised over your head so that you did not get a sunburn.

Alastor suddenly stopped. He felt the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably, his face burning, his blackened heart thunder against his ribs, and worse off…his eyes. He felt them changing to radio dials, followed by the unpleasant sound of a record scratching. And all because he is thinking about you, and what he-he did to you! He kissed you!

This is preposterous! Ridiculous. Why are these feelings simply getting worse and not better? Blast it all!

He inhaled slowly, deeply, through his nose and out through his mouth, matching it in tandem with his stride. By the time he reached the entrance to Rosie’s Emporium, Alastor felt his quickened pulse steady itself and he was calm again. Pulling the right stained glass open, he went inside and all the way towards the back of the establishment to see his dear friend sitting behind a counter, consulting a distressed young lady. Rosie was calm and cheerful as always, dressed to the nines with a lovely smile as she handed her client a business card.

Cannibal Town was truly lucky to have a delightful overlord reign over them.

When she looked up, ready to help the next person in the long line, their eyes met. He smiled, waving at her. She immediately perked up, rising from her chair and weaving through the crowd. Well, more like they willingly stepped aside so that their leader could walk to him, but same difference~!

Oh, that was a good joke, ha-ha!

“Oh Alastor, it’s so good to see you!” Rosie exclaimed, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around in a small circle. “I haven’t heard from you in a while, I was starting to worry that you forgot about me, though I could forgive you if you fill me in on all of the details that’s happened~!” She grinned. “I hear our princess’ hotel is finally finished with those renovations, all ready to accept all the sinners she could dream of! Oh, and Alastor, you truly haven’t let me down this time! The angel flesh we’ve managed to bring back? Well, not only is it absolutely divine in terms of flavor, but people are coming from miles around just to sample some~! ‘Course, with our limited stock, we need to increase the price just a wee bit. Business is booming, and it’s all thanks to you, my friend~!” She blinked, tilting her head to the side. “Hm? Is everything all right, old chap? You’re never this quiet unless those little gears in your mind are turning~!”

Alastor felt the corner of his mouth twitch. No, he told himself fiercely. Keep yourself calm, tell Rosie that there is absolutely nothing wrong and you just thought about stopping by to pass the time, not because you need her help. And even if you do, desperately, you cannot say it here for all of the world to hear!

But the only sound that escaped his mouth was the chirping of radio static. Nothing else. Nothing except the memory of his mouth being burnt from his earlier actions. His eyes widened slightly. Fuck. He was thinking about you again! When will this madness stop?!

He did not know how Rosie knew that he was in fact, not all right, but her jubilant smile softened, and before he realized what was happening, she was pushing him into a corner of the emporium. Two fuschia-colored lounge chairs and a coffee table with a tea tray resting on top of the dark wood, adjacent to the shop’s windows. This was the very same spot where she had dragged Charlie to sit down and ask why Hell’s princess had come to visit her.

This was…not a good sign. He thought as he sat down in the chair opposite of Rosie’s, watching his old friend gracefully follow his example. Not at all.

“Now, what’s going on with you? It’s rare for you to be the strong, silent type.” Rosie said, leaning forward. “I heard bits and pieces about what happened between you and that angel in charge of the exterminators, but I’m not gonna pry. You clearly got more on your mind than angels.”

Rosie has known Alastor for a long time. He’s a showman with all the flair and music at his beck and call, someone who isn’t all talk with no actions behind them. If there is something he wants, he’ll use his charm to get it before anyone realizes what happened. That’s how he rose through the ranks so quickly when he arrived, after all. But seeing him in a state of stunned silence like this…well, it worried her a bit. So she stood up, removing the tea tray from the coffee table with a snap of fingers, and gestured to Alastor to follow her.

He did.

Normally her clients were more than happy to discuss their problems within hearing range because it was the usual sort of issues everyone dealt with: a bad-tasting spouse, decoration advice, gossip on the latest trends in the Pentagram and rumors about the other overlords, etc. But Alastor….well, he definitely was not going to open up about his problems just like that. He preferred to keep things private, and there was nothing wrong with that in her opinion. So she led them to the parlor, a cozy little room with vintage furniture and fuschia wallpaper with flowers on them. There were enough enchantments in them to drown out explosions from the outside and keep anyone from hearing their conversation. Of course, no one is that silly to be that disrespectful in her store like that, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

The tea tray popped up on the coffee table, landing with a light clink. Everything was still warm and fresh as she poured the steaming liquid in the cups. One for herself, and one for him. Alastor inclined his head towards her as he accepted the tea. Oh my, the poor dear’s hands were shaking. Now she was starting to get very worried about her friend.

“Alastor, what’s wrong?” She asked, cradling her teacup and saucer with one hand as she stirred in a pinch of sugar. “Nothing will get past the walls, I swear. You know me, darling. But I can’t help you if you can’t tell me what’s going on -”

“I kissed her.”

She blinked. “Come again?” She asked.

“I…kissed someone, Rosie. An associate at the princess’ hotel. We made a deal in my radio tower and I kissed her.” Alastor’s fingers tightened around the handle of his teacup. His ears were pressed flat against his head, his face was flushed bright red and his eyes filtered between red irises and radio dials. Oh, shit. Better take this slowly or he’ll combust. Rosie took a sip of her tea.

“All right, so you kissed an associate who works at the hotel. Do I know her?”

“Yes.”

“Well, who is she?”

“[First Name].”

“Ah, the girl with the metal arms and the giant…hobby horse?” Rosie thought for a moment. “Couple o’ people said that she was wielding that thing like a baton! Smashed some angel’s heads too!” She chuckled, but noticed the deep sigh leaving her friend as he placed the tea down, reclining against his chair with a gloved hand over his face. She smiled apologetically. “Sorry, sorry. Keep going. Start from the beginning.”

“....She came to the hotel after seeing the commercial everyone made. We were not hiring any staff. Charlie wanted more sinners to come and try to redeem themselves. But [First Name] was stubborn. She and Vagatha did an interview and decided that the best thing they could offer to her was being a groundskeeper. Someone who could keep the place nice and neat, gardening and landscaping. The conditions Charlie laid out to her were that she needed to participate in the activities and make actual progress in changing her ways. In exchange, she’d be given food and board. I tell you, from the moment I saw her, I thought she’d be another form of entertainment~! Imagine, someone who can’t crack an egg, someone who struggles with day to day tasks because she has prosthetics from the Great War! She’s killed people, Rosie, she’s had front row seats to the depravity of humanity and she still believes Charlie’s dream will work! What a joke! What an absolute fool!” He laughed. The sound bounced off of the walls, sending a small chill down Rosie’s spine.

Alastor wasn’t laughing like when someone tells a dad joke he finds greatly funny or makes an ass out of themselves. He sounded….hollow. Confused.

“So why is that I feel so terrible for what I had done, Rosie?” He asked. “She had stumbled upon a secret she should have never known and I made a deal with her to keep her quiet. I did what I needed to protect myself. But I can’t get the memory of how she looked at me out of my mind! She was angry, Rosie, and keep in mind that this is a girl who doesn’t show her emotions as easily as others, and she showed me how angry she was towards me! She was disappointed, resentful, and I don’t know what compelled me to kiss her hand but I did because there was some silly notion in the back of my mind, thinking that it would comfort her! How could a kiss do that?! It makes no sense, what I’m feeling makes no sense!” He suddenly straightened himself up in the chair, and he removed his hand from his eyes….just for Rosie to see the frustration and desperation in them.

“What’s wrong with me, Rosie?” He asked. “Tell me there’s something I can do to forget what I’m feeling right now or I fear I won’t be able to escape this madness!”

“I don’t think you’d be able to, my friend.” She said. Rosie knew what he was going through because she had been in the same situation too, far too many times and it was because of these experiences that everyone came to her for advice on romance. “Al, my dear silly man…you’re in love with this girl. And it’s pretty clear that this love runs deep. You wouldn’t feel terrible for what you did if you didn’t care about her, right?”

He looked at her, stunned. “I…beg your pardon, old friend? I….care for her? I love her?”

Rosie nodded. “You do. And you fucked up your chance at building a proper relationship with her because of this deal you made.”

“That was insurance!”

“And it destroyed her trust in you. You said she was a soldier, right?” When Alastor nodded, she continued. “Well, soldiers need comrades they can trust to watch their backs as much as they need accurate information on enemy forces. You were her comrade, someone she could trust and now…she can’t. That’s why she was angry with you.” She tilted her head. “But it’s up to you if you want to rectify the mistake you made…or let it be the reason why she may never see you in the same way as you see her.”

“Then teach me, Rosie.” He seethed, leaning forward as he slammed a fist against the table, causing the tea tray to rattle. “Teach me how to forget these feelings because I do not want nor need to love someone to live a fulfilling afterlife. Love makes a person weak! A smile is a more valuable tool than love! It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing, and ensures what comes your way, you are in control!”

Rosie glared pointedly at him. “Mister, you are most definitely not in control. If you ask me, stifling these feelings towards [First Name] are just going to make things worse.” She sighed. “Do you remember how we first met? You were a fresh face, the newest overlord around the block after you overthrew all the rest. But the big, bad Radio Demon couldn’t even find the meeting room and asked me for directions with that cute little smile of yours. Gotta tell ya, you were a sweetie then, though Carmilla back then…well, she didn’t know what to think of you.” She smiled, leaning forward and placed her hand on top of Alastor’s. “Asking for help and guidance doesn’t make someone weak, old friend. And it isn’t bad to feel love towards someone, even if you are an ace in the hole.” She winked.

His smile twitched. “I really wish you would tell me what that phrase means.”

“Where’s the fun in that? It’s entertaining to see you keep guessing every time I say it!” Rosie laughed. “So…what are you going to do?”

“Words are cheap, but actions speak the truth. If you’re serious about serenading this girl, then you need your actions to reach her. Keep me posted, okay? You’ve got this.” That was what Rosie had told him as she walked him out of the emporium, giving him a brief hug and a warm smile before retreating back inside. Now, here he is, walking back to the hotel and back to you.

He had no idea how he was going to face you after what he had done. He gritted his teeth. As much as he wanted to keep his distance from you and be out of his afterlife for good, Rosie….had been correct. Eliminating what he felt would only make things worse, especially if Husker or that pint-sized fool who calls himself the King of Hell try to steal you away from him before he could do anything.

Shaking his head, Alastor continued his trek through the city and towards the Pentagram’s outer borders, on the hillside where the fluorescents of the hotel glowed in the distance like a lighthouse in a raging storm at sea.

Blessedly the lobby was devoid of any residents or staff when he had returned, so he had assumed that everyone was at dinner or had gone to bed. It wasn’t too late in the afternoon if he recalled correctly, but time was difficult to keep track of in Hell unless one had a pocket watch or one of Vox’s silly little devices, neither of which he had on his person. In an instant he teleported himself to the hotel’s western wing, ready to freshen a bit before cooking up a meal for himself to enjoy in the privacy of his room when he felt a thrum of power vibrate beneath his feet.

He glanced down, raising an eyebrow at the darkness on the floor before the shadow grinned, showing off a void of bright crimson for a mouth. Ah, yes. This little traitor. Of all the ones he has in his possession, this is the culprit responsible for the crime of stalking you without his consent.

“Well, well, where have you been today~?”

The shadow chuckled darkly, rising up from the floor and floated in the air, twisting its smoky body around him like a snake…no. It’s as if this little shit is performing a little dance of his own. But what for exactly? What is the grand occasion? Has someone died? The shadow shook its head, still grinning and conjured a sphere of green flames in its hands. Inside of it, Alastor could see you and Niffty in the kitchen cooking dinner and then the image disappeared, shifting to a scene where the two of you are putting ingredients together for…apple pies? Alastor gritted his teeth.

He’s gone not even for a day and Lucifer Morningstar has the audacity to make the calls on desserts. Blasphemy! This is absurd! UNACCEPTABLE!

The shadow’s flames then evaporated into nothingness…and in its hand was a single hair ribbon. Your hair ribbon. Swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, he carefully took it from the shadow’s hand, cradling it in the center of his palm. To have something of yours to take for himself, and covet and yearn in silence until the time was ripe was the only method he had to satiate his darker hunger.

To think something as silly as your scent could tide something as fickle as his temper over was baffling, but it was comforting nonetheless.

Alastor’s thumb stroked the worn-out fabric, admiring its crimson hue beneath the fluorescent light of the hotel hallways. Before he could stop himself, the Radio Demon pressed his lips against it. The scent of cinnamon and ink made his mouth water, hungry for more than just a hair ribbon to pocket as a trophy. But like all good things and in the art of being a clever serial killer, patience is key. It shouldn’t be too difficult to lure his prey into his arms. After all, he is a true gentleman.

Taglist: @rorusena @alastor-simp @imperfectbloodmoon @anielly-2010 @bones4thecats @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @oucx @ang3lofdivinity @tonightwrites @chewbrry @horrorgirlshell @bladeismine @yourdoorisunlocked @no1sillybilly @mentallyunstablenoodle @solandis-does-stuff @facelessfionna @tired-of-life-86 @yandere-dark-cupid @pinkgoldweebgirl @lovely-nightmares @luthefriendlywitch @asianfrustration13 @lunaramune @lanxianschoenheit @zenix108 @solesurvivorjen @kanroji-san @whenitgrowsbright @aconfusedwonderland @candyladycry @ozzersauce @sleepy-hutao @justamegafan @the-cat-queen-peasants @swallowtail-lotus @circeyoru

#forbidden-sunlight #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #radio demon #yandere x reader #yandere male #fem!reader #violet evergarden!reader #ns.fw #yandere #cw obsessive behavior #cw obsessive love #tw obsessive behavior #hazbin hotel alastor #tw obsessive love

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cultrise · 8 months

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KINKTOBER ‘23 MASTERLIST !

welcome to cultrise’s first ever kinktober ! this is a challenge i looked forward to for some time and i can’t wait to see everyone’s takes on it <3

we have a wide selection of gentlemen from different universes to numb your senses this october: hobie brown, sal fisher, osamu dazai, suguru geto and satoru gojo !

i hope you thoroughly enjoy what i have prepared :3

COCK WARMING. hobie brown

⌗ what happens when you and your boyfriend ditch a boring meeting but he decides to make you wait & beg for him ?

MIRROR SEX. sal fisher

⌗ sal hasn't been paying much attention to you lately since he always spends time in his shed, studying the cult's activity. he wants to show you just how sorry he is.

DRUNK SEX. dazai osamu

⌗ dark thoughts, a few glasses of good whiskey and his pretty coworker is enough to make dazai's head spin.

ABS RIDING. gojo satoru

⌗ going to the beach with your two best friends while you have a major crush on one of them is probably not a good idea… especially since you can't seem to peel your eyes away from his abs.

OVERSTIMULATION. sal fisher

⌗ after allowing him to destress by using your body, sal ends up overstimulating you both.

PHONE SEX. dazai osamu

⌗ being away on missions is so hard for poor dazai, especially when all he can think about is your body against his.

HATE FUCKING. prowler!hobie

⌗ your ex-boyfriend absolutely hates how much you pretend to despise him. so one night he decides to make you scream his name, as a reminder of how much you miss him.

MASTURBATION. geto suguru

⌗ never has geto been so obsessed with someone.. much less one of his best friends. he finds himself locked in the bathroom to get rid of his pent-up tension.

GETTING CAUGHT. dazai osamu

⌗ a little fun in the empty office will surely not backfire, as dazai reassures you. right …?

EDGING. gojo satoru

⌗ the only way gojo satoru knows how to express his feelings to you is by sliding in your bed each night. but since he wants so be an asshole, he’ll get what’s coming to him.

THIGH RIDING. sal fisher

⌗ a late night date with your boyfriend at the wendigo lake ends up with you trying to release your built-up stress & tension in different ways.

FACE RIDING. geto suguru

⌗ coming home after a long day of lectures and a busy schedule is nothing new to you. good thing your boyfriend has the perfect recipe against muscle pain and fatigue.

BODY WORSHIP. hobie brown

⌗ there's a lot of things hobie hates in this world. but most of all, he hates hearing you speak ill about yourself. he's set on showing you just how beautiful your body is to him.

SIZE KINK. gojo satoru

⌗ your boyfriend takes a while to notice the size difference between the two of you, but once he does, he's determined to feed his newfound kink.

MORNING SEX. dazai osamu

⌗ it’s nothing new for dazai to act like an annoying bastard but he definitely has the best ways to make up for it (while also proving that you weren’t angry to begin with).

#✦— kinktober.#navigation.#masterlists.

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ghouljams · 8 months

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Okay okay I saw your post about wanting the witch to do some really crazy magic that proves she’s tough and I raise you an additional idea. European magic and myths with fae and cryptids is more positive and nice, especially with modern retelling of fairy tails (I know this isn’t necessarily true there are some really dark aspects of European folk). I myself am from the Appalachian Mountains, and that region is very very old. I don’t know what you know about the region but the mountains themselves are older than the rings of Saturn, and bones. With how old they are the region has a lot of folk lore and cryptids and dark legends surrounding it, most of which coming from the indigenous communities that were there before us. Haints, wendigo/skin walker, and a slew of rules everyone follows. You don’t whistle at night, keep a broom above every door, cover the mirrors and open the windows when someone dies, if you hear screaming or someone calling for you in the dark or woods- NO YOU DIDNT!!! Dark shit like that is a big deal where I’m from. Now my actual thought was what if witch is from a old magic type of place, and when someone (another fae not price) comes to challenge her or test her saying she ain’t powerful or she doesn’t know real magic and fae, she shows them where she’s from (I was thinking with her cool door) they step thru into the middle of the woods of her ancestral/family home and they immediately are terrified. Like the fae!141 are old and ancient fae but the region is older than even then and it scares the fuck outta them, like they immediately forfeit! Maybe they saw something in the woods or just the overall feeling of the place is overwhelming. This would also match up with the witch being so scared of the mimic, cause wendigos/skin walkers are fucking terrifying in a place like Appalachia so her moving and thinking that’s what she’s being terrorized by is horrifying!!! I know this is really long and probably makes no sense and whatever you write is and will be amazing but I just had this thought today cause your writing lives rent free in my mind 24/7!!! Whatever witch x price you make will make me feral no matter what!!!!

Witch's magic is actually loosely based around American folk magic, specifically Hoodoo and some Appalachian folk magic. And all I can say is: Don't bring those names into my ask box they are so very scary and I'm scared(joking)(I actually am terrified of .... I don't even like typing their name). Although I don't think Witch is from the US, she is definitely very, very, old magic. I have various thoughts on where her magic comes from, but it's old. (I think Konig stops to look at her because her magic is familiar to him, an ancient understanding ingrained in him of what she is)

Anyway I have a few little pieces about Witch interacting with other witches, what's one more challenge to her abilities?

It's always interesting when fae visit you. When they come to you as customers, you mean. No you're fairly used to visitors at this point. It's the ones that come to you for a service that you don't get often. You smile at the fae across from you as you shuffle your cards. They came in through the front, you know they want something. Annoying that they've managed to stay silent as you ushered them in.

18, 19, you switch between the cards to try and get a feel for what will work best for your silent customer. The man, you suppose, laying the card down on the table. Not for their appearance, but for the role they seem intent on playing. Domineering, or trying to be. You lay cards around it, humming to yourself. Snake, birds, mice, the coffin, the clouds, the home. You know all this. They're sitting right in front of me practically salivating, you try to silently tell your deck.

"So," You squint your eyes to really try and sell your smile as friendly, you feel like you're doing little more than bearing your teeth, "What are you looking for today?"

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about," They tell you calmly. You snap down three cards for yourself in quick succession, though you hardly need to read them to get the message.

"Boot this rude motherfucker" the cards tell you. You scoop up your draws with your fingers and shuffle them back into the deck.

"I see," You try to keep your voice bright. They scoff, their expression amused. You don't see what's so funny.

"Hardly, I expected a seer at least, you're-" They wave their hand at you, "-just feeling it out, right?" You raise your brows, continue your shuffle. "I expected Price to be chasing someone a little more," They sigh, you don't expect them to finish the sentence, you're sure it's insulting. Rules dictate politeness, they sure are skirting that line.

"You know Price," You don't ask, but the question hangs between you. How? and Does he even like you? You can't imagine he does.

"Mm, we're on the court together," The fae rests their elbow on the arm of your couch, sets their chin against their palm, fingers curling against their cheek. "Strange he'd be so protective of such a novice, but I suppose you're pretty. He likes pretty."

You let your head tip side to side as you think. Novice. That's one you're not used to hearing. You wonder why they'd think that. Can't they feel your magic? A card jumps out of your shuffling. The home. Ah. You feel your smile grow more genuine as you press the card back into the middle of your deck.

Of course they can't feel you. This whole place is you. It would be like looking at an ocean and deciding it's harmless because you can't pick out a single drop of water. That doesn't stop the waves from dragging you out to drown any more than it stops your magic from surrounding this fae. You wonder if they can feel it, the way your magic hones in on them, eyes watching their every move with silent focus.

"Why don't I show you out?" You set your deck on the table and stand without waiting for an answer, leading them to your back door. You're sure they'll find your garden more than impressive now that you've rescinded their welcome.

"Why not," They follow, "I should be going anyway, you're hardly worth the trouble the others are sending after you."

It's crossing the threshold a second time that hurts, that spins and swims in the fae's vision. The heat of a familiar season ripping through them like an oven. Summer bound by heavy chains and iron spikes. You smile at them peacefully, spidering ties arcing off of you towards the sun itself. You burn. Your magic lashes against the confines of the garden, the walls and wards worked into the land, into summer itself.

The fae looks back into your home, the consumptive darkness of a doorway once broken and twice repaired, of a space that shouldn't be a space. A house that's wrong. They look back to you, to the soft tilt of your head, the faux patience as you wait for them to remember what they're here for.

The ground beneath their feet is unfamiliar, and pitches their stomach. They stumble a little, the pressure of the magic keeping a whole season in place settling on their shoulders. It takes everything in them not to buckle under the weight.

"This is fun," You smile at them, raising a hagstone to your eye, "I was wondering why my wards were acting up."

They do their best to collect enough air to respond. Everything feels thick and humid, the heat only raising as they stay close to you. They blink against the blinding sun, their vision swinging violently as they try to keep their focus on moving. Are they moving? You aren't. You're the only fixed point as the world pitches on its axis and spins.

You and your terrible smile, staring down at their suffering. They're on the court for fucks sake, some little human pet shouldn't stand half a chance against them. They make to swing for you, try to grab you with their claws. There's only air, their depth perception wavering between distances. You crouch, following them as the weight of magic forces them to their knees.

"Now I will admit," You hum, reaching to pluck a few stray hairs from their head, "I don't particularly care for killing, so I'll leave you for Price to take care of."

You snap your fingers and the fae straightens and stands from their misery. They walk themselves to the gate and open it. They look back at you, and you wiggle your fingers in goodbye as the hairs in your grip spark with the same fire that engulfs them as they step out into Winter.

#oc: Witch #ghoul speaks #Price finding the charred barely alive fae: lmao get wrekt #he wishes he could've seen Witch committing acts of violence #just the thought turns him on a little #oc fic #oc talk #Idk what to tag this as tbh #original work #original fiction #Price does kill the poor sod #Witch does some improvised poppet magic and also just wrecks a bitch

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hawkeyetrained · 8 months

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Step Away From Him, Now

Dean Winchester x Fem!reader established relationship (nothing too detailed)

Other Characters: Sam Winchester (barely there), John Winchester

Warnings: canon violence (kinda?), language, mention of wounds, blood, wendigo mention, arguing, that’s it I think?

Summary: She's finally had enough of John treating Dean so horribly

A/N: This is kinda my take on how Dean used to talk about his dad. Probably made John out to be a little worse than he really was, but I always saw him as someone who pushed Dean to his limits when they hunted together

Word Count: 2712

John Winchester. Everyone in the hunting world knew that name. Winchester. Now, his sons Sam and Dean held the legendary last name in all the stories that were passed around.

John had been married to Mary, an amazing woman with hunter parents, who had wanted nothing more than to get out of the life she knew. She wanted to run as far as she could from the world of monsters and have a normal life with a husband who loved her and maybe a few little babies along the way. She did eventually make her way out of the hunting world and build the life she wanted. John loved her so much, and she did end up having two little baby boys after a few years, but the world of monsters didn’t leave her alone for long. She had gotten up one night to check on her youngest baby, little Sam Winchester, only for her world to come crashing down.

The story was well known now amongst hunters across the country. Sam and Dean were then raised in the world of monsters by their father who wanted nothing but revenge against the thing that killed his wife and mother of his boys. Now, that doesn’t mean John was winning ‘Father of the Year’ awards, his boys learned the hard way how to survive in the world filled with evil. Dean was practically forced to become his fathers little soldier, always taking orders, and doing as he was told in order to protect his younger brother.

My own mother had been friends with Mary before she left hunting to build her family, so when John and his boys turned up on our doorstep years after she died, my family didn’t hesitate to bring them in.

Over the years the Winchester boys and I grew up to be incredibly close. We learned to rely on each other during hunts, and once Sam had taken off for college, Dean and I became an unstoppable duo on hunts John sent us out on. We worked seamlessly together, always covering the others back and making sure everything was handled before the local law enforcement could catch up to us.

That doesn’t mean I always followed John’s orders. Dean took orders without hesitation while I stopped to question John when I knew a plan wouldn’t work or seemed a little too good to be true. Dean and I had been placed in the field as bait far too many times for me to blindly allow John Winchester to order me around anymore. My mother taught me well while I was growing up. She told me to always double check things before committing, make sure me and my partner were safe, and always watch my back.

Sam coming back to help Dean and I track John down made hunting even easier. A third set of eyes and a fresh take on the cases helped in ways Sam couldn’t even understand. Once we found John and managed to work a few cases as a group of four, I started picking up on things I hadn’t noticed when Sam wasn’t with us.

John was now always double-checking leads, making sure Sam was sent with plenty of weaponry and back up, while Dean and I were nearly forced to figure out our half the plan on our own without the promise of proper gear or even the availability to call for backup if something were to happen.

I had finally had enough when we were sent on a wendigo case John deemed “simple enough for the two of us to handle” and ended up with Dean and I nearly killed.

“I can’t take this anymore.” I half growled as we pulled into the motel parking lot John and Sam were staying in. “We’re gonna get killed one of these days because your father doesn’t give a shit about us.”

“Stop.” Dean parked the car. “He didn’t know there were more than one in those caves.” Again, Dean had an excuse to not blame his father.

My eyes were wide and mouth hanging open at his words. “You’re kidding, right? We didn’t do any of the research because he ‘had it covered’.” I moved my fingers with the quote John had said an hour before Dean and I left for the hunt. “He’s the one that said it was one and would be a simple case.” Dean stepped out of the car, favoring his right side from being tossed into some stone. I followed, carefully getting out of the sleek black Impala, and grabbing my bag from the back seat.

Everything in my body screamed in pain. My arms were bruised from where the creature had grabbed me, digging its nails into my skin, and bruising my once clear skin. Scrapes and deeper scratches littered my legs and arms from falling in rocks and being dragged down one of the tunnels. “Just stop.” Dean groaned, joining me on my side of the car and resting a hand on my cheek. “The important part is that we’re alive.”

His broken down and tired voice reduced my anger as I took in just how exhausted he looked. He and I had grown close over the years of hunting together, and that closeness eventually turned into love, that’s why we made such a great pair. I sighed and nodded my head, leaning in closer to his hand. “Ok, I’ll drop it for now. Just wanna grab a shower and pass out for the night.”

A soft smirk covered Dean’s face. “You and me both baby.” His arm drifted across my shoulders and pulled me into his side as we headed into the motel room to meet up with his family.

The moment the door was opened, and our bags were tossed to the floor, John was already up from the table and handing us a folder. “Got another one for you. A couple hours west of here that needs taken care of now.”

My hands clenched into fists as Dean took the folder and drifted over to the bed he and I shared to take a look. Everything in my body ached and I knew Dean was in the same boat, plus, he could do with about three days of sleep to make up for lost sleep over the last week. He was barely running on black coffee and the little food he ate between fighting monsters and catching maybe an hour or two of sleep each night. At the first sight of his eyes slipping closed as he read through the folder, my anger got the better of me.

“No.” I snapped, grabbing my bag from the floor, and moving to my side of the bed opposite Dean. “We’re not taking a hunt hours away tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?” John turned from the table.

I crossed my arms defiantly. “I said no. Can’t you hear?” Sam glanced at Dean in a way to figure out where my anger was coming from. “Dean and I haven’t had a break in weeks, John. Weeks. We need sleep, and time to heal.”

“People are dying out there. Don’t you get that?” John snapped, slapping down another few folders and a notebook.

“I do, and that sucks, but seriously? People die every day, sometimes luck runs out, and yeah, it’s really shitty to die from a monster mommy and daddy tell you isn’t real, but that’s the world we live in. If you’re so concerned about these people, then you can go deal with it.”

John looked like I had just smacked him across the face. “You need to get control over her.” His eyes had slipped over to Dean’s. “You’ve both got three hours till your asses better be on the road for Colorado.”

My mouth had dropped open in shock from John thinking Dean could or would control anything I did like that. I was prepared to give him a real piece of my mind when Dean finally spoke up. “No.” he stood from his spot on the bed and joined my side. “You know, we were nearly killed today. The freak got the drop on us with one of its buddies and dragged her down a tunnel. All because your research was wrong.” His voice was slowly growing in volume, and I was beyond thankful the motel was practically empty tonight. “You haven’t even taken a moment to ask if we’re ok. But yeah, dad, were gonna be fine.”

John launched into a rant on how Dean and I have been messing up every hunt over the last few months, coming back with more and more wounds, more complaints, and requesting more time between hunts. He threw every little thing at Dean’s face like he wasn’t already in pain from the day. I watched as Dean’s face slowly fell from the confident and angry man trying to protect me, to the look of a kicked puppy as his dad belittled him with his younger brother watching on. I could tell Sam didn’t know how to step in and stick up for Dean, so it was up to me to protect the oldest Winchester when no one else would.

“Back up.” That same angry growl from the car scratched at my words as I stepped beside John who had cornered Dean into the wall of the motel. “Step away from him, now.” My hands balled into fists, tighter and tighter with the longer John was taking to back away from his son. “I said back the hell up, now.”

His dark eyes flashed to my face as he stepped back half a foot. “The hell you say to me?”

I pushed my way between John and Dean, making sure to keep eye contact with John Winchester while I did. “You do not get to talk to him like that. Dean isn’t some little soldier toy for you to throw at the problems you think he can fix. He isn’t indestructible like you think he is. He’s human and needs a god damned break every once in a while. How can you not see that he doesn’t want to let you down but that he’s struggling to keep up with your constant demands? He does everything you ask, “keep an eye on Sammy, don’t let anything happen to Sammy”.” I started quoting him from the past few years. “You have two sons, John. Don’t you remember that? Two! Dean deserves the protection you give to Sam as well. He’s your kid too!”

Silence filled the motel room after my little outbreak, but I couldn’t tell if John was going to let it go for the night or continue to fight. “Dean’s the oldest. He knows the responsibilities that come with that.”

It felt like my skin was on fire with the anger that radiated through my body. “I need you to shut the fuck up and listen for once in your life.” Sam was silent and still as a statue on the bed, papers still scattered around him. “I don’t give a shit about if he’s the oldest or whatever is stuck in your twisted head. I understand you lost your wife, and baby Sam never got a chance to know his mother, and that’s horrible. But Dean lost his mom too. He lost her just like you and Sam did, but because he was four and not a baby, that means to you that he now deserves to be your slave for the rest of his life. It means hunting what you deem necessary and when you say so? He isn’t someone you get to command around for eternity.”

“And who the hell do you think you are, telling me what to do with my family. Last I checked, you weren’t a part of this family.” John’s anger was boiling over at this point. His face was bright red, and I swore I could see a vein in his neck pulsing. “You’re just some tag-along who thinks she can stick around with Dean long enough to be more than a piece of ass to him.”

That caused a deafening silence to flood the room that even a gunshot couldn’t overpower. “Right.” I nodded, willing the sting in my eyes to go away so John wouldn’t have more ammunition to throw at me. “Right. I’m here simply because I wanna be a late-night booty call to him…it couldn’t possibly be because someone needs to be on his side for once. Couldn’t be that he needs someone to watch his back on hunts because his father doesn’t care enough. Or it couldn’t be that I simply love him and want to be here for him, right? No, it’s absolutely because I wanna be his hook-up on the few nights where he isn’t struggling to stay awake because he has to finish some research you and Sam couldn’t do, or the other nights where he’s too busy being beaten by monsters.” I took a deep breath and stepped back an inch, barely leaving enough space between John and I before I turned towards the bed to grab my purse and gear bag. “Go to hell, John.” My shoulder slammed into his as I walked past him and out of the motel room.

I didn’t make it very far down the row of rooms before a voice could call and stop me in my tracks. “Wait a minute!” Dean’s voice echoed over the nearly vacant parking lot.

“What?” I asked as he joined my side, his green bag hanging from his hand. “Wait, I…Dean. Did he…”

“No. He didn’t throw me out.” Dean’s free hand came to rest on my shoulder. “I just ditched. I couldn’t let you leave alone after that.” Guilt tugged at my chest as I thought of Dean walking away from the only family he had left.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place and…”

He cut me off again. “No one’s ever stood up for me like that.” Dean was quiet as his eyes met mine. “I’ve never had someone in my corner against my dad before.”

“You don’t deserve the way he treats you.”

“I know. It’s always been hard to tell him when I need time off, or even just a break. He’s so driven and focused all the time on getting the thing that killed mom that I don’t think he even notices how he acts sometimes.”

I dropped my bag. “God, Dean. There you go again. You make up these excuses for the way he acts like its ok to treat you like a damn dog. I don’t care that he wants to find the thing that killed her, you and Sam want that just as badly but you two don’t go out endangering each other at every little possible chance you get. I’m sorry you guys lost her, that sucks, and I can’t imagine the pain you all felt, but he needs to understand that you can’t keep risking your life like he expects you to.”

He nodded at my words. “I know.” It was barely a whisper coming from him now. “I just don’t know how to tell him. You’ve seen it, the way he gets when he sets his mind to something.”

“I know.” It was my turn to nod. “You get it from him. You’re so focused sometimes on the hunt or helping someone that everything else kinda blurs.” I gently cradled his face in my hands. “There is one huge difference though. When your partner is hurt, or even struggling, you drop everything as fast as you can to go help them. You’re there in time to save me, every time I need you.”

“And I always will be, you know that, right?” Dean’s hands rested softly on my hips, drawing me in closer to his chest.

“I do.” I smiled up at him. “Now, what do you say to a drink at the bar down the street and a night spent in the car in the middle of nowhere?”

“I’d say that sounds like a great plan to me.” He let me grab the bag I dropped, pressed a soft kiss to the side of my head, and led me towards the infamous black Impala.

@thetallassgirl @hallecarey1

#supernatural #spn imagine #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean imagine

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apocalypseornaw · 7 months

Text

Wanna be Yours (Pt 1/5)

Sam Winchester x Reader

After years of hunting with Dean you finally meet his younger brother

@lacilou s genius idea

Every hunter had one thing in common, tragic backstory. The one event that fucked their lives up bad enough that they not only discovered that the things that went bump in the night were very real but they decided to not sit on the sidelines and to actually do something about it.

Your event? You'd gone camping with your family, your parents along with your aunt and uncle and a couple cousins. No one had heard anything about the so called animal attacks neither did anyone know how the hell to defend themselves when the wendigo attacked.

The initial bloodbath had been hell. Your dad and uncle were first gone, going at the beast straight in an attempt to save their families. Next came your mom and aunt, a last ditch effort to distract it while you and your cousins ran. The three of you barely made it half a mile before the beast caught you.

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

You'd assumed that was it, you'd die just like your family had. The beast had kept the three of you for days in a cavern. You'd seen it kill your older cousin, Derek was fourteen and had fought like hell so you begged it to spare to your younger cousin, Allie his little sister who was only four not knowing if it even understood you.

The begging seemed to lure it to you. It raised its clawed hand and you prepared for a slash that never came. Instead you heard someone yell "KIDS GET DOWN!"

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

You nodded to Allie and you both tucked down in as small of a ball as possible. The heat that filled the cavern was unbearable mixed with the scent of burning flesh along with the sounds of the creature as it died.

When it was over you untucked and was met with a woman, she was probably around your aunts age. Her brown hair braided back, wearing jeans and a red flannel of all things. A flamethrower was in her hands "You girls ok?" You nodded numbly "Help Allie first"

That was how you met Hayley Lynols. She was a second generation hunter. When it was discovered you had no legal guardian (Allie had gone to a relative of her dad's) Hayley had stepped in to offer you a place to stay.

She'd given you three options. One was a normal life, one was the life of a hunter and the third option was what she wanted you to take "I'll train you just like my dad trained me but you go to school and get a ged at least. Any kid of mine isn't going to be dumb in any way. If you want to hunt on your own some after you're eighteen that's you but just know I'll always be here to help"

You'd taken the third option. You'd buckled down on school and studied hard. You'd gotten a ged by the time you turned fifteen and started hunting with Hayley.

That was how you met Dean. You were nineteen, on the very first solo hunt Hayley had allowed you. She deemed it simple enough, a haunting case that seemed like it'd be a simple salt and burn.

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

She hadn't realized another hunter was already on the case. You stood across from the guy that had to be around your age, both of you carrying a duffle and a shovel.

Neither of you blinked so you decided to go out on a limb "Anthony Rowen?" He sort of laughed "You a hunter?" You nodded then motioned towards the grave that was about three feet from where the two of you stood "I say we work this together and it goes a lot faster" he nodded "I like that idea" then offered his hand "Dean" you shook his hand "Y/N, let's get to it"

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

Since the two of you weren't old enough for a bar you ended up at a diner, coffee and pie in front of you both as you talked about your lives. He told you about his father and brother and you told him about Hayley. Before you went your separate way you exchanged numbers and swore to keep in touch.

You'd see Dean off and on but when you were about twenty six he fell off the map for a while until he resurfaced about a year later with a simple phone call of "Y/N, I need some help"

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

You pulled your challenger to a stop next to Dean's impala and grabbed your phone to check the text as to what room he was in but before you could the door to room one fifteen opened and Dean walked out, shadowed by another guy. He looked a little younger than Dean with hair that borderlined shaggy but it was clear they were related. Could that be Sam?

You climbed out your car with a smile "Winchester!" Dean grinned and met you halfway pulling you into a hug "Y/N! It's good to see you" when the two of you separated he motioned to the other guy "This is my little brother Sam"

You turned your eyes towards Sam with a smile and offered your hand "I've heard about you for years, weird we're just now meeting but good to meet you" he grinned as he shook your hand "Good to meet you too" you had to admit, he was cute. Broad smile and dimples along with green hazel eyes that followed your every movement. You cut your eyes at Dean "Also, little brother? He's taller than you"

Sam laughed at your words, the sound was enough to pull a smile to your face "Oh I like her already" you winked at him "Stick around cutie, I'm a very likeable person" Dean shook his head "Let's get to work"

After that day you and the Winchesters started keeping in touch every few days. You hadn't known they lost John so you weren't able to be there for them but when you lost Hayley they'd driven straight across two states to get to your side.

--------‐--

You stood between them both, staring at the flames as they engulfed her body. You felt a shiver run through you and weren't sure if it was from the cold night air or losing the only parental figure you had left. "I'll go grab your jacket" Dean offered and headed for your challenger.

You and Sam stood silent for a few moments before he said "When dad died Dean wouldn't talk to anyone, let anyone in until he finally broke one day. Y/N I know we're not as close as you and Dean but you're my friend and if you need anything I'm here" you nodded, eyes never leaving the flames "Thanks Sam"

About that time Dean walked back over with your jacket and draped it over your shoulders "You know Y/N, I was thinking" you cut your eyes at Sam with a weak smile "Should we run?" A small smile slipped onto his face "Let's hear him out then we'll see if we need to"

"Ha ha very funny" Dean replied before continuing "Hayley always said she didn't like you hunting alone, you can always throw your hat in with me and Sam. We don't mind the company" you nodded "Maybe I will" a silence fell back over the three of you as the flames began to burn down to just embers.

@nelachu2423

@lacilou

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #wanna be yours mini series

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heartthrobin · 11 months

Text

round and round the garden (1)

sam winchester x fairy!reader

wc: 4.7k

warnings: soulmate!au (partners share scars), fem!reader, limited use of y/n, timeline is foggy but we’re working with s8 sam lookwise, reader is a creature, implied age gap (reader is early 20's), reader is uber tooth-rottingly sweet, highkey dumbification of sam winchester, references to thick reader (everyone cheered) but can be ignored, dean being dean, destiel is canon, animals, canon warnings (child kidnapping, violence ect.)

an: literally just wanted to write something fantastical and cutesy so here it is !!! this is part 1 of (probably) 4 :))) let me know if you want to be added to taglist <33 love y’all

summary: the case was bizarre, but no aspect more so than the “witch” at the end of town with the prettiest goddamn face Sam had ever seen and the long pink scar up her arm that matched his own.

part two part three part four

The house wasn't big.

If Sam could really call it a house.

It was more like a cottage, reminding him of children's illustrated stories he never had the childhood to read. Of picnics and fireplaces.

The cottage dazzled like a water colour painting: green shrubbery seeping into every corner of the canvas, with lush pink and orange and yellow fruit speckled across the page.

Creeping around it, wrapping it's branches over the house like an arboreal hug: was the largest tree Sam had ever laid eyes on. The trunk was almost as wide as the street they were parked on and it's leaves draped low over the windows peeking from inside. It stood like a monolith against the backdrop of the forest leering behind it.

The line of trees were inched back just enough to almost convince Sam that this tree, the one engulfing your cottage, made them nervous.

A stone footpath lead to the door.

"I-- looked away for just one minute ..." the woman was inconsolable.

Jenny Perez sobbed into the arm of her couch. Her sister leered in the doorway.

Sam and Dean watched her from the couch over.

"Ma'am," Sam stepped carefully. "We know this isn't easy, but are you sure you didn't see anything in the moments leading up to Manny's disappearance? Even anything ... strange?"

Washington State. Five kids. Two months. Missing.

Each snatched out their gardens where they played.

Sam and Dean had been in Illinois on the tail end of a wendigo hunt when the news of a sixth missing kid blew far enough across the country to land a tiny column on the front page of the Chicago Tribune.

Manny Perez (7) was taken from the backyard of his home this past Sunday night in Fernglade, Washington.

His mother, Jenny Perez (38), said she heard rustling in the bushes behind their house and her son laughing before going to take some food out of the oven. When she returned, her son had disappeared.

Sure it was a terrible story, but regardless, it didn’t arouse enough suspicion out of either Winchester to make it their problem. To convince them it was anything more than a 53-year old psychopath holding children in his basement.

Not until Dean found the entry. The one in John’s journal.

He’d been looking for a passage he swore was in there on wendigo hunting seasons when the ruggedly clipped article fell from between it’s pages.

“Sammy …” he’d flashed him the clip, “look familiar?”

Several articles actually: eight kids missing from the little town of Fernglade. Every Autumn, every twenty years out of some poor mother’s backyard. John had only scribbled one lonely note amongst all the newspaper staining: THE TREES

“No! It’s like I told the police … I just heard him laughing.” Her voice came out as broken shards between the heaving and the hands clutched close against her chest. “I thought I heard another child’s voice, but that was—”

“Jenny, enough.” Sandra Perez piped up from the doorway, clearly enflamed. She turned from her sister to face the brothers on the couch. “What my sister is refusing to consider, and what the rest of us know to be true, is that Manny was taken by that witch.”

“Hermana … she isn’t a witch—”

“A witch?” Dean’s calibre had twisted to intrigued.

“She lives on the edge of town. By the forestline.” Sandra’s arms were crossed tightly. “Jenny always used to let Manny go afternoons out there, God knows why—”

“A lot of the neighbourhood kids did too.” Jenny interrupted, desperate in her approach: hands outdrawn. “She’s not a … a witch. She’s a bit strange but the kids loved her and she was kind to them—”

“And now look. All those children are gone, Jenny.”

The woman deflated back into the couch again, her tear-soaked sleeves came up to find purchase against her cheeks again. They muffled a sob.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Dean shrugged with a look that said “maybe?”

Dean turned to the sister, “What has you convinced that this woman is a witch?”

Sanda Perez looked affronted by the question. Like Dean had slapped her clean across the face.

“Oh! Well she’s … there’s always things burning at that house and people have said they’ve heard … like, chanting at night over there.” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, grasping at the straws of gossip that had dripped down to her willing ears. “And her house is strange and she’s always in the forest at night when it’s unsafe. Who knows what … what rituals she’s doing out there!”

The brothers nodded. “Sure. Would you mind giving us that address?”

Now that Sam was faced with the house, getting his first view through the grimy passenger side window, he’d stray from the description of “strange”. He might have agreed that “enchanted” or “mystical” fit the description of the cottage better if he didn’t resent the magic clichés.

Dean’s finger pressed into the open journal page, tapping along the stained ink of John’s nearly illegible handwriting. THE TREES.

“Now that’s a tree if I’ve ever laid eyes on one.” He leaned over so his eyes could find the top of the tree from under the cover of the car.

Sam nodded. Something felt off when he watched the house, his stomach was twisting up past his other organs in his throat.

“I don’t know man …” his finger reached up to tug at the collar choking him at the neck. Maybe the fed suit wasn’t helping. “Something feels weird about this place.”

Dean scoffed loudly. He picked up the takeaway cup from the centre console, coffee long cold, and slugged the last of it down in one long sip. He surfaced again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Every place we go to is weird.” It was clear he didn’t share the sentiment. “I’m sure we’ve faced worse.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Well, come on. Let’s go meet this witch.”

Despite Sandra Perez’ less than convincing account of the “witch” at the end of town, it was still worth a visit to know who the townsfolk had decided was guilty in the matter of several counts of child kidnapping. How evil and vile of a person they must be.

The air was crisp outside the car and the further they ventured up the path, the more delightful the aroma became. There was a thin string of smoke curling from behind the house, it carried a warm woody scent and the tussles of flowers lining the bannister of the porch was making Sam’s head spin happily. He managed a small smile.

“Nice garden.” He whispered offhand.

Dean seemed unconvinced, eyes flashing over the shrubbery with skepticism. “Yeah, well don’t get too close to anything. And don’t touch anything either.”

The door was tall, intimidating and clearly made of some fancy wood. It was slot between the white brick on the face of the house. The feeling from the car had only tripled on the walk up and Sam had his hand against his stomach. He could feel his blood rushing past his ears.

“Dean, I’m really not sure about—”

Dean’s fist connected with the door three times. Curt and professional, like a fed’s would be.

There was an obvious shuffle behind the door, by then each beat of Sam’s heart was like a foghorn against his vibrating ribs and for a moment he was sure he was going to be sick.

Suddenly, there was sniffle by the foot of the door. A dog? And a voice, caressed gently by a giggle, ushering the animal away.

Sam’s brain was swelling too large for his head, the doorknob creaked from inside – his fists grew ice cold – with a soft grunt, the door was pulled ajar …

It stopped.

With a smile that knocked the wind clean out of Sam’s lungs, you greeted. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Warmth flooded back in to his palms and the thumping of his head cooled to a dizzy buzz. The nausea subsided to a hot bubbling.

Your frame took up the doorway. It seemed to fizzle around the edges, glimmering like light off a rippling pond.

Sam’s eyes slipped down your body like warm coffee down his throat. Your face was gentle, eyes round and wet beneath a set of suffocatingly black eyelashes. Wide-set thighs rippled all the way down to soft calves and pink painted toenails.

A cream crochet top reached over the expanse of your shoulders, sloping down where the rugged sleeve edges hung off your palms, a sparkling green skirt flirted at the top of your thighs. It’s silk ruffles shivered with your every breath.

If he was momentarily able to lift his eyes from you, which he most definitely was not, maybe he'd notice how Dean didn't seem even moderately as amazed as he was. That might have been the first sign if he did.

"Good afternoon ma'am, I'm agent Alice. This is my partner agent Cooper." Dean dug out the FBI identification from his jacket pocket, flashing it casually. "We just have a few questions regarding some recent--"

"Oh please," you waved your hand airily, "No need for the semantics. I've been expecting you, lunch is out in the garden."

The sound of your voice was sending waves of warmth through his stomach. Like he was sipping hot cocoa at your every syllable.

The ID in Dean's hand wobbled, his face clenched in confusion. "I-- sorry, what?"

In the shift of Sam’s gaze back up your form, he came to find your eyes set on his.

You smiled again. His tongue felt heavy and half-formed words gurgled at the back of his throat: begging to be spat out.

“I-I’m–“

“I know who you are.”

Your eyes flickered back to Dean and Sam felt hollow at the loss of their warmth.

“Not every day you have the Winchesters at your door, now is it.” You finished, stepping aside to allow them in.

“You know who we are?” Dean’s cadence dropped warily, clearly spearheading the conversation where Sam was finding difficulty. But your figure was already disappearing into the darkness of the house.

Despite his sceptic tone, Dean stepped in quickly after you. Sam trailed behind.

The cottage was warm. At least that was Sam’s first thought.

It was quickly ribbed out the way by the sheer visual of the interior.

There wasn’t a single blank wall or spot on the floor uncovered by carpetry.

Rows of paintings and stacks of photographs lined the space between wooden countertops and cherry red couches. Persian rugs and indoor plants spilled from a technicolour mirage of pots.

Desks were cluttered with books, paint supplies abandoned still wet. A dusty chandelier.

But more striking than the portraits and the vinyls and the rugs and the botany textbooks, were the creatures.

“Just watch for Goose,” she waved vaguely at a moving creature that was quickly nearing Sam’s feet, avoiding Dean’s question. “He won’t bite but he will try lick you—”

For a moment, Sam connected that this had to be the dog at the door. But the dog, Goose, was hardly a dog at all. Only once he was licking a stripe up the strip of bare skin at Sam’s ankle did he realize that … it can’t … that’s a fox.

And that wasn’t the start nor the end of it.

Draped over the couch was the largest snake Sam had ever seen. It was curled into the red frilled cushion, fast asleep. On the countertop, two ferrets were dipping in and out of sight behind the fruit basket. A gecko bathing in a sunspot on top of a stack of books. A flock of white budgies perched between the crystals on the chandelier. Three pairs of brown twitching rabbit ears peeking out from a basket of laundry.

It seemed Dean had also taken stark notice of the menagerie that was the cottage, so distracted that he’d forgone mentioning that his question had gone unanswered.

His finger pointed weakly at down at the white boa on the couch. “That’s … that’s a snake.”

You laughed again and Sam was sure he could get drunk off the sound.

“Nothing gets past you boys, hey?”

You kept walking, motioning for them to follow through another arched door out into the garden behind the house.

“Her name is Lydia. She’ll come join us when she’s awake.”

“I sure as hell hope not …” But it was muttered and Sam gave Dean a stern look for his comment. You didn’t turn back.

The garden behind the house was impossibly even more beautiful than infront. Vines creeped up the outer walls, a lemon tree grew along the underside the of the bigger tree engulfing the house. Shrubs and bushes and stark purple flowers. Your whole patch of land seemed untouched by the fingertips of Autumn that was reaching over the rest of town.

In the middle of it all: sat a small white painted table. You’d lined it with sheer cloth and platters of pastries, sandwiches and cakes.

There were three chairs around it.

“Sit, sit, sit.” You were wringing your hands, a light waft of nervousness fluttering off you. “I didn’t know what exactly you hunters eat or don’t eat … so there’s a little bit of everything–“

“Oh, hell yes.” Dean’s initial skepticism seemed to dissolve at the prospect of food and his ass was in the chair before you had chance to say anything else.

You seemed pleased.

Sam’s face flushed red. He remembered that he still has yet to say a full sentence in your presence.

“Uh,” you turned to the sound of his voice. “T-Thank you.”

The speckles of light through the canopy of the trees drifted over your face. Sam had never noticed that on a person before.

He’d also never paid much mind to people’s hair. Not before yours. It looked like something ripped off the cover of a fashion magazine from the 70’s.

“You’re so very welcome.” Your voice was kind. “It’s more of an indulgence. I haven’t had guests in a while, not since …”

It faded off. “Well, not for a while.”

Jewels jingled around your neck, crystals wrapped in black string: dipping low down between the swell of your breasts that was just visible above the hemline—

Sam quickly swung his gaze back to the table where Dean was scarfing down an icing covered puff pastry.

His brother was making wildly animalistic groans over the taste. For a moment, it was the only noise filling the space against the shiver of the trees in the midday gust.

Sam didn’t know where to find his tongue. He couldn’t get himself to step away from you.

“Coffee or tea, boys? I have it inside warming on the stove.”

“Coffee.” Dean responded blurrily around a mouthful. You turned to Sam again.

“I—just, I’m—coffee is good.”

You nodded. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

He watched your figure retreat towards the house. The nausea was bubbling back into view.

“This is some fucking good cake.”

When your frame had disappeared back into the house, Sam turned back to his brother who was cleaning remnants of a second pastry off his plate with a tiny fork.

He quickly neared him, pulling out the chair across from him hastily.

“Dean, have you even considered the possibility that this food is poisened?”

Dean’s face twisted to a grimace, but only for a fraction of a moment before shrugging. “Hey. Worse ways to go.”

But Sam was shaking his head. The dizziness had returned.

“Do you feel sick? I’ve been feeling like … like off since we first step foot on this property.”

Dean watched him with hooded eyes, gaze flickering between his brother and the sliced ham and cucumber sandwich resting at the top of a nearby plate.

“Is that your explanation for the fool you’ve been acting since we walked in the door?”

Looking up from wiping sweaty palms down his trousers, Sam stalled. “W-What?”

“Exactly.” Dean gave in, reaching for the sandwich. “You haven’t been able to string three fucking words together since we got here.”

“I—she’s a witch, Dean.” Sam pressed. “I think she put like a … a spell o-or a hex on me!”

“She couldn’t have done that in the five minutes we’ve been here.”

“She knows who we are, she could’ve hexed our motel room.”

“Looks to me like someone has a crush—"

But Sam’s face was earnest. And maybe turning a little cherry red at the accusation. “Dean.”

Dean huffed. “Fine, fine, we’ll interrogate her and see what she says. If she’s a witch, we just gank her. Problem solved.”

“But—”

The sound of footsteps were reapproaching. The brothers fell quiet.

“Here we go.” Ringed fingers clinked against the side of an ornate red pot where you leaned over Sam’s shoulder. Steaming black liquid slipped into the teacup resting against it’s matching saucer in front of him.

His breath caught in his throat.

“You like the sandwiches?” You aimed at Dean.

He nodded, “Yeah, great stuff.”

You rounded the table and Sam worked hard not to make eye contact with the expanse of thigh peeking up at him as you moved.

“I have to admit, I really wish you’d brought along your angel.” You poured into Dean’s cup.

His head flickered up at the comment. “Cas?”

“I’m a big fan of his.” Your voice buzzed with eagerness, “The whole rebellion against heaven thing. I thought it was really cool.”

To label Cas "his angel" was a fair assessment. The matching fleshy red handprint on each of their chests had confirmed it a long time ago.

Dean nodded slowly. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

You smiled and it made Sam’s stomach contents bubble again. He was starting to worry that maybe you really had cursed him.

The chair grumbled against the grass where you pulled it out. “Right, so I’m assuming you guys are here to question me? Kill me maybe?”

Awkward silence fell. Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

“Uh—”

“Well—”

Between another bout of laughter, you poured your own cup. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first, probably not the last.”

Dean took a long enough break from scarfing food down his gullet to look up at you. “Yes. To question you, for now.”

You nodded. Eyes finding Sam.

“What about you, Bigfoot? Here to kill me?”

Sam reached deep to find his voice again. “Uhm, just a few questions.”

Smiling, you sat further back in your chair. “Great. Go right ahead then.”

“How do you know who we are?” Dean leapt right in, repeating what had been previously left unanswered.

“Someone like me’s gotta know when hunters are moving in and out of town, don’t you think?”

“Someone like you?”

“Yep.” You nodded, seemingly unwilling to offer more than what was being asked.

Sam leaned forward. “So you are a witch then.”

You chuckled under your breath, leaning forward to stir your coffee as if he hadn’t tossed an accusation in your lap. “I see you’ve been speaking to people around town.”

Nobody answered.

So you filled the space again.

“No, I’m not a witch. Slimy bunch them, but then again, I guess you’re not too far off.”

“So what then?” Dean’s voice held that rough edge that dripped through when he was growing annoyed.

Grinning, you shrugged.

A chime, like a ringing sleigh bell, filled the space. Sam’s eyes were drawn just past your shoulders where a tall pair of opal pearlescent wings had appeared behind your head.

“No fucking way.”

Sam choked around nothing. There was a long pause, interjected with a long stare between the brothers across your table.

“Fairies don’t … they don’t exist.”

You reached for a sip of your coffee, looking unperterbed. “Dryad, actually. Give it a google.”

The wings shivered against the movement.

"So what," Dean's glare was heated over the set table, "Evil fairy godmother is that it? What did you do with the kids, eat them?"

For the first time since he'd lain eyes on you, Sam could make out a shine of something unkind crossed your features.

You set the teacup down slowly and your eyes met Dean's with the same heat of the sun glaring down into the garden: "I had nothing to do with those children going missing. I loved them."

Sam wanted to interject, but his chest was tight ... a straining grip of guilt was tightening his throat. She's cursed me, she's cursed me, she's cursed me--

"A couple of the parents said their kids used to come visit around here. Visit the witch at the end of town. That true?"

Gathering a breath and another sip from your cup, your face distorted from indignant to disconsolate. Sam could feel the tightness in his chest ebbing.

You nodded.

"Yes. That's true." From behind your seat, accurate to your predictions, the wide white outline of a snake-- of Lydia-- was creeping through the grass.

Dean's eyes fixated on her approach, all way up until she bound the foot of your chair up into your chest. She rested her head there like a lap dog. You stroked a hand over her head like one too.

"They used to come visit," you continued, "after school some days. I'd make them tea and cupcakes, and they'd come to visit my animals. I taught them about the trees."

A fond look had crawled onto your features. There was another tinkle of bells and the wings behind you disappeared.

"Now nobody comes. Parents are scared. They think I'm ... hiding their children in my basement or something."

Dean surveyed you for a few moments, seemingly deciding you were of little enough danger to dare another piece of white chocolate cake.

"Yeah, you can spare us the pity party sister." He muttered around his fork.

Sam sent him a short lived look. "Well, then if it's not you--"

"We haven't yet decided that it's not you, just by the way."

"--then what is it? Surely you have some idea?"

Lydia was curling up around the back of your neck now. Your eyes found Sam's - he momentarily felt like he was melting - and you sighed softly.

"I've heard some things, nothing definitive." Your hand stroked over the section of the snake still draped in your lap. "It's coming from the forest."

"And you heard this where?" Dean's tone dripped with skepticism.

"The trees told me."

Where Sam was sure would normally be laughter echoing from his older brother, instead, his hand stilled over his plate.

THE TREES.

His eyes flickered to Sam. It was quiet. Dad's journal.

"You can speak to trees?" Sam question was clement.

You seemed refreshed by it, watching him for a moment before nodding. "Part of the gig."

Another silence fell. You sighed. Sam could smell Dean's thoughts from across the table.

"Let me get this straight." Dean cleared his throat, leaning forward in his chair. "You're the garden fairy and you're telling us that the trees have something to do with this? Not really working your best angle here, if you ask me."

The garden rustled again. A white duck emerged from one of the bushes followed by a string of ducklings. You shrugged tiredly.

"I'm trying to help." Your voice was soft. Melancholic.

Your hand reached for a strawberry sitting on a tower of others just past Sam's cup, crocheted sleeve slipping back to your elbow to reveal the scores of golden, beaded jangling bracelets and--

Sam's blood ran all the way icy, turning to a slurry in his veins.

"Care to explain that?" Dean's voice came passing over him as if said from the end of a very long corridor.

Twisting your wrist to look, you shook your head. You grabbed the strawberry and brought it to your lips with the other hand.

"Oh, this?" A jagged scar peaked from the edge of your elbow up into the palm of your hand. It shone pink with marred tissue. "You think I got this from kidnapping children?"

Sam's heartbeat was ringing in his ears, he gripped the edge of his seat with whitened knuckles. His eyes chased up to the side of your face, finding the little spot by your eyebrow where ... the end was split with the mark of the edge of a blade in a fight gone wrong.

"Not mine unfortunately." You continued, dissolving the strawberry to pieces between your lips. "My other half's. I swear they're a bull-fighter or a boxer the way they bang me up."

Somewhere a bird chirped. There was a turbo washing machine in Sam's stomach on full blast and he thought he was about to be sick. At the same time, he was washed over by a feeling of inexplicable warmth. Like a cooled stream of bubbling champagne down his gullet. Like how they always said it might feel. Only now he could put a feeling to the talk.

"Listen, if we find out you've got something to do--"

"D-Dean," Sam's voice tripped over pebbles, "We should go."

The hands now released from the edges of his seat were shaking and his palms were scorching.

Dean looked at him, confusion tugging on his hardened face. Sam thought he might argue, but he nodded slowly. Maybe he noticed his brother's red, sweating face. Again, maybe he was just bored.

"Uh, yeah." He started to push the chair out, but his eyes drifted on a ham and cheese sandwich lingering on his plate. He hesitated.

You jumped up quickly, wrapping Lydia like a scarf, all in the same motion. "I've got a box you can take some food, if you'd like? I could just run inside--?"

"That would be great--"

"No, that's really not necessary--"

Your eyes drifted to Sam, waving him off with a smile that buckled his knees now that he was standing. "Don't be ridiculous. Let me go grab them."

Figure disappearing into the house again, Dean surveyed his brother. "What's up with you?"

Sam didn't answer. In fact he didn't say anything at all until you'd returned, Dean had stuffed as many sandwiches and pieces of cake he could fit into the tupperware and you packed Sam a box against his will.

Not as soon as he would have liked, they were standing at the door again out on the porch front.

"We'll be back, probably." Dean quipped officially, but he lifted the box of food all the same. "Oh, and uh ... thanks."

You were smiling again. "Sure. You know where to find me."

Not for the first time that morning, Sam was struggling to peel his gaze off your face. Your eyes were a swirling mess of colour and the light was flickering off of them at him.

"I'll see you around, Bigfoot."

Your shoulder peeked at him from under your top, a deep red welt matching his own left collarbone.

He nodded curtly, turning back down the path even before his brother. His collar was sticky against his neck and his brain was firing off signals the whole walk down, it begged him to turn back.

Dean jogged to catch up.

"What the hell is going--"

Sam slammed the door on him, crashing into the passenger's seat. He began ripping off his suit, the black jacket flung mindlessly into the back of the Impala.

By the time Dean fell into the driver's seat he was already fighting against the button securing the shirt to his right wrist.

"You have been acting all sorts of crazy since we got here, Sammy. What the hell is--"

Sam pried back the sleeve: bunching it at his elbow. He stuck his arm out to his brother.

Dean glanced between his face and his arm only once before pausing. The long jagged scar from his palm up his arm was impossible to miss. The one that sat identical on your arm.

"Oh."

Sam was sucking in deep breaths through his nose.

Dean's eyebrows rose into his hairline. He let off a disbelieving laugh.

"Well, I'll be damned."

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