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zepskies · 6 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 7

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: So I don't know why it takes me exactly seven chapters to get to the smut, but so far that's three different series where that's happened. 😂 (Never Say Goodbye, Break Me Down, and now Smoke Eater. Go figure! 🤷🏽‍♀️)

Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! For smutty smut and baking shenanigans, tinge of angst.

Part 7: “Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle”

You liked Dean’s apartment. It was on the second floor out of three, and a modest, clean, comfortable space.

Though overall it felt very “dude bro” in décor. You supposed that made sense, considering it was just Sam and Dean living here.

And while you still hadn’t met Sam (he was working late tonight), it gave you a chance to do something you’d been very much looking forward to doing with Dean…

“Not for nothin’, this is probably one in three of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth,” said Dean.

True to his word, his mouth was full. You giggled as a flake of pasta spewed from his mouth.

“Oh really? Makes me curious about the other two,” you said mischievously. And you handed him a napkin to blot his face.

You sat across from him in the small dining room adjacent to the kitchen. The table itself was barely big enough to fit in the space, feeling more like a nook than a room, but it sat three people. That was usually enough for Sam and Dean, and occasionally Eileen when she came over.

Dean chuckled, his brows dancing. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out.”

Your face warmed at that, despite your amusement. You had made dinner, for which Dean had been more than enthusiastic.

“You mean I get an actual chef making me food? Sign me the hell up,” he’d teased.

Never mind that you weren’t an actual chef. You had focused on patisserie in culinary school. He didn’t seem to mind though, as he’d devoured two servings of salmon and fettucine alfredo, even down to the steamed broccoli. You had to admit, it warmed you inside to see him enjoy your food.

You’d promised to cook for him last week, and he hadn’t let it go until both your schedules opened up enough for you to come over.

He now hummed in satisfaction as he finished off the last bite on his plate and wiped his mouth with the napkin.

“Thanks for this, sweetheart. I needa have you around here more often,” he said, tossing you a grin.

You smiled back. “It’s my pleasure.”

It wasn’t the first time Dean had invited you over to his apartment, but for the life of you, you didn’t know why it had taken you so long to accept.

…Well, okay, you did know why. You were reluctant to leave your grandfather alone, potentially all night. But George had been adamant about you going out for as long as you wanted, on the promise that he’d check in every few hours until he went to bed.

“Okay, ready for dessert?” you asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said. He still thought about those cookies you brought to the firehouse, almost a month ago already.

Damn, has it really been that long? he thought as he helped you collect the dishes from dinner. He followed you into the kitchen, where you already knew the lay of his land.

Sam couldn’t cook for shit, so it usually fell on Dean to be the figure of culinary expertise. But he had no problem making way for you, especially if you were going to look over your shoulder and wink at him like that.

“Good, because you’re going to help me,” you informed him.

Dean’s smile grew. “All right…what did you have in mind?”

While he started on the dishes in the sink, you hauled out even more ingredients from a big grocery bag you’d brought and stored in the refrigerator. He watched you out of the corner of his eye and spotted lemons, among other things.

“Lemon drizzle cake,” you replied. “One of my grandma’s recipes. I just need a mixing bowl and a cake tin.”

“Good, because we’re not very Betty Crocker in this place. Let’s just say my kitchen tools are limited,” he said, raising a brow at you. “You know, if you wanted to bake, I’m sure you’ve got all the proper bells and whistles at your house. We could’ve done this over there.”

You paused to consider the question he wasn’t quite asking, because he had a point. You could’ve invited him over your house instead. You joined him near the sink and leaned against the counter, tapping your nails on the tile surface.

“Well, as you know, I live with my grandpa,” you said.

“Good ol’ George,” Dean grinned. “That guy’s hilarious. Like the fourth Stooge.”

He particularly liked the story you’d told him about the time George had bought you your first makeup palette when you turned fifteen, but hadn’t told you it was face paint…the kind that clowns used.

“And I’d love for you two to get to know each other better. Don’t get me wrong. But barring the fact that we probably wouldn’t have much…privacy,” you pointed out with a subtle smile, trying to ignore Dean’s resulting smirk. Never mind that you two hadn’t needed “privacy” just yet.

“I guess I’m just not used to inviting people over. I’ve been trying to limit the exposure to germs in the house,” you admitted. At Dean’s quizzical look, you had to explain.

“My grandfather had cancer last year,” you said. “He had surgery to remove the mass, and did well, considering his age. He’s in remission now…but I’m still looking after him.”

You’d gone with him to see his primary doctor a couple of weeks ago for that persistent cough. While the doctor seemed to think it was George’s asthma acting up, you’d still scheduled an appointment with his oncologist.

And while your thoughts led you down an all-too familiar path, Dean processed this with a nod of his head. He shut off the sink. After drying his hands, he looked over at you and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“I’m glad he’s doing better now,” he said. His brows furrowed. “And your grandma passed just a few years before that?”

You nodded, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s been a long few years.”

So, Dean took an inventory in his mind as he rested a comforting hand on your back. You took care of your family. You could cook. You were beautiful. And still, you kicked ass at your job and seemed to have the rest of your shit together.

He had to admit. The more he learned about you, the more he liked you.

“Anyway,” you shook your head with a smile. “Sorry. Ready to bake?”

Dean’s lips quirked as he followed you to the other side of the kitchen. He stepped behind you and letting his hands fall to your waist. His lips skimmed the side of your head, pressing a kiss there.

“Okay, Rachael Ray,” he teased. “Teach me your ways.”

You were trying to measure out some sugar in the bowl first, but you giggled with a warm blush as he kissed his way down your neck.

“Are you actually going to help, or are you just going to distract me?” you volleyed back.

Dean hummed against the crook of your neck. “Can’t I do both?”

You picked up and egg and raised it level with his face.

“Hmm, should I try cracking this against your forehead?” you pondered.

His teeth playfully nipped your skin in retaliation, making you flinch with a yelp. The egg actually cracked in your hand.

“Shit,” you laughed, and you quickly dropped as much of it in the bowl as possible. But getting fractals of the shell in the bowl disturbed your anal sense of meticulousness. When it came to cracking eggs, you typically had nothing if not precision.

You shot Dean an accusatory look over your shoulder. He just grinned back at you.

“Am I helping yet?” he joked.

You chuckled dryly in response. “Just you wait.”

A few more minutes and “helpful” distractions from Dean later, you successfully had a cake batter in the bowl. You were hand mixing up a storm and sorely missing your Kitchen Aid mixer. Dean was right though; his cupboards had little more than one cake pan, one mixing bowl, and one wooden spoon.

At home, you had a modest collection of cookware and bakeware that rivaled Williams & Sonoma. Though that had been a gift from your grandparents, when you graduated from culinary school. (Your grandma had picked them out before she passed.)

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you asked Dean. You were pretending not to catch him sampling the batter with a finger while you buttered the cake tin.

“Ever?” he asked, rubbing a licked finger on his jeans.

“Yeah. Number one top favorite.”

“Hmm,” he contemplated with a cross of his arms. “Pie, I guess.”

You smirked. That explained his little man-child display a few weeks ago, when you’d tried to share his blueberry pie on your second date.

“What flavor?” you asked.

“I dunno. I’m not real picky,” he said.

“Come on. Everyone has a favorite flavor,” you reasoned. “I’m more of a cake girl myself, but even I love a blueberry pie.”

Dean eyed your teasing grin with a growing smirk of his own. He remembered that day in your office just as well as you.

“Okay, fine. Apple, I guess,” he replied. You gave him a mocking look.

“Really, the most basic of them all?” You tsked at him, shaking your head. “What happened to Mr. Rocky Road?”

Dean chuckled, but he leaned against the counter next to you. Instead of giving it to you right back, as usual, he looked more thoughtful. A gentler look grew on his face. It caught your attention.

“You know, one of my earliest memories…” He looked up at you then, more self-deprecating.

You realized he was about to admit to something, maybe embarrassing, or maybe just vulnerable. Your smile softened too as you paused in what you were doing.

“You can’t leave me hanging on that one,” you said. And you drew closer with a hand soothing up his arm.

He glanced over at you. “I remember being…four, probably. My mom made pies during Christmastime. Cherry, pecan, whatever. But my favorite was her apple pie. I still remember it, because I haven’t had a pie since that tasted like that one.”

Your heart clenched, but your insides also warmed. Not just at the story of his mother, but the way Dean told it, his voice softer, steady, and deep. It told you a lot about him without him having to explain; just like you, he knew what loss was.

You curled your hands around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Then your gaze drew back up to his.

“Have you talked to your dad since the last time?” you asked, a bit cautiously. “About his investigation of the fire?”

Dean sighed deep through his nose. “No.”

But despite his father’s warning, he had spoken to Sam.

“It’s different this time, Sam. The brand marks are the same,” Dean argued with his brother, this time in the living room. He sat on the couch while Sam stood, trying to process everything Dean had just told him about Mary’s potential murder.

“You saw the pictures yourself?” Sam asked.

Dean frowned. “No, but Dad—”

“Dean,” Sam cut him off as he gripped at his temples in frustration. “This is what he does. He sees evidence where he wants to see evidence. I’ve been down this road with him too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean gritted out. John had roped Sam into helping him a few times, using his ADA status to look into different leads that ultimately hadn’t panned out.

“They always look like connections to him, but they never end up being anything more than his obsession,” Sam said.

He was firm, and Dean understood why, but his gut was telling him that it was different this time…

Still, he had no choice but to let it go. For now.

Dean shook his head of that memory. Instead, he tried to focus on being here with you. He liked this little yellow sundress you had on, despite the fall chill starting to set in outside. As usual, your hair was clipped up away from your neck while you got ready to put the now full cake tin into the oven.

He came over behind you and freed your hair from the clip, letting it all tumble down. You yelped and glanced over at him.

“Dean,” you chided, even though you were smiling. “My hair’s going to get in the batter.”

“I’ll keep it away, don’t worry,” he said lightly. He curled some of your hair around his hand so he could once again press a tantalizing kiss to the back of your neck. He felt you shiver.

You subtly leaned back against him, even as you whined in protest.

“Can you just let me get this in the oven?” you asked on a laugh. He smirked against your skin. You did manage to get the cake in the oven, but his lips and teasing hands were unrelenting as you tried to start cleaning up.

So you felt you had to take matters into your own hands. A mischievous idea had you smiling. You reached out for some flour that had spilled on the counter.

You turned, and before he realized what you were up to, you marked his forehead with an arch of white against his skin.

“Simba,” you said in a deeper voice, trying to mimic Mufasa from The Lion King.

Dean’s brows rose along with his widening eyes. He’d never seen you do something that childish, but it sparked his competitiveness as he blinked a bit of flour out of his eyes.

“You’re real proud of yourself, aren’t you?” he asked.

Your little smirk was answer enough. You flicked a bit more flour onto his shirt.

Dean chuckled darkly. “Okay, you asked for it.”

Both a gasp and a giggle caught in your throat.

“Oh, no.”

He reached past you for some flour off the counter and flicked it down at you, into your hair, across your face. He grabbed your flailing wrist and marked your cheeks. All the while, his grin grew ever deeper at your shrieking protests.

But you grew devious. You stuck two fingers into the bowl and scraped out a gob of raw, yellow batter. You were fully prepared to fling it into his face, but Dean grabbed your wrist.

“Ey, ey!” he raised a warning finger with his free hand. “You’re about to take this to a new level.”

You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. “So?”

Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.

He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.

Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.

He soon released you with a soft pop, before he did the same to the second finger.

Your breath hitched, and your blush was a living thing spreading down your neck, even as warmth pooled between your legs. By the time your second finger slid out of his mouth, you had to reach back to grip the counter just to steady yourself.

His arm slipped around your waist, and you reached for his face with both hands, bringing him down for the hottest kiss you’d ever had in your life. Teeth clicking, lips and tongues warring and devouring. Your fingers slipped roughly through his hair, while he gripped your hips and ass with a passion just shy of bruising.

You almost didn’t register the way his hands slipped under your thighs, to then heft you up onto the counter. You gasped into his mouth and clung tightly to his shoulders. He chuckled and positioned himself to stand between your legs.

“What, need a little warning?” he teased. Though he was breathless as your soft lips veered away from his, starting a burning path across his jaw and down his neck. You left the remnants of your lipstick all along the way, but it was the occasional graze of your teeth that had him moaning for you.

“Maybe,” you whispered coarsely against his skin, uttering a small laugh, “Sometimes I forget how damn strong you are.”

He scoffed. “Sweetheart, if I can heft a grown man on my shoulders up a flight of stairs, I can get you up on a little counter.”

You snorted in response. Perks of dating a firefighter.

And you shoved off his plaid shirt from his shoulders. Dean helped you by letting it drop the rest of the way to the floor, followed by his black undershirt.

You couldn’t believe this was the first time you were seeing him with his shirt off. It was a damn shame, really. But you caught the bit of smugness curving his lips at the way you were ogling, first with your eyes, then with your exploring hands over his toned arms and chest, and the solid plane of his abs, all the way down to his belt. You started undoing the clasp.

Dean couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he stopped you with his hands gently curling around your wrists. You looked up at him in confusion. To him, you looked unbelievably sexy then. Thoroughly kissed, hair tousled, a strap of your dress fallen to one shoulder while your lacey black bra peeked through.

Just the memory of having your curves in his hands had his dick hardening in his jeans, but he blew out a breath.

“Dean?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

His hands tightened on yours as he peered down at you. “Are you sure?”

You blinked incredulously. “Did I look not sure?”

He paused, licking his lips. He raised a hand to hold your cheek.

“I just…you know I’m trying to do this right with you,” he said. “I just want to know…”

He couldn’t seem to finish what he was trying to say, but you thought you understood. You smiled up at him warmly. You leaned up for a kiss, softer this time.

“Dean, I trust you,” you said. And you could finally say it with no reservations. “I think this feels real. More real than anything I’ve had in a long time… What about you?”

When Dean smiled, it was warm, melting away the doubt in his eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” he said.

He seemed sincere. Maybe this man spared few words when it came to how he felt, but you’d seen a glimpse of the deeper parts. He felt things deeply, down to his bones.

His fingers sunk into your hair, and he guided you into a kiss. It was slower, but no less heady and wanting than the first. Your arms wrapped around his middle, letting you flatten your palms against the muscles in his back. But just as you were getting comfortable, Dean broke the kiss. He flashed you a smirk.

Before you could ask what the hell he was about to do, he’d hefted you back into his arms and over his shoulder. You squawked in protest as your whole world tipped over. Your face thudded on his back with a soft oof, your hair loose and falling like a curtain. Your hands accidentally fell against his ass.

“Ooh, someone’s handsy,” Dean teased.

“Dean!” you exclaimed, despite your peals of laughter. “Is this really necessary? I think I can find your room just fine.”

“Call it an officer’s escort,” he supplied.

“That’s for policemen!” you argued.

You couldn’t see it, but you could imagine the way he was grinning from ear to ear as he carried you through the apartment. You never noticed just how long his bowed legs were as he strode onward. But it felt like his shoulder was digging into your appendix.

Grunting in frustration, you slapped his ass again for good measure.

Dean laughed. “Hey, you’re only fueling my fire, baby.”

He slapped your ass right back, since he had an even better vantage point. He even slipped a hand underneath your little sundress and squeezed the inside of your thigh teasingly.

Your answering yelp, and the futile kick of your feet, had him laughing harder. His cheeks were aching.

Finally he reached his room, where he shut the door with his foot. He was gentle as he eased you off his shoulder and laid you down on his bed. You let out a breathless huff once your head hit the pillows. Your face was all red from being suspended upside-down, your hair a mess, and your dress pooling over your folded legs.

You gave Dean a playful glare. “Get over here.”

His smirk deepened, but he obliged you. He chucked his shoes off first, just like you let your sandals slip off the side of the bed.

He soon made his way up the bed, until he was hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head. He liked the way you were all laid out for him over his sheets, your wild hair spread over his pillows. He’d pictured something like this before, but nothing came close to having you for real.

He just didn’t know you’d been dreaming of the same thing.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to truly fall for someone, not in a long time. You’d been too focused on pivoting after school, on building your career, on taking care of your family. You’d dated here and there, but nothing had stuck for more than a few months. Even then, you’d never felt half of what you felt right now.

It scared you a little, but it also made you feel alive. Being with Dean made you feel that way.

So you took his face between your hands. His stubble rasped against your palms and the pads of your fingers. You didn’t mind that though. He’d left it a bit long for a shave last week. When you’d mentioned off-hand that you liked the thicker scruff (thinking it made him all the more handsome), he’d kept it for you.

Now, he seemed like he was waiting on your cue.

You guided him down to you. He kissed you hot and slow, while a hand moved to your waist and clenched in the material of your dress. He slipped a heavy thigh between both of yours. The pressure was welcome, but you wanted friction.

You bunched up the skirt of your dress and aimed to slip it off, but Dean stopped your hands.

“That’s my job,” he teased.

“Then how about you get to it?” you countered with a smile. He rose a brow at you.

“A bit bossy, but I can dig that,” he smirked.

His kisses dropped against your neck, down your exposed neckline, and he peeled down the straps of your dress one by one. Your breathing became more labored as he touched you, squeezing a breast over the bra as he exposed more inches of your body.

Your fingers carded through his hair on a sigh as he made his way further down. Though he finally got impatient enough to work your dress off all the way, followed by his jeans and your bra and matching lacey panties. He lavished attention what felt like all over your body.

Really, he was just strategic. He stopped in places where you lost breath, moaning his name. Like the spot just under your ear, where he sucked hard enough to make you see stars. Or over your breasts, taking a pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling with his tongue like he had the cake batter off your fingers.

His hands mapped out the soft planes and curves of your body for the first time, sometimes smooth and grazing, sometimes adding pressure that made warmth continue to pool between your legs.

He went further still, wrapping an arm around your thigh and pressing nipping kisses along the inside. All the while his mouth drew closer to the place you wanted him the most. Even though you still raised up on your elbow and gave him a questioning look.

“Really? You want to…” Your voice came out in a whisper.

Dean looked up at you with puzzled brows. “Why not?”

You shook your head, your eyes widening marginally.

“No reason, I guess. I, um…I’ve never had someone do this for me first.” And certainly not on the first time having sex.

Dean frowned.

“Really?” he asked. “A guy’s never gone down on you first?”

You blushed. “Well, maybe with his fingers, but not…”

He shook his head and let out a breath. You felt it between your thighs, and your core clenched in anticipation.

“Okay, baby. I gotcha,” he said. He guided you back down with a gentle hand. “Just lie back and relax.”

You smiled, despite your lingering blush, and you stroked the hand that rested above your stomach. That hand soon slid down as he once again kissed and licked down your thighs. They quivered a bit as his fingers slipped between your folds.

“So fucking wet for me already,” he said in approval. You peered down at him, unable to help a smile.

“You want a medal?” you quipped.

Dean’s brows rose.

“Oh, I’m about to earn it.” His eyes found yours. “You know what my real favorite pie flavor is?”

Your brows knitted together. “What?”

A familiar smirk crossed his lips. “Cherry.”

Before your choked surprise could be broken with a laugh, he began.

And he wasn’t lying, about any of it. The pads of his fingers began toying with your clit, and that alone had your breath hitching and your hips squirming.

He held you down with one hand on your lower belly while his tongue joined his fingers, seeking your heat and finding the hot channel where you craved to be filled. You gasped.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. Once his warm tongue began rolling inside you, you almost couldn’t breathe.

He worked you over with fingers, lips and tongue until you were arching off the bed, fists clenched in his hair and in the sheets, releasing broken gasps of his name. He didn’t relent until your thighs stopped shaking around his head. Your knees were damn near pinning him there.

He eventually withdrew, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He moved smoothly back up your body and heeded the pull of your hands on his arms, and then his face. You tugged him down for a sloppy kiss.

“How’s that for a first?” he asked breathlessly. His tone was teasing, but he was half-serious you thought, by the look in his eyes.

You were honest, without a hint of a joke. “Fucking incredible. Just like you.”

Dean wouldn’t admit it then, but what you said warmed him. He looked down on you with a smile.

Your hands caressed his face, down his neck and firm chest, and further still to caress his straining length over his boxer briefs. Dean let out a halting moan at your gentle touch.

“What if I want to return the favor?” you asked with a smile. He made a sound deep in his throat when you cupped him more firmly, letting your thumb brush over the head.

Well hello, you thought. He was thick, and a bit longer than your first thought. Your already sensitive core tightened at the thought.

Meanwhile, Dean squeezed your arm. His hot gaze bore into yours.

“Very, very tempting.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “I’ve no doubt you’ve got some talents yourself.”

You smiled under the pad of his thumb. Part of you was contemplating some retribution, sucking it into your mouth the way he’d done to your fingers in the kitchen.

“But I’m thinkin’ I want to skip to the part where I have you coming apart all over again,” said Dean. His head bowed near your ear, though his lips skimmed the side of your face. “This time, from the inside.”

His voice was deep and threaded with grit. You bit your lip on a giddy laugh. You managed to nod, sweeping your shaky fingers through his hair.

“Okay, next time then,” you promised and gave him a sensuous kiss. “But first, just want to make sure you’re ready for me…”

You leaned down to slide his underwear for him, down to his knees. He helped you the rest of the way, kicking them off his legs. When he came back, you were sitting up.

You soothed warm hands along his thighs and took his cock into your hands. Dean dropped his forehead onto your shoulder with a grunt, again squeezing your arms as you touched him properly for the first time.

Dean had a habit of impressing you, and this was no different. You liked the feel of him in your hands, warm and thick and heavy.

After licking your hand to coat it with some wetness, you experimented for a moment in how you stroked him, trying to get a feel for what he liked just as he had for you. He gasped and jolted on one particular twist, and he finally stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

“Okay, baby. Keep that up and we’re not gonna get much farther for a while,” he said coarsely.

It was satisfying to know you’d made him feel even a fraction of how he’d made you feel.

You pressed a purposeful kiss into his neck. “I told you, next time I’ll take care of you for real.”

He chuckled, cupping the side of your face.

“Oh, you’re about to. Believe me,” he said.

He kissed you long and deep, until you were once again breathless. The two of you were kneeling in the middle of the bed like you had all the time in the world. And yet, you wanted him more than ever.

“I’m on birth control,” you told him between more fervent kisses, hands drifting, feeling skin to warm, dewy skin, breaths mingling.

“And I’m clean,” he said. You nodded, hesitating…

“It’s our first time,” you said. “Condom, just to be safe.”

He hesitated only a beat before he nodded back, agreeing to your request. “Yes, ma’am.”

He broke from you briefly. He turned and dug into his nightstand while your nails drew light patterns down his back. It was distracting in the best of ways. A trill of excitement had his hands moving quickly, ripping the foil packet open and fitting himself with the condom.

When he was ready for you, he turned and hooked an arm around your waist. You twined your arms around his neck, and once again, you let him lay you down. His kiss came first, and then his fingers between your legs, past your folds to stroke you back to life.

You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your legs around his hips. Though he surprised you again by hooking your legs over his shoulders. Your brows raised at him, and he shot you a wink.

“Trust me, you’ll like it this way,” he said.

You did trust him. Your hands caressed down his neck, down his chest, and you subtly urged him with your heels on his back, encouraging him where you both knew he needed to be.

And with one slow push, his cock was stretching your inner walls with slow, delicious friction. You both groaned at the feeling. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand trembled slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. And he began moving inside you in steady strokes.

Dean was putting his all into this tonight. He thought your promises to take care of him next time were as endearing as they were sexy as hell. Even now, you were touching him wherever you could reach, occasionally moaning his name in his ear, encouraging him with every thrust inside you.

Fuck, he was right, you thought. He was reaching places deep inside you, filling you to the very brim. And you were already on the edge of pleasure, brows furrowed, biting your lower lip so hard that your teeth nearly broke the skin…

Your fingers slipped down between you to further part your folds and rub your already sensitive clit. Dean caught the hint and moved your hand to do it himself, as in time with his thrusts as he could. Finally, you unraveled for the second time that night. Your gasp gave way to a moan.

Your tightening walls gripped him like a vice. His release hit him with the same force, choking a near shout out of him. His hand was a bit too tight in your hair, he realized, so he forced himself to ease up.

He petted over your hair instead as he came down with ragged breaths. After he released your shaky legs back to the bed, he leaned mostly on his elbow and thigh instead of sinking all his weight onto you.

You appreciated that. You soothed up and down his back while you panted for breath.

“Wow,” you managed to say.

Dean’s chuckle took him by surprise too.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He turned his head to press a sloppy kiss where your neck met your shoulder.

Just then, a distant-sounding jingle reached your ears. It was familiar…and you remembered it was the alarm on your phone, which was probably in the kitchen.

“Oh shit,” you gasped. “The cake’s still in the oven.”

He blinked. “Well, I don’t smell burning, so we’re good.”

“Dean! You’re a firefighter, remember?” you laughed, but you still tapped his shoulder so he’d roll over. Reluctantly he did, but he still took you with him, even after he’d slid out of you.

You yelped and clung to his shoulders to balance yourself. “I gotta get the cake!”

“Five more minutes,” he grumbled into your neck. He also liked the way your breasts were pressed against his chest.

“It’s going to be so…damn…burnt!” You punctuated each of those syllables with a playful smack on his arm, until he finally released you with a lazy smirk.

You shook your head and huffed in amusement. Sliding out of bed, you searched around your dress. The first thing you found was his discarded undershirt. You slipped it on real quick and cautiously padded out of Dean’s room. You didn’t know if Sam was back from work, but this was not how you wanted to meet him.

The halls were quiet, so you didn’t think he was home yet. You managed to get to the kitchen unscathed, where you turned off your timer and grabbed some oven mitts. You opened the oven and pulled out the cake, setting it down on the counter. Your eyes narrowed at the almost perfect dome on top.

“What’s the verdict, Chef Ramsay?”

Dean leaned in the doorway, dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else. The view was delectable, but you sighed and gestured at the cake with a shake of your head.

“It’s burnt.”

“What? No, it’s not,” he refuted. He joined your side and stared down at the top of the cake, which was half browned. “Looks all right to me.”

“Trust me, it’s going to be dry,” you said, “even with the lemon drizzle on it.”

It was the perfectionist in you that smarted with disappointment. You didn’t want to serve anyone something you weren’t proud of, especially Dean. But he just leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “I’m still gonna eat the crap out of it.”

You glanced at him, unable to help a small smile. He grinned back.

“Anyway, I think it was worth it. Don’t you?” Dean said. He pulled you in towards him by your waist, and you went willingly, resting your hands against his bare chest. You let your nails drag against his skin a little as you contemplated.

You looked up at him with a grin of your own.

“Yeah. Definitely worth it.”

Dean later sat with you again at the table, this time with your chairs closer together as you each ate large slices of delicious cake (even if it was a bit dry). Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the copious number of dishes still left in the sink and the flour and batter sprinkled across the counter.

He knew Sam was going to have a conniption when he got home (in the morning at this rate). He was probably crashing at Eileen’s apartment tonight.

Good, Dean thought. That meant he’d have the place all to himself, with you.

“You know, I just realized something,” he said.

You knew that look in his eyes. He was about to say something smartass.

“What’s that?” you asked. He reached out and thumbed at your chin.

“I just got my dessert twice in one sitting,” he remarked. “That’s pretty damn good, if you ask me.”

You snorted in laughter. You also blushed, but you were unable to stop smiling either.

You set down your fork and eased back from the table. Your hand on Dean’s shoulder encouraged him to do the same, so you could sit across his lap. He welcomed you with a warm hand on your bare thigh. Already it was creeping under the shirt you borrowed.

You stroked his cheek with the back of your hand and gave him a mischievous smile.

“Think you could handle another serving?”

AN: 🫣 Was it everything you wanted it to be? lol I love me some baking innuendo. What did you like more: eating the cherry pie or making the lemon drizzle? 😏❤️‍🔥

In Part 8, Dean's past comes a knockin'...

Next Time:

While you were getting dressed, a phone buzzed on one of the nightstands beside the bed. It was Dean’s phone.

You went over to it curiously as you fixed the straps of your dress. The screen showed a missed text message from last night, around 10:00 p.m., and another one this morning. You read the latest one with a sinking feeling in your chest.

From Marissa: Surprised I didn’t hear back from you last night. The offer still stands. 😘

Keep Reading: PART 8

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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#Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle #Smoke Eater #Part 7 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #zepskies writes

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attria9 · 2 months

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before and afterr

and a bonus tusk baby meme below (pss he has a hat)

#jjba #sbr #steel ball run #part 7 #jojo part 7 #johnny joestar #jojos bizzare adventure fanart #jojo's bizarre adventure #triart #baby is based on the meme

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mightbemod · 9 months

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FIRST 4 PAGES, 6 more to go 👌‍‍

ahhh to be topless bisexual cowboys camping out in the middle of nowhere looking for jesus <3

when i eventually post the rest of the pages ill edit this post to add links to them!

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forgers-therapist · 3 months

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TINY PEOPLE (part 7)

#sxf #spy x family #sxf tiny people #sxf manga #sxf franky #frankly #sxf anya #Anya forger #sxf becky #becky blackbell #yuri briar #sxf yuri #sxf damian #damian desmond #icons #part 7

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vio-marks · 1 year

Photo

recreation of those panels

#jojo #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo steel ball run #steel ball run #sbr #part 7 #johnny joestar #gyro #gyro zeppeli #jojo fanart #hot pants #jojo art #eat shit asshole fall off your horse #my art #artists on tumblr #artists on twitter

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yugogeer012 · 11 months

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Part 6

Part 8

#endless route #undertale au #frisk #flowey #comic #part 7 #the edgy phase is bacc

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kelpfronds · 1 year

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steel ballers

#steel ball run #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #sbr #jojo no kimyou na bouken #part 7 #johnny joestar #gyro zeppeli #gyjo #i guess #jojo #lol #horse

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frenchspagheti · 4 months

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fixin the bear

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 5 months

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Kissed by Moonlight (Alucard x Witch! Reader) 7

A/N: I feel like an ass for posting this one, surely I am cockblocking, but this slow-burning is here for a reason! Enjoy regardless! Mentions of anatomy and some language, Y/N gets drunk and nearly blurts all.

Summary: To be loved is to be changed.

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Follow the story on A03!

Chapter 7

In the day, Adrian was as glorious as the sun. At night, as beautiful and haunting as the moon and its glow.

In the month you had been in the castle, you had turned the once secluded castle into a living, existing place, for you and Adrian to simply ignore the rest of the world in. It had grown not to resemble a tattered and destroyed ruin, but instead, a place Adrian could call home once again.

Adrian himself had flourished in his skin once more: where you found him to take up hobbies when you were not with him. Before was once a man, lonely beyond an age before the age of twenty, losing his parents and closest allies, now, a man you could look upon with admiration and pride. He had grown out from his enclosed shell, opening his heart to a stranger, trusting you with his life unlike those who betrayed him.

It hurt more to know that this was your final day.

You feared for Adrian’s wellbeing, whether he would grow reclused after you left him, or would he rather thrive with your farewell?

You had grown recluse yourself from the Dhampir, finding closure in the fact that you would never look upon the face of Adrian ever again. Where could you go apart from as far out from Wallachia? Nowhere was safe for a girl like me. You told yourself when you wished you could explain to Adrian—though the words would always freeze on your tongue any time you tried bringing it up.

It seemed that Adrian had almost forgotten about the promise too, and you couldn’t help but feel guilt when he spoke of promises he wanted to do for you.

“I’ll show you one day the town nearby,” he said one night, curled up by the fire as he stared into its flames. “I know you’d like it. We could buy anything you’d like: spices, dresses, jewellery.”

He spoke of a future not just with him alone, but with you co-existing beside him, and it thrilled and destroyed you to know that this promise would crumple like sand.

The day came for you to leave, silently waking with dried tears still stinging your red eyes. You had spent all that night crying before you fell to sleep, dreaming of being with Adrian, laughter shared and memories to be made. You had even kissed him, your heart fluttering as he muttered words softly in your words that gave away he did not want you to go.

'Always and forever.' His words were soft and dying in the air when you faced the morning, and your lips could still feel his against yours, a dying dream never to be lived.

You tip-toed around to not wake Adrian, gathering anything you could and folding neatly the dresses you had been given to him. They were too lovely to be ruined and deserved to be in a place that could keep its beauty.

The only things you carried on you were the same dress you came to the castle in, rags that had been sitting in the corner of the room, waiting for the day you would have to wear them. The air grew heavy with a feeling of forlorn as you walked to find the kitchen, setting yourself by the counter and waiting for the person you dreaded to upset.

It was not long until you heard familiar footsteps drawing closer, familiar honey-blond locks coming into view as the man appeared. It snapped your heart in two to see the softness in his golden eyes as if you were better than the sun itself and you were his star. That all fell apart when his smile dropped, the uncertainty washing over his face when he saw the glumness on your face.

“Has something happened?” He did not waste two seconds stepping closer towards you, giving a small gap between the two but enough that you could be up close to him. In the four weeks, it had taken some time for Adrian to grow used to touch once again, always coiling away from your closeness, before he had taken the time to build trust and reciprocate first. "Y/N?"

He was quick to reach out to you first, extending for your arm as he pulled it towards him. He was warm to the touch, and you dared not want to look upon his concerned gaze without knowing you would blubber into a mess once again.

“You remember the promise, correct?” You lamented, watching for a moment as he took in your words carefully. It was as if everything poured through just from the question, and you could just about read every emotion visible in his eyes; melancholy, regret, grief.

“Where will you go?” His voice was quiet. Don’t go, it read in his eyes.

It didn’t dawn on you, no matter how many times you came to think of it. “Some place where it is warmer, perhaps east. But that means…” your voice cracked momentarily, “Wallachia will not be a home for me.”

“But how do you know?” His calmness cracked, and beneath you could see the grief-stricken man appear, though you did not think he would be holding concern for you of all people.

You didn’t want to answer his question, despite the unknowing questions that boiled, the silence was deafening, and it hammered in your chest like the chiming of a hammer.

“I will have to leave whilst there is still light,” you squeezed Adrian’s hand before it slipped from his, “Thank you for allowing me to use your library, and… to call you a dear friend.”

You didn’t know if that pained you more to call him a friend when your feelings had bloomed for him during your time there. A friend was the only thing you could call him: why would he want anything else with you? He’s immortal, he will have lovers come and go, but none will ever be you.

“Don’t,” he called to you when he stepped out of his reach, not expecting him to call you. Your name was a whisper on his tongue, hanging in the air as if he wished to say something more to you, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I would be overstaying here, Adrian.” You could feel tears slip from your face, but you braved not to look at him, even when you knew he was staring at you. “You said a month-”

“Please,” there it was. Pain in his voice in the way he pleaded, desperate and gentle that you didn’t think you’d see this side of him, “I don’t think… living within these walls would ever feel the same with you gone.”

He stepped out to you again.

Closer.

His hand gingerly found your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze, delicately wiping the tear collecting at the corner of your right eye. You were both silent, only staring at one another, and never did you think anyone would stare at you the way he did with you.

“You wish for me to stay?” Forever?

Your mother had told you what that feeling would be like, though she had been young and never knew the experience herself. Did Alucard’s parents experience the same when they first met?

That feeling grew within your chest, butterflies you couldn’t stop from feeling: the great emotion that one day would bless you in having. Why was it that the moment you had to leave was when it came?

‘People come and go,’ your mother told you one day when you asked about it, naïve and full of hope. ‘It hurts when it grows for those you care for.’

Yes, you understand now why it came at this moment and all the times before.

It hurt.

Love hurt when it was about to leave for the first and final time.

It was his smile, so gentle and warm, so inviting and bright – full like the sun and the beginning of spring – that you could not decline his offer.

“I would very much like that.”

Telling yourself you had gotten used to the castle was an understatement.

The rooms you were more familiar with were the ones you kept to, never straying that much to explore. You knew that there were many rooms even Adrian never went into, telling you that they held too many memories, either good or bad.

You were understanding, knowing how much the castle – his childhood home – could hold a lot of disturbance to what he went through. He told you one day that his childhood bedroom was off limits: it was after all, where he had killed his father. He mentioned it was a place too “dampened with gloom” that you knew something else had happened for him to keep that part of the castle off-limits.

It had only gotten the best of you when you told Adrian you were going to do some cleaning, leaving him as he cooked in the kitchen.

You sprinted with much glee and inquisitiveness: the endless hallways could lead you anywhere!

Roaming the halls, you remembered to stay away from the rooms you were not allowed to go to, including his old and current bedroom. It was quite easy to get lost, taking to the upper floors, where the light grew dimmer, more eerie.

The rooms as you found them didn’t hold much for you to be intrigued until you passed what was another room in another endless hallway, you spotted that this room had its door ajar.

This was certainly a room you had not been told of by Adrian.

Bravely, the room seemed to be more of an intrigue to you than any other room. Slowly peeling the door back, you stepped through.

The room is dimly lit, with a sense of sweet orange that lingers in the air. It’s his scent, sweet, alluring, inviting; just like what surrounds you. There are books of all assortments: astronomy, philosophy, ecology, history – to name a few. Knowledge spanning from decades to thousands of years back, of all cultures and dynasties long gone and remaining. Maps hung around the room, some of the entirety of Europe, the world and one finally above his desk of Wallachia.

It took longer to find literature, where you find poetry, prose, children’s stories and old fables. You’re shocked when you stumble across some romance novels, not expecting that to come from Adrian.

His desk is a display of many things: papers, books, and journals. You dare not look in his journals knowing his work is private, but something catches your gaze. Since when was Adrian into drawing?

You find one first that makes you pick it up, a sketch of his mother, only a fine-line sketch that is only shaded and not with much detail, but you recognise her from the portraits that decorate the castle.

Will you be needing a muse anytime soon? You think to yourself, jokingly. You knew it was rude to snoop, and knowing you had come across Adrian’s study, you knew you had the best chance to look around when he wasn’t there.

But when you find his sketchbook, all nosiness takes over.

The leather-bound book is beautifully decorated, with its pages filled to the brim from use. The beginning of the pages were those you recognised simply by objects that Adrian used for inspiration: a stag beetle shell, many plotted plants and flowers some you recognised from your mother’s herbs. You read the dates that dated back to almost a decade ago, impressed by his skill at such a young age.

The more you draw the pages further into the book, the older the dates get, and his practice grows. His inspirations change from objects to anatomy. You’re impressed by the way Adrian draws the human body so well. Some sketches of hands in different positions and poses, full body sketches of a mixture of men and women, some clothed and others nude.

You could feel your cheeks darken, and though it was surprising to see the natural state of the human body, art was still captivating in showing it, Adrian drew with a way of conveying vulnerability. His mother was a doctor after all.

Other pages were of human faces: more drawings of his mother and father. Another was of a different man and woman: the woman had short hair whilst the man had a scar over his right eye and a shadow of a wispy beard on his face. You now had a reference to Adrian’s friends and allies: Sypha and Trevor.

A Belmont, scholar and sleeping soldier, Adrian told you, all out for different clauses and paths but joined to meet on one path; to kill Dracula.

You had forgotten to make sure you were still alone and not spotted looking through his things when you reached the last few of the pages, recently used. Wait a minute. You had to do a double take, imagining you were seeing double. This isn’t… who I think it is.

Those eyes, were similar to you, not that you could remember where you had seen them last. It dawned on you quickly why they were a distant memory: they looked like your mother's eyes—but that was impossible if Adrian had never met or seen an image of her.

But, as if looking back through a mirror, a glimpse through time, those eyes weren’t just hers, but yours as well.

Oh. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you dared not drop the book to draw attention to where you were. You didn’t close it, despite feeling that this was intruding—it was too late for that now.

He had gotten your likeness in a way you didn’t think he could: as if you had been captured in a moment, ready to come back to life on the page. Another sketch of you, reclined with your nose in a book and laying in a way that could’ve been uncomfortable to anyone else. Another of you tying your hair back, the ribbon dangling in your mouth, eyes in heavy concentration. The final one took you by surprise: a moment where you were snuggled into the armchair, a blanket wrapped protectively around you to keep you warm.

Have I been so blinded this entire time? It seemed like this wasn’t right: did Alucard… fancy you? You scoffed, absolutely not, there was no way—though you the more you spiralled, the more it had you questioning everything.

You had been so preoccupied with what you had discovered, that you failed to suspect the presence behind you, someone standing just on the edge of the doorframe.

An awkward cough brought you back to your senses.

“Forgive me!” You stumbled, throwing the papers behind you to hide them behind your back, in hopes you were quick on your feet. You were clumsy, ineptly whipping back to look at the blond Dhampir standing just a few metres in the doorframe. “I did not hear you come in.”

Adrian was dressed simply in his shirt, trousers and boots as he did if the weather was not too cold. It was only a small subtle detail that his dark trousers were coated and dusted with a light cast of flour, as if he had nothing else to wipe but on them. His hair was also tied up, revealing his slender neck, wisps of blond tresses falling to frame his handsome angular features.

How long had he been waiting there for? You panicked, knowing that he could’ve used his speed to reach you, using his inhuman scent of smell or to pick up your heart rate to find you.

“Yes, well, you did seem rather… occupied.” Adrian teased, though his face was incomprehensible, his movements leisurely as he ambled into the room, inspecting if anything looked out of place.

Was he just as embarrassed as how you were feeling? Regardless if he was or not, he was very good at hiding it from you.

He stopped just to the side of his desk, eyes quickly scanning as he spotted the disarray of papers, his sketchbook ‘neatly’ placed back where it looked to have been before. He did not say anything about it, instead, resuming conversation as if nothing was out of place.

“I was asking if you were free to help me downstairs. I needed assistance in deciding which spices to add to the cakes.” He continued, watching the way you shuffled to block what you were putting back on the desk.

You were not subtle in the slightest but Adrian did not make any remark for you to be snooping, rather, he watched on in visible amusement. The refined look when he raised an eyebrow, the small smirk that made you even more flustered when you were caught.

“Okay, ready.” You gestured for him to walk in front, hanging back as you took a final glance back, wondering when Adrian started drawing you.

It’s his idea when he decides the two of you should share a bottle of wine.

Though you think it’s not good to have the entire bottle, Adrian agrees upon a glass or two, sharing thoughts as the night grows dark with the creatures of the forest outside, and your worries melt for a moment on your tongue.

The wine is sweet, not though you like it, and it's hard to consume something that feels so foreign. Adrian drinks it as if it's water, and you struggle to keep up. You’re a lightweight after all, and though you’re slower, you can feel the haziness that crawls in your vision, and you swear you’re almost seeing double.

Your laughter is warmer, chatter easier, and you notice he’s closer beside you by the table when he first brings the bottle and glasses.

“This is nice,” his voice does not slur as he speaks, and you’re shocked just by how content he is in drinking glass after glass if he could. If perhaps you didn’t say anything, perhaps he would, “It’s been some time since I stopped drinking.”

“When did you stop?” You can feel a headache begin to dull your senses, and you’re feeling bolder.

Adrian seems hesitant when he looks back at you before he answers. “I stopped after a couple of days after your arrival.” He’s nervously swirling the glass in small circles on the table, a distraction. “I’m sure the smell of piss and blood wasn’t helping.”

You chortle, “No, it didn’t, but I don’t suppose I was any different. A girl smelling of chickens.”

“I did wonder why.” He says in a dry tone, but his eyes are sincere, and you find yourself staring periodically down at his lips, the glint of his sharp teeth some distraction from the wine.

“It seems funny when I say it now, but I used to have two, and they had names.”

Adrian seems surprised by this, that of all things to have named were chickens, but he coaxes you with a raised brow, intrigued, to say the least. “Tell me they had normal names.”

“Henrietta and Duchess.”

“Oh, my God,” Adrian laughs quietly, “Next you’ll say you had a pig called Duke and a horse called Lieutenant.”

“Well, the pig was called Truffle.”

“Seems almost cruel,” Adrian laughs at the idea, “I don’t think I was any different. I did have a stuffed wolf called Fluffy.”

“Hey, that’s cute though.”

You laugh at the idea, but you’re carrying a sad smile as you continue to sip slowly at your drink. “I loved those chickens. It was weird, but I treated them like humans rather than animals—livestock. They were much nicer than-” You stop yourself mid-sentence, unsure if you’re ready to continue.

Your stomach coils as if ready to lurch, for you to leap from your chair and leave to your room, but Adrian is calm and patient, running a soothing hand over yours to console you.

“Take your time,” he says with quiet empathy, and it’s enough to pull you back to reality. “I’m here.”

“After my mama’s death, I fled to the nearby town—I was on the streets for some time, hiding behind buildings and sometimes getting shelter from a sweet old lady, before I was old enough to sell myself as a servant to any passing man who needed my service.”

You felt sick to your stomach, and the wine was not helping. “I stayed in his service for almost a decade, serving his son and wife who was no older than me.” You confessed. “It all boiled down one day when I was fed up with the fucking treatment. I was beaten if I did something incorrect, slapped if I spoke when not spoken to, and something… snapped in me. I… hurt him when he hurt me.” You pushed the wine away from you, eyes welling with tears. “I wish I did more.”

“You survived,” Adrian said with a sad grimace, “You’re much braver than most I know.”

“I didn’t feel brave then,” you admitted. “I felt like a stupid little girl, not capable of anything.”

“Hey,” Adrian seems clumsy in giving close comfort, but he tried nonetheless, leaning closer to finally embrace you. He smelt of oranges and lavender, and you nearly broke down into his shoulder, “you’re the strongest person I know. The bravest witch.”

He seemed tongue-tied with his next words, eyes moving across your face as if he wished to say something that you yearned to hear. “I’m proud of you.” He finally said, but in your mind, it didn’t seem like it was what he wanted to say as if there was something he was holding back.

Was I overthinking? You thought as you pulled away from his embrace, so tempted to lean across the table and kiss him there and then, but you pulled enough restraint to not horrify the man. “Thank you, Adrian. I’m thankful I have you.” You finally said.

“I’m thankful too.” He confesses, quickly realising what he’s just said and the blush on his face is obvious as he tries to change the subject. “I will leave you to catch some sleep. I thought it would be a good idea to head into town tomorrow morning. Gather some more supplies. What do you say?”

You smile sadly, “That’s a good idea.” You’re on your feet fast enough as you say goodnight to one another before you’re speeding down the hallway to your room, wiping the tears that have not dried from your face.

When you reach your room, you slink against the inside of the door. Your head is hammering, vision is hazy. Damn for drinking so much. You groan, only listening to the crackling of the fire lit in your room, the soft luring sound of crisp pages of a book being shut as a lovely interference.

“Ah, there you are.” the voice that pulled you from your thoughts was the one thing you needed to hear, sweet as honey as the figure emerged to stand close by from where you stood. His soft locks are pulled back from his face, and he’s practically glowing in the soft ambers of your room, the fire gently burning to keep the warmth.

Your lips are pulled into a tired smile, which the Dhampir notices quickly enough to soothe you for a night of sleep. “You’re exhausted, my little witch.” He’s yanking you by your hand, directing you to your bed. “You need sleep before it comes for you first.”

“Was it so obvious?” You laugh dryly, and the lack of sleep is fast indeed; your eyes are heavy, limbs sluggish as your mind slows from the alcohol. “I can get myself to bed by myself, you know?”

“I don’t doubt you,” he scolds lightly, the way he moves you is more persistent. “Dreams help everything go away, isn’t that what your mother said?”

“Yes.” You drawl quietly, silent in watching Adrian move around you, sitting you delicately on the edge of the side of the bed. He is gentle in getting you settled for the night, removing your outer layers of clothing until you’re left in your chemise. There is nothing overtly sexual in the way he undresses you, more so there’s such a tenderness to his touches that it almost leaves you weeping.

When you’re ready, he follows, undressing until he stands in his nightgown. You watch as he goes to as he crawls onto the other side to lay there. Shutting his eyes, his light blond hair cascades around the pillow like a halo, his body silent and still as stone.

You’re staring for some time before he speaks up, aware even without having to open your eyes. “Are you going to watch me sleep or are you going to join me?” He cracks one eye open, full of mirth as he catches the exact moment your face brightens.

“Right.” You scootch over closer, lying stiffly beside him on your back, not daring to get any cosier before he stretches like a cat, catching you by surprise as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in close.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, little witch.” He jokes, humming as he rests his head into the crook of your neck. This is all so real, and you dare fear if you fall asleep, it’ll all be gone, a fading memory to die in the back of your mind. “Am I that cold?”

“No,” you finally relax in his hold, having turned to face him, a feeling you wish not to ever forget. “It feels nice.”

“I’m sure one thing could make you feel better,” his eyes are open, watching you almost hawkishly, scooting himself closer. “Though, I’d have to know what you think.”

“What is it?”

He doesn’t answer you directly, but his eyes tell you what you’ve been waiting for. It’s the way his gold eyes glance from your eyes down to your lips, way too slowly before coming back up to meet your flustered state.

Neither of you make the first move, your heart is hammering too fast that you can barely keep up with your racing thoughts. You know he can hear how fast it's pumping, thunderous and dreadful against your ribs. It feels like it could explode any second.

Should I wait for him to lean in? Or would it be better for me to meet him halfway? To see how he reacts.

With your mind racing, your body moves on its own, ignoring your many questions and moving with little patience. A hand finds his cheek, stroking his cheekbone in contemplation, soft to the touch that you gasp from just the exhilaration alone.

You’re not waiting for him when you’re leaning close to him, closer and closer until his face is inches from yours. Your noses bump as you catch the final moment where his eyes flutter shut as you’re copying, stretching over until your lips meet his.

You didn’t know how long you had been counting for this moment to happen. Drinking him in, he is the sun, and you are a secluded plant, waiting for his rays to keep you from shrivelling. His lips are soft, neither warm nor cool as your contact is chaste and quick, and all that is gone when you’re not chasing for more-

“No,” you rasp as you pull yourself from him, leaping up to sit on the edge of the bed. “This is wrong.”

“Oh?” He doesn’t seem dissatisfied or enraged, rather it seems more like a question. He is calm when he asks, voice a soft rumble. “Is it wrong because you wish to continue? Or because you wish to experience this with him?”

You slump in your spot, guilt overflowing your body like a wave, ready to drown. “It’s wrong because… I’m using him.” You hug yourself, ready to weep aloud from it all. “I’m using him for this twisted fantasy, just to feel happy.”

This fake version of Adrian is collected, reaching your side of the bed as he places a consoling hand on your shoulder. “Happy… that you want to imagine a future with him?”

“Yes. Is that so wrong to have?” You sigh exasperated. “I want him to be happy, but I fear… I will never give him that happiness.”

“He’s been through so much already.” You continue. “I think of him all the time: like how the sun can’t live without the moon.”

You’re completely consumed by Adrian: mind, body and soul and it aches that this crush will continue to remain as one. His acts of kindness have completely floored you, confusing you to the point that you were left over questioning every small act he did for you.

The night is long and you’re left distraught, conjuring a version of him that you hope can give you comfort. “What do I do?”

“Tell him the truth.”

Your head snaps almost drastically to glare at the fake version, who simply looks just as perplexed as you. “I’m just a manifested form you created of him in your head whilst inebriated. I’m the wrong person you should be talking to.”

Sighing defeatedly, you look to him for security. “I’m… confused.”

“How so?”

“Well, I know he sees me as a friend, but he’s just so thoughtful. He carries me back to bed, and we spend all day together. I mean, he drew sketches of me for fuck’s sake—that’s saying something, isn’t it?”

“He seems lonely too.” ‘Adrian’ answers, but it’s a reasonable answer that could be what you’re looking for, regardless of how you’re feeling.

“I know, I know. He’s awkward, but it can’t just be out of friendship.”

“Tell him in the morning,” he says, “you can’t see for yourself if he’s quick to reciprocate your feelings for him. Perhaps then you’ll be able to cuddle something that’s flesh and bone.”

You chortle at his words, knowing how uncanny and realistic he is sitting beside you. “Can we just- can we just cuddle for the rest of the night? Just so I don’t feel so lonely.”

Alucard gives you a sorrowful smile, pulling you into a side embrace. “You realise I won’t be there by morning?”

It’s a sad realisation, but you come to accept it. “I know. I just… want to imagine feeling something for once.”

“Of course, my little witch,” he kisses your forehead lovingly, leading you both back down to lie on the bed. The bed doesn’t feel as big when you share it with another, now in the fond embrace of the Dhampir you conjured in your mind.

“Sleep well, Y/N.” He tells you all the right things you want to hear, the lull of sleep pulls you in deeper and deeper, his voice growing quieter. “I’m still here with you, no matter what.”

“I love you,” you slur as darkness consumes you, the heaviness of your body pulling you into a sleep you need. You don’t feel upset when you don’t hear a response, just the arms of his embrace.

By the time early morning comes, the other side of the bed is cold, and the ghost of Adrian’s arms remains.

It’s not just knowing that the person on the other side of the hallway would never know how you felt, but the sense that you could never go back to seeing him just as a dear friend.

A/N:

This was a long one to write, but I hope you enjoyed it!

#castlevania alucard x reader #castlevania fanfic #alucard castlevania #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes #reader x alucard tepes #itstheendofthegoddamnworld writes #reader is a witch #half black! reader #mixed race reader #part 7 #witch! reader #alternate universe

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diesaur · 1 year

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OhOoh he’s sauring 🦖

#jojo’s bizarre adventure #diego brando #scary monsters #jjba #steel ball run #jojo sbr #fanart #art #part 7 #me art

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zepskies · 26 days

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Take Me Home - Part 7

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader

Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you’ve both got a past you’re running from.

AN: For everyone who has Easter plans tomorrow (Happy Easter!), I decided to release this part a bit early. And yes, we’re at that part of the season 3 plotline…

Word Count: 6.6K

Tags/Warnings: Major angst, survival situations, violence, hurt/comfort.

❤️ Series Masterlist

Part 7: On the Edge of a Knife

Beau returned home that night with a large pizza for Carla and Emily. He’d already eaten with you an hour ago, but true to his legendary appetite, he still found room for a slice of pepperoni. They got comfortable around the fire out in front of his trailer.

“What held you up?” Carla asked.

Beau sighed and first wiped a bit of sauce from his face with a napkin. He admitted there was an altercation between you and your ex-boyfriend, Michael Hadley. Beau happened to be there in time to settle things down and help patch you up after you fell through a glass coffee table.

“Oh my God. Is she okay?” Emily asked. Beau noted her concern with a smile.

“She’s fine. Some minor cuts and bruises,” he said. “But I had to encourage the guy to leave town. If he’s got any sense, he’ll get gone.”

Emily looked relieved at that. Then she eyed him with a suspicious smile.

“And you just happened to be in the neighborhood?” she asked slyly, voicing the thought that Carla hadn’t wanted to.

Both women watched him closely, but Carla knew the tell-tale signs of Beau covering his embarrassment, giving his daughter a wry look.

“All right, smart Alec. Why don’t you break out the extra sheets I got in the trailer? We’ll set up the bed and the couch.”

“If you can call that glorified bench a couch,” Emily muttered with a grin.

“Ey!” Beau called after her, though he watched her go in amusement.

After a couple more hours of chatting and catching up, showers taken and plates washed, Emily headed for bed. The adults stayed up for a while, bundled in warm coats as they sat together by the fire.

Beau remembered what Emily told him days ago; that he hadn’t needed to be a perfect man for his wife and daughter. They’d just needed him to be a bit more honest about what he was going through, to let them in. After what happened today with you, your patience and understanding with him…he was beginning to get what she meant.

“I’m really thankful for you helping us,” Carla said. It unearthed him out of his own head.

“Yeah,” he replied with a nod.

Admittedly, he was still a bit distracted. Besides how he left things with you (which still made heat crawl up the back of his neck), he still had Avery and that stolen money to worry about. Otherwise known as the reason Carla and Emily would have to cram themselves in his little trailer.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Carla prodded, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

“I just got a bad feeling about all this,” he confessed. “It’s like in Houston with Randy.”

“No,” she shook her head. “You can’t go there.”

“It’s too late,” he replied. “‘Cause it feels the same. Like something’s…something is comin’, and I’m powerless to stop it.”

“Randy’s death was not your fault,” she reminded him. Just like you had.

Beau looked over at her with a humorless quirk of his lips.

“We both know that’s not true. He was my partner and I let him down. And then…then I wasn’t there for you, or Emily. I don’t blame you for leaving me.”

Carla couldn’t help it, but a part deep inside her had been regretting that choice. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She managed to blink and keep them at bay, though she let out a shaky breath.

“Well, you’re here for us now,” she said. And yet, she could’ve predicted his next words like clockwork.

“It don’t make up for the way I checked out,” he said.

Carla licked her dry lips and swallowed down the emotion clogging her throat. She didn’t cry often. She could have an ironclad grip on her emotions when she needed to.

It was part of what made her a good lawyer. She knew Beau had sometimes gotten frustrated with that aspect of her personality in the past, because he was the opposite.

The man kept a good lid on things for his job, but at heart, he was driven by his passion, his anger, his love, and right now, his bone-deep guilt and shame.

She knew he’d been drowning in it for a year and hadn’t known how to pull him out. Every time he pushed her away, it had hurt her, hardened her, making her will to try again less and less. So she left him.

It was the choice she made, and she knew she had to live with it. Just like marrying Avery.

Carla laid a hand on Beau’s over his knee. She made sure he looked her in the eyes when she said this.

“I forgive you. For all of that, okay?” she said. After a moment, he nodded. This time, she felt like he actually heard her.

“But I’m telling you, this thing with Avery…this isn’t over by a long shot,” he told her. “I’m not saying that to scare you. You understand that?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, even though those tears from earlier were working their way down her face. She wiped them away hastily.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you two,” Beau said, in a firm, reassuring tone.

It worked, and it didn’t. Carla nodded again. “I know.”

He sighed through his nose and squeezed her hand. His gaze shifted away, back to the bonfire dancing in front of them. His eyes stung at both the smoke, and the emotion rising in his chest. He steeled himself.

“Carla, I’ll always love you…”

She smiled slightly, brushing the remaining tears from her cheek.

“Though I sense a but coming,” she said.

When she said your name in question, Beau glanced back over at her and nodded. Carla had been his first real love, besides Daisy Harlow in the eleventh grade.

But you were unexpected. How quickly, how deeply you’d gotten under his skin was too hard to ignore. And at this point, he didn’t want to.

Meanwhile, Carla stared at her ex-husband in bemusement. She slipped her hand from his and folded hers back in her lap.

“What’s she like?” she asked. Half of her was genuinely curious. The other half would rather not hear his answer, but she supposed it was only fair. She was the one who moved on first.

Still, the flicker of Beau’s soft smile stung, just a little.

“She’s special,” he said. “Resilient, like you. And smart to boot. You know she’s a college professor?”

“Yeah, Emily told me,” Carla said.

Beau’s smile dimmed when he noted the resignation in her voice. She gave him a knowing look.

“I have no right to complain,” she said. “And you deserve to be happy too, Beau.”

He considered that with a nod. He wasn’t sure if he believed her, but for your sake…he would try.

“Can you promise me something?” Carla asked.

“Name it,” he said.

“I know Avery is in this thing deep. He lied to me and he created this mess. Even when this is over, I don’t know what’s going to happen between us. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but please, look out for him,” she implored. Beau uttered a wry chuckle and rubbed at his chin.

“He is in this deep. And he’s being stubborn about it,” he said. “I might not be able to help him walk it back, but I will try.”

Carla released another sigh and nodded in response. She supposed that was the best she could hope for.

A few days later, you walked up and down the grocery store aisles with a basket in one hand and your phone against your ear with the other.

“Okay, I’ve got all manners of junk food and chick-flick movie watching snacks, including Reese’s cups, ice cream, frozen pizzas, and no less than three bottles of wine,” you said. “Am I missing anything?”

“I don’t think so, hun. That sounds very comprehensive,” Denise replied.

She was at work, and you were still getting ready for the fall semester. It was only a little over a month away, which meant you were excited, and also nervous.

You had five classes on your roster. You’d also visited Carroll College yesterday to set up your office with all your books, both textbooks and your favorites in fiction and non-fiction (but mostly fiction). Much Ado About Nothing was front and center in the Shakespeare section of your shelf.

You also wanted to at least try and relax for the rest of your summer. Denise was all too willing to help. You’d always had a good relationship with your aunt, albeit distant, since you’d lived in different states.

Living so close now just made you realize how much you two had in common. It was nice to find a friend in her, not just someone who would try to mother you in your own mother’s absence.

“Yes! Good. Then get ready to brainstorm what movies we’re gonna watch tonight, and in what order,” you said.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t already have a color-coded checklist,” Denise quipped.

You laughed. Yes, she knew you too well. “Okay, maybe I do, but you still get a vote.”

You turned a corner in the aisles and nearly ran right into Carla, who was pushing a cart. You both jolted in surprise and recognition.

“Oh, hi! I’m sorry,” you said, at the same time she said, “Sorry, I…”

You two did the polite, nervous laughter people did when put in awkward situations. You noticed all the food she had in her cart—enough to feed a family of three for the week.

“Yeah, finally getting around to doing a grocery run,” she said. “Beau’s trailer leaves much to be desired in the form of amenities, so…”

You adopted a more amused smile. “Yeah, he’s not much of a cook, is he?”

“Do frozen fish sticks count?” Carla remarked.

“Only if there’s expired tartar sauce, according to Emily,” you joked. The two of you shared a laugh that was a little more genuine. You chatted for a couple minutes more before you parted with amiable handwaving. Then you realized that your aunt was still hanging on the line.

You sighed and put your phone back up to your ear. “Hey, sorry.”

“Was that who I think it was?” Denise asked. She was probably trying to be cryptic, if Emily was in the room with her.

“Indeed, it was. Doing a nice family-sized grocery run,” you whispered back, to make sure you weren’t overheard. You brought your basket of junk to one of the checkout lines.

“When was the last time you heard from him?” Denise asked. She must’ve heard the heaviness in your voice. You both knew exactly who “him” was code for. Beau friggin’ Arlen.

“Not since we said goodbye last week,” you replied. And the memory of that kiss had been torturing you for days. It had also been the fuel of many…late nights with yourself.

Speaking of which, need some more AA batteries, you thought with a warm blush.

“Okay, forget candy. We should get cheesecake,” Denise proposed.

You smiled. “You know what, that’s a damn good idea. Definitely cheesecake.”

You hopped out of line to do just that. You knew it probably wouldn’t be as good as Chicago made, but you went over to the bakery side of the store and hunted for the most good-looking cheesecake you could find.

“Hey, if you want, stop by here later,” your aunt said. “Em is here. We’ll grab lunch, make it a real girls’ day.”

“Sure,” you agreed. You hadn’t seen Emily in a week or so either. “Where are you thinking? I’ve been wanting to try that Indian place down the street from your office.”

“Sounds good to me. Come over after you drop those groceries off at home.”

“Okay, will do. I’ll see you guys soon!” you said.

Beau knew that he was going to be working straight through lunch. What he, Jenny, and Cassie had discovered in the past 24 hours was deeply unsettling.

Not only was Walter Sunny Barnes’s son, but Paige was alive. She’d been found in the foyer of Sunny’s home, brandishing a knife, convinced the married couple were in it together on her kidnapping. Sunny claimed she’d had no idea her husband had taken the poor girl and kept her in a shack for days.

According to Paige’s testimony, Buck Barnes had tried to kill her. And since she was alive, it meant Walter had lied in confessing to her murder. It was also likely that he hadn’t killed Mary or Luke either.

That wasn’t even the worst of Beau’s headache.

He rubbed his face in frustration after getting off the phone with Carla. Thanks to this whole business of Avery’s stolen cryptocurrency, she was being followed.

Fuckin’ hell, Beau thought. The next time he saw Avery, it had better be with handcuffs, or he was going to start working on his punch list for real. Instead, Beau grabbed his cell and called his daughter.

“Hey, Dad,” she answered on the third ring.

“Hey, honey. You doin’ all right? You good?” he asked. Maybe he was coming on a little strong, but worry was a living thing inside his gut.

“Yeah, totally. Just doing some research…but guess who’s coming to have lunch with us later?” she asked.

Her tone was leading him somewhere, and Beau thought he knew the destination. His lips curved with a half-smile. When he guessed your name, Emily confirmed.

“You’re welcome to join us. If, you know, you wanted to,” she teased.

Beau’s smile twisted with disbelief. Was his daughter trying to set him up? And better yet, it seemed like she liked you well enough to do it. While the thought warmed him, his smile dimmed.

“Wish I could, but uh, I got a lot of work here to do. I’m just…checking up on ya, like dads do,” he said.

As much as he wanted to see you (and he really, really did), he wasn’t lying. He needed to follow up on the man who’d trailed Carla to the drycleaners this morning. And he already had Jenny and Poppernak looking into finding Buck Barnes. He’d fled the scene after Paige and Sunny were picked up at the Barnes residence.

“Well, okay, consider me checked. We can talk later if you want,” Emily said. She sounded a bit disappointed. Beau felt guilty for that, but he’d make it up to her tonight. Maybe he’d bring home some takeout so Carla didn’t have to cook again in his tiny kitchenette.

“All right, honey. If not, I’ll see you tonight,” he said. “Just…don’t go anywhere by yourself, okay? Make sure Denise or Cassie’s with you. Matter of fact, I’ll pick you up from there today.”

“Yeah sure,” she said. Though he didn’t think she really heard the warning in his voice.

“‘Kay. Bye, Dad.”

She hung up, leaving Beau still feeling off-balanced. Until news came in from a fellow officer: while Paige had been brought to the hospital, Sunny Barnes had been brought into the station for questioning about her husband.

“Sorry I’m so late. I started cleaning my apartment and lost track of time,” you said, walking into the office of Dewell & Hoyt. Denise and Emily waved at you from their respective desks.

“That’s okay. We’ve been busy here,” Denise said. You looked at the large pinboard on the wall filled with news clippings and pieces of evidence. Bleeding Heart Killer, read many of the subject lines.

“Ech. Still working on this?” you asked.

“Unfortunately,” said Denise. She grabbed up her purse and went over to kiss your cheek in greeting. “But we might’ve gotten a huge break on it. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

“Get back? Where’re you going?” you asked.

“To get the food! I already placed the orders,” she said, patting your arm. “I’ll be right back.”

You gave her a narrowed look. “I was going to pay for it—”

“No need!” Denise sing-songed on her way out of the office. It had you smiling, shaking your head. You looked over at Emily and tossed a thumb over your shoulder.

“Careful with her. She can be devious,” you said.

Emily smiled and stood up from her desk. She went over to sit with you on the small couch near the center of the room.

“I’m actually glad you’re here,” she said. “I’ve kinda got a question for you.”

“Kinda?” you echoed with a smile, but you pat her on the knee. “What’s on your mind, honey?”

Emily looked a little unsure. It had you giving her your undivided attention.

“It’s about my dad,” she began. Your smile slowly fell, but now you were really listening.

“Okay,” you nodded.

Emily opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, the lights in the entire office went out.

Natural light still came in from the large windows at the front. It was odd though. The weather outside, while chilly, wasn’t cold enough to create an outage. You hadn’t heard anything fizzle when the lights went out either.

“That’s weird—” Emily said.

The back door burst open with the sound of hinges breaking. Both of you gasped and stood from the couch. You slipped a hand into your purse to find your phone, and then the first contact you could think of.

You were about to press the call button when a tall man with broad shoulders stepped through. He was older, balding, and his clothes and neck were stained with blood.

Buck Barnes.

“Buck?” you gasped. “What…what’re you doing here?”

He didn’t look like the easy going, kind-hearted man you knew at the camp. Now, he looked haggard, injured, and dangerous, like a wild animal.

“Hush up,” Buck held up a silver pistol in his right hand. “And drop that phone, nice and slow.”

Your heart was in your throat, but you couldn’t just think of yourself. You subtly tried to pull Emily behind you as you set your phone down on the ground.

“You tried to kill Paige,” Emily accused of the man. It had you turning to her, your eyes going wide. When you looked over at Buck to gauge his reaction, you saw how his lips pursed.

“Sit down and shut up,” Buck ordered, gesturing with his gun at both of you. He drew closer and forced you and Emily to sit beside each other on the couch. There he grabbed a roll of duct tape from his pocket and began taping your shaking hands together.

“Why’re you doing this?” you asked Buck.

“I need some collateral if I’m gonna get the hell outta dodge,” he replied.

“Fine, but let Emily go. She’s just a kid,” you begged, as tears stung at your eyes.

Buck just continued taping you up. Thankfully not your feet, just your wrists. He moved to Emily next.

“You don’t need her,” you tried again. “Come on, Buck. You really think Beau Arlen’s going to want to work something out with you if you take his daughter?”

“Oh, I’m bettin’ he’ll be more than willing.” Buck grabbed you and placed a strip of tape across your mouth, then on Emily’s. He hooked a large, calloused hand around your arm.

“Now get up.”

“What?!” Beau asked. His eyes widened in alarm. “Slow down, Denise. What’s going on?”

The more he listened, the more his heart plummeted into his stomach. He had to grip his work desk for balance.

It took him and Jenny under half an hour to meet up with Cassie and Denise back at Dewell & Hoyt, along with a forensics unit of officers. There was evidence of struggle in a turned over table and a broken back door lock.

Denise explained that she left you and Emily for just a few minutes while she went to grab a late lunch order. By the time she returned, the power was out, set off by the breakers, and you and Emily were missing.

Jenny found your purse on the couch, while Beau found your cell phone on the ground. He picked it up with a gloved hand. He’d seen you unlock your phone enough times to remember your passcode.

When he inputted those six numbers and unlocked the screen, he found his own name and phone number highlighted there. You’d been about to call him.

He squeezed your phone tight in his hand. He looked up and saw another officer pick up Emily’s backpack.

“No power means no surveillance footage,” Jenny said. “Okay, let’s think. Why take her and Emily?”

“It’s gotta do with Avery and the money he stole,” Beau said, grinding his teeth. “I needa find him.”

“Any idea where he might be held up?” Jenny asked.

“Carla will know,” he replied.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Jenny was quick to offer. She could see his rage bubbling.

“No,” he said, cutting her off with a swift hand. “Get a response team ready, but I don’t want anybody doing anything without checking with me!”

He was out the door before any of the women could stop him. Denise was in tears, both for you and for Emily. Cassie wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“We’re gonna find them,” she promised.

You and Emily were in the backseat of an SUV. Buck was singing along to some country song, driving them down a highway to hell knows where.

The tears had begun to dry on your cheeks. It didn’t mean you were no longer petrified, but for Emily, to give her support, you’d been able to keep breathing through it. She was still in panic mode, hyperventilating as tears streamed down her face.

“Y’all better quiet down back there,” Buck warned.

You grabbed Emily’s hands and met her frantic eyes with your calmer ones. You were hoping to reassure her, let her know that while you were scared too, you were with her. She wasn’t alone.

She squeezed your hands back, even though it made you wince. Your right hand was still injured. Again, you breathed through it so you could hold her back. You rested the side of your head against hers to try and help steady her further. If you could, you would’ve held her like a mother bear.

Emily leaned against your side and began to calm down, bit by bit. Meanwhile, Buck continued to talk your ears off—about country music, and how this particular song was the one he and Sunny danced to at their wedding. Though frankly, you couldn’t give a shit about anything that was coming out of his mouth.

All you knew was that it was nighttime, pitch black darkness by the time he pulled into a plaza. It looked like a gas station next to a bar.

Only in Montana, you mused. Though you perked up at attention when Buck parked and actually left the car.

Of course, he took the keys with him and put the child locks on the doors, but you tugged at the duct tape Buck put around your ankles when he’d forced you and Emily into this car. If you could get free, then you could shove your way into the front seat and unlock the doors.

Emily tried to help you. You winced as the tape tugged at your skin. At least I shaved yesterday.

She gasped around her gag when she saw a young man coming their way in the parking lot. You joined her in banging on the window, trying to get his attention.

“Oh my God,” you heard him say, muffled as it was through the window. You pointed at the front of the car, trying to communicate to him to break the window open there.

“Hold on, I’ll get you guys out of there,” he said. He went to the front of the car and tried at the door handles, but before he could get very far in his attempt to free you, Buck came up behind the younger man and grabbed him in a chokehold.

You and Emily screamed at him, but it was no use. You did your best to shield Emily’s eyes when Buck snapped the man’s neck.

Bad call, bad leadership, bad police work.

Beau felt the weight of his shame like never before—all while he held Carla and rocked her in his arms. She’d just arrived at the police station, after getting the news that her husband had been killed.

When he learned that Emily was taken, Avery tried to help Beau and the police confront the men he’d stolen the $15 million from, but Avery had gone rogue by bringing a gun into the equation.

Beau had just one chance to pull Avery out and send in his unit of officers on standby. Jenny had asked him what he wanted to do, hoping he would make the right choice.

Beau had been selfish. He wanted to see if the men would give up the location on where they were holding you and Emily, so he kept Avery in play. He’d thought the man would be fine with Tonya and Donno backing him up in the room.

After all was said and done, however, Avery lay dead in a pool of his own blood with a bullet in his chest. The criminals also hadn’t taken you or Emily.

By process of elimination, Beau now knew it was Buck. The man had already killed a hiker on his way out of the woods, where he’d been holding Paige.

Now it was a whole new manhunt.

“Beau,” Jenny said. “We have something on Buck.”

It prompted him to drag himself out of the dark spiral of his thoughts. He let Carla go, but kept a supportive hand on her back. She was still distraught, and understandably so—not just for her husband, but for her missing daughter.

Jenny gave Carla a sympathetic look. She beckoned him over though.

“Come see this,” she said.

Beau comforted Carla one moment more, rubbing her back, but she encouraged him to go with Jenny. She led him into another room where Cassie was waiting for them, and Jenny’s laptop was connected to a smart TV.

On the screen was new surveillance footage of a parking lot, outside a bar a few hours out of town. There was a green pickup truck parked next to a black SUV. Beau couldn’t see you or Emily, but he watched Buck drag the dead body of a man behind the truck.

“Buck was casing the lot for a car to steal,” Jenny said. “We’re guessing this unlucky guy found them.”

“It means they’re still alive,” Cassie pointed out. Jenny drew attention to the keys, or whatever it was that Buck dropped and picked up off the floor. It was hard to make out from the footage.

Cassie agreed to ask Cormack Barnes if he knew what the keys were for, considering he already had the keys to the pickup trick in his hand when he picked up the fallen set. Beau knew it was time to question Sunny Barnes again.

He headed down the hall to do just that, with Jenny on his heels. Soon though, he found himself slowing down in the hall, like his feet were made of rubber. That, and his heart was fracturing. Jenny slowed down with him, giving him a questioning look.

“It’s just…it’s the one thing we’re supposed to do. Protect our kids,” he said. “The one thing.”

“Hey,” she said. Her blue eyes were understanding. “You couldn’t have done anything differently.”

And yet again, they both knew that was a lie. Beau held a curled fist against his lips for a moment, as he tried to swallow down the lump of emotion in his throat.

“She’s gotta be so scared, Jenny,” he said. His eyes stung, but he tried to blink the unshed tears from his eyes. It wasn’t working.

“Both of them,” he said. “They’ve gotta be terrified. And every minute we waste chasing our tails just gives that twisted son a bitch a chance to do something to them—”

Jenny grabbed his arm to steady him. “I still think he’s keeping them alive for leverage.”

“Well, I hope you’re right, because there’s nothing stopping him from making an example from one of them,” he said.

But the moment it escaped his lips, he wished he hadn’t uttered the thought out loud. It was too much.

He felt like a failure of a father. That was already destroying him from the inside out. And though he’d vowed to himself otherwise, you got dragged into this too.

You’d already been through the wringer enough. Beau hadn’t even checked in on you in damn near a week since he left your apartment the last time.

Now, you’d been taken by the very same man who murdered your friend Mary. Beau hadn’t had the chance to tell you…

He hadn’t been able to tell you a lot of things.

And maybe, he’d never get the chance.

The pickup truck Buck stole had a small trailer attached, convenient for stuffing you and Emily in, along with the corpse he’d made of the truck’s owner.

On the long and bumpy ride down the road, you’d been able to search the dead man’s jeans and found a small pocketknife. You pressed a small button to click the blade open. You showed it to Emily, and then tried to cut her bonds.

You only got halfway through when the truck and trailer stopped. Moments later, you smelled gas. Buck was probably stopping for a refill on the pickup truck. You closed the knife and hid it in your hands. That instinct turned out to be a good one, because Buck slid the trailer door open.

You and Emily winced as the bright morning sun hit your bleary eyes. Not only had you not slept all night, but you’d gotten used to the perpetual darkness of the trailer.

“You girls behaving yourselves back here?” Buck asked.

You and Emily stayed quiet, but fearful. He stepped into the trailer to lower your taped gag, and then the girl’s. He uncapped a water bottle to give her some. It was a strangely humane thing to do, you thought.

But then you realized that he just didn’t want you two to pass out of dehydration. He was trying to keep you alive long enough to use you as bargaining chips.

“My dad’s going to find you,” Emily said, staring up at your captor. Buck chuckled at her cheek.

“You want water or not?” he asked.

“And when he does, he’s gonna kill you,” she said. Buck rolled his eyes and gave her a few sips of water. He offered the bottle to you next.

Instead of drinking, you used his distraction and proximity to pop open the pocketknife and jab it at his face. He pulled back fast, but you managed to sink the three-inch little blade into his neck. Buck backhanded you so hard, it made the side of your face crack against the back of the trailer.

Emily screamed and tried to catch you when you accidentally fell on her shoulder. When you recovered after a bit, blinking the black splotches out of your vision, Buck punched at the spot right above your heads and made you both flinch. By then, he’d taken the little knife out of his neck, even though it made a new wound ooze blood down his shirt.

“Forgot to check his pockets,” he gritted out. His anger then bled away, into a dark chuckle. “Gettin’ a little rusty.”

He poured out the rest of the water over your boots, but he didn’t make any further threats. At least, not physically. He stepped away and began to exit the trailer.

“Next time it’ll be gasoline and a lighter,” he warned. “Now both of you, shut the fuck up.”

Then he closed the door, casting you and Emily into darkness once again.

“You okay?” Emily whispered. You could barely make out her face in the dim light, coming from the smallest crack in the trailer door. You rolled your head her way so you could give her a smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied. Truthfully, your head was ringing and aching at the same time. Buck had knocked you out for a few seconds there. Plus, you were exhausted, and hungry, and parched.

“At least the gags are off,” she said. You nodded, letting out a sigh. You welcomed her to rest on your shoulder and tucked her wrapped hands under yours.

“We’ve just gotta keep holding out,” you said. “I’m sure your dad is on the way.”

Emily nodded in agreement. She believed every word of what she’d told Buck. She just hoped it was sooner rather than later.

It was much, much later.

Still, you and Emily were no better off. Actually, you were pretty sure this was worse.

Buck had driven you deep into the woods, then forced you to walk what felt like another half-mile until you reached a dusty old shack. He’d unlocked it and forced you both inside, kneeling in the dirt and dead leaves. Along with the duct tape already around your wrists, he’d tied you both up with ropes around the metal hooks hanging from the short roof.

Even with the gags off, it was hard to breathe in the hot, stuffy woodshed. It felt similar to being buried in a box and left to rot.

You weren’t sure how many hours it had been, but the sun was slowly inching by. If you had to guess, it was around mid-afternoon. You were sweating down your neck and back, now uncomfortable while kneeling in the jeans you were wearing. And sometimes, your vision started to blur in and out.

By now you were beyond hunger. Dying of thirst? Quite possibly.

“How’re you doing?” you asked Emily. She nodded, but she didn’t have much energy to talk either.

So instead, you tried to twist your wrists out of the rope. Very quickly you gave yourself burns, however. Buck had tied your bonds so very tight, not to mention the duct tape underneath.

What a fucking asshole, you thought. He could’ve at least left a bottle of water. Or some protein bars.

“How are they supposed to find us out here?” Emily asked. Her voice was small and coarse with exhaustion. You nudged her knee in comfort.

“The police will get it out of Buck, I’m sure,” you said. “Even if Beau can’t, damn certain Jenny will.”

You gave her a smile. Emily tried to smile back, but she didn’t quite make it there.

“God, I’m so thirsty,” she coughed.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “All we can do is keep trying to get loose.”

You both tried twisting out of the ropes for a while, but it was no use. You were just going to bruise or cut your wrists further through the tape.

You knew that you and Emily had been in the woods for hours at this point, somewhere in the middle of the mountains. You tried not think about how unlikely it would be that someone actually heard you, let alone found you.

You knew you were the adult in this situation. You had to keep it together for the girl beside you, but after a while, a feeling of desperation and despair rose up again in your chest, no matter how hard you fought it all.

Tears welled up in your eyes, though you tried to breathe through it. Emily nudged your arm this time, giving you a comforting look.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she whispered. “I know Dad’s coming for us.”

Your lip wobbled, but you nodded and sucked in a breath. If she could be strong, then you could too…

And that was when you started to hear voices. You knew they weren’t just in your head, because Emily perked up too. You both called out the best you could to whoever was out there.

You squinted watery eyes when the door to the shed finally slid open.

Beau tested the limitations of Jenny’s SUV on his way out from the woods, and then back into them.

At the very least, Buck was dead.

Sunny had shot him—before they had gotten a location on you and Emily. Beau had been about to have a serious breakdown before Cassie called him.

“They found them,” he’d told Jenny, with red and shining eyes.

In another five miles, they reached the old cabin. Cassie had said there was a woodshed attached on the south side. Beau tore out of the car and sprinted up a hill, through a patch of dense trees, until he found the cabin and the shed.

Cassie and Cormack were talking to someone just out of Beau’s eyeline, but his gaze focused on his daughter. The moment Emily saw him, she brightened and ran to him. He met her in the middle, grabbing her tight and secure in his arms.

His tears burned in his eyes and fell as he held her, comforted her, rubbing her back. She held onto him just as tightly.

He struggled and failed to keep himself together. Relief wasn’t even the word for how he felt; it was beyond words.

And it was almost unreal to be able to hold his daughter and see that she didn’t look hurt, just shaken.

“I’ve gotcha, sweetheart,” he said. “God, I’ve got you.”

Letting out the deepest breath, Beau’s gaze ventured past his daughter and up ahead. There he found you, being supported by Cassie up the hill. Beau’s eyes widened.

You were rubbing your wrists. They looked raw. Your eyes were also red and watery when they met his. Your breath seemed to catch as well.

Your name fell from Beau’s lips, his voice breaking. Emily looked up at her dad and had to smile. She even made room for you when you came up on his other side. Beau still kept his daughter tucked against him, but he reached for you as well and brought you into his embrace.

He felt your body shaking with quiet, wracking sobs. His heart broke for it, but he soothed a hand over your knotted hair and down your back.

“Shh, it’s okay now,” he whispered in your ear. His voice was choked with emotion. “I’ve got you, darlin’."

Never gonna let you go again, he thought.

You nodded, sniffling, but you kept your face buried against his chest.

Eventually, you lifted your head to meet his kind, if tearful eyes. He was a mess, and so were you. He was right though; you knew that it was all right now, as long as he was here.

You looked over at Emily, who was still hanging onto her father. You touched her shoulder.

“You okay?” you asked through tears. She nodded back at you with a smile.

“Good,” Beau said. “Let’s get you two home.”

You realized then that you were clinging to him like…like he was yours.

“Oh,” you uttered, releasing his shirt. “I‘m sorry.”

Beau’s eyes widened at the way you pulled away from him, unconsciously lowering your gaze. He frowned, and he pressed a gentle hand to your cheek, so you’d look at him again.

“Don’t you do that,” he said, his voice still a bit unsteady.

Almost every cell in his body said to pull you back in. To sink his fingers in your hair, and to kiss you.

But he noticed Jenny, Cassie, Cormack, and even his daughter watching with some kind of smile on their faces. You stared up at him, teary eyed and waiting.

Beau cleared his throat.

He hesitated a bit too long, warring with himself all the while. So he just stroked your cheek and guided you, along with his daughter to the car.

You and Emily were going home.

AN: 🫣 Lol please don't hate me for the little tease at the end there. But how did you like how all the action and drama of the kidnapping unfolded?

Don't think this is the finale though. We've still got some drama and fun things to come. (Also, I think it's funny how this next particular chapter is going to post on my birthday lol.)

Next Time:

“I’m the one who needs you to forgive me,” he said, gently squeezing your arm. “I promised myself I would keep you safe, that I wouldn’t drag you into this mess. And I couldn’t keep my end of the deal.”

“Stop that,” you said. You grabbed the front of his shirt. “How many times do I have to say it’s not your fault before you get it in your stubborn head?”

It came out a bit snappish, but the moment your eyes met his, you both seemed to realize where your passions had led you. Just inches away from one another.

“Maybe one more time,” Beau said, in a quieter, but no less heady voice. There was a hint of humor in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile back.

You released his shirt and instead, took his face in your hands.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 8

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