#this was supposed to be for the whole fic but it turned sort of .. ominously normandy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

waywardrose13 · 3 years

Text

Touch of Betrayal

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst, smut, smidge of fluff, graphic abuse, graphic depictions of injuries, fucked up coven, language, all the angst, not enough editing to satisfy me

Word Count: 20,538

Summary: As the oldest sibling, Y/n was supposed to be sacrificed for the betterment of her coven. After her escape, she meets Bobby Singer, who takes her under his wing. It is no secret Dean Winchester hates witches, but Y/n is different, and Dean begins to question his feelings. When Sam is threatened and Dean is given an ultimatum, the trust and feelings that have grown between Y/n and Dean is jeopardized. The touch of betrayal stings.

Commissioned by anonymous:)

A/N- To the lovely soul who commissioned this fic, I hope you enjoy!

Y/N

You could feel the blood from the shackles trickling down your fingers, dripping onto the backs of your bare knees. Shivering, the autumnal air bit at your skin and seeped into your bones. The cold wasn’t the only thing making you shiver, however. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off the gold blade laying on the stone pedestal in front of you. Soon, that blade would slice through not only your throat, but four other eldest children of the founding families; Freya, age twenty-four; Marxicus, age twenty-two; Sera, age twenty; Gunthias, age twenty-two; and finally, you, the youngest at twenty-one.

The thin slip hanging from your body did nothing against the cold, your bare limbs exposed to the night air, droplets of blood dotting the backs of your legs. Those damn shackles had cut into your wrists for three days. You could feel how raw your skin was beneath the cool metal. However, it didn’t really matter seeing how you would be dead once the moon reached its apex.

Sera was sobbing loudly to your left. Some of the coven, maybe a handful, looked on empathetically. The majority stared with disgust at her emotional state. Your mother’s words rang in your head from the night before. “This is an honor. Do not embarrass me tomorrow.”

You scanned the gathering. Many people were drinking goblets of harvest mead, others were conversing lowly in small packs. Many people were simply watching you and the other sacrifices, taking in every inch, as if staring so intently would siphon even more power.

No one caught your eye in particular. Not until you spotted him.

His dark eyes were trained on you intently. Biting your lip to keep it from wobbling, you took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t embarrass me, don’t embarrass me, don’t embarrass me.

As the world faded away, you and Jasper locked in a silent pining, you wondered what it would have been like if you had been able to go through with the wedding. As a female within the coven, you were obligated to have children unless you absolutely couldn’t, so maybe the two of you would have had a few kids, settled in a cabin on the outskirts of the compound. The marriage may have been arranged, but you were friends before lovers. You were lucky when it came to that. Most people were strangers up until their wedding night. You had the privilege of at least knowing Jasper, even if you weren’t friends until after the arrangement had been made. You would have been happy.

Instead, your heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again, the thought of him marrying someone else and fathering someone else’s children. You weren’t sure if you loved him like that. Yes, you loved him. He was your best friend. You loved him with everything you had. However, you weren’t sure if you were in love with him. It was rare that the marriages in the coven had any love. You could see yourself falling for him, though. If given the opportunity, he would be easy to fall in love with.

Of all those secret meetings and passionate embraces, you wondered what it would have been like to be together in the public eye. Sneaking off was fun and thrilling, the secrecy and forbidden joinings exhilarating and they certainly helped you fuel the rebellion against your parents and the coven. You two weren’t supposed to be together in any way, even in a friendly manner, until after the wedding. But those meetings? After finding out about your arrangement, you two decided to get to know each other on your terms, not your parents’. Those friendly meetings had turned into so much more, and they were fun. Fun was a rarity in the coven. You and Jasper always had fun. He was a fantastic lover, much more experienced than you were, seeing as he had been your first. You two never spoke about it. It just sort of happened one night. There was no true romance, no heart skipping love. Just two friends having some fun before they were married.

Then your older brother Danny had died, and suddenly your world had crashed down around you. You were suddenly the oldest child. You were going to be sacrificed, the power transferring to you the moment Danny took his last breath. Not only had you lost your best friend, but your future had been rewritten; the arrangement made for you and Jasper had withered, and you were going to be murdered in a blood sacrifice in three years.

You and Jasper no longer were to be married, but that didn’t stop the meetings. That didn’t stop the passion. After Danny, you needed the distraction. You spent more nights with Jasper than you did alone. Not that he complained.

Your last night of freedom was different. Typically, the nights spent together were fast, primal, and more often than not, rough. Three nights ago, your final night spent free, or as free as you could get inside the coven, was spent with your family. Then after they had gone to bed, your mother excited for your honorable sacrifice, your siblings looking forward to furthering their power, and your father despondent and sullen- the thought of losing another child weighing on him- you had snuck out to meet with Jasper for the final time. And like he had been your first time, he was slow and tender. Emotion poured from him and it had frightened you. You knew he felt more for you than you did for him. You also knew you couldn’t let yourself feel that way, not knowing your fate. You couldn’t give into your own temptation, or let him taste the sweet tang of the promise of forever, not when you were being ripped from the world by a cruel hand. You two had spent the whole night together, words a rarity, speaking with your bodies, saying goodbye. He was your best friend, your confidant and solace. The person you wished you had the time to love.

He stepped closer to the circle of stones, face still shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering orange lanterns hung by iron wroughts. Ever so slowly, he lifted a hand, a deep yellow spark igniting at the tips of his fingers. They settled there for a moment, glowing bright in the dark, but no one seemed to notice. No. This was for you and you only. Jasper loved art, and that’s what his magic was. The light danced in his palm and glided around in swirls in the air above his outstretched arm.

He was distracting you. Keeping your mind elsewhere as the elders, cloaked in the charcoal gray robes of their ancestors, stepped up onto the dais. Grisha, the High Priestess of your coven, chanted in latin. If you paid more attention, you could know what she was saying. But you stayed focused on Jasper, even as his figure trembled in the light, face pinched to keep emotion from showing. Your heart ached at the sight and you so desperately longed to run your fingers through his chocolate curls one last time. Wanted to feel his strong hand in yours. Wanted to run away from here with him.

But if there was something Jasper was, it was loyal. And his family came before you. He would never leave them, never leave the compound or abandon the coven. Not even for you.

As a founding family, your father was amongst the robed figures. It was by the hand of the creator who committed the sacrifice. For generations, parents held the golden blade to their children’s throat to spill their blood upon the stones. You glanced down at your bare knees, noting the stone’s color; black and a deep gray. The stones were once as pale gray as the standing stones that formed the circle. But each sacrificial slab had held so much death, the color was no longer so.

It made you shiver.

The light flickered brighter across the circle and you raised your eyes to Jasper again. His own dark eyes were pleading with you across the grass, begging you to keep your gaze on him. Begging you to stay locked with him for as long as you could.

So you obliged.

Sera was first. The volume of her sobs increased. She screamed and pleaded with her mother, blubbering and crying until suddenly, she gurgled, and a thud echoed ominously across the circle. You shook violently and you were afraid of collapsing. Jasper brightened his tendrils of light, forming small animal shapes; rabbits hopping, birds flying, butterflies flitting. His distractions only went so far.

Marxicus was next. He had been stone still and completely silent. As his father raised the blade to his throat, all he said was, “sancti libera me.”

Saints liberate me.

The blade smoothly sliced open his throat, and he slumped to the stone heavily.

Freya cursed at her father, both in English and in Italian, snapping and snarling and fighting until the end. She didn’t die immediately. She had fought hard enough that the blade hadn’t sliced through her artery. Her father gripped a fist full of her hair and yanked her head back before pressing harder and deeper into her throat until blood sprayed across his face and her body fell.

You thought you might vomit. Or faint. Or both.

Gunthias pleaded without tears, but begged nonetheless. You saw the blade slice his throat from the corner of your eye, watching as his body fell and slipped half-way off the stone slab.

Finally, as the youngest, you were up. You were shaking so hard, you thought you might fall if it wasn’t for your father’s hand landing on your shoulder. Jasper’s light flickered slightly, dulling into small swirls of yellow dust around his palm. He was too frightened to conjure enough power. He half turned, as if he was going to run, but thought better of it. His eyes never left yours.

Yours left his, however. You scanned the crowd one last time for your family. It didn’t take you long. Your siblings were hugging each other, the twins- Margot and Matthias, both clinging onto each other as if their lives depended on it. Your mother stood over them, hands clasped beneath her chin, lips murmuring a prayer to the Gods as she watched with eyes full of elation. She smirked lightly at you as she caught your gaze, giving you a deep nod.

You looked away quickly, finding Jasper one last time. He was still there, as he said he would be. Always.

The blade was wet and sticky with blood against your throat. You trembled and murmured a prayer to your Gods, wishing for a quick death, hoping the afterlife was as glorious as promised, hoping this was fucking worth it-

The blade swiped through the air, missing you by mere inches, before it lodged itself into Grisha’s chest.

Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd as the High Priestess shrieked and keeled over, clutching at her chest as she began to spasm. You met Jasper’s eyes one more time, his face stunned and eyes impossibly wide. Your father gripped you under your arms and lifted you from the slab.

Then you two were running.

Your father raised his shields as the coven went wild. Many people cowered in fear. Your father had just killed the High Priestess. If he did that, what was stopping him from killing them?

Others were sending out powerful blasts of energy to slow you two down. But your father simply gripped your arm tighter and sprinted from the circle and into the field, the tall grass whipping at your bare legs, your feet slicing from thorns, but you didn’t care. You were escaping. You could do this.

“Faster, Y/n/n!”

You pumped your legs until they burned as the two of you ran. Shouts and battle cries erupted from behind you and you knew the two of you were being chased. Of course you would be. They couldn’t finish the sacrifice. The power would not be fully replenished.

You had to die.

But you didn’t want to. You spent your whole life confined inside the damn coven, in the damn compound. You wished to see the world, wanted to experience life outside. You wanted to live- for you and for Danny.

“Faster. Please, run faster!”

Your father pulled you along until you were nearly stumbling. He noticed and sent a quick surge of purple light, the shackles bound to your wrists bursting apart. You winced as the air hit your raw skin but you were now able to run with more balance.

Finally, you broke through the trees. The confinement within the branches helped shield you from the onslaught of power surges being sent your way. If you were caught, not only would you be killed, but your father would be too. He would be deemed a traitor to the coven, and treason was the highest offense you could commit.

“Where are we going?” You panted between breaths. Your lungs burned and you tried your best to ignore it, but you had never been one for running or for sports. Not to mention, you had been locked away in the Harvest Rite cabin for three days, shackled to a “room” that was really a cell, locked from the sunlight for three days so the harvest moon would touch your spirit better or some shit. Honestly, you had no idea, not interested in the faux explanation the coven founders had spouted centuries ago.

“Anywhere but here,” your father said breathlessly. “We need to get you somewhere safe. Then we can-”

Red light collided with your father’s back, sending him sprawling. You yelled in surprise and skidded to a halt, falling to your knees beside him. The magic seeped into his back and erupted through his chest in bloody bursts, clawing its way free.

“Daddy!”

“Go! Y/n, please! Go!”

You shook your head and sobbed, covering his chest with your hands, his blood warm against your chilled skin.

“No, no I can’t leave you!” You said. The shouting grew louder and you knew the ones chasing you were close. But how were you to leave him? Especially when he risked himself for you.

“You must. Please, Y/n/n. Please.” His eyes, ones matching yours, pleaded with you behind light lashes. He retched, blood dribbling from his lips. He gripped your hands with his. “I would die a thousand deaths before I would let them kill you. I… I can’t lose… another one.”

You knew he was talking about Danny, about that fateful day that your older brother had drowned in the lake. How the grief had radiated from your father so potently, it physically pained you. It was the worst day of your life. Now you had to watch another person you loved die.

“Don’t go,” you whispered. “Please don’t go.” You laid your forehead to his, the metallic scent of blood surrounding you.

“I… I love you… I… want you to… live… for me… and for… D-Danny… Please… run.”

“I love you, too,” you said. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and pushed yourself up, giving him one more glance, torn between running and fighting the bastards who did this.

“Go. Please. I love you. Go,” he said weakly. His body went limp and you knew that was it.

Letting a scream of outrage bubble in your chest, you vowed to personally kill every single last one of the fuckers who did this. You vowed to avenge your father. Freya. Marxicus. Gunthias. Sera.

Yourself.

Letting your shields surround you and your glamour conceal you, you turned and sprinted deep into the woods, trying to keep your anger and sorrow at bay long enough to prepare yourself to step foot into the outside world for the first time in your twenty-one years of life.

DEAN

“Screw you.”

Dean laughed and reached forward to scoop up Sam’s cards, shuffling them with the larger stack of cards in the center of the table. He had won three games in a row now, and he was pushing for a fourth.

“Admit it, Sammy,” he said, leaning back into his chair. “You just suck.”

“Shut up, jerk. Deal the damn cards.” Sam sat forward and shook out his hands. Dean snickered and dealt cards to himself and his brother.

“Quit while you can, bitch,” Dean said. “Losing four times in a row? Pathetic.”

“Will you two shut the hell up?” The brothers looked up at the doorway, Bobby trudging in from the hallway with a beer in one hand and a leather bound book in the other. “Some of us need to research.”

Dean sipped his own beer and threw a handful of salted peanuts into his mouth. “How much more research could you possibly have to do? Don’t you ever just… chill?”

Sam furrowed his brows, mouthing the word “chill?” to his brother. Since when had they known Bobby to “chill?”

Bobby grumbled something under his breath and sat down at his desk. “Maybe if you researched more, you wouldn’t have to ask me for help all the time.”

Sam spit out his beer, doubling over in laughter. Dean wasn’t as amused and he threw his next handful of peanuts at his brother.

“Children,” Bobby muttered.

The rest of the night went by in a similar manner. Dean won the fourth round, and the fifth, and then Sam finally gave up before suggesting a new game in which he promptly beat Dean’s ass. Bobby silently read and scribbled notes, answering a phone call around nine.

“You boys up for a hunt?”

Dean rubbed his hands together and lifted his brows. “When aren’t we?”

“Dean, we just finished one yesterday,” Sam said, putting the stack of cards back into the worn box. Dean shrugged and got up from his seat.

“Sounds simple, probably a vengeful spirit,” Bobby said, handing Dean his notes. Dean read over them to himself before silently handing them to Sam who did the same thing. “Should be a one and done thing.”

“Yeah, why not?” Sam sighed.

Bobby waved the brother’s off, Dean speeding from the long, dirt driveway with AC/DC blasting from the stereo. Sam chewed lightly on the tip of his pen as he made some of his own marks to Bobby’s notes.

“So what, you're gonna find another hunt right after this one again? Maybe it’ll take you twelve hours instead of a full day next time.”

Dean’s hands curled tightly around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He liked hunting, so what? Was he throwing himself into hunts more often than not recently? Sure. But they helped. They helped with the rage that simmered beneath his hands. They helped with the itching feeling he got whenever he thought of hell.

Fucking hell.

Literally.

It hadn’t even been three months since he returned to the land of the living. Sam was still in the dark and Dean planned on keeping it that way. He wouldn’t subject his younger brother to the horrors of hell, what he experienced or what he did. He shared everything with Sam. He wanted to keep this to himself.

Hunting helped relieve some of that pent up aggression and fear that burned beneath his bones like fire. Saving people, hunting things. That was his motto, right? Saving people now when he couldn’t in hell, when he caused people pain. Hunting things and killing them to let out some of that burning rage.

If Sam suspected anything, he didn’t say so. Dean thought he might have a few times, but he would quickly change the subject or cut him off.

No chick-flick moments. Another motto he planned to live by.

So he pressed a little harder on the gas pedal, Baby revving beneath him, trees a blur outside his window. He simply let himself drive and listen to his music, thankful he even got to do this, that he could hunt and be with his brother and live.

Even if he wasn’t truly free from the confinement of his own mind, or the burdens of his guilt.

Y/N

It had been nearly a week since you escaped.

A week of hiding and traveling.

You had no money, no way of knowing where you were, no knowledge of anything besides your coven.

Luckily, it seemed you were in the middle of nowhere. You had come across a rundown building with broken windows and shutters that hung from their hinges. Taking a peek inside, you realized it must have been abandoned ages ago. Branches, leaves, and cobwebs littered the inside. You had carefully maneuvered around the broken glass and into a small room. A moth-eaten couch sat cockeyed in the old living room, drapes pooled on the floor beneath the dirt covered windows, dusty books and picture frames laid forgotten on the floor underneath wall to wall shelves.

You still shivered in your shift, but there were a pair of boots by the front door. A quick inspection found the inside to be worn but wearable. After plucking out leaves and a small spider in one of them, you slipped them onto your feet. They were a bit big on you, but they would have to do until you could figure out your next course of action.

You raided the house, finding a small backpack to take with you. You couldn’t stay in a place like this. The only furniture was that god-awful couch and a table in one of the upstairs rooms. But you found a pocket knife, a flashlight (with no batteries), and you had taken a few of the books from the floor, stuffing the items in the backpack before continuing with your journey.

For the rest of the week, you would find small places to settle for the night within the woods. Cover beneath large rocks, crannies between cliffs, in the low branches of trees. You didn’t dare risk making a fire, not with your coven on the lookout for you. Instead, you would summon a warm ball of light to keep you from freezing to death. You would nestle the light and smaller droplets of light around your body as you slept, one hand on the pocket knife, the other cradling your head as a pillow.

You thought of your father every waking hour.

You missed him so much. It seemed as if he was the only one in your family who actually cared about you. Your siblings were too young to really understand anything about the coven, and they saw you more as a prized possession than an older sister. Your mother was devoted to the coven and its members. She loved you. In her own way. But not like your siblings. You were a possession. A thing full of intense power that would eventually return that power to the coven to fuel and replenish it.

You hated it.

You hated that damn coven and its traditional ways. You heard of covens that were modernized and didn’t sacrifice, covens that lived in the modern world. You didn’t know if they were real or not.

You wished your father was with you. He loved you and cherished you as a daughter, not a weapon. You two had always been close. And it was because of you that he was dead.

A week went by, and you were walking along a dark road. The road was made of black stone, white dotted lines painted down the center. You weren’t completely ignorant of the outside world. You knew what roads were, had heard about cars and telephones.

That amongst other little things was all you knew.

Being alone was terrifying.

You allowed yourself to cry. Your mother always told you crying was a sign of weakness, but she wasn’t here. You were alone. For the first time, you were alone in a world that was foreign to you. But you were free.

A low rumbling sounded from behind you. Turning, you caught sight of a large machine barreling towards you. Wheels spun quickly and two lights flashed in your face from the front of it.

A car.

You watched in awe as it sped past you and then stopped a little distance ahead. A man in jeans and a flannel pushed open a door and slipped from the raised seat. A hat with a brim shading his eyes sat on his head, a gray beard covering the bottom of his face. He took a few steps towards you which made you step back.

“You alright, girl?”

His voice was gruff and slightly accented. It reminded you of your father’s voice. You subconsciously took a step towards him, desperate to hang on to that feeling of familiarity that had to do with your father’s memory.

“Miss?”

You stopped when you realized he was taking steps towards you. What was the worst that could happen? If the man tried to hurt you, you would be able to stop him with a single thought. You were a witch, and a damn powerful one. He doesn’t even know witches exist.

“Can I drive you anywhere?”

“No,” you answered honestly. Where could you go? You had nowhere. You left your only home behind and you didn’t have any money. Fuck, you really had nothing. Panic began to creep up your throat.

“Okay,” the man said slowly. “Do you need help?”

Yes, yes, yes. You wanted to let him help you. But what would you say? Oh yeah, my family comes from a closed off coven and my father saved me from having my throat sliced open in a traditional sacrifice, then he was killed while we ran. I have no money, no clothes, and absolutely no where to go.

“I…”

“You look freezing. Let me help you out. I’ll get you something to eat and we’ll figure it out.”

Right to business he was. You glanced down at yourself, skin prickled in gooseflesh from the cold, your slip dirty and ripped in some places. Your feet ached in those too-big boots and your stomach growled in hunger. The berries and bark you had eaten for the past week left you starving for more.

Going against your better judgement, you gave in. He helped you up into the truck. You hugged your backpack to your chest, body ready to bolt if he tried anything. He gave you one last look before the car started moving. You started, gasping a little. The man flinched.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you responded quickly. He grumbled something and the truck went faster.

It was an odd feeling, but one you became accustomed to quickly. You felt his eyes on you again, as if he was sizing you up, and it made you a bit uncomfortable. You shifted in your seat. He seemed to notice and promptly looked away.

Not too long later, he was pulling the truck onto a dirt road. Various crushed and mangled pieces of metal were scattered along the yard. It didn’t take you long to realize they seemed to be old cars, scraps of such that the man must use for something. Tools lay forgotten all around, random bits of chain flung here and there.

Water suddenly splashed over your face.

Jumping, you spun to face him with a bewildered look. He looked you up and down again before reaching into his pocket, revealing a knife.

You reached for the door handle, trying to push open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. This was it. You were dead.

“Calm down, girl,” he said. He reached forward to grab your arm and you whined. You didn’t want to resort to using your powers, but you would if you absolutely had to. “I’m just testing you.”

“What?” You asked. He pressed the tip of the knife into your forearm. It pinched for a moment and was gone almost instantly, a tiny droplet of blood forming where it had knicked you. “What the hell was that for?”

“Precaution,” was all he said as he clicked a button and opened his door. He walked around the truck before he opened your door and offered you a hand. You looked at it suspiciously. You needed to leave. You should leave. You were also incredibly confused. The man rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt ‘ya. Well, not anymore. That was more for my safety than anything.”

“How?” You asked.

“I thought you were… nevermind. Just, get out of the car, will ‘ya?”

You narrowed your eyes and let your power inch into his head. It slithered inside and easily found his thoughts. You were a telepath, rare in the witch world, and you weren’t very practiced with it, but it came in handy for situations like this, you supposed. Your mother hated that you were a telepath. Danny was a telepath, and anything that reminded her of him was strictly forbidden. And ever since he died, you were forbidden to use your telepathy, and that led to you being incredibly out of practice.

...Didn’t mean to hurt her… she could have been a shifter… I could have sworn she was something…. She looks scared… probably just a runaway… she doesn’t look very old… why is she staring at me like that...

You pulled your power back and took his hand. The thoughts were quiet and breaking up, but you could make out most of what he was thinking. A shifter? As in shapeshifter? As a witch, you knew about some of the other supernatural creatures. But how would a human know about them?

Leading you into the house, the man kept sparing you odd glances, and you hugged your backpack even tighter to your chest. The inside of the house was dark and dingy, cluttered with old books and boxes. The man gestured to a small round sitting table in the kitchen. You sat down slowly, watching as he pulled out bread and some meat from the refrigerator.

“What’s your name?” He asked. He set the plate down in front of you as well as a glass of water. You tentatively reached forward for the sandwich, made up of some meat and cheese and lettuce, the bread spongier than the homemade kind your mother made at home. You picked it up, sniffing it. “It’s just a sandwich. It won’t kill you.”

Thinking back to the knife in the truck, and the scabbed droplet of blood on your arm, you scowled, but took a bite anyway.

The man pushed over his own sandwich not a minute later, seeing how hungry you were.

“Y/n,” you said after finishing the first sandwich, picking up the second one. You wiped the crumbs with the back of your hand and drank the glass of water deeply, gulping down every last drop. The man pushed his water over as well. You drank that, too.

“Okay, Y/n,” he said. He watched you carefully. “Why were you out on the road like that, dressed in a nightgown when it’s forty degrees out, at almost ten at night?”

You paused and chewed your bite of sandwich slowly. You wouldn’t tell him everything. But he seemed to be kind. And he reminded you so much of your father…

“I ran away.”

The man sighed and nodded. “I figured. You an adult?”

“I just celebrated my twenty-first year.”

He blinked at you, mouth opening to say something, closing it only a moment after. He furrowed his brows. “Odd way of saying it, but okay.” He scratched his chin. “Why did you run away?”

You blanched. You weren’t expecting that question, although you should have. You swallowed the food in your mouth. “Um…”

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me,” he said gruffly, making you frown.

“Um… well… It’s hard to explain,” you said truthfully. How were you supposed to explain your situation to him?

The man leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temple. “I guess if you don’t want to tell me right away, you don’t have to.” He looked you over, noting the still bruised wrists from the shackles and the cuts and various other small wounds from your coven and from spending a week in the woods. He swallowed hard at the sight of them. He reached a hand out for yours, and you obliged. He gently touched the wounds on your wrist, getting up to reach for a box in a cabinet over the sink.

Restraints?... I wonder…

That was all you could get from his head. You wished you were more practiced in your telepathy. Life would be much easier for you.

As he cleaned, applied salve, and dressed your wrists, his face was pulled into a pondering pout the whole time. His silent conversation with himself prompted a quick shake of his head to clear his mind before he was patting your forearm.

“Look, I know you don’t know me. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you have gone through and you don’t have to tell me. But I won’t hurt you, and I sure as hell won’t let anyone hurt you any more. I don’t know what caused these wounds but… I have an imagination. Just… you can stay as long as you want to, or need to. I have a spare room upstairs. I won’t bother you or nothing, but it’ll give you time to heal and get your shit together.” He thought for a moment before adding, “That is- if you want to.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Without thinking, you had wrapped your arms around the man’s neck, hugging him tightly. He grunted and hesitated before patting your back stiffly.

“Okay,” was all he said. You pulled back and grinned shyly.

“Thank you, sir,” you said.

“Call me Bobby.”

DEAN

“Piece of cake.”

Sam scoffed and limped after Dean, who was cradling his arm against his chest. They took out the vengeful spirit, but not without it getting the upper hand on them at one point. Nonetheless, Dean turned to his brother and grinned.

“Aw, come on, Sammy. That was fun!” Dean opened the trunk of his precious car and threw in his salt-filled shotgun. Sam shook his head and opened the passenger side door.

“Your definition of fun is startling,” was all he said as he ducked into the car, closing the door behind him. Dean laughed and slipped behind the steering wheel.

“Please. Your definition of fun is watching Harry Potter.”

Sam scoffed and turned to Dean. “Yours is watching cartoon porn.”

“It’s anime!” Dean snapped. Sam cackled in his seat and rubbed his sore knee.

“Okay, Dean. Whatever you say.”

***

By the time they got to Bobby’s, it was well past midnight, but a light was on in the windows. The air had cooled even more, the light wind nipping at their noses as they hurried to the door.

“Fucking locked-” Dean banged on it. “Bobby! Open up!”

“Dean, he could be sleeping,” Sam said.

“The light is on,” Dean pointed out. He raised his fist to bang on the door again but it swung open. Bobby knocked Dean’s hand out of the way.

“Would you quit it?” Bobby said. He moved out of the way to let the shivering brothers inside. “You’ll wake up-” Bobby snapped his mouth shut.

Dean smirked and let out a wheezing laugh. “Bobby, you sly dog!” He clapped his father figure on the shoulder.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Sam said simply. Dean was still making sexual jabs. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“I’m not seeing anyone, you idjits,” he said. “I took in a runaway. I don’t know the story so don’t ask, but she was hurt. I honestly thought she was… something at first.”

“Why?” Sam asked. He cocked his head. “Did she do anything weird?”

Bobby shrugged. “Call it a hunch. She’s clean, though.”

“So what, you’re just letting her stay here?” Dean made his way to the fridge to grab a beer. “Why would you-”

A scream tore through the upstairs of the house. A bloodcurdling scream that made the hair on Dean’s neck stand up.

Bobby spun and sprinted up the stairs in the blink of an eye, the brothers close on his heels, however when they reached the door to one of the spare bedrooms, Bobby slammed it in their face.

“What the hell?”

The screams broke off suddenly, and Dean could vaguely hear Bobby speaking softly through the door. A woman's voice sounded back, one that was melodic but had a rougher edge to it.

A few minutes passed before Bobby slipped out of the room and pulled the door closed. “Nightmare.”

The brothers stared at him incredulously.

“What?” Bobby raised his shoulders.

“What the hell, Bobby?” Dean asked. “Why’re you getting involved with something like this? I mean, do you even know her?”

“We help people, it’s what we do. I don’t know her but so what? Call it… a hunch,” Bobby said again. He shrugged for a third time and shouldered past the boys to head towards the stairs. “You two need to leave.”

“Excuse me?” Dean followed him, raising a brow.

“She barely trusts me. She’s skittish, is all. I don’t want three men freaking her out, especially two of them as big as you guys.” Bobby opened the door to the house and jerked his head. “You can come back when she settles.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean deadpanned. He couldn’t believe it! All of this over some girl? Some runaway girl who Bobby had just met? “There has got to be more to the story.”

“There isn’t. Now beat it,” Bobby said.

Y/N

Bobby was kind.

The first three days were a struggle. You weren’t sure what to do or what to tell him. He seemed harmless, but you easily spotted the guns and the knives and the sigils around the house. You knew what they were and what they meant. The Devil’s trap was something you had learned to create at a young age.

“Are you a hunter?” Bobby had asked.

“A… what?” You figured he didn’t mean a hunter in the sense of killing animals.

“A hunter. You know about demons and the sigils,” Bobby trailed off when he realized you didn’t know what hunters were. “What are you then?”

“Well, I had to learn about them growing up. Where I’m from, we were taught about demons in school and their protective sigils.” You had chuckled a bit. “My mother told me many people believed we are devil worshipers but we aren’t!”

Bobby simply stared at you.

“You’re a satanist?” He asked. That had you laughing again.

“Like I said, we don’t worship the devil.”

“Who is ‘we?’”

You hesitated, but you figured you could trust him. He had been kind and understanding with you. He knew you must have grown up pretty sheltered. You hadn’t known how to use the telephone and you didn’t know how to drive a car. You had never used a television.

Yes, you could trust him.

“My coven!”

Bobby moved so fast the table shook as his knees hit it, your glass of water toppling over. “Bobby, what?-”

“Your what?”

You cocked your head at his reaction. “My… my coven?”

“You’re a witch?” He was mad. Really mad. So mad, his face turned red and he fisted his hands at his sides.

“Well… yes,” you said slowly.

“We hunt you,” Bobby growled. That had you standing up slowly, hands raised in innocence.

“I don’t understand,” you said. You swallowed thickly. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Ever?” He snapped.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever hurt anyone?”

You froze. Hurt anyone? “Of course not! What are you talking about?”

“Witches kill and maim and bring harm to people,” Bobby hissed. “I knew you were something.”

“I’ve never done any of that! How dare you think I have?” You said. “Up until a week and a half ago, I had never left my compound. I was going to be sacrificed for fucks sake! My coven is traditionalistic. We live a simple life. We have no communication with the outside world. You were the first person I had ever met outside my coven!”

He stared at you dumbly, blinking a few times to process your words. “Are you… are you serious?”

“Yes,” you breathed. You kept your hands up but you shrugged lamely. “If it wasn’t for my father, I’d be dead.”

“Where’s your father?” He asked. Your heart sunk at the thought and suddenly your knees felt weak.

“He died,” you spoke softly. “He freed me and they… they killed him in the process.”

Bobby’s fists unclenched. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “He died trying to save me and I won’t let him die in vain. I’ll leave if you want me to but… I haven’t done anything for you to kill me. You have my word.”

He looked at you for a while, really looked at you. His eyes softened as a tear slipped down your cheek. You desperately wanted to enter his mind but you knew you shouldn’t, especially not now. Finally, he relaxed his position.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said. “But if you start… I don’t know, killing things or doing any of that evil devil shit, I’ll kill ‘ya.”

You scoffed. “What would evil devil shit entail?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it, you idjit.”

In the next few weeks, Bobby had taken you under his wing. He began to teach you how to shoot, which you weren’t terrible at. He gave you books to read on lore (much of which you already knew) and even brought you out on outings with him. He was a bit of a hermit, but the few times he did go out, he’d take you with him.

Needless to say, it was… overwhelming.

There were so many people. So much technology. But it was exhilarating. You had never been shopping before, never been to a restaurant. The diner Bobby brought you to was one he said wasn’t very good, but it was fun. The waitress had looked at you like you had grown a third head as your eyes took in all of your surroundings, gazing incredulously at the picture covered walls and the jukebox- that’s what Bobby called it- against the wall.

Then there was the music. You grew up with your mother’s fiddle and that was nothing compared to what you listened to now. You had chosen so many songs from the jukebox, Bobby had to pull you away from it before you drove everyone insane.

It was amazing and you wished you could experience it all with your father. You wished he could see the new sights and hear the wonderful music. The food was a bit more artificial tasting but there was a whole new world of foods to explore. You especially liked the cheeseburgers Bobby introduced you to.

Three weeks into your stay, Bobby had taken you on a hunt with him. He told you there would be people out there who would want to kill you and wouldn’t listen like he had. You had to keep your witchcraft and religion a secret, or else hunters like him would come for you.

That didn’t help the nightmares that plagued you at night.

Your father’s death haunted you. The screams and pleads of the other oldest children haunted you. Danny’s blue lips and waterlogged skin haunted you.

You couldn’t escape it.

“Here’s some money,” Bobby said. “Go to the bar next door. Get yourself a drink, dance a little. I’ll meet you back in the room when I’m done, okay?”

He brought you along but didn’t want you hunting quite yet.

You did as he said. You drank some new drinks, danced with a man you had met, conversed with the pretty red headed bartender. You let loose and had fun, something you never would have done with the coven.

When you stumbled back into the motel room that night, Bobby had grinned at you, watching as you fell back onto your bed.

“Fun night?” He asked, helping your boots off when you struggled with the laces.

“Screw my coven,” you slurred. You smiled toothily up at him. “That was fun!” You reached into your pocket, holding out the remainder of the money he had given you.

“Keep it,” he said. You smiled and shucked off your jacket.

You were asleep by the time your head hit the pillow.

DEAN

“You think the girl is still there?”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Doubt it. It’s been almost two months.”

Sam stretched his legs as he and Dean walked up the steps to Bobby’s house. Dean knocked twice, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Autumn had faded into winter, the leaves long fallen and the flurries of snow drifting around their feet as they walked. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, making it even colder than it was.

The door opened, but instead of Bobby, a woman peered up at them. Dean’s breath hitched in his throat.

She was beautiful. Her eyes were e/c and held a sort of wisdom in them that startled him, but a glint of innocence were beheld in them, too. Her face was framed by long stray locks of h/c hair, half of it braided, the rest loose. She was tall for a woman, but the brothers still towered over her, and her simple t-shirt and jeans showed off her curves nicely. Dean looked her up and down, giving her a lopsided smile.

“Hey there,” he drawled. He touched the tip of his tongue to his top lip before giving her a nod. “What’s your name?”

The woman looked between them both, seemingly unfazed by Dean’s advances. “Bobby! There are two guys out here!”

“Let them in,” Dean heard Bobby call. “It’s the Winchester boys I was telling you about.”

“Oh,” was all she said as she stepped out of the way. She held the screen door open for them as they ducked inside. Dean sent her a wink as he passed.

“Sam, Dean,” Bobby greeted. He gestured to the woman who had now gravitated to the corner of the room. She simply watched them, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Dean noticed faint scars around her wrists. When she caught Dean’s eyes, she held them behind her back. “This is Y/n.”

“Hi,” Sam said, giving her a friendly smile.

“Hey.” Dean grinned lazily at her.

“Hello.”

Her voice was soft and Dean’s heart leaped in his chest at the sound.

“Is this the same girl from a few months ago?” Sam asked. Bobby nodded.

“Yep, that’s her,” he said. “I’ve been showing her the ropes.”

“What- like hunting?” Dean furrowed his brows. “Bobby, since when have we brought civilians into this shit?”

“I’m not a civilian,” Y/n spoke up.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Dean said.

“I’m a witch.”

“Dammit to hell, Y/n!” Bobby threw his arms out to his sides.

“A witch?” Dean snarled. He pulled his gun without a second thought, but before he could shoot, Y/n’s eyes shined purple and the gun was flung from his hand. “Bitch!”

“Watch your mouth, boy!” Bobby hissed. “She’s a witch, but she has lived her whole life in a secluded coven. She’s never hurt anyone.”

“She will!” It was Sam’s turn to pipe up. “Bobby, how can you trust a witch?”

“If you knew her, you’d understand,” Bobby answered. He gestured to her. “She won’t hurt anyone, and you won’t hurt her. Because if you do, I’ll hurt you. Do you understand?”

“Bobby-”

“I said, do you understand?” Bobby repeated himself. The brothers looked at him, noticing how his lips were screwed into a silent growl, his body moving into a defensive position half in front of the woman. Sam swallowed hard.

“Fine.”

“Sam!” Dean protested.

“If Bobby trusts her… then I do, too,” Sam muttered. Dean scoffed.

“She’s a witch!”

“And you’re a dick!” Y/n snapped.

Dean’s eyes widened. He lifted a finger to point at her. “You shut it.”

“Make me,” Y/n mocked. She folded her arms over her chest.

Dean took a step forward. “Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

“Enough!” Bobby roared. He turned to the woman. “What did I say about Dean?”

She sighed deeply. “Not to rile him up.”

“And what are you doing?”

“... Riling him up.”

“Exactly,” Bobby said. “Stop it.”

“Sorry.”

Bobby turned to Dean next. “You quit taunting her, would you? She’s turning into a decent hunter, and an even better consultant, and she’s a kind woman. If you would get your head out of your ass, you two actually have a lot in common.”

“I don’t care,” Dean said. Which was a bit of a lie, but not really. She was attractive, and he liked her spirit, but she was a witch. How was he ever going to trust the likes of her?

“A consultant?” Sam asked.

“She grew up learning about monsters,” Bobby clarified. “Not only that, but she has the knowledge for spells and herbal magic. She’s given me a lot of great information on healing spells and on some research type stuff.”

“Oh great, she could be poisoning you, Bobby,” Dean said.

“I could poison you.” Y/n narrowed her eyes at the green eyed hunter.

“Bobby, she literally just threatened me,” Dean pointed out. Bobby just shook his head and rubbed his temple.

“Y/n?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Bobby gestured to the brothers. “If you two ever need any help, she’s your girl. Dean, you may not like her, but she’s smart and her herb mixes really do work.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam said gently. He grinned at Y/n. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too, Sam,” she said, enunciating his name more prominently. Dean scowled. “I’ll see you two later.”

“Where are you going?” Bobby asked as Y/n made her way to the stairs.

“On a date!”

Bobby started and gaped at her. “A date?”

“Yeah! Remember Ben?”

Bobby thought for a moment. “The EMT from the wraith hunt?”

“Uh-huh! We went out that night afterwards and he called me yesterday for a second date.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?” Bobby asked.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “I am an adult, Bobby. Besides, the only relationship I had ever been in was an arranged one. I’d like to have my own.”

Dean sputtered. “I’m sorry- arranged?”

“Her coven was a little… old school,” Bobby said.

“To say the least,” Y/n chimed in. “Anyway, I have to get ready. Bye, boys!”

She disappeared up the stairs, the soft click of her door closing echoing down from the hallway. Bobby still looked like he was going to explode.

“How did I not know about this?”

Sam chuckled. “Don’t ask us, Bobby,” he said. “But I like her.”

“She’s great,” Bobby agreed. “Dean, if you don’t lighten up, I swear to God.”

Dean rolled his eyes, putting his whole body into it. “Okay, fine, whatever. I won’t kill her.”

“How generous of you, Dean,” Sam said, patting his brother on the shoulder. Dean pushed him away, giving him a dirty look.

“Shut up.”

Y/N

Ben was sweet, and handsome, and decent in bed, but he didn’t send that spark to your core like Dean did.

By your fifth date, you decided to break it off. It had been a month since you last saw the Winchester brothers, and three months since you had met them. You occupied your time with research and exploring the outside world. Ben had been fun, and he was so nice, but by God, Dean lit a fire in you that burned so brightly, all you could think about was him.

So after Ben, there was Derek. He was a bit more rugged than the soft spoken EMT, and if Ben had been fun, Derek was a fucking rollercoaster. He wasn’t more than a month long fling as he rolled through town, but fuck was it great. You liked this new freedom. You liked experimenting and having the choice. Sure, you and Jasper had a good time, and it was the escape you needed, but you two were arranged by your parents and the elders. Ben and Derek were your choices.

You loved having the fucking choice.

And if given the chance, you’d like to choose Dean.

He was an arrogant dick, but you remembered that smirk and the dark look in his eye and that filled you with an excitement you wanted to chase. You knew you shouldn’t chase. That you couldn’t chase.

Because no matter how civil he acted with you, you also knew he wanted to kill you.

But you also thought he wanted to fuck you. He was incredibly confusing.

Your phone calls were always short, and they either ended up with insults thrown at each other, or flirtatious innuendos from the hunter that always left you questioning whether or not he actually hated you. You provided them with copious amounts of information for their hunts, and Sam always took you up on your offer for spells and herbal concoctions. You thought Dean may have been coming around, but you wouldn’t know until tonight when they came to visit Bobby.

It was clear Dean didn’t trust you, and his cocky attitude made it so much worse. But he was a damn good hunter and a great brother to Sam, and he was Bobby’s family. So you’d try to be civil.

You’d try.

***

“Goodnight. Try not to kill each other, please.”

You waved Bobby off. Sam had long gone to bed, and with Bobby leaving, you and Dean were left alone.

And fuck was that awkward.

You looked anywhere but him. You didn’t want to just get up and leave. But you also didn’t want to sit here in silence. Dean seemed to have the same idea.

“So how’s it been-”

“How do you like-”

You spoke at the same time and heat rose in your cheeks. “Go ahead.”

He cleared his throat. “How do you like it outside the coven?”

Right, Bobby had told you he told the brothers a bit about your past. Not everything, but enough to help them understand you weren’t evil like Dean thought you were.

“It’s different. A good different,” you said. “It’s… amazing, really. There are so many things I never knew existed.”

“Like what?” Dean asked. True curiosity shined in his eyes and it made you smile.

“Like music. The music is amazing. I have more freedom. There is so much to explore. Television is pretty neat. There are a lot of books, too.”

“You sound like Sam in that sense,” Dean mused. You shrugged.

“It’s just better, you know?” You thought back to your father and Danny, how you wished for the thousandth time they could see this. You wondered about Margot and Matthias, how they would like it. “I wish my family could see it.”

“I heard about your dad. I’m sorry,” he said honestly. His eyes were earnest and full of something you couldn’t understand. You desperately wanted to read his mind, itched to. But he already didn’t trust you.

“Thanks,” was all you said. You fiddled with your hands in your lap. “We were supposed to do this together, you know? He was supposed to be with me.” You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat. You couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. “But then I met Bobby and… he reminds me so much of my dad. It was like the goddess gave him back to me.”

Dean’s breath hitched. “I lost my dad, too.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes when you looked up at him. “Bobby was always like a father to me. More than my own was. He’s good like that.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “He is.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, but the awkwardness had faded.

“So. You were going to be sacrificed, huh?”

You burst out laughing.

Dean stared at you in bewilderment as you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. You covered your mouth with your hands, not wanting to wake up Sam and Bobby, but you couldn’t help the laughs that came from deep in your chest.

“How is that funny?” He asked. He must have thought you were going crazy.

“We… we just had this… heartfelt conversation… and that’s what… what you follow up with?” You said between fits of laughter. You wiped a tear from your eye. “I’m sorry. That was so fucking funny.”

Dean’s lip quirked. “You’re very odd.”

That made you laugh again, and this time, he joined.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad afterall.

DEAN

“You like her.”

Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of Sam’s voice. He had just gotten off the phone with Y/n and he hadn’t realized he’d been smiling until Sam raised a brow with a knowing look.

“Winchester.”

“Hi, Y/n,” Dean had said. He smirked at her greeting. “How’re you doing?”

“Do you need something?” She asked. Dean’s grin widened.

“You.”

Y/n scoffed and Dean heard some shuffling. “Course you do. Without me, you’d crash and burn.”

“Real funny,” Dean said. “Do you have information on basilisks?”

“Of course I do,” Y/n said and Dean could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Is that what you’re hunting?

“We think so,” Dean replied. He waited for her to speak but the other end was silent for a few moments. “Sweetheart?”

“Oh- sorry. I forgot,” she said. Her voice sounded distant, like she had left the phone across the room. He raised a brow.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Dean chuckled and leaned back in his seat amused. “Y/n.”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re sacrificing kittens or something fucked up like that.”

“Damn. You caught me.” A pause. “I’m actually trying to cook for Bobby.”

Dean’s smile faded from one of amusement to one of wonder. “Really?”

“Yeah and this cookbook is so confusing.” He heard a smack-presumably her palm hitting the book in frustration- and a groan. “I just want to do something nice for him.”

Dean’s heart warmed at her words and he closed his eyes. It was hard to hate her. Or in his case, act like it. Sometimes. To be honest, he found it difficult to see her as anything other than good, even if she was a witch. But she still was one, and he knew someday she would turn.

Why did she have to make it so difficult to hate her?

“It’s the thought that counts,” he said softly.

“Well. I’m still trying,” she said. “My mother stopped teaching me to cook once Danny died and the marriage to Jasper was called off. Why know how to cook when I’m supposed to be dead?”

Dean flinched at her words. “What, they don’t teach you how to magically create dinner at Hogwarts?”

She didn’t say anything for a while and Dean thought he had gone too far before she said, “Only how to sacrifice kittens.”

He laughed so hard, it made Sam jump.

Then he heard that bell-like laugh of hers through the phone and he found himself unable to stop smiling.

“Dude, stop flirting and get the information,” Sam said. He narrowed his eyes at his older brother. “We’re wasting time.”

Dean sighed deeply. “Alright, Mr. Stick-in-the-ass needs the basilisk information or else he might spontaneously combust. Sorry to interrupt your cooking, sweetheart, but whaddya got?”

They had met her four months ago. She had been with Bobby for six. Somehow, she had weasled her way into their lives, and at first, Dean hated it. But ever since that conversation with her, watching as the haunting memories of her past swam behind her eyes, how she laughed at something so morbid, how she tried so hard to be good, something had changed.

Dean wasn’t sure what to think anymore. The thought of her warmed his chest. He no longer twitched with annoyance when she spoke or frowned at the mention of her name. He eagerly picked up the phone to hear her voice, wanted to talk to her, to hear her theories.

She was weird but he liked it.

Dean knew she had a rough past. He also knew that she told Bobby some of it, but not all. She was private when it came to her life in the coven. But he knew some of what she had gone through. He knew she was arranged to be married, she knew her older brother had died and that she took his place for the ritualistic sacrifice, he knew her father died saving her. He knew she had to learn all about the world when she escaped.

And she was so smart. She had picked up on the world quickly and it surprised Dean. He knew if he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t do that well. Hell, when he came back to the life of the living after only four earth months, it took him ages to learn about all that had happened.

“I do not,” Dean said. He brushed off Sam’s comment. Liked her? Please…

Did he? He was incredibly attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be? And sure, he liked to talk to her, liked to watch her face light up when he turned on the radio, or when Bobby brought home mac and cheese. He liked to watch her dance in the kitchen and could watch her read for hours without getting bored.

Did he like her?

He shrugged off the feeling, not wanting to get involved. She couldn’t possibly feel the same way. And even if she did, she deserved better. Her gentle heart was no match for his own hell-blackened soul.

“Right,” Sam rolled his eyes. He stood from his seat and picked up his jacket from the table. “I’m going to get some food.”

“Bring me some pie,” Dean muttered. As much as he tried to get her off his mind, he couldn’t. Sam rolled his eyes again and left Dean to his thoughts.

***

At one hour, Dean called Sam, but it went straight to voicemail.

Ten minutes later, he called again. Still voicemail.

At an hour and a half, Dean was dressed and ready to go on a man hunt when his phone rang.

Sam.

He answered it with a low growl. “Dammit, Sam. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Hello, Dean Winchester.”

Not Sam.

Dean’s face went slack and his body stiffened at the cool voice that spoke from the other end of the phone. He swallowed down his anger. This wasn’t the basilisk, it couldn’t fucking talk. And it didn’t sound like anyone he knew.

Fuck.

“Who the hell is this?”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckled darkly. “I’m Zacharias.”

“I have no clue who the fuck you are but if you have done anything to my brother, I swear-”

“Yet. I haven’t touched him yet,” Zacharias said smoothly. “Although, a Winchester? I can imagine a hundred different things I’d like to do to him.”

“You sick son of a bitch.”

“I won’t touch him, though,” Zacharias told Dean. “I will, if you don’t get me what I want.”

“Why don’t I just find you and rip out your lungs?” Dean spit. His body shook with anger. “And how do I know you’re not lying?”

“Should I put old Sammy boy on the phone?” Shuffling. Grunting. Then finally-

“Dean?”

Dean sighed with relief. “Sam? Are you okay?”

Sam groaned a bit. “Define okay.”

“I’ll kill them all,” Dean snarled.

“Don’t listen to them Dean. Don’t give her to them. These people, they’re-”

“That’s enough.”

The phone was pulled away as Zacharias interrupted Sam. The man cleared his throat.

“I’m sure you don’t know who I am. We keep to ourselves, but I know who you are, and I know you have access to something I want.”

“Which is?”

“Deliver it to me, alive, and you get Sam back in one piece, not a hair on his pretty little head touched, and we will leave you be forever. We will go back into solitude. You won’t ever have to deal with us again.”

“Who is ‘us?’” Dean was growing agitated. Why was this fucker so vague? “Just get to the fucking point!”

Zacharias laughed. “So impatient, hunter.”

“Listen, Zach- can I call you Zach?”

“No.”

“Okay, Zach. If you don’t get to the fucking point, I will-”

“What? You’ll do what?” Zach sneered. “The way I see it, I have the one thing in the world you care about most. You have something I need, and I have something you need. Besides, I thought you liked causing harm.”

Dean’s blood ran cold.

“Feel free to rough her up a bit. I won’t mind. Lord knows she won’t get it once she gets home.”

She. Home.

Who was he talking about?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, but I think you do,” Zach’s voice lowered an octave. “I’ve heard the whispers, Dean Winchester. I’ve heard about the part you played in hell, how you were acting a little too well. Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me.”

“What do you want?”

Zach’s breath hitched a bit. “I want the girl.”

Y/N

“Thank you for dinner, Y/n,” Bobby said. He patted your cheek and kissed your temple as he went to rinse his dish in the sink.

“I know it wasn’t great but-”

“I don’t get very many home cooked meals. This was fantastic,” Bobby said. Your chest swelled with pride at his words and you grinned.

“I’m glad. I just wanted to do something to say thank you. It’s not much but… I don’t know. You’ve been very kind to me,” you told him. He gave you an odd look.

“This sounds like a goodbye,” he said apprehensively. Your eyes widened.

“Oh, God no! No, this isn’t a goodbye!”

Bobby’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I’ve gotten used to another person being here. I’ve gotten used to you being here. I know I said take all the time you need, but I selfishly hope for more time.”

“Bobby, I like it here. I like it here with you. You remind me a lot of my father,” you said. You swallowed hard. “You’ve done a lot for me. You’re a good friend.”

Bobby blushed and went bashful. He shrugged and murmured some words you couldn’t hear before shuffling into the study, throwing a “thank you” over his shoulder. You didn’t take any offense. You knew he wasn’t very good at deep conversations.

You cleaned the kitchen and were about to head to bed when the phone Bobby had given you rang. You smiled smally when you saw Dean’s name flash on the screen.

“Two phone calls in one day? I must be special,” you said snarkily as you answered the phone.

“I need your help,” he said.

“What, no ‘hi, sweetheart’ this time?” You mused.

“I’m serious, Y/n,” he said. You frowned at his tone. He was usually playful with you. If he was grumpy, he was usually doing it to mess with you.

“Is everything okay?”

“No. I’ll send you the location. Get here as fast as you can.”

Your knees wobbled a bit as nerves lit a fire in your belly. “Wait, Dean, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Just get here. I’ll explain everything when you do,” he said. “Please?”

You sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose. You were tired after researching all night, but you couldn’t just say no. If Dean was asking for your physical help, he must really need it.

“Okay. Fine. Send me the address.”

***

You knew something was wrong when you pulled the car Bobby loaned you into a small patch of trees down a dirt path off the highway.

Bobby had taught you how to drive not long after you started staying with him. You didn’t drive much, but it was cool when you did. The drive to the location only took a few hours, and within that time, you tried to think of the different reasons he would have called you. Surely he wouldn’t be asking for your help unless he really needed it. Sure, he was a lot more civil with you, even nice sometimes, but he still wasn’t a huge fan of yours. He hated witches and that hatred didn’t stop with you.

The thought made your heart fall in your chest, but you pushed the feeling away. You couldn’t feel those sort of things for him. It was a dangerous game to play.

He was leaning against the Impala when you parked the car. Slipping out of the driver’s seat, you approached him warily.

The first thing you noticed was Sam’s absence.

“Where’s Sam?”

Sam was always with him. You and Dean never met up alone. The few times you had met up with the brothers when they weren’t hunting, whether it be for some healing spell lessons, research sessions, or just lunch, it was always Sam and Dean. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

You looked Dean up and down, noticing the way his fists were clenched and tucked tightly into his sides. His eyes were wide and nervous, as if you were some cruel seductress here to kidnap him, but his mouth was screwed into a hard line. You watched him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

“He’s going to uh… meet us there,” Dean stammered. He gestured to his car. “Get in?”

“Tell me what’s going on,” you demanded. “You’re acting weird.”

His chest rose and fell as he took a deep, settling breath. Energy crackled between the two of you as anger rolled from him in waves. You could sense his worry. His anger. You prodded your power at his mind, running a smooth finger down the inseam as you stepped into his thoughts.

She just needs to get in the car… fucking hell… I need to get Sam… quit acting so weird, Dean, you’ll put her off… get in the car!

That was all you could muster before a sharp pain stung your temples. Damn you needed practice. His thoughts made you more uneasy and you took a step back towards your car.

“Dean, tell me what’s going on!”

“Get in the car, Y/n,” he said darkly. You made a move to run but he lunged, gripping your wrist. You yanked free of his grip and pushed him away. “Just get in the car!”

You turned to face him, but your eyes met the barrel of a gun.

You couldn’t breathe. This was it. He was going to kill you. You had no doubts that he had witch killing bullets in that gun, and you just fucking knew he wouldn’t hesitate.

“This was your plan all along?” You whispered. You tried to keep the emotion off your face, but couldn’t keep it from your voice. “To get me to trust you, then you’d kill me? Really?”

“Get. In. The. Car.” He jerked his head towards the Impala. “I won’t say it again.”

You made a run for it.

You turned and made for the trees. This was the second time you would flee into the woods in your life and you really hoped there wouldn't be a third.

You heard Dean curse behind you and you sprinted. With his long legs, you didn’t get very far, and his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you up in the air. You swung your head back to collide with his face. He yelped as you felt his nose crunch beneath the back of your skull.

That only made him angrier.

He threw you to the ground roughly, pinning you down with one knee to the center of your back. You thrashed and raised your hand, a purple glow emanating from it, ready to strike.

He quickly latched a handcuff to your wrist and your power fizzled.

“What?”

“They’re warded,” he said simply. He cuffed your other hand and gripped a fistful of your hair. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just got into the car.”

Your body ached and your scalp screamed but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you in pain. “Would you have gotten into the car if you were in my shoes?”

“I’d never be in your shoes,” he snarled, hauling you to your feet. “I’m not a filthy fucking witch.”

Ouch.

“You’re still not over that? Really, Dean?” He dragged you to the car, all the while you kicked and thrashed, but he was much stronger than you and the wards were weakening you significantly. “I’m not evil! I thought we were friends!”

His hand gripped your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. His fingers were rough and heavy against your skin as he dug into you, making you wince. Up close like this, you could see the beautiful green of his eyes, even in the dark, and his freckles stood out against his cheeks. You wished this was happening in a different circumstance. You wished you could have been close like this in another way.

His mouth curled into a ferocious snarl as he said, “I’m not friends with monsters.”

He shoved a gag into your mouth, opened the trunk of his car, and shoved you inside before closing you in, concealing you in a darkness that swallowed you whole and muffled your sobs.

DEAN

The compound was deep in the forest.

Dean stood by the driver's side door, waiting. Three cloaked figures walked towards him, Sam hauled behind them, dragged by a crimson energy around his wrists and ankles. His face was a bit bruised and his clothes were dirty, but he was unscathed.

That didn’t relieve the guilt he felt.

“The girl.”

Dean recognized the voice as Zach’s. He gave a long look to Sam before he walked around to the trunk.

He betrayed her. He betrayed her in the worst way possible and now she was going to die because of it. She told him she trusted him. She had learned to trust him after he wanted to kill her.

And now?

Now, he had taken that trust and destroyed it. Bobby would kill him surely. His father figure had started looking at her like a surrogate daughter. Y/n had come into his life and brightened it in the best way possible. Bobby had been so excited when he talked about how well she was doing. How the nightmares had begun to fade. How her scars were barely noticeable. How she didn’t flinch as much.

How she trusted Bobby so wholeheartedly, and how she trusted Sam and Dean.

That was ruined now, and Dean had to face it. He had to face it like he had to face what happened in hell. But he wouldn’t do that. No. He was saving Sam again.

He would always save Sam.

He opened the truck and nearly broke at the sight of her tear stained cheeks. Regardless of the tears, however, she gave him a look that was pure death. It sent shivers to his core as her eyes lit purple. A warning.

A promise.

He yanked her from the trunk and half carried her to Zach.

The new High Priest of Y/n’s coven.

“Who?” Dean asked.

“Y/n. I know you know where she is.”

“Why do you want her?” Dean’s stomach curled.

“We have some… unfinished business.”

It didn’t take Dean long to realize it was her old coven, the one she had run from. The ritual wasn’t complete, and it wouldn’t be complete until Y/n was dead. So there was to be an exchange. Y/n for Sam.

“Let Sam go.”

Zach, a tall and plump man with gray hair and a bulbous nose, nodded at the two cloaked figures at his sides. They yanked Sam to Dean. Y/n writhed in Dean’s grip, desperate to escape, desperate not to return to the coven.

“The girl,” Zach said again. Dean looked down at Y/n, whose eyes were so wide with fear, he was afraid they’d pop right from her head. She looked at him then, pleading, begging for him to take her.

Instead, he took the gag off, pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth, and pushed her away.

Y/n was so surprised, she barely flinched when the cloaked figures gripped the tops of her arms.

“Dean!” She said his name with yearning as the two figures dragged her away, still chained, still terrified. “Dean, please don’t do this! You know what they’ll do! You know! Please! Sam, Dean, please!”

With an evil grin, Zach sent the brothers a wink. “Thank you, boys. We’ll take good care of her.”

Then in a blast of crimson, the four witches were gone.

Y/N

“You traitorous bitch!”

Your mother hit you again, the whip stinging across your back with the scorching pain of the sun. You keened, tears long fallen, your eyes dry and crusty from how much you’ve cried.

Dean had betrayed you. This was worse than him killing you. Worse because not only were you going to die, but your freedom had been ripped from you, stolen out from underneath you. Worse because your father’s death would mean nothing. Worse because you still loved Dean.

Shit, you loved him. You hated that you did. You hated him while you loved him.

You realized you were in love with him when you were locked in that trunk. You wondered why it hurt so much. Why although he had put you there, you wanted him to comfort you. It was fucked up and twisted, but you were in love with him.

And he had royally, utterly betrayed you.

“I’m sorry, mother,” you said for the thousandth time. The whip cracked against your back again, tearing another ribbon. It wasn’t the first time you had been whipped. It was a typical form of punishment within your coven. Your wrists were bound to the top of a pole, your shirt stolen off your body to display your previously marred back. It wasn’t bad, the scars having long faded to dull lines. But now? Now they were re-opened, new ribbons sliced into your back by your own mother’s hand.

There were some spectators still. Many had gathered around to watch the pariah be punished for committing treason. Usually, treason was instant death in the coven. But you were to die in three days under the summer solstice, the moon at its peak for the season. It wasn’t as powerful as the harvest moon, but the solstice was still great for harvesting energy, and the coven couldn’t wait until autumn to refuel their power.

So they resorted to public punishment, letting you be an example to the children of the founding families who would grow up to have kids of their own to be sacrificed. This was what would happen if you or your child tried to escape. If they did escape.

Thirty lashes later, you were slumped against the pole, your body in so much pain, you were on the brink of unconsciousness. Hands moved to untie you and you slumped to the ground once you were unbound. You cried out in agony as you hit the dirt, screaming when someone lifted you up into their arms.

“I’m sorry.”

Jasper.

You didn’t turn into his chest like you would have a year ago. But you did like the comfort his touch brought you. Your best friend.

That comfort disintegrated when he laid you on your stomach on a moth-eaten cot in one of the cells of the dungeons below the founder’s hall.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said again as he left you, someone else closing the cell door, locking you inside.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t think you could physically cry anymore.

Instead, you wallowed. You wallowed in the pain, your own self pity, your anger and sadness.

You gave up.

You were done running. You were done fighting. Nothing was going to come of it. Nothing was going to change. The man you loved had shoved you back into the cruel clutches of your coven, and you were going to die in three days time, just as you should have died under the harvest moon with the others all those months ago.

DEAN

“Dean.”

Sam and Bobby watched as Dean paced in front of them. The older Winchester brother’s shoulders were hunched, brows pinched, mouth pulled into a sour frown as he paced and thought, thought and paced.

“Dean.”

He ignored his brother again. What was the point? What was the point in talking? He had done it. He had given her up. He had traded her life for his brother’s, just like he had done his whole life.

Sam was everything to him, and although she had weaseled herself into his life, into his heart, that wouldn’t change.

The guilt ate at him. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, an itching fury burning beneath his flesh that left him twitchy. This felt… wrong. This felt more wrong than he thought. What he did was awful. But it felt different. It felt…

No. He couldn’t feel those things. He wouldn’t. If he felt those things for her, there would be no going back, and he would just be hurt again. He would be hurt beyond comparison if he felt those things for her. If his heart raced at the sight of her, if he itched to reach out and touch her whenever she was close, if his mind thought of her when he woke up in the morning and right before he slept at night.

If he felt those things, he’d be a goner. If he felt those things, this situation would be so much worse.

“Dean, goddammit!”

He stopped, turning slowly, finally letting himself look at his brother and Bobby, the former who was the epitome of worry, the latter looking like he was mourning a daughter.

Which, Dean thought, he probably was.

Dean knew how much Bobby cared for Y/n. He could see it in the way his father figure would gently touch her cheek in passing, or press a kiss to her forehead whenever she went to bed. How he went out of his way to keep her comfortable, how he helped her heal. Bobby was never like that with the boys. Sure, he loved them and Dean knew he and Sam were like Bobby’s sons, but Bobby also grew to have a daughter figure in his life, and she had been ripped away from him by Dean’s doing.

“You’re going to get her back,” Bobby said smoothly. His voice was still and unwavering. Emotionless.

“Don’t you think I want to?” Dean asked. “I can’t leave her there. I can’t… It was part of the plan to go back and get her. But what if... what if she’s already dead?”

Bobby was suddenly in Dean’s face, gripping the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the wall. His face was contorted in a rage Dean had never seen pointed towards him and it made him gulp.

“Don’t say that.” Bobby tightened his grip on Dean’s shirt. “We’re getting her back.”

“Bobby, even if she is still alive, how would we get past an entire coven?” Sam spoke from behind them. He didn’t move to pry Bobby off of Dean.

Even Sam knew Dean made a bad call.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bobby said. He finally let go of Dean and backed up a few paces. “It’s not the right time for the ritual. She’ll be alive until late tonight if I have the moon cycle right.”

“Wha- Bobby! We’re barely going to have time!” Dean said. Alive? God, he hoped so.

“We need to go. Now.” Bobby was rushing around the study like a madman, collecting guns and knives and a flask of holy water. Dean knew the holy water would do nothing, but watching as Bobby also stuffed a bag full of salt filled rounds, he knew the man was just desperate to get her back, using anything and everything to do so.

“We’ve wasted too much time,” Bobby said. He stalked towards the door and turned back to look Dean in the eye. “You better hope she’s alive, boy.”

He slipped out the front door without another word, the brothers giving each other a long look before following after him, hoping they weren’t too late.

Y/N

As night fell, the moon peeking up from behind the trees, you prayed to your gods quietly. Your mother and siblings hadn’t come to see you since the punishment in the square the day before. You were left alone, back oozing blood throughout the night and into the morning. It still leaked, but much of the blood had begun to crust and clot. You didn’t want to know what your back looked like. It had finally healed enough from the last time you were punished six years ago that you could start looking at your back in the mirror.

You supposed you didn’t have to worry about it now, seeing as you’d be dead by morning.

The cuffs from Dean had been swapped for similar cuffs as the ones your dad melted when you two made your escape the last time. They dug into your wrists painfully, chafing them raw and bloody.

A loud bang sounded from somewhere above the cellar. Your mouth went dry. This was it.

The door to the cellar opened, revealing Jasper. He looked at you solemnly and reached down to grip the tops of your arms. You cried out as your back was jarred, and he ignored it, dragging you up the stairs and into the main hall where someone else gripped your other arm. Together, they carried you outside into the warm night. The hot air hit your back painfully and it took all your strength not to cry in pain. Instead, you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood and tried to push the pain away, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing you hurt.

They carried you to the waiting cell, which was really just a shed, and pushed you inside. You landed on your side, agony ripping through you, and you groaned. They closed the door and locked you inside as everyone prepped for the ritual.

As you laid there, having flipped onto your stomach, you tried to count the minutes in your head, counting the seconds. If you let yourself think of what was coming, you would surely go insane. This was the second time you were experiencing this and thinking about it made you queasy. Thinking about Dean left you conflicted. Thinking of Bobby and your father left you dejected.

So you just counted.

And counted.

Until a thud echoed outside the shed. Shuffling. Another thud. A squelching sound.

“Keep an eye out.”

“No, I was just going to stand here with my thumb up my ass.”

“Real mature, Dean.”

“Thank you.

“Shut up.”

“Hurry up, Sam.”

“I’m trying! It’s spelled or something.”

“You know what? Move.”

Holy shit. Was that-

There was a loud bang on the door and suddenly it creaked open. It was too dark to see, but you could make out the shadowed silhouettes of two very familiar bodies.

“Shit.”

Dean dropped beside you so fast it made your head spin. How had they found you? How did they even get to you?

His hand lifted to your head and he brushed your hair from your eyes. Your cheek was pressed against the cool stone floor of the shed, violent shivers racking your body.

“God, Dean- look at her back.”

“We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Dean made to lift you but you snarled at him, reaching your hand out to slap him away from you.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hissed. You glanced back at Sam, relief flooding you as he looked unharmed. There was some blood spattered on him, but he looked fine. You didn’t think the blood was his.

“Y/n-”

“Shut up, dick,” you said. “Sam can carry me.”

“Y/n, I don’t know how I’m going to. It’s… it’s bad. I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam said softly. He bent down beside you as well.

“I don’t think I can walk. It’s going to hurt like a fucking bitch but just do it,” you said. “How did you guys get to me?”

“A lot of fighting and a lot of bullets,” Dean said morbidly. “Bobby’s our getaway driver. He’s picking off a lot one by one.”

“He’s… what?” Your eyes widened. “Dean, there are children here!”

“He’s not killing them all, Y/n,” Dean said. “Just the ones who are fighting to kill you and trying to kill him.”

You let that sink in. They were killing your coven. They were killing the community you grew up with.

“Okay,” was all you said. Sam made a pained sound and reached for you.

Your body was lit with an excruciating fire.

Sam apologized so much, it all blurred together. You gasped and cried and whined as he carried you. Dean had laid his flannel over your bare chest, his face pained as Sam carried you out into the woods. Bodies laid scattered all around, fires licked towards the sky. The compound was devastated, but you could vaguely make out the shapes of some people fleeing into the trees across the field.

You could also see Jasper’s lifeless eyes staring at you from where his body was leaning against the shed, a single bullet hole in the center of his forehead. How you had not heard any of this, you weren’t sure. Perhaps you were too delirious with pain.

Your heart was in your throat now. Jasper. He was dead. Your best friend. Your confidant. Your lover. Dead amongst the ones who wanted to kill you.

He was going to stand by and watch you die.

You bit your lip and tried to push away the urge to vomit. Jasper was dead, you didn’t know about your mother, or Margot and Matthias. Your mother… you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about her too much. A sliver of yourself worried for her… but she didn’t care for you. Not really. The coven was the most important thing to her. Margot and Matthias however, you hoped they were alright. As long as you were alive, they couldn’t touch them.

“We’re almost there,” Sam spoke suddenly, bringing you from your thoughts. You were almost to the car, where you would be taken from this place once again.

“Hurry,” you rasped. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. You were gasping for air at this point, the pain constricting even your breathing.

“Bobby, start it!”

“Holy mother of-”

“Just do it! She won’t last much longer,” Sam ordered. Bobby reluctantly turned from where he started forward towards you, getting into the driver’s seat of the Impala. Sam sat you in the back seat and started to get in with you but was pulled back. He grunted as he landed on his ass, Dean taking his place.

“Not you!” You didn’t want him anywhere near you.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not leaving you again.” You laid on your stomach across the back seat, your cheek resting against his thigh as he gently laid your head down onto him. The fire across your back faded ever so slightly, but it had been reawoken when Sam touched it. You wished unconsciousness would claim you but it didn’t. Tears slipped from your cheeks.

“How could you?” You whispered. You found yourself repeating it again and again, Dean’s hand stroking your hair as he shushed you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Finally, as if the gods had heard your prayer, the edges of your vision began to darken, and sleep claimed you at last.

DEAN

Dean’s back was to the wall. In one hand, he held a beer, and in the other he held a small bouquet of flowers. It was a useless sentiment, he knew that, especially when it was his doing that caused this.

Another yelp of pain from the room behind him and he flinched. Bobby and Sam had been hard at work for the past two hours on Y/n’s wounds. She had kicked Dean out promptly as soon as she regained consciousness. She was furious with him and she should be.

Dean didn’t blame her.

The door opened and Sam stepped out. His shirt was covered in blood, hands stained pink. His face, ashen and pinched, turned to look at Dean.

“Well?” Dean asked.

“She needs rest. She’s… she’s going to scar pretty badly.” Sam sighed and shook his head. “How could they do that?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Is she alright?”

Sam scoffed. “No. No, she’s not alright, Dean. She was given up by someone she thought she could trust, whipped to ribbons by her own mother, and then was thrown in a cell to wait for her slaughter. So no, she’s not alright.”

Dean stiffened. “Her mother did that?”

“As punishment,” Sam seethed. “Apparently it wasn’t the first time.”

Dean thought he was going to be sick. He took a deep breath and stood up, hesitating. “I want to see her.”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Sam said.

“I know. But I at least want to apologize, even if she doesn’t believe me,” Dean murmured. He glanced down at the flowers in his hand, a futile attempt of an “I’m sorry” and he knew it. “I…”

“I know,” Sam said softly when Dean couldn’t finish his thought. He couldn’t quite say the words yet. He didn’t even have half a mind to think them. Sam reached over to squeeze his brother’s shoulder gently. “I know.”

Dean gave a low nod and stepped around Sam, ducking into the study.

It had been turned into a makeshift infirmary. The desk had been cleared of items, a sheet thrown over it, a pillow supporting Y/n’s head where she laid upon it. Everything had been pushed away against the wall, making room for bags of gauze, salves, and other medical tools that Dean cringed away from. It smelled strongly of antiseptic and blood, making Dean woozy as he stepped inside.

Y/n’s eyes were half open and glazed over. She stared unfocused at a spot on the wall beside Dean, and didn’t flinch as he stepped right beside her line of sight. She just simply stared.

Bobby sat beside the desk, one hand in hers- which once again had bandages wrapped around her wrists- as he watched her closely. Her back had been heavily bandaged, blood staining the sheets below her body, tears long drying on her face, leaving streaks on her cell-dusted skin.

“How are you feeling?”

Her eyes lifted to him finally. They were cold and hard and so void of emotion it made Dean shiver.

“What do you think?”

Dean swallowed hard and placed the flowers on a nearby shelf. He wrung his hands together as he thought of what to say next.

“Bobby, would you mind-”

“Don’t even ask, boy.” Bobby didn’t even move when he said it. He just stayed in his position, gaze locked on the broken girl on the table, face pulled into a deep frown.

“Sorry,” Dean murmured. “Y/n, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“How sweet of you,” she said. “Now get out.”

“Please.” Dean said.

“I trusted you.”

Dean’s breath hitched. Her voice had turned soft and pained. So unlike her and so full of anguish.

“I trusted you and you betrayed me,” she said. “I don’t trust people easily, Dean. But I trusted you. I trusted you and Sam and Bobby. That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Ever since I met you, you have wanted to kill me. You never trusted me. I’m a witch, just another monster for you to kill. That night? I thought you were going to do it yourself. What you did was worse. You gave me back to the people who I ran from. Who killed my father. You took away my freedom again. You took away my choice again. You took it all away when you gave me back.”

She was crying now, tears silently dripping to the pillow beneath her cheek.

“I’m not the untrustworthy one, Dean Winchester. You are. You call yourself a hunter. You tell yourself you save people. Apparently the bar falls short as soon as you are something different, regardless of what kind of soul you are.” She pushed herself up onto her elbows to get a better look at him. Dean would never, not until the day he died, forget the look she gave him in that moment; malicious and hurt, her eyes dark and narrowed.

“Go back to hell, Dean.”

Dean thought his chest had been ripped open. He touched the skin over his heart as her words sunk in.

Go back to hell, Dean.

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me-”

“I don’t need to do shit,” she snarled. Dean winced at her tone, so dark and vicious. “I need you to leave.”

“Y/n-”

“That’s your cue, boy,” Bobby said. Dean’s shoulders slumped. He gave one last longing look to her, taking note of her eyes and how they left him again, staring unfocused at that damn spot on the wall, before turning and ducking back out of the room, finishing off his beer in the hallway and making his way to the kitchen for another.

Y/N

“Please be careful.”

Bobby loaded the last of your bags into the back of the truck. He had given you the same truck he picked you up in a year ago.

Your back was finally healed enough thanks to your spells, scars now the only reminder. You didn’t look in the mirror, not anymore, knowing how it would look. You felt them whenever you accidently touched your skin as you changed or when you showered. You could feel the raised, soft flames that licked up to your shoulders, forever imprinted into your back. The ones you had before were small. But these? These were long and large in number, the spite and anger of the one who created them clear in their abundance.

It had been a week since Dean had given you back to your coven. In that time, you hadn’t seen him again, not since he tried to apologize the night they rescued you.

Of course, you wouldn’t have needed rescuing if he hadn’t given you up.

The boys were due back soon and you wanted to be long gone once they arrived. You were going to start hunting. Really hunting. You were fine, your healing salves and spells doing their job perfectly. The scars would be the only reminder.

“I will,” you promised. You were ready for this. You needed this.

Bobby hugged you tightly, mindful of the pressure on your back, before he pushed you lightly towards the truck.

“Alright, off you go, ya’ idjit.” You grinned and got up into the truck. “You sure you don’t want to see them?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “I never want to see Dean again. Not in this lifetime.”

Which was half true. He had hurt you beyond words. He had taken your trust and destroyed it. He had given you back to the people who killed your father and planned on killing you. But at the same time, you understood. Dean’s world revolved around Sam. He would put his life on the line, and has, for his brother. A part of you understood why he did what he did. You went crazy when Danny died, knowing the one person besides your father who loved you just as much as you loved them was dead. You had tried everything, even resorting to dabbling in necromancy, but your mother had caught you, and your last hope of bringing your brother back was gone.

So yes, you understood Dean to a point. You just couldn’t get over the pain it caused you.

Bobby nodded at your words and kicked a rock in the dirt. “I hope you change your mind someday. Maybe not anytime soon. But someday.”

You blinked a few times and processed his words. You were going to answer, but thought better of it, instead going with, “I’ll call you when I know where I’m going.”

Bobby sighed. “You better,” he said. He gave you a wave. “Kick some ass.”

***

Two months later

“Another?”

The bartender tapped the bar beside your empty beer.

“Please.” He nodded and turned to pour you another. You sighed and rested your chin in your hand, your other hand lazily scrolling through your laptop in search of cases. You had just finished a ghoul case that morning and were already itching for another one.

The bartender set the beer down in front of you and raised a brow. “Hard at work?”

You shrugged and sipped your beer. “Something like that.”

He cocked his head, eyes trained on you as he cleaned a glass. “Are you busy tonight?” He shifted nervously.

You looked up at him. He was very attractive, with warm brown skin, hair black as night, and a crooked smile that would make anyone weak in the knees. You had frequented this bar the last few nights and your conversations were always nice. He was sweet and handsome and if this was before your tangle with the coven, you would have taken him up on his offer.

But the scars hadn’t faded.

“Yeah, I’ll be working all night,” you said. He frowned a bit. “And if I wasn’t leaving town tomorrow, I would take you up on that.”

He grinned a bit. “Thanks. Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m okay.” You drank your beer deeply and reached into your bag, pulling out more than enough money for the beers. “Keep the change, okay?”

“Thank you,” he said. You finished your beer and gathered up your things.

Many of your nights went like this. How were you supposed to explain the scars to someone? They were gnarly and would immediately spark fear and confusion and that was something you didn’t want to deal with.

Your phone rang and you grumbled to yourself. Unlocking the truck, you hauled yourself inside, setting your laptop down before you answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Y/n?”

“Sam?” You smiled. You and Sam had stayed in touch. Just because Dean was an ass didn’t mean you couldn’t still talk to your friend. “What’s up?”

Sam loosed a breath. Uh oh. “Look, I wouldn’t call you if this wasn’t important.”

“No.”

“Y/n, come on.”

“No, Sam.”

“Please?” Sam said. “We really need help and no one else is stepping up to bat.”

“What about Bobby?”

He paused. “He actually told us to call you.”

Damn him! You groaned. “Why do you two need help? Aren’t you like the best hunters in the world?”

Sam scoffed. “I know you and Dean have your differences-”

“-Differences!-”

“But we could really use your skill. Please?”

You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes. “You know, I can feel your puppy dog eyes through the phone.”

“Are they working?”

“... Maybe.”

“Come on. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” Sam said.

You pressed your knuckles into your forehead. “Jesus- fine.”

“Thank you!” Sam said. “I’ll send you the address to our motel.”

“Whatever.”

DEAN

“Is she coming?”

Sam turned at the sound of his brother’s voice. Dean’s heart thumped heavily in his chest.

“Yes,” Sam replied. Dean grinned. “But don’t chase her away, Dean. I mean it.”

“I won’t,” Dean said quickly. “But this could be my last chance to make things right with her.”

“Dean, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I need to, Sam.” Dean looked down at his hands. “I need to make things right. It sucks not talking to her. It sucks not seeing her.”

“Because you lo-”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean snapped. Sam grinned wickedly and flopped down onto his bed.

“Well don’t you?” Sam asked. He folded his arms under his head, propping himself up to look at Dean.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Dean rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning his guns. Sam had no idea what he was talking about. Dean wasn’t sure what he felt for Y/n, but he knew it was friendly. He hoped she had once felt the same way, and maybe if she knew what he felt, she could learn to forgive him.

Or this whole plan could crash and burn and chase her even further away.

Regardless, Dean was going to try.

***

Three hours later, someone knocked on the motel room door.

Sam got up to answer it but Dean shoved him back, resulting in a smack on the head, but he was able to reach the door first.

Opening it, Dean’s eyes landed on Y/n. Her eyes met his, a scowl painted on her lovely face as she zeroed in on him. She looked him up and down and hoisted her backpack over her shoulder. It was ratty and worn, but Dean noticed she took it on all her trips. He wondered what its significance was.

“Well. Aren’t you going to let me in?” She asked. Dean, startled by her voice, lurched out of the way, nearly knocking over a small table.

“Nice,” Sam mouthed, rolling his eyes. He smiled at Y/n who stepped inside, brushing past Dean quickly to give Sam a hug. “Thanks again.”

“Anything for you, Sam.” She gave Dean a dirty look. “So. What are we hunting?”

Y/N

The hunt went by smoothly.

It was a vamp nest, and a large one, definitely too difficult for two people but just easy enough with three. You had worked in tandem with boys as if you did it all your life. By the end, they both turned to you impressed.

“Wow. You’ve really trained hard, haven’t you?” Sam asked, bumping his hip with yours as you walked to the car. You wiped blood from your forehead.

“I kinda have to if I want to hunt alone.”

Dean spun to face you, blocking your path. You halted and glared up at him. God, he looked like shit. You noticed it when you arrived at the motel. His face was gaunt, eyes slightly sunken with dark circles beneath them. A permanent frown seemed etched on his lips and he looked like he lost some weight. He looked as if he was being eaten away by something.

He looked as if he was being eaten away by guilt.

A part of you took pride in that, but another part, a larger part, was sad. Sad that he had gotten this way. Sad that the man you loved was in so much despair, all you wanted to do was comfort him.

Of course, that despair was caused by himself, but you pushed that thought away.

“You’re doing what?”

“Hunting? Didn’t Bobby tell you?” You stepped around him.

“I thought he meant hunting with him, not alone,” he said. He hurried after you. “You could get hurt!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have thought you cared, Dean,” you said. You shrugged and gave him a pointed look. “Seeing as you’ve hurt me before.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“And I said go back to hell!”

“Okay!” Sam stepped between you and Dean, lightly pushing on your chest. He glared at his brother, but turned to you with a more gentle expression. “Let’s just calm down, okay? We’ll take you back to the motel.”

“Yeah. Okay.” You lightly pushed his hand away and threw open the back door, slamming it shut. You smirked when you saw Dean start forward in anger at how you treated his car, Sam stopping him with a hand on his chest again. They spoke lowly to each other before Dean slumped and got into the car, Sam close behind him.

Yeah, you absolutely regretted agreeing to help.

***

Later that night, you were lounging in your motel room, watching trash television, when there was a knock on your door.

There was a good possibility it was Dean. You knew that. Yet you still got up to open it. To be honest, maybe you’d like to hear him apologize again. It wouldn’t hurt.

You’d do it for Bobby. Not for yourself. For Bobby.

Opening the door, unsurprisingly, Dean stood there. His head was ducked slightly, face pulled into a nervous pout.

“Hey.”

You leaned against the door frame. “Hey.”

“Can I come in?” He asked. “Please?”

You bit your lip and moved out of the way, gesturing him inside. He muttered a thank you and stepped past you. You closed the door softly and turned to lean against it. He stood in the center of the room, looking down at a spot on the ground instead of at you.

“Y/n, I know you hate me. I know that.”

You felt as if you were going to be sick. “I… I don’t, you know, hate you.”

He furrowed his brow but didn’t look up at you. “You don’t?”

“I don’t particularly like you right now.” His lip quirked slightly. “But I don’t hate you.”

He rubbed his chin and turned to sit on the edge of your bed, resting his hands on his knees. One knee bounced and he rolled his shoulders a bit. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t answer but didn’t look away either. He continued. “What I did… I know it wasn’t okay. I won’t excuse myself for what I did. I just knew I had to save Sam and I went about it very, very poorly.”

You continued to stare at him silently.

“I should have figured something out. I was just so afraid. I do very… stupid things… to save him. I sold my soul and went to hell for crying out loud.” He smiled without humor. “Giving you to them will forever be something I will regret. Seeing you in that cell, bloody and broken, it’s an image I will never get out of my head.” His eyes turned misty and he swallowed thickly. “I will never forgive myself and I will live the rest of my life with that image. I will live the rest of my life knowing I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

You tentatively took a step towards him, and another, until you stood directly beside him. His green eyes finally lifted to yours, lined with tears, and you slowly sunk down to sit beside him. Biting your lip, you reached forward for one of his hands, resting it palm up in yours.

“I’ve… I’ve liked you for a long time now, Y/n,” he whispers. Your heart began to rapidly thump in your chest. “More than like, I think. And it scares the hell out of me. I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. You knew about your own feelings for him. Even after what he did, they had been buried beneath anger, but not disintegrated. You traced a line on his palm.

“All I could think about when you gave me up was how much I had trusted you, and how betrayed I felt,” you began. He stilled beneath your touch. “After, I was just so angry. Angry at you for doing that to me. Angry at myself for letting myself become vulnerable.” You hesitated before continuing. “I was hurt. Really hurt. And conflicted. I wasn’t sure how I could love someone and hate them at the same time.”

Dean pulled back from you.

You hadn’t even realized you said it until his face morphed into one of shock.

Oh, shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

You leaped to your feet, mouth open and closing, your brain racing to find something to say. But your thoughts were clouded with panic. “I don’t… I mean… I didn’t mean to say…”

You backed away from him but he stood and followed. His eyes were full of longing as he reached for your hands and brought them to his chest.

“Don’t turn away from me. Not after that.”

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I’m glad you did,” he told you.

“Why?”

He grinned. “Because I didn’t want to be the only one with those feelings.”

“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” you murmured. He chuckled a bit.

“I’m supposed to hate you. But look at me.”

“Look at me,” you echoed.

“A hunter and a witch, who would have thought?” He said amused. You smiled shyly.

“I… I forgive you, Dean.” He sagged in relief. “But I won’t forget.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He lifted his hand to brush his fingers down your cheek lovingly. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked at him, letting his words sink in. Once they did, your grin widened, and you reached up on your tip-toes to plant a soft kiss to his lips.

When you pulled back after a moment, he searched your eyes, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him to stop.

But you didn’t.

He leaned down to press his lips to yours, harder this time, wrapping his arms around your waist to lift you to gain better access. His lips were soft against yours, moving in fever, his body warm against you.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

“I can’t. Because I do.” You kissed him roughly, bringing your hands up to curl in his hair. He growled against your lips and moved you to the bed, pressing you down beneath him gently. He rolled his body over yours and you widened your legs to let him fit between them. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Dean.”

He moved to suck and kiss your pulse point, making you moan. “God, me too.”

You cupped his face and dragged his mouth back to yours. His hands lowered to the button on your jeans, popping them open before he pulled away from your mouth again. You whined at the loss and he chuckled.

“Patience, baby.”

You raised your hips as he pulled down your jeans. He kissed down your legs as he pulled off your socks and looked up at you with hooded eyes. He grinned against your skin before he kissed his way back up, landing a kiss to the top of your pelvis. He thumbed your panties.

“Are you sure?”

“God, yes.” You ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly, and that was all he needed.

He pulled your panties down your legs, kissing the area above your pubic bone as he gently coaxed your legs further apart. You peered down at him, but his eyes were trained on your sex, his pupils dilated wide, lips slightly swollen from your kissing. Jesus, the man was like sex on legs.

He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the hood of your clit. You groaned and jerked at his touch, keening when his tongue ran through your folds.

��Jesus, Dean!”

He ate you out slowly at first, teasingly licking and sucking, before he moved faster, feasting on you like a starved man. His tongue prodded at your entrance before he licked inside, his thumb strumming your clit it time with his ministrations. Your hips raised off the bed, pleasure jolting through you, but he splayed his free hand over your abdomen, keeping you down, making you take everything he was giving.

“Dean!”

He smirked against you, dragging his tongue up through your folds again, sending a deep shudder over you. He hummed, flicking his tongue over your clit a few times, a moan eliciting itself from your throat. He slowly pushed a finger inside you, your back arching slightly as he curled it, pumping a few times before adding another. He suddenly sucked down roughly, a cry pushing itself from your lungs to bounce off the walls, his fingers scissoring in and out at a rapid pace. Your chest was heaving as he curled his fingers again, curling so deep, pads brushing against your g-spot with every move.

You came, falling over the edge violently as he suddenly and harshly sucked your clit into his mouth again. He continued to give kitten licks to your clit as you came down from your high. As you caught your breath, you peeked an eye open to spot him grinning like a cat.

“Don’t ruin it, Winchester.”

He laughed and pushed himself up to kiss your cheek. “But that’s so much fun!”

You smirked and reached for his belt. You unbuckled it and took it off him before throwing it aside. He kicked off his shoes and you unbuttoned his jeans. He pushed himself up to stand and shimmy out of them, peeling off his socks as he went, before he pulled his shirt up and over his head. His boxers strained against his dick, and you went to reach for them, but he stopped you.

“Take off your shirt.”

You froze. If you did, he’d see the scars on your back. They were so gloriously unsexy and you knew he’d look at you in disgust if he saw them.

“No, I don’t want to.”

You were still sitting up, but Dean bent to crawl over you. Your faces were only inches apart, his breath fanning over your face. You shivered.

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen your back before it was healed. Don’t hide from me. You don’t have to hide from me.”

“They’re ugly,” you whispered. He shook his head and lifted one of your hands to kiss your knuckles.

“Nothing about you is ugly, Y/n,” he said softly. “Don’t be ashamed of them. Please.”

You swallowed hard and closed your eyes for a moment. Once you gathered enough courage, you lifted your shirt up and over your head, knowing your scars were on full display for him if he just looked over your shoulder. You sighed and he lifted his hand to run over your shoulder, down your back, and to the clasp of your bra.

“Look at me,” he said. You complied, keeping your eyes on him as he unclasped your bra and gently pulled the straps down your arms. He tossed it behind him, leaving you naked beneath him. He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “I love every inch of you, Y/n.”

You shuddered as he kissed your neck again.

“I want you,” you whispered into his ear. You ran a hand over his back and up to scratch lightly at the nape of his neck.

He kissed you quickly and pushed his boxers down and off. His cock sprang free, and you reached down, gripping it. He groaned as you ran your thumb over his tip, spreading the pre-cum that beaded there, before stroking him a few more times.

“Do you want me?”

He cleared his throat and grunted as you squeezed him gently. “You know I do.”

You licked the shell of his ear, feeling him tremble beneath you. “Then show me.”

He snapped.

He growled low in his throat as he pushed you down gently, hovering over you, one hand gripping one of yours, the other batting your other hand away from his cock. You giggled and he gave you a pointed look before positioning himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock running up and down your slit a few times, lathering himself in your wetness. He pressed himself gently into you, only the tip of him nestled in your warmth.

He entwined your fingers together, eyes locked on yours as he slowly eased himself into you. You felt your walls stretch to accommodate him, a slight burn following, but it quickly eased as he bottomed out.

“God, you feel good,” he said lowly into your ear. He gently pulled out until just the tip of his cock was inside you before pushing back in. He moved in long, deep strokes, and hell did it feel good. You slowly began to feel yourself moving with him, trying to match his thrusts and meet him there.

“Faster,” you pleaded, the coil once again beginning to wrap around itself. He bottomed out with each thrust, and his balls slapped against your ass with each plunge. He quickened his pace, but also lifted your leg to wrap around his waist. The angle allowed him to reach depths you didn’t even know you had. He brushed against your sweet spot with each stroke of his cock, and your eyes fell shut at the intense pleasure.

“Dean, I need more,” you said breathlessly. He moved his hand down between you, his finger beginning to strum at your clit in small circles, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. “I’m going to come.”

“You can do it, baby,” Dean said. “I’m right behind you.”

He began to rub your clit faster and harder, his hips stuttering into a sloppy pace as he neared his own end. With one more thrust of his cock against your sweet spot, you were coming, body spasming and inner walls clenching around his dick. He followed only moments after, his face buried in your neck as he moaned his relief, spilling himself deep inside you.

You stayed still for a moment, his cock still enveloped inside you as the two of you simply laid together in the afterglow. He kissed your neck and pulled out once his cock had softened inside you.

He left for a moment, disappearing into the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He swiped it between your legs, then his own, before he tossed it back into the bathroom. He climbed back into bed with you and pulled you against his chest. You winced as your scars rubbed up against his chest, but he simply pulled you tighter against him.

This was Dean. You shouldn’t be ashamed. Not around him. Not at all.

He kissed the back of your neck. “I will never, ever, hurt you again, Y/n.”

You grabbed hold of one of his hands, tugging it up to your chest over your heart, holding it there. You sighed happily and smiled.

“I know, Dean.”

He gently lifted a finger to tilt your chin back to look him in the eye. “No. You don’t. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” He kissed you softly. “I swear it.”

“I love you.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling as he looked at you. He kissed you again, gently, lovingly, and brushed a hand over the side of your face.

“I love you, too.”

#dean winchester x reader #supernatural #fanfiction #oneshot #commission #dean x reader #dean winchester #spn #waywardrose13

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

Maria. *Grabs your face* MARIA. I would LOVE to see 15 bobbing for apples from the autumn fic meme written by you. Nothing would delight me more!

Anonymous asked: Halloween prompt #15 please!!... "Bobbing for apples but we meet accidentally underwater lady and the tramp style." OR "I thought we'd have fun bobbing for apples but you actually hate it and are really mad now"

15. Bobbing For Apples

from autumn fic prompts here

KATE ❤️__ ❤️for you id write anything... and anon the lady and the tramp scenario is so fucking funny/good

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

It’s a really good thing that Hermann has Newt, because if Newt’s being honest, he has no damn clue what the poor dude would do without him. Work himself to death, probably. Or spend every Saturday night alone in his bunk. So depressing. Newt considers it his big charitable act of—well, of all time—to force Hermann into social functions, whether it's fun nights out at the bar (with Newt!), or down the hall a few feet for awesome movie marathons in Newt’s quarters (with Newt!), or something like tonight, which is a super awesome and fun Halloween party that, like, everyone on the base was invited to (including Newt!).

Hermann was all set to spend another night alone (probably changing the batteries in all his calculators or rearranging the hangers in his closet) when Newt dragged him out, more or less by the collar of his argyle sweater, with multiple threats to make his life a living hell the following week in the lab if he didn't comply immediately. "Seriously, dude," Newt had said, ominously, while Hermann looked at him like a furious cat ready to take a swipe, "you're gonna put in those vampire fangs and get drunk with me, or you're gonna regret it. I mean it." Newt was not opposed to blasting the shittiest depths of his Spotify account over his bluetooth speakers or using Hermann's favorite coffee mug to hold his dissection tools. Luckily for both of them, Hermann decided the risk wasn't worth it.

Newt knows Hermann is bound to recognize how selfless Newt is being and thank him for it eventually. Probably. Maybe a few years from now. For now, Newt is enjoying the warm and fuzzy feeling of having done a good deed, and also of drinking a considerable amount of spiked punch.

Hermann is not enjoying either.

"I did, in fact, have plans for tonight," he tells Newt, sipping his ginger ale and observing Newt with a fierce scowl. He flat-out refused the booze Newt tried to push on him. It's fine, whatever—it's enough for Newt, right now anyway, that he actually came. They'll work up to bigger stuff like that later.

"Like what?" Newt says. "Doing a crossword puzzle and watching the second half of that boring-ass documentary you put on last weekend?"

Newt considers it an affront to the very concept of movie nights that Hermann used his pick on a documentary, and one about the jaeger program that didn't even bother interviewing him, no less. Newt loves a good documentary, don't get him wrong, but movie nights are for escapist shit. You don't see him switching on Godzilla. Plus, having to watch stock footage of Dr. Gottlieb Sr. blabbing his mouth about how smart he was while you were debating making a move on his son (who was currently in you bed, looking super cute in your sweatpants, because he'd forgotten to pack pj's) was kind of a mood-killer. "It wasn't boring," Hermann sniffs, which tells Newt that his guess was dead-on. "It was...interesting. And anyway, just because they aren't your idea of plans..."

"Okay, whatever," Newt says. "Let's just have fun. That's the point of a party."

He throws an arm around Hermann's shoulder and drags him closer, until their heads knock together painfully. He hears Hermann growl low in his throat. Newt doesn't say, soon, we won't have the time to do stupid shit like this anymore, so we should enjoy it while we can, even though he wants to. It's better to not make fun stuff depressing. Plus, Hermann might decide to take that as an invitation to bail and put on his documentary. Instead he reaches up across Hermann and flicks his chin. Hermann's whole body stiffens. "I can't believe I got you into this super awesome party and you're not even pretending to be thankful," Newt says.

With no great deal of difficulty, Hermann pushes Newt off of him. Newt lands heavily back in his chair, making the whole thing wobble, and he laughs as he just manages to catch himself from falling off the other side. "You got me in?" Hermann says. "Newton, I was invited three weeks ago."

Newt stops laughing. "You were?"

"Yes," Hermann says. The corner of his lip twitches up, with a smugness so powerful Newt can feel it radiating off of him in waves. Bastard. "I took it upon myself to ask if you might be permitted to come, too." He adds, sarcastically, "Out of the kindness of my heart. I know how terribly put out you get when you aren't included in these sorts of things."

Newt considers this new information, and then discards it, because it really doesn't fit the image of himself he's been cultivating as the cool, hip friend to Hermann's uncool, unhip nerd. Like, come on, between the two of them, Newt is obviously the one you'd want at your party. Hermann's gotta be kidding. Probably. Maybe. "It's a lame party anyway," Newt mumbles.

He tries to put his arm around Hermann's shoulder again, remembers that Hermann really didn't like that the first time, and then drops it back down at his side instead. "Totally lame," he continues. Newt recalls the Halloween parties of his youth with a warm, fond glow: elaborate costumes, tacky decorations, passing around bowls of peeled grapes in the dark, carving jack-o-lanterns while his dad hovered protectively over him to make sure he didn't take a finger off with the knife. This is none of that. Barely anyone even dressed up! The lack of Halloween spirit is tragic. "There aren't even any party games."

"Yes there are," Hermann says, mildly.

He points across the room at a large metal tub that Newt somehow missed before. It looks like it's filled with water, and...

"Dude," Newt says.

He doesn't wait to ask before he's hopping to his feet and dragging Hermann along after him by his blazer cuff. Hermann swats at his heels a few times with his cane, but eventually—like he does with most of Newt's ideas—gives in. "I'm a fuckin' champ at bobbing for apples," Newt boasts. "I used to—oops, excuse me," (he runs into two guys who are, like, twice his height, upsetting their drinks, and he hears Hermann groan as something purple spills on his sweater), "I used to always win it at the fall fest when my dad would take me." And then when he went back as an adult by himself, but it was less impressive a win when you were up against a bunch of ten-year-olds.

"You do have an exceptionally large mouth," Hermann says, rubbing at his stained shoulder. "I suppose that helps." As Newt bends to investigate the iron tub, he says, "Oh, Newton, don't, it's been out all night. Who knows what sorts of germs are in there?"

Newt gets to his knees and rolls up the sleeves of his PPDC-issued labcoat. He's a mad scientist to Hermann's vampire (vampire librarian?) tonight. Yeah, it's kind of a lazy costume, but it was free—he already had everything he needed in the lab. "I can get it in five seconds, max," he declares. His record is one second, but he's the first to admit he's a little rusty, and he'd rather impress Hermann by beating his estimate. "Will you hold my headlamp?"

Grumbling, Hermann takes it. Newt sets his glasses on the ground. "You're going to get yourself bloody soaking," Hermann says, and then he complains about something else, too, but Newt is screwing his eyes shut and ducking his head into the tub, which makes it difficult to hear him. One second—two seconds—two and a half—Newt emerges victorious from the tub, teeth clenched down firmly on an apple, and accidentally splatters a large amount of water on Hermann's shoes. He pulls the apple out of his mouth with a grin and waves it at Hermann. "See. I'm a fucking pro."

He tucks his glasses back on his face to discover that Hermann is staring at him with a very strange expression on his face. Newt can't decide if it's the blacklight bulbs overhead that are washing him out and making him look so flushed, or something else entirely. Then, in a second, he's grumpy and scowling and tsking over his wet shoes. "A pro," he echoes. "Hardly. It can't be that complicated."

Newt gestures grandly at the tub and takes a bite out of his apple. Hermann can always be relied upon to never turn down a challenge, especially when it means making Newt look—potentially—stupid. Newt uses it to his advantage often. Whatever it takes to help the guy have a good time. "It's all yours, dude."

Hermann grumbles something again about Newt being too arrogant for his own good, and something else about showing Newt how to do it without making a mess of everything, then gets down to his knees with a quiet hiss of discomfort. He shoves his cane, and Newt's headlamp, at Newt, though bewilderingly leaves his blazer on. "I'll be just a moment," he says, and dunks his head into the tub.

He splashes back up no more than five seconds later. Apple-less. "Bugger," he coughs, and then coughs some more. The entire front of his sweater is soaked. "I didn't—I didn't start out right. Let me—"

Newt watches Hermann try to drown himself a few more times in mild interest before he finally intercedes. "Need a hand?" he says, getting to his knees next to Hermann.

"No," Hermann splutters.

Newt takes his glasses off again. "Yeah, you do. Okay, now watch me—"

He emerges with another apple in seconds.

Hermann grits his teeth. "Newton—"

"One more?" Newt says, his grin widening.

Back under. Another apple. He winks at Hermann when he goes in for a fourth time, and this time, he feels the water of the tank being upset as Hermann (refusing to be outdone once again) splashes in alongside him. God, Newt loves riling Hermann up like this—he gets so funny, and kinda cute, when he's mad about something. Red in the face, and scowling, and sometimes (when he's real mad) speaking in a dangerously low and rough sort of voice with his r's rolling that makes Newt shiver, just a little. Like, Newton, you worthless, pathetic little man, cease this immediately, or else I'll... He actually said that to Newt once. It made Newt feel a little warm under his collar. Hermann's probably going to say something similar to him this time, and Newt can't wait.

Ten seconds in. Newt has been cutting Hermann a little slack at first, just to see if he can catch up, but finally decides to just go for the apple that's been bobbing steadily against his mouth this whole time. (He loves beating Hermann at stuff.)

And, well, apparently Hermann goes for it too.

They both miss the apple. Newt's mouth is up against Hermann's for another five seconds before he realizes what's happening (that that is definitely not an apple, that that is definitely a mouth, that that mouth is wide and weird another to belong to only one person Newt knows, that that mouth is parting in surprise, oh my God) and then he pulls away so quickly that he breathes in what feels like half the tub of water. He falls back on his ass, coughing furiously, and it's not until he shoves his glasses back on with a shaking hand that he realizes that Hermann has done the same. "I," Hermann says. His eyes are wide. "I'm sor—"

"It's fine," Newt squeaks.

"It was—"

"I know!"

Newt and Hermann's mouths were touching for five whole seconds. Underwater, while apples bobbed against their foreheads, but their mouths still touched. Oh my God. In elementary school, Newt thinks dizzily, that would be enough to catch cooties. This was so not how he wanted his awesome eventual seduction of Hermann to go down. For one thing, it wasn't even a seduction.

"I'm gonna get a towel," Newt says.

Hermann nods. He looks strangely adorable with water droplets on his nose and his hair plastered to his head like that. Newt has to get out of here before he does something stupid, like take Hermann's pointy cheeks between his hands and put their mouths together on purpose. He doesn't think Hermann would respond to that very well right now.

"I'll get you one too," Newt says, and it takes a lot of effort to force himself to his feet.

Hermann nods again.

"Okay," Newt says, and stumbles away. Out of the corner of his eye, he just catches Hermann raising a hand to his mouth.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #hermann's pov in that one bit was just 'mouth............'

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sapphicquill · 3 years

Note

congrats on 100 followers friend <3 may I ask for anything with ler!Fjord bc the way you wrote teasing in your TAZ fic was so good? or lee!Lucretia during the Stolen Century arc being tickled out of her antisocial little shell if you're in a TAZ mood :) -Chock

Whoops. This is what happens when my whole life gets flipped upside down and I have to move cross-country back home out of no where! Sorry for the long wait, I'm finally making headway on these fics. I owe the entirety of this fic to @ticklishnonsense's honey-tongued because that’s the Ultimate Teasey Ler!Fjord fic and to @poesparakeet-fics for the plot because my smol brain could not come up with anything good and she gave me THE GOODS. Hope you enjoy, @chockfullofsecrets!

(ao3 link!)

Rating: Teen

Characters: Fjord, Caleb Widogast

Wordcount: 2423

After everything they’ve all been through, Fjord thinks he can handle most things. Spitting up salt water in the mornings, nearly getting impaled by strangers on a regular basis, Nott rifling through his shit—while he’d rather not deal with all of that bullshit, he can and that’s the important thing.

But the crushing weight of all the damn pining happening between Caleb and Essek might be the one thing Fjord absolutely cannot handle for any longer.

It had started innocently enough. Hands brushing and secret smiles and eyes briefly meeting before diverting, full of nerves and excitement and swirling butterflies. He’d experienced some of the same with Jester, but the two wizards were starting to get insufferable. It was painfully obvious to anyone in the room that they had a thing for one another, and even if it wasn’t, Fjord had overheard Caleb whining to Jester more than once about the entire situation, so it wasn’t like he was entirely oblivious to his own crush.

But apparently perpetually sad and stuffy wizards are really bad at just admitting what was right in front of their faces. Fjord’s worried that one of them might just explode soon, and that’s the entirely altruistic reasoning that finally inspires him to insert himself into the situation.

Caleb’s problem, Fjord thinks, is one of confidence. He gets too caught up in his own keen mind, tangling everything up in his head and overthinking and overanalyzing and panicking and deconstructing until everything’s just a jumbled mess of knots. He just needs a little push is all. A little something to nudge him past the trouble that is thinking and into acting. And Fjord thinks he knows a fairly good method of encouragement.

Thus, Fjord is currently standing in the doorway of the mansion library, trying not to reveal his presence too early. Caleb is folded over a desk with a pinched expression on his face that Fjord knows by now means he’s reached some sort of roadblock in whatever he was working on. In other words: a perfect time for an interruption.

“Productive afternoon?”

It’s a testament to how close the group has gotten that Caleb only sort-of flinches at the sudden sound of Fjord’s voice.

“Ah, nein, not really,” the wizard replies as he straightens up. His back makes an ominous cracking noise as he sits up and Fjord winces in sympathy.

“Gods, then maybe it’s time to take a break, hm?”

“Ja, a break…” Caleb trails off, eyes drifting back to the scattered parchment and books on the desk. Fjord resists the temptation to roll his eyes at the utterly predictability of their headstrong wizard.

“Okay, well now I’m making you take a break, Widogast,” he says as he marches swiftly over to Caleb and practically hauls him out of his chair. Caleb, unsurprisingly, goes willingly, letting himself be shuffled over to a nearby sofa.

With a huff, Caleb sits and begins massaging his temples, willing away either a physical ache or a swirling mass of snarled thoughts and ideas. Fjord lowers himself down next to the human and pretends like he isn’t thrilled over what he’s about to do.

A comfortable silence descends then. After a few more vigorous rubs, Caleb leans his head back against the leather of the sofa and closes his eyes and Fjord figures this is the best chance to spring the trap.

Quick as a slash of his falchion, Fjord twists from his spot next to Caleb and pulls him down into a horizontal position before caging the human in from above. He hovers over the now-prone wizard and tries not to feel too smug as Caleb yelps but doesn’t move an inch to try to wiggle away.

“Scheiße, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about something,” Fjord says casually as he can. Caleb gives him an exasperated look, complete with raised eyebrow and suspicious frown.

“And this ‘something’ requires you to pin me to a sofa?”

Fjord grins before scooping both of Caleb’s wrists up with one hand and pulling them above his head. Exasperation shifts quickly into a mix of disbelief, fear, and anticipation and Fjord is lucky that around his friends, Caleb wears his emotions very clearly on his face.

“Well,” the warlock starts, “I kind of figured that this particular topic would send you scampering off if I didn’t take some preventative measures.”

A fiery blush colors Caleb’s cheeks and Fjord tries not to laugh.

“And something tells me I thought correctly.”

Caleb makes a noise not unlike one Fjord’s heard from Frumpkin and finally starts to struggle lightly in his grasp, like his body is only now catching up with the rest of him. Fjord lets him, figuring that letting the wizard work himself into a bit of a tizzy will just make his own task easier. Caleb’s terribly predictable. As the human squirms minutely under him, Fjord lets his free hand curve subtly into a claw and hovers it just next to Caleb’s lower ribs.

“Now, see, I also think you might benefit from a little preemptive encouragement, because you’re the most stubborn fucker I’ve ever met when you have to talk about anything personal...”

Fjord trails off when he notices that Caleb’s eyes have locked onto his hand, mostly because he knows that the brilliant mage has connected all of the appropriate dots and will voice a protest in three, two—

“N-nein, Fjord, wait just a moment, there is no need for—”

Fjord slowly flutters his fingers, still poised a hair’s breadth from the stretched expanse of Caleb’s ribs, and Caleb cuts himself off with a hitched laugh-gasp, eyes wide as saucers.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate right now,” Fjord says, the edges of his voice tinged with a low growl as he keeps the motion of his fingers going. Caleb doesn’t really do much aside from grow ever so slightly redder in the face.

Without further preamble, Fjord finally moves his hand to meet Caleb’s torso. It’s like the wizard has been hit with a successful Thunderwave—his whole body jolts before tensing up so tightly he trembles. Continuing the fluttering from before, Fjord traces across the space between Caleb’s two lowest ribs and grins when Caleb lets out something between a giggle and a whine.

“Gods, you’re so easy to rile up, you know that?”

Caleb’s giggling picks up at Fjord’s words. He’d have pity on the wizard if it wasn’t so adorable. Still gently teasing at the softness of Caleb’s lower ribs, the half-orc leans forward until his mouth is right next to his victim’s ear.

“You’re just that ticklish, huh?”

Caleb thrashes, throwing his head from side to side so rapidly Fjord would be worried the human would hurt himself if he hadn’t watched this happen numerous times before. For good measure, he lets his fingers drift up Caleb’s ribs and lets out a small laugh himself as the giggles morph into airy, full-blown laughter. Exactly as planned.

“So you and Essek,” Fjord says casually as he straightens back up, pitching his voice a little louder to be heard over Caleb’s bubbly laughter. The wizard definitely seems to register his words if the cut-off gasp and even more desperate wiggles are any indication. Fjord laughs a little to himself at the adorable way Caleb scrunches his nose when the increased movement does little to deter his attack. Taking a little pity, Fjord pushes on, his free fingers swirling tight circles up and down Caleb’s right side.

“You know he likes you too, right?”

Fjord’s not exactly sure humans are supposed to turn that shade of red, but Jester’s got healing spells to spare right now, so he continues.

“And as amusing as it is watching you two dance around each other, it’s getting a bit old.”

“B-bitte, Fjord—!”

Caleb’s own laughter cuts off whatever plea was going to escape next. The wizard flops his head a bit side to side, like if he shakes enough he’ll clear Fjord’s words like trapped water from his ears. It’s downright precious and one hundred percent ineffective.

Adjusting his grip on Caleb’s wrists, Fjord lets his fingers trail up his captive’s ribs in the same slow pace he knows will drive Caleb up the damn wall. It’s a little impressive, actually, how easily this light tickling can take their resident wizard apart. Particularly useful at certain times. He can feel Caleb trembling under him, laughs high and desperate as the light tracing fingertips slowly migrate up to what both Jester and Molly affectionately refer to as his worst “death spots.”

“So, here’s my idea.”

His fingers flutter just below the space where his holsters normally are—fortunate Caleb feels comfortable and safe enough to remove them when at the house—and the wizard groans through his laughter.

“Either you promise that you’ll confess to Essek the next time he’s around, or I’ll just have to keep tickling you forever. How’s that sound?”

“Wh-aaat? Bitte, no, that is e-eehviil!”

“That’s kind of the point, bud,” Fjord replies around another laugh of his own. He floats his fingers up the scant few millimeters to the space between Caleb’s uppermost ribs without prompting and hopes that the wail the human lets out doesn’t worry the rest of the Nein. (It shouldn’t, not with the frequency Caleb makes noises like that.)

“I’m not letting up until you tell me the first words out of your mouth when you see Essek next are ‘Can we talk somewhere privately, Shadowhand?’” Fjord pitches his voice into a terrifically awful imitation of a Zemnian accent that has Caleb laughing, somehow, even harder. Though, on second thought, that might have more to do with the rapid little scribbles he’s got focused on the space above Caleb’s top rib than his attempt at accentwork.

Unsurprisingly, Caleb doesn’t say anything much in response, instead throwing all of his effort into laughing and squirming ineffectively. Fjord keeps a careful ear out for any hint of the safeword Jester had insisted everyone know about and respect upon pain of near-death, but the only thing coming out of Caleb is whimpered begging and a spray of foreign curses. Perfect.

Fjord takes a split second to send a silent apology to Jester, who will no doubt be massively upset she missed out on assisting Fjord with this bit of encouragement, but this was his game right now, dammit, and it was time to go for the kill.

(Would it be worth the inevitable tickling the blue tiefling would dish out later? Most definitely.)

“Alright, well, suit yourself, Widogast.”

With that, Fjord moves the tickling to Caleb’s exposed underarm and focuses the entirety of his attention on making the human melt.

With an impressive amount of core strength, Caleb attempts to jackknife in half to throw Fjord off. Fortunately, their wizard’s tricks are well known by now. Fjord barely budges as he keeps up the spidering under Caleb’s arm, letting his fingers trail just the slightest bit up the underside of Caleb’s bicep before reversing back down to the soft spot just above Caleb’s uppermost rib.

The fight drains out of the mage just as quickly as it revved up, leaving him loose and floppy and lost in the throws of his own cackling. Fjord would feel bad if he didn’t know how much Caleb was enjoying himself. Time to step things up a notch.

“You know how to get me to stop, Caleb. Do you really like the thought of me tickling you like this more than the idea of confessing to a crush you know is damn-well mutual? Really seems like it.”

More wailing, more thrashing, but still, no dice. Maybe a slightly different approach…

“Gods above, you’re just too ticklish for your own good, aren’t you?”

As always, Caleb responds viscerally to the mere word and that, of all things, seems to be the final straw.

“Scheiße, bitte! Habt mitleid! Ohhkay, I pr-promise!”

“You promise what?”

“Oh please, I caa-aan’t—!”

Fjord shifts from light tracing along Caleb’s top ribs to a solid press of his palm, steadying the human as his laughter slowly eases up. After a few gulps of air, Caleb continues.

“I will tell Essek how I truly feel when we next encounter him, I swear to you!”

“You’re absolutely promising me you’ll spill about your deep, undying love for Essek Thelyss the very moment he’s within twenty yards of you?” Fjord taunts, curling his fingers back into a claw at Caleb’s right side. The human tenses and anticipatory giggles start bubbling from him almost instantly.

“Ja, ja, I a-ahh-m!”

“Good!” Fjord says brightly, pulling his hand away from Caleb’s squirming form. He smiles down at Caleb, who looks about ready to protest the large hand still pining his wrists to the sofa, before lowering himself to speak directly into the wizard’s ear.

“And maybe after you two have worked everything out, I’ll have a little chat with Essek myself about how much you like this particular method of torture.”

Caleb looks a bit like he’s swallowed a toad.

“F-fjord, mein Gott, wait—”

“I’m sure Molly and Jester would be more than happy to help me tell him all of the best ways to tickle you senseless, hmm? They’re tieflings, you know how honest they get when tickling comes up. They’ll just gush about how much you love it when we wreck you until you can’t remember your own name.”

He isn’t even tickling him anymore, but Caleb is giggling, light and bubbly and tortured, all from Fjord’s teasing alone.

“Hell, maybe we’ll all get you the next time Essek comes by the tower. How’d you like that, him watching you get tickled by every single one of us until you cry and knowing you love every minute of it?”

Caleb’s just babbling in Zemnian through his laughter, eyes squeezed shut and a grin pulling wide at his lips.

“D’you think he’d join in if we asked him to?”

Caleb just keeps laughing. Fjord grins. Mission successful.

#tk fic #tk fic community #tickle fic #critickle role #critickle role fic #cr tk fic #lee caleb #ler fjord #prompt fill #chockfullofsecrets #100 follower prompt celebration #finally filling these bad boys #big thanks to poe for actually motivating me to write this thank yooooou #sapphicquillfics

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moonlight-prose · 3 years

Text

Sorrows of Sunlight and Apathy of Love

A/N: I know I said no fics yet, and well that’s technically true, but I got this out in the span of three days. So I hope you enjoy.

Poem quoted in the fic is A Drinking Song by William Butler Yeats.

Summary: Just me trying my best at what I think is a character study. I’m probably really wrong though. Season 3 Javi

Word Count: 1.4k

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings: Gratuitous angst, mentions of violence, mention of drugs, depression. let me know if i missed anything.

“Wine comes in at the mouth

And love comes in at the eye;”

What a shitty way to live. Having to come to terms with the understanding that one day, you’d come face to face with the detrimental avalanche of pain that was loving someone. It’s a shitty way to live. Knowing it will happen, but never knowing how to avoid it from happening to you. It’s how he lived. Dealing with the terror that came with concealing the emotions he pretended not to harbor.

Love. A nonsensical word that was supposed to do what? Describe the feeling of wanting someone every second of every day.

It was a shitty way to live. Having to try and understand it, only to finally grasp that word, that emotion in your palms, and have it slip away just as fast as water moves down a river. Both vicious in a way. Both forces of nature. And both killers in their own right.

If one person was meant to fall in love. Then they were trapped in a horror film that was only put into black and white; ominous music playing on a continuous loop in the background. He supposed he had been trapped in a horror film his whole adult life. Beginning the second he left Texas to come to Colombia, because the terror he felt his first day on the job was akin to the same fear one felt dealing with ghosts and poltergeists.

There were two sides of the spectrum for him. His reality that held the cold handshake of death. That looked him in the eyes and told him he’d now become the bad guy and the good guy but with no balance in between. Sex turned into what alcohol was. Another numbness to get through the days, to survive the horror movie and come out some sort of a person.

Alcohol became water. Just another thing to put in the body so he’d continue to breathe; continue to hold the cold silver metal gun that had now become what the reaper used. Ironic in a way.

Except then there was the other side of the spectrum. The one that he valued more than his job, more than his life on some days. It was the warmth of that emotional river he never dared to cross. His own version of cocaine. The drug that he sought out at night to keep his head from sinking below the water and completely drowning in the fear.

You.

The sunlight he grasped at to keep himself from shivering in the dark corners of his broken mind.

“That’s all we shall know for truth

Before we grow old and die.”

What a shitty way to live. Understanding that he may in fact not be okay, but never being brave enough to tell anyone. He tells you and although it may be silent, you seem to understand. Know what he’s saying through his actions, by the touches he gives, by the way he kisses. It’s a silent language that you’ve come to be fluent in; one that’s specific to him and no one else.

Days were cloudy, hard to bear, and yet in the end the sky always cleared to reveal the heat, sometimes searing, that came with the sunlight. He survived the dark days, fought past the acid rain of agony, just so he could stumble his way back to that small fucking apartment. Just so he could crawl his way beneath the covers, having stripped off everything but his own skin. Just so he could find his way back to you.

His mind was a dark labyrinth with no directions as to what was where. Riddled with fear, adrenaline, and one goal. Stay alive long enough to finish the job. Although some days that too became a cloudy vision in his head; another reminder he told himself so he didn’t forget why he had come here in the first place.

He’ll admit he wasn’t a good man. He didn’t have the merits, nor the soul left to proudly bear, because it had been taken from him. He had become a man who lived long enough to see far too much done to innocent people. Who lived to try and stop it only to realize that the corruption, the guilt, the horror; it went down to the roots. They’d given him a part to play a long time ago, except he’d thrown out the script; burned it at their feet.

And like before, he found his way back to that warmth.

He fell into your open arms, breathed in your scent, heard your strong heartbeat, and felt some weight lift off his shoulders. Felt another layer of grief scrape off his skin. You understood that he couldn’t always say what he felt. That some days the only thing he needed was a release, and other days he needed to be offered arms to sleep in. It had become a brutal balance between the two spectrums of his reality and his home, and you were right in the middle of it.

The days where he staved off enough of the bad and got a glimmer of a chance to focus on the good, were the days he felt alive. His heart still beat on other days, blood still maneuvering through the body, organs still doing their job, though his liver had many complaints. Except he felt dead. Felt as if the pain receptors in his brain were the only things working, and the emotions had been cut off some time ago.

But when he was with you, they were healed. You managed to find your way through that labyrinth; locate the broken parts, and hold them together long enough to bring forth the human that lay in the center of it all. The man that had curled in on himself long before he met you. While the exterior was tough, hard as nails, and fighting every day of his life for a fight that was twenty times bigger than him, the interior was not the same.

He knew where he stood in this world, and it terrified him to the very scars that had been ingrained in his bones. And yet among the fear, he still found it in himself to care. To hold the things that made him who he was in his hands, clutch at them for safety, and promise himself that they were okay. That he was okay. His family, the small portrait of his mother he had, and even Steve, although he’d never admit it to anyone.

But then there was you. The one thing he held onto as if letting it go meant death itself. You understood him more than anyone. Understood that he was merely a man, standing in the shoes of what people believed to be a good person. But was he a good person? You were somehow able to give him that answer. He however didn’t know an answer even existed.

So, on those days he managed to lay in the old uncomfortable bed with you, watching as the sun crept through the cracks in a window he promised himself he’d fix, he found Javier again. He found the man who had uttered those three words two months ago. The man who continued to whisper them to you like a closely kept secret that only you could know. And when you turned over, sought out the warmth he seemed to emit, and opened your eyes, he knew.

Whatever sunlight that filtered through the broken glass was meant for other people and never for him. Because when he met your eyes, heavy with sleep but still laced with love right down to the roots, he knew he was looking at his own sunlight. The sorrow of what came before seemed to fade with every passing second, as the apathy he held towards that one nonsensical word went with it. You reached out for him, dragged him closer, and pressed yourself against him.

A sleep induced kiss would follow that he’d allow himself to cherish for as long as it lasted, and then you uttered those three little words. The same ones that seemed to make him float from just the sound.

“I love you,” you whispered into the kiss.

He smiled, repeating them back, the horror movie now ending, the labyrinth now empty of fear, as he basked in the warmth of you. His sunlight.

“I lift the glass to my mouth,

I look at you, and I sigh.”

Masterlist

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #pedro pascal #javier peña #my writing #tw: depression

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ex-vengeancedemon · 3 years

Text

Hey Jealousy

One shot btvs fanfic inspired by this post by @trulyanenchantedrose

Summary: A what-if scenario where in episode 2x01 When She Was Bad, Buffy dances with Spike instead of Xander to make Angel jealous.

Edit: I wrote another version of this fic from Spike's POV called "Payback and Performances"

Read below or on ao3

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Buffy stood in front of her mirror examining the little black dress she had purchased over the summer with something like indifference. It would do for a night out at the Bronze with Xander and Willow. A real head turner. She caught herself wondering briefly if Angel might be there. Not that it mattered. He was just another vampire. And she was the slayer. A match made by some god with a sick sense of irony.

Without bothering to tell her mom where she was going, she grabbed her coat and marched out of the house towards the Bronze. It was a nice night for a walk. As she walked passed the cemetery, she pointedly avoided looking in the direction of the Master's grave. Out of sight, out of mind. Tonight was for letting loose and living life to the fullest. She had to enjoy it while it lasted. It probably wouldn't last long. She had already cheated death once and wasn't expecting any more freebies.

She was surprised when she found herself standing in front of the Bronze with its characteristic illuminated sign. The walk had gone quicker than she had anticipated. She barely even remembered it. It was difficult to stay grounded lately. She often caught herself drifting... and she wasn't sure if returning to Sunnydale had improved the situation. Seeing everyone again, it was a lot to handle all at once. They all wanted her to be fine, to act normal. As if she didn't want that too.

Buffy steeled herself and took a deep breath. She could do this. Whatever fresh hell was thrown her way, she could handle it. She opened the door and entered the Bronze with her head held high and a bravado she found suited to the occasion. Cibo Matto had just started up a new song and the Bronze was packed with people swaying and dancing to the beat. Buffy shrugged off her coat and began to sway in time with the music as she started towards Willow and Xander's table. Of course, they were just sitting there. They never seemed able to make a move without her.

Before she could make it more than five steps through the door, she was intercepted by none other than her old flame, Angel. If he wasn't a centuries old vampire with seemingly constant ominous warnings, she might think he was stalking her. Despite her outward apathy, her mind flashed back to the previous night when he had visited her room. He had said he missed her. She pushed the thought down.

"Hi," Buffy said, raising her eyebrows at him in a sort of question.

"Hi," Angel replied.

He seemed a bit nervous, looking down at the ground. Looking anywhere but her eyes. Figures.

"So, is there danger at the Bronze?" she drawled. "Should I beware?"

Angel sighed and shook his head. "I can't help thinking I've done something to make you angry. And that bothers me more than I'd like."

Was he talking about last night? Or right now? She wasn't angry, but if he carried on like this she might start to be. What did he mean by 'bothers me more than I'd like'? As if liking her was some kind of travesty that he wished he could have avoided.

Buffy shrugged. "I'm not angry. I don't know where that comes from."

Angel seemed unconvinced. Why was it so difficult to get people to take you at your word?

"What are you afraid of?" he persisted. "Me? Us?"

Buffy scoffed. "Could you contemplate getting over yourself for a second? There is no us." She shook her head and gave an exasperated laugh. "Look, Angel, I'm sorry if I was supposed to spend the summer mooning over you, but I didn't."

She thought she could see something like hurt on his face, but she didn't let up.

"I moved on," Buffy continued. Then, as she brushed passed him, she added for good measure, "To the living."

As if to prove her point, Buffy abruptly changed course, heading away from Xander and Willow and towards the dance floor. She caught her friends' puzzled expressions, but she ignored them. She could talk to them later. Or not. If not tonight, then tomorrow. They always seemed to be around. As unavoidable as Angel. Angel who was still watching her every move. What was the saying? We always want what we can't have?

Buffy felt multiple pairs of eyes on her as she scanned the dance floor. The dress was a success then. File that away for later. Finally she settled on a pair of eyes that had been watching her curiously from the edge of the dance floor. He was perfect. Bleached hair with a long black leather jacket, all he was missing was the studs for the punk-rock vibe. He looked like she felt: dangerous and out for trouble. It didn't hurt that he had a face that screamed "if looks could kill". That was important. But this wasn't retaliation, Buffy told herself, it was fun. It wasn't about Angel. It was about having a good time, and forgetting about-

Buffy strode up to the stranger as a bemused expression flickered across his features. Or maybe it was alarm? She couldn't really be sure. The lighting was dim.

"And just what can I do for you?" the stranger asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

He had a British accent. Kind of like Giles. Only not like Giles. God, she really didn't want to be comparing him to Giles right now. She didn't want to be thinking of Giles at all. Or of vampires. Or slaying or any of it.

Buffy tilted her head in her best attempt at looking flirtatious. "Well this is a dance floor. Dance with me."

The stranger's eyes widened slightly and he let out a low chuckle. "Who am I to refuse a lady?"

Buffy took his hand and pulled him out into the center of the dance floor. No point in having fun if no one could see it. She spotted Angel still standing at the back out of her peripheral vision. Good. Maybe this would be what he needed to move on. She shoved down the sharp pain that thought caused.

Spinning around to face her new dance partner, Buffy slowly raised her hands above her head and began swaying her hips to the music. It was a slow, sultry song, which was perfect for all intents and purposes. Her partner placed his hands on her waist and pulled her closer as he moved along with her.

He leaned in closer to her ear and said, "Name's Spike."

"I don't remember asking," Buffy replied, moving her arms down over his head.

What kind of name was Spike anyway? Guess it matched his general vibe.

Spike just grinned back and pulled her flush against him. "Oh you're a fiery one. I like it. Got to appreciate a girl with flair."

Buffy locked eyes with him, holding his gaze just a bit too long. She suddenly felt very exposed. Like she had been caught doing something she shouldn't. She hastily turned around with her back facing Spike, wrapping his arms back around her waist as she did so.

He leaned down next to her ear and asked, "Is that your beau over there?"

"What?" Buffy asked, startled out of an almost trace-like state.

Even though she had asked who he was referring to, she knew he meant Angel. She had been watching him discreetly, sneaking glances here and there. At the moment, Angel's face was pale - even more so than usual - and drawn. If she had wanted to get under his skin, it looked like she was succeeding.

"The git you've been eyeing," Spike replied. She could feel him smirk against her ear. "What'd he do to merit this little show?"

Buffy reached up and put her hand behind his head, moving slowly down and then back up again. Spike's hands traced lightly along the curves of her body, barely concealed under the thin layer of fabric. She was keenly aware of his every move. Just as she was keenly aware of their observers. Even Willow and Xander had begun to gape.

As she moved his head back down to her neck, she answered, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Spike turned her around and placed his arms on her shoulders, locking his hands behind her. "Bloody right I would. But, I'll settle for evening the score. Want to give him a real show?"

He took her chin between his thumb and index finger and lifted her head up slightly. This time when they locked eyes, Buffy didn't look away. Taking that as an invitation, Spike leaned down and kissed her. The kiss started out slow but quickly deepened in a way familiar to the desperate and afraid. She shivered slightly as his hand traced up her spine. She hoped Angel was watching. She hoped they all were. She was fine. Perfectly fine.

Buffy pulled away, her skin slightly flushed, as the song came to an end. "Guess that's curtains."

"A gentleman would walk a lady home," Spike replied, still holding onto her waist.

"Are you a gentleman?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he replied, mimicking her earlier line.

He raised an eyebrow at her and offered her his arm. She hesitated for a moment before accepting it. It was only a walk. And leaving with Spike was sure to get a reaction out of- Nobody. It didn't matter.

She caught Spike winking at Angel as they walked to the door. Now that might be a bit much, but she elected to ignore it for now. She glanced back at Angel one last time, and was startled to find him glowering after her. She had expected some emotion from him, yes. But she hadn't thought it'd be anger. Why wouldn't it be? a little voice in her head whispered. He was a vampire. Anger was kind of the default.

Buffy and Spike had only gotten maybe 10 yards outside the Bronze when Buffy heard the metal door slam open.

Angel came rushing out and yelled after her. "Buffy!"

Spike took his hand back from Buffy and gave her a charming smile. "Well, I think that's my cue."

With that, he walked off - in no apparent hurry - with his hands in his pockets, leaving a bewildered Buffy behind him. Angel had broken out into a sprint and was barreling toward her and the whole situation seemed almost comical.

"Angel?" Buffy asked, giving him an irritated look. "What the hell?"

Spike raised an arm up and waved without looking back. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Slayer!"

The blood rushed out of Buffy's face and her jaw clenched. How could he know that?

"Oh, and Angel?" Spike said, turning around and continuing to walk away backwards. "Your girl? Delicious."

He gave one last satisfied grin before disappearing around the corner.

Angel ran up next to her and stopped. Buffy wasn't sure she knew what to say. Angel wasn't saying anything. He was just glaring after Spike.

"Who the hell was that?" Buffy finally asked him.

-----

Note: Had to write it a bit out of character since the timing is so early in the seasons. My excuse for Angel not doing anything immediately is that Spike was threatening Buffy when she couldn't see and so Angel didn't do anything then. But since its written from Buffy's pov she wouldn't have known. Anyway, enjoy!

#btvs #btvs fanfiction #buffy the vampire slayer fanfiction #buffy the vampire slayer #spuffy fanfic #spuffy #spike x buffy #i wrote this in a few hours so apologies if its rough #hey jealousy #btvs one shot #listen. im not great at writing any kind of romance. ive got the romantic abilities and inclinations of faith so like yeah. but i tried

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therealvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 2

insomniac

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: insomnia, nightmares, (remembering) death, panic attack, cuddling, fluff

AN: Here she is!! I’ve decided to give oc a little ~tragic backstory~ and I really hope it comes across like I’ve intended. I wouldn’t go so far as to call in angst, necessarily, but there’ll definitely be some in the future. Also, I know I’ve painted Annie and Reiner in a really bad light so far in this particular fic, but please know that’s not how I view them in canon at all - it’s simply because someone had to be the bad guy:( Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy and as always don’t hesitate to reach out via reblog/ask with any suggestions/feedback/questions!! ~valkyrie

(read Part 1.5 here)

Bodies jostle against you in the darkness to the beat of music you can’t hear. The buzzing gets louder, drowning out even your own screams for them to stop.

Stop. Stop. STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP!

“STOP IT!” You can hear yourself this time, your voice embarrassingly loud in the cramped room. You slap hands over your mouth but everyone’s already turned to look at you, disgusted at the display of emotion. Even they peel their faces apart to sneer down their noses.

“Why should we?” Annie’s voice rings with superiority, swirling around the space and nestling in the crook of your neck. You shudder away, but the faceless bodies shove you back.

“Don’t you know this is your fault, anyway? You weren’t enough for me.” Reiner jeers with a satisfied smirk. The whole room laughs, cackling and giggling spitefully. You can’t move, muscles frozen, as they turn back to each other and continue making out. His hand in her hair, her thigh hooked over his hip, obscenely wet noises from their joined mouths.

You scream and scream and scream, jaw wide and aching, and all of a sudden the scene shifts and you’re at your mother’s bedside. Your breath hitches and you’re screaming in a child’s voice this time.

“Mommy, Mommy, no, please, no, MOMMY, PLEASE--”

Your hand twitches towards her and its movement against soft sheets brings you back to consciousness.

You’re spread-eagled in bed, comforter kicked almost completely off, chest heaving.

“One. Two. Three. Four…” you count in a hoarse whisper to yourself, staring out the window at gently falling snow illuminated in yellow streetlights. It takes you to one hundred and twenty-seven before you’re calm enough to do anything productive.

You reach out a blind hand to find your phone on the nightstand and raise it up to check the time. 4:47 am. Nearly three hours of sleep.

Eh, good enough for jazz.

You heave a sigh, then push up to sit on the edge of your bed and flick on the lamp. The sudden bright light makes you squint against sharp pain behind your eyes and turn away in search of a sweatshirt. Some sifting through the ever-growing pile of laundry later, you settle on a green university hoodie and pull it on over your ratty tank top. Your toes and fingers always feel like icicles after waking up from a nightmare, so you find faux fur-lined slippers as well.

As you push past your bedroom door and into the living room, a figure in the comfy armchair catches the corner of your eye.

You nearly jump out of your skin before recognizing who it is. “Christ on a cracker, Levi! Nearly scared me half to death.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry as he marks the page in his book and sets it on the coffee table.

“What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“Well that’s not ominous or anything,” you mutter with an eye roll as you cross to the kitchen and set the kettle to boil for coffee.

Levi sighs and pinches the bridge of his elegant nose.

“Sorry. That’s not what I meant. It’s just… I noticed you haven’t been sleeping much lately and I’m worried.” He crosses to sit at the kitchen table and speaks to your back as you shuffle around the kitchen.

“What do you mean? Of course I’ve been sleeping. Whaddaya think I was just doing?”

“It’s five am, and you were still up when I went to sleep at twelve. Optimistically, that’s four hours of sleep. And yesterday you went to bed after one, but Hange said you were texting her at five-thirty, and--”

“Jeez, what, have you been stalking me or something?” you ask with an incredulous glance over your shoulder.

“We live together. It’s kind of hard not to notice.” Levi’s tone is the usual dry you’ve come to expect, but there’s an undercurrent that you’re too exhausted to pinpoint. “And Hange also told me she’s been worried.”

“What is this, an intervention? Just because I break up with someone I’m suddenly incapable of functioning?” Your voice (and headache) rises with each phrase, cracking on the morning dryness in the air, and you spin to face him.

“I didn’t say that, I--”

“Am I just supposed to wallow in misery for the rest of my life? No. I’m not doing that, Levi, I’m moving on. I-- I’m a busy woman, I’ve got finals and, and internship applications, and I happen to enjoy waking up early. I like watching the sunrise.” Though your words are rushed and you’re gesturing animatedly, uncertainty seeps through the stuttered phrases in your argument.

Levi lets you finish, then returns in a measured voice: “Why are you so defensive about this? I know you’re busy. So am I. But I manage to get more than four hours of sleep at night. I just want to help.”

His statement hangs in the air like dust mites, swirling around you and clinging to the sticky after-effects of the nightmare in your mind. You frown and drop your eyes to the linoleum, guilt settling into the stickiness.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Your voice is much softer. “I just--” A deep sigh. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why?”

The simple question makes your breath stutter and you scrub a hand down your face in an effort to ground your skin into reality.

“It’s so stupid.” It’s practically a whisper. “I have these nightmares. About my mom. I got them when I was younger, too, but eventually they just sort of… stopped. But now they’re back. And I can’t ever get back to sleep after, so I just stopped bothering to try.”

“You know, sometimes I get nightmares, too.”

The admission catches you off guard, your eyes widening. Levi always seems so… steady and sure, you wouldn’t have expected it.

“Really?”

He nods. “About my mom and the foster homes.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you…” Your heart sinks, and you don’t know how to say you’re sorry for the heartbreak he must’ve lived through with any semblance of tact.

“Yeah. It’s not something I talk about much.”

“Right.” You pause and chew on your tongue thoughtfully for a moment. “Do you have...strategies for when you can’t sleep because of them?”

“I have sleeping pills from my psychiatrist and some meditation practices that work for me. I can send you some resources, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I’d really appreciate that if it’s not a bother.” You feel kind of sheepish now, for raising your voice, and so try to sound extra thankful for his help.

“It’s not.” He stands up and stretches both arms over his head, tipping his face up to the sky, lean body arching and twisting with the effort of it. “I’ll send them to you later today. I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“Okay. Thank you, Levi.”

He nods and yawns, nose scrunching adorably. “Night, kid.”

“Good night.”

As his bedroom door clicks shut, you sigh yet again and turn off the stove. The first thing to avoid is probably coffee.

Your fingers flick off last rivulets of water as you step out of the shower. A shiver rattles its way up your spine before you can grab a towel to dry off. Bless Levi, he had done laundry today and the towel is still dryer-warm, smelling of his favorite fabric softener.

As you go through your evening routine (tooth brushing, face washing, hair drying), you can feel a quiet tension set into your shoulders despite the humidity of the bathroom.

The day had gone okay. You managed to resist coffee until 8 am and cut yourself off at 3. A lecture and a studio in the morning left the afternoon for library studying and a trip to the grocery store.

You had actually seen Bertholdt there, in the cereal aisle. You hadn’t been too keen on having that particular conversation, but luckily he hadn’t seemed to be either. The pair of you exchanged sympathetically awkward smiles before turning back to the Cheerios.

The evening consisted of ordering chinese takeout while obsessing over your latest architecture design project, followed by convincing Hange over the phone not to sleep in the mouse lab for extra credit.

“But Bean will be lonely!” she insisted hysterically. “And Sonny wasn’t looking too hot in lab today, what if he needs his mommy and I’m not there?”

“You’re not their mommy,” you reminded her. “They have each other to keep them company, and if Sonny dies, won’t it support your hypothesis anyway?”

She had eventually acquiesced when you promised to help her plan a memorial should they pass in the night.

So now here you are, skin slowly drying, as you psych yourself up in the mirror to go to sleep.

“It won’t be bad. Just use the meditations Levi sent you.” You try to inject confidence into your voice, but you only end up grimacing at yourself in the mirror. “Ah, fuck it.”

You tuck your towel in firmly around your chest and double check to see your things are put away before going back to your room.

As you pass, you hesitate by Levi’s door for a moment. His normal studying music, Chopin, is on and light creeps out from underneath. Another moment of uncertainty, then you gently knock and poke your head in.

“Levi?” He raises his head from where he’s hunched over an easel, paint brush in hand. Brow furrowed and body tensed like a strung bow, he doesn’t look happy to be interrupted.

Fuck.

“I, uhm, just wanted to say good night.”

He grunts and turns back to the painting.

You take that as your cue to leave.

Back in the sanctuary of your own room, you curse again and kick your desk chair, sending it rolling a couple inches.

Why had you bothered him? To say good night?

“Stupid, stupid, UGH.” Your dramatic outburst ends in flopping face-first into bed. Just because he felt concerned enough to stage a fucking intervention doesn’t mean he’s your fucking nanny. Idiot.

Eventually, you roll over and get up to change into pajamas.

Settling into bed, you open your newly downloaded meditation app and start an audio.

“As you prepare for your meditation practice today, find a comfortable position sitting or lying down where you can fully relax….”

The cool female voice wraps your mind in a hazy blanket of fog and eventually coaxes your body into an achingly needed sleep.

This time the dream wakes you up whimpering into your pillow, arms flung above your head as though you’re skydiving. With a sucking breath, you lift your head to prevent imminent suffocation and instead settle on your side, staring unblinkingly into the darkness. Breath ragged in your chest, your mind can’t seem to move past the last image of your nightmare.

It’s burned into your retinas when you close your eyes and etched onto the moonlight-pale wall when they’re open: your mom’s pallid face staring up at the ceiling, hands resting on top of her blue embroidered duvet cover, chest still.

A sob escapes your unwilling throat and you’re scrambling to sit up and reach for the lamp. The lamplight suddenly reminds you of your own existence in the physical plane, thrusting all your senses into sharp contrast.

Her greying, thinning hair, the frailty in her fingers, the cracks in her lips, the cloying scent of death.

“Nonononononononono,” you moan, hunched over your knees, fingers tangled in your hair. Your stomach is hollow, chest tight, tears now flowing in earnest. It hasn’t been this bad in a long time, not since 7th grade at least.

Do something, do something, you stupid bitch, your mind is yelling at you, and so you force your body to move. Somewhere, anywhere other than here.

You practically fall out of bed and then lean heavily on your desk to compensate for shaking knees as you move to the door. Feet shuffle in the darkness and all of a sudden you’re sniffling outside Levi’s door, fingers in a deathgrip on your shirt. One, two breaths and you knock three hesitant raps.

Fuck. Shit. Instant regret bubbles up in your throat and you pivot away. Before you can get far, the door opens and you hear Levi’s sleep-ragged voice utter your name like a question. Damn.

You turn back sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve woken you up. Go back to bed.” Your voice is unnaturally breathy as Levi tries to make you out in the dim light of the moon filtering in through the living room window.

He reaches for your shoulder to gently pull you out of the shadows, and realization crosses his face as he registers the tear tracks and haunting terror in your eyes.

“It happened again,” he states.

You nod hesitantly and wipe at your cheeks with the back of one hand. You try again to tell him that no, really, you’re fine and he should go back to bed, but the words get lost in the tangle of truths between your brain and mouth.

Instead, what comes out is: “Can… can I sleep with you?” Your eyes finally flick to his before you quickly follow up. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just- it helps to have someone close….”

Levi watches you for a moment before sliding his hand from your shoulder to your hand and tugging gently.

“Come on.”

You follow him inside and fidget awkwardly at the side of his bed as he climbs in. His room is impeccably neat, not that you would expect anything different from the man who once gave you a five minute lecture about leaving dishes in the sink to soak. It was the most words you’d heard him string together at the time, and he only stopped when he realized you were laughing.

“You sound like my Great Aunt Cheryl,” you said between hiccups of mirth. “Insufferable woman.”

He had looked at you scathingly, then made you promise never to leave the dishes for later again on pain of changing the wifi password.

Once he’s settled, Levi turns back the covers on your side and looks at you expectantly. You falter a split second before climbing in next to him, the familiar smell of his laundry detergent clouding around you as you fall back into soft pillows. He throws the comforter over you, then settles down and opens his arms.

“C’mere, kid,” he says with a tenderness that makes a sniffle catch in the back of your throat.

You roll into his arms, resting your head in the curve of his shoulder and breathe the first easy breath since you woke up. An arm flung around his middle means your whole body is against his, warming you up like a midafternoon nap in August.

Levi settles his arm around your back after tucking in the blankets and holds you like you’ve always belonged there. He gradually, gradually feels you relax into him as your breathing begins to match his own.

After a while, your eyes droop closed and Levi allows himself the indulgence of tucking his nose into your hair. A bouquet of lavender shampoo and you accompanies him softly into his dreams.

(read part 3 here)

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #hange zoe #swearing #insomnia #nightmares #panic attack #painter's hands and guatemalan coffee #valkyrie writes

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

Until proven otherwise, my headcanon is that both Ironwood and Watts survived and are going to team up again out of necessity lmao.

HI, ANON. So let me tell you about how this simple, silly sentence sent me down a 4k writing rabbit hole. “Lol I’m going to write a little parody about that” I thought to myself and then somehow? It got serious?? I honestly don’t know what this fic is, but I’m chucking it at everyone anyway.

Also, I changed the whole “Atlas and Mantle are immediately submerged in water” plot point because it’s my coping mechanism and I get to choose the canon we ignore.

***

Once upon a time there were two villains having a Very Bad Day.

The first, Arthur Watts, had survived an explosion, being buried under rubble, and the threat of a ten-story drop only to find himself suffocating amidst a magically produced fire. A horrible way to go, all things considered. Painful, of course, but more importantly, no self-respecting man should die with soot on his clothes.

Or leave behind a charred corpse.

In fact, Watts had just begun to acknowledge the full indignity of his death when the momentum he'd felt — just there on the periphery of his awareness — suddenly ceased, Atlas crashing into Mantle and throwing him with a squawk in the process. His head took a nasty hit against one of the desks, the smoky gray of the room growing darker, and by the time Watts had come to, the fire had been replaced by water.

Ice-cold water, lapping up to his knees.

"Well," he said, lifting a sodden boot. "I suppose this is an improvement."

***

Elsewhere, James Ironwood — former General of the now sinking Kingdom of Atlas — was lying facedown on the stone of the outer vault, contemplating his choices. Upon reflection, no, he didn't regret what he'd done, but it would have been nice if things had turned out...any way other than this.

"Fuck," he said to the empty hall, enjoying the reverberation. He deserved that much at least.

In time, Ironwood was able to pick himself up off the floor, supported as much by the fact that he'd been knocked out by his own blast as his shaky, barely-there aura. Up the elevator running on emergency dust reserves, through the corridors that groaned ominously under damaged supports. Ironwood headed towards the military headquarters purely out of habit and as he did the sound of water grew stronger, almost like waves, until there was an inch of it across the floor, more trickling in from the staircase. Ironwood had been watching his boots splash with each step, almost mesmerized, and didn't look up until another pair unexpectedly entered his view.

Watts froze in the act of wringing out his pantleg, eyes wide. His expression, the water, how the hallway tilted downward at a slight angle... it all felt like something out of a dream. Ironwood just watched as Watts watched him, until his eyes traveled to the gun clipped on his belt. Ironwood hadn't even realized he'd picked it up.

"Here to kill me, James?" Watts said.

"No." He knew it was true as soon as he'd said it. The mere thought of starting another fight right now was... exhausting. "Do you intend to kill me?"

"Oh really. Does it look as if I'm in a position to fight you? Do use your head for once. I have no weapon, no aura — damn fire ate it all up — I feel as if I've swallowed a hot coal, I am wet — "

Ironwood turned partway through the ramble, meandering back up the way he'd come. He'd passed through two checkpoints before realizing that Watts was not only still talking, but following him.

"What do you want?" he asked, more to shut the man up than out of real curiosity. If Watts was capable of reading the difference between the two, he didn't show it.

"Cinder."

"Cinder?"

"I don't make a habit of allowing people to try and murder me without consequence, James!"

"She's gone."

"Yes, thank you for that stunning bit of info! There's no possible way I could have realized that for myself. What's gotten into you? They left us, fool. Salem, Cinder, Neo, Emerald, even your so-called allies... they all deserve the worst that we can grant them. Though right now, I'd settle for wringing that idiot Pietro's neck. Ten years I gave to that research and he rendered it obsolete with a single report, all because he wanted to play father to some stupid hunk of metal. I never would have gone to Salem if — " Watts cut off, hands balled into fists.

Ironwood just blinked dazedly, coming to a halt. He searched his uniform, the scroll he'd stashed there miraculously whole. Dimly, he registered that he should be feeling some sort of emotion right now.

"I can do that," he murmured.

"What?"

But Ironwood was already keying in the code, the desire to complete a task, any task, taking hold. Watts looked on, mouth twisted in a deprecating sneer.

"I already took out communications, in case you failed to notice."

"But not the trackers I had installed in my top scientists." Ironwood held up the screen where a small, red dot was blinking. "Pietro's still here. Looks like he's out near the mine with a second aura signature. If you want to...?" He wasn't going to finish that sentence.

"I see," Watts said in a tone that heavily implied he didn't. "And you'd just give me this information out of the evilness of your heart?"

Ironwood considered that. "I killed a man yesterday, tried to kill two others, and was ready to bomb all of Mantle to keep the rest of my Kingdom safe. I don't care what you do with the man who betrayed me."

"...fair enough."

Except after five steps Ironwood realized that Watts wasn't following him. He was looking down at his arms, still as a hunted hare.

"You put trackers in all your scientists?" he asked.

"A requirement I implemented after you went missing."

"Ah! Ingenious. Lead the way then."

***

The way led to the tundra, an environment that neither of them were prepared for. Watts was wet from the waist down and Ironwood had long ago learned that snow and metal didn't mix. Neither had the aura for the kind of storm that was raging either. Luckily, the panic of Salem's invasion had left plenty of vehicles to purloin and soon they were speeding East with the heat on, the faint beeping on Ironwood's scroll growing stronger.

He'd felt the impact of his city crashing down and the two of them had clamored out of Atlas' husk, dropping into rubble and cracking ice. Still, the true destruction wasn't evident until they were moving away from it. Through the rearview mirror, Ironwood could see pillars of smoke from fires that the water hadn't yet smothered, dark shadows that could only be grimm, and Atlas itself, plunged halfway into Mantle. It wasn't noticeable from this distance, but all of it was sinking.

"I was lucky," Ironwood said, his voice hollow. His eyes flicked back to the expanse of snow ahead of them. "If Atlas had tipped the other way, the vault would have flooded. I'd have drowned."

Watts snorted. "I'm lucky. That damned water put out Cinder's fire. I'd have burned."

Neither felt particularly lucky and for fifteen more minutes, neither was keen to discuss it.

***

Once upon a time, two heroes were having a Very Bad Day.

"You've got to be shitting me."

Maria paused in the act of bandaging Pietro's leg, mechanical eyes narrowing at the two figures that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Watts sucked in a breath at the duo. Ironwood gave a small, awkward wave.

Then he nodded his head at the scene: one old, exhausted woman and a paraplegic currently bleeding into his chair. "So... going to kill him?"

Watts ground his teeth. "Well now that just feels like a fool's errand. Look at him. He's pathetic!"

Pietro was slumped at an uncomfortable angle, sporting a gash in his leg and an impressive display of bruises across his face. Maria, in contrast, seemed to have only lost her hair tie.

"Pathetic?" she spat. "Your lackey did this!"

"Who?"

"Angry girl with the creepy arm."

"Ah, it all comes back to Cinder." Watts pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, thank you for recognizing that I was her superior, but no, I didn't send her to kill the likes of you. Must have done it on her own, the little idiot. Don't believe me? I was in jail at the time, if I recall correctly. Isn't that right, James?"

"You were helping me hack Penny."

Maria let out a skin-crawling cackle. "Why do you think the girl was here? She blew a hole in the bottom of Amity! Penny tried to hold us up, but..." she swallowed, still pressing against Pietro's leg, but turned warily towards them. "You hacked her? You did that? What precisely do you think happens when a man who never learned to apply aura as a shield crash-lands in this hunk of junk!"

"I expect most men in that position perish," Watts said smoothly. "The fool is lucky to be alive, but he won't be for much longer if you keep trying to staunch the wound with your soiled gloves. Move aside."

"Get away from me!"

"Oh, put your stick down, you old bat. I'm trying to help."

"Why?" Ironwood hadn't realized he'd spoken until Watts was glaring daggers his way.

"So I can kill him later myself!"

Still surreal. Still dream-like in its absurdity. Ironwood listened to the bickering between Watts and... Mary? Maria? He wasn't even sure. He wandered away, content to gaze out through one of the windows at his Kingdom. Or what was left of it. He idly massaged his left arm, trying to rid himself of a pain that wasn't there, and when the howl of a grimm reached them across the snow, he shivered.

His unlikely companions screamed at each other loud enough to reverberate through the whole building. There were the sounds of two bodies trading blows, but only for a moment. Pietro, voice groggy and high-pitched with terror, demanded to know where his daughter was.

"She's dead," Ironwood said. He didn't turn to see their expressions, didn't need to. "Winter she... she defeated me as the Winter Maiden. That can only mean one thing."

"One thing to you, perhaps." Ironwood did turn then, watching stoically as Pietro tried to right himself in his chair, Watts cursing as the leg continued to bleed. "Where is she? I want to see my little girl. I can heal her, fix her — " he broke off, doubling over with a cough that splattered more blood into his hands.

"Maybe you could have," Watts said, a cruel satisfaction in his voice. "If her little friends hadn't made her human."

Some of the pieces fell into place then. His Lamp, long missing, had apparently wound up in Neo's hands, then Salem's, before it was finally used by Cinder. Watts described — with immense pleasure — the plan the group had concocted and the wish they'd asked of Ambrosius. He'd been a bit preoccupied with bomb duty to learn the details, but he knew that Cinder lived and Ironwood, it seemed, knew that Penny had perished. What a tragedy. Do you know how to bring back the non-mechanical, Doctor?

Ironwood honestly thought the old woman was about to kill him, murderous intent put on hold only because Pietro collapsed then, curling in on himself as sobs wracked his frame. The only words that escaped the mess of tears were "Penny" and then "Maria," one hand reaching out blindly for comfort. Pietro found it, the two holding onto each other as Watts sat at their feet, grinning up at the display.

Ironwood thought only, So that is her name.

The other, crucial bit of info was that everyone was gone. Dead or evacuated, it didn't matter. As far as any of them knew, they were the last four in Atlas, with Salem on her way to destroy whatever kingdom next took her fancy. It was over. They'd lost. And despite the horror of it, the realization was oddly freeing too.

When Maria asked in a tone edging on hysteria what precisely they were going to do — because it seemed this was a "we" situation now — Ironwood suspected she meant in the short term. What were they going to do about their wounds? The grimm? Finding and reaching the others? But those were foolish concerns, the thinking of someone who'd never had a kingdom's life in their hands. Ironwood knew there was only one answer here, the same one he'd had from the start.

"You can do whatever you like," he said. The metal of Amity sparkled against the rising sun, leaving splotches of color behind his eyes. "I will defend Atlas."

Maria's mouth dropped open and Watts stared. Even Pietro ceased his crying long enough to suck in a breath.

"Defend it from what?" he asked.

Ironwood shrugged. "The grimm. Salem. I don't know. I don't care. To quote a former friend, I have never wavered in defending the Kingdom of Atlas against its enemies and I don't intend to start now. This is my city and I won't leave it."

"It's sinking!" Watts cried, overlapping with Maria's, "We need to help" and though so much softer, quieter, more innocent than the spittle Watts was scattering across the floor... that single word sank its teeth into Ironwood. The woman may as well have stabbed him.

"Help?" he said. "Help? I tried to help! Everything that I have done in the last two days — the last two years — my life! — has been to help not just Atlas, but everyone I feasible could. Don't talk to me about help when you and Ms. Rose did everything you could to stop me. I had planned to help the world and you all lied. You betrayed. You set your weapons against me and kept me from saving what parts of my Kingdom I could. Tell me again: what precisely did you do to help?"

He'd crossed the distance, one hand on his holstered gun and the other leaning against Pietro's chair, using it to leverage himself down into Maria's space. Ironwood didn't need to see her eyes to know the emotion they held.

"I," she spit, "didn't try to bomb a city."

And just like that the fight in him was gone. It had barely existed in the first place. Ironwood straightened, swaying slightly on the balls of his feet. "No. You didn't. So it's as I said, go help if you want. If you can." His gaze slid to Watts. "You were one of her men. That says it all." Pietro. "You helped them reveal Salem to the world. Will she have time to destroy the other kingdoms before the grimm do it first?" Maria. "And I don't know you, but you don't earn a prize like that without seeing combat." Ironwood lifted his metal finger, tapping it against Maria's goggles. She flinched away. "Can you honestly say you haven't made mistakes?"

"You and I are nothing alike!"

"I didn't say we were."

Ironwood turned and walked away, as steady as he could manage as the world grew a little darker, despite the sunrise. Behind him Watts' voice rang out like a shot.

"So that's it then? The captain goes down with his ship? You idiot!"

He paused. "Not quite. It turns out I'm not the only idiot around these parts. Ms. Rose left the vault open." One last turn to savor their shocked expressions. "That's where I'm going. There are still plenty of airships if you'd like to leave, but just remember: they abandoned you too."

Perhaps he should have been surprised that by the time his boots hit the snow, three more footsteps were sounding behind him. Frankly, in fourteen hours time Ironwood would barely remember their conversation, let alone everything that came after it. One of them drove back to the sinking city. Someone tested the ice before they cautiously crossed it. Someone else dispatched the stray grimm foolish enough to get in their way. Ironwood saw and heard none of it. He walked with the determination of a wind-up toy, wobbling now that he'd reached the end of his string. Cool blues, a shining gold, and then beautiful, miraculous grass. Ironwood ignored the murmurs of amazement behind him, dropping directly to his knees.

When his palms hit the ground, only one was capable of feeling how soft it was.

I need to update my arm, he thought, even as he curled into a ball and passed out.

***

When he woke they were already running out of time.

For the first two days Ironwood barely spoke to the others and thus he never quite figured out why they'd stayed. Had it been hopelessness? Spite? The all consuming thought that there was nowhere else to go? That Atlas, for all its rubble and slowly rising water, wasn't any different from what the rest of Remnant would look like soon?

Why not here then?

Especially when the vault, filled with wildflowers and an endless sun, made for such an enticing retreat.

"Soil's farmable," Maria said, running some of it through her fingers. It was a statement of fact, nothing more, and the three of them stubbornly ignored the implications of it.

"There's — " Pietro coughed, self-consciously clearing his throat. "There's plenty to salvage. Machinery to pull water from the humidity in here. First aid supplies. We could section off an area for our wa — "

Watts seethed. "If you finish that thought I will — "

"What?" Maria arched a brow. "Kill him? Like you've been saying for the last day?"

Day? Ironwood blinked. How long had he been out?

"I will!"

"Like you'd be able to. Just try it, beanpole."

They argued, and they threatened, but none raised their hands to one another again, and when they finally dispersed across the kingdom to collect what they could, none of the acknowledged what it was for.

Ironwood waded through the remnants of his home and didn't think about building another. Because the idea alone was absurd.

"Don't let the door slam shut," he'd said when they’d first left, nodding to the stone slab that had appeared after Penny had first arrived. Ironwood watched the three exchange glances, unsure if he was joking.

Fuck if he knew.

***

Those four days — or five, if Ironwood counted the one he'd lost — were conducted in a strange state of frenzy. None of them were in a position to be working on such a project, but when had the world ever cared for their needs? Pietro stayed behind in the vault, cataloguing what they'd found and making lists for what was still needed. His chair, while dynamic, wasn't meant for the sort of terrain Atlas had become and his wound was still healing.

He also seemed to appreciate the privacy, frequently mourning his daughter with an honesty that made them all uncomfortable.

Maria went off to do the Gods only knew what, disappearing for hours at a time, then coming back wet, cold, and carrying little. Though she always had information. Which parts of the city were too grimm invested to traverse, which were now completely underwater, which were too unstable as Atlas tilted like a ship, disappearing beneath the waves. It gave them all focus and, surprisingly, something like hope. Whatever else she carried was usually small, such as the seeds filched from the bio laboratories.

"Couldn't take them all," she said, critically surveying the land, "what with so many of the labels getting lost in the crash. Don't want to eat something your lot has experimented on."

"You should. If we're lucky you'll mutate into someone bearable." Watts, taking stock of the clothing they'd gathered, didn't seem to realize that Maria was flipping him off.

He went on a deep dives (sometimes literally) for salvageable tech, most of it of a practical nature, but other pieces... not. Nothing had shifted Ironwood's world view quiet like day two, walking in on Watts looming over Pietro, assuming there was another fight brewing... only to overhear them exchanging theories, the conversation filled with as many insults as legitimate claims. Still, the seeds of camaraderie were there, and were perhaps easier to grow than originally thought. After all, Watts had once been one of them and Pietro, for all his heroics, had once entered Ironwood's office with a manic gleam in his eye, rambling about giving an aura to a machine. Defense technology at its finest!

What was it Glynda had said? Ah yes, agreeing with young Ms. Nikos about how "wrong" it all was. But desperate times, desperate measures and all that.

They'd had that discussion, of course. Soon after Ironwood awoke, talk of Amity began again, this time about whether it was possible to send another message. With enough time and effort, not to mention luck... a short one, perhaps, and only sent to an individual scroll. But what was the point? Who would they call? When no one could — or would — answer that question, the idea was dropped.

In the days since, Ironwood had fantasized about messaging Glynda. One of the few who'd ever been a true friend, perhaps the only one left alive who might care that he was still among the living... if Ms. Rose's message hadn't killed that too. Not that it mattered. Even if Amity wasn't a hunk of metal gathering ice, Ironwood hadn't a clue what he might say to her.

Dear Glynda,

Thank you. Sorry. Good luck.

Sincerely,

General James Ironwood

P.S. If things had ended differently, I would have asked for a second dance.

How ridiculous.

So he walked the broken streets of Mantle and climbed the streets of Atlas, more and more of it disappearing every day. Their hoard grew though, born of not just military property, but personal belongings as well. It wasn't as if anyone was coming to claim them. Unless more magic was at work, both cities would be miles beneath the ice before anyone crossed the border again. Still, Ironwood would always pause before packing away what he found in the hastily abandoned houses. Bedding. Utensils. The literal shirt off someone's back. He'd changed into jeans and a thick sweater the second day, taken from a collection of civilian clothes he'd placed into a locker years ago and promptly forgot about. The uniform felt... obsolete now, no matter that his goals remained the same.

He'd encountered Maria on one of those trips, admiring a basket of yarn in some nameless Atlesian's living room. Her shoulders had tensed at his approach, but she just snorted at the sight of him.

"You knit?" he asked, unsure of what else to say.

"No."

"Crochet?"

"No."

Ironwood didn't know any other crafts that involved yarn. "Then why are you taking it?"

Maria hummed. "Just a thought. That I might, someday, try to learn." She shook a book she’d pulled from the basket: Knitting For Beginners.

A stray thought indeed. The thing they still didn't talk about. The closest they got was on the fifth night when an explosion sounded outside, massive enough to unsteady them even deep within the vault. By the time all four of them had made it out and onto one of the roofs, the sky had turned a sickly yellow, followed by black tendrils that raced, turning, back and around on each other until everything went dark. The only light came from what little electricity they had running on generators and a red aura, pulsing from the West.

From Vacuo.

Realistically, it might have meant that they'd won. It wasn't as if Ironwood had any idea what the death of an immortal witch looked like. But the night wore on and they had no idea because that unnatural, starless black never receded. In time, Pietro wandered off and returned with two bottles he'd pilfered from somewhere, cracking the tops off on the side of his chair and passing them around.

They still didn't say it aloud, though the sky and the alcohol said enough already. Ironwood kept his eyes on the watch his mother gave him, hours ticking by until sunrise was long overdue. Atlas felt even colder now and that red, seeming to inch closer, sent a different kind of chill down his spine. The grimm that still prowled below had taken off hours ago, summoned by some unheard call.

Ironwood downed the dregs of his bottle and threw it into the city.

"Come on," he said. Ordered maybe, or asked. He wasn't sure he knew the difference anymore.

Blankets. Glasses. As many non-perishables as they could find. Generators. Tool kits. The building blocks of renewable energy. Clothing. Decorations. Wood to build small, individual dwellings.

Watts hoarded laptops and a small mountain of batteries, never showing them what he was working on, intensely protective.

Maria grew obsessed with entertainment, snagging every book, game, and video until there was a veritable library piled on the grass. She kept muttering about deserving a real retirement.

Pietro built a shrine to Penny, a simple stone monument to the left of the doorway. He tended to organize their supplies there, occasionally reaching out a hand to brush the code he'd inscribed with a laser. Whatever meaning it held, Ironwood couldn't read it within the ones and zeros.

And he... he found a cat. His last day, picking his way across dwindling islands until his eyes found the small, electrical fire just out of the water's reach. The cat had wedged herself into the rubble above it, trying desperately to keep warm.

She was as black as the sky above them and Ironwood was sure, when he reached out, that she'd run, terrified of his prosthetic hands. They certainly weren't any warmer, but she weakly crawled into them nonetheless. Ironwood held her securely against his left side, where his heart and flesh were, and thought with an absurd, internal laugh that he'd at least saved one.

There was so much left to do still, but their time was gone. That evening, eating what little they had the stomach for, water began to pour from the vault's elevator. First a trickle, then a deluge, until there was a sizable waterfall to admire. Ironwood sat on the steps with his unnamed cat on his shoulder, watching inevitability creep towards him.

He could still lie though.

"There's still time," he said, addressing the three behind him. "If you head up the elevator shaft and down the west hall, you can still break the surface. Find one of the remaining airships. Fly away."

Watts scowled, avoiding his gaze. He remained leaning against the doorway though.

Maria and Pietro exchanged glances.

"I'd carry you," Ironwood offered to Pietro. They both knew it would be a death sentence with their combined deadweight, but he'd do it anyway.

"No," he said softly. "I did all I could already."

Maria. She was harder to read with those goggles, but it wasn't peace on her face. Guilt, more likely, but that had never stopped any of them before.

"It's damn cold out here," she muttered and marched back to the grass. Pietro followed her, Watts trailing not far behind. He turned back though.

"You coming?"

Ironwood didn't answer and eventually Watts left, heading into the meadow that stretched until you lost sight of where you'd been — and then reappeared there. A tiny pocket dimension, born of a magic now lost to this world. Ironwood figured that a bit of water and ice couldn't break it.

Probably.

He watched the flood cover the floor of the vault, then lap upwards, one stair at a time. There was a part of him, a part unimaginably tired, that thought he might just sit there. Keep rooted until the water was so high it was too late to do anything. That would be easy. Fitting, even. Shouldn't he go with his kingdom?

But then the cat — his cat — dug nails into his shoulder and Watts said something that made Maria screech. Ironwood sighed.

There were still things to protect, simple as that had become.

He turned his back on Remnant, now encased in an eternal night, and walked to the three who remained, cowering in an eternal day.

Ironwood allowed them one last choice and when they all nodded, he kicked the vault door shut.

#tw suicidal thoughts #rwby #fic things #rwby fic #Ironwood #Watts #Maria #Pietro #idk what this IS #post-apocalyptic RWBY I guess #with a side of questionable people not talking to each other #Anonymous

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punkranger · 3 years

Text

Snake Eyes

Villain AU: Antoine is a Ranger while Herald is a vigilante who is working with them, or so they thought. Basically there's a lot of fighting and a Herald who is very unlike himself.

thanks to @starrypawz for the inspo with their villain au fic!

You're not supposed to enter the Security room, you're supposed to contact them and let them tell you where to go. But you are close by and to be fair you did try to contact them but got no answer. Maybe they're just talking to the Marshal first but you need to know what's going on and you don't feel like waiting for Chen to tell you.

As you open the door you immediately sense that something is wrong. Not from the security personnel's thoughts, but from the lack of them.

The bright light from the screens covering the opposite wall don't really light up the rest of the room and the corridor behind you is almost as dark, only emergency lights are on, casting an ominous red glow just over the threshold.

It'll be all around you as well, making you a perfect target. Well, too late to back out, if there's someone in here they'll have already heard you opening the door loudly like an idiot.

So you ready yourself, barely breaking your stride as you continue to walk into the room.

The screens all black out.

There! You sense someone to the left, their thoughts are mostly hidden behind an opaque wall, you can’t sense their intentions but you can sense the activity, different from Ortega’s static buzz it’s more like trying to hear someone behind glass. Whoever they are, they have access to drugs you haven’t encountered since...

It’s a good thing you have learned not to rely only on your telepathy as you dodge the tackle, but barely. The other person was fast! Too fast, really, for someone just jumping at him…

They don’t crash to the floor behind you either and as you turn you see their silhouette briefly as they right themself in the air, feet never touching the ground.

"Daniel? Hey, wait, it’s me-” You don’t have time to finish the sentence, partly because he leaps toward you again and partly because you catch up to your own thought-process, realizing that this is not a mistake. If Herald is here, with no security personnel in sight, drugs blocking his thoughts, then he is the one who caused this.

Still, you cling to the thought that maybe he isn’t doing it of his own free will. Partly because your mind struggles to connect the nice, sincere Herald, someone who looked completely starry-eyed when he first met you, with someone who ambushes people in the Rangers Headquarters.

You don’t have much time to think about it as a fist comes flying at your face, followed by an elbow. Though you manage to block both, it is barely, you’re closely matched, which is another thing that doesn’t match up.

“Who are you?” You manage, in between blows, ducking one and kicking him in the stomach, putting some space between you. “And what have you done with Herald?”

Your tone is joking, but you are not. You really want to know what the hell is going on here. Herald is not supposed to be on your level, you’re the one who taught him - and beat him more times than you can count, with him getting up with an awkward laugh, asking to try again every time.

He’s not someone who could go up against you in a serious fight, even less in a cramped space like this, where he can’t use his powers fully.

Nevertheless that’s what’s happening, yet you can’t help but wait for him to explain himself, for the lights to turn on and find him looking apologetic, but smiling as usual, for this to be some stupid mistake that you both can laugh at later.

Instead you watch him get up, simply floating up, feet lightly coming down on the floor in a way that is confident and showy, which you’ve seen before but there’s also a sort of nonchalance to the way he moves that is unfamiliar.

“Danny?” No answer. He stands still for a second and you tense, about to go for a grapple when he turns and disappears out into the hallway. You blink in confusion, then follow with a curse, looking both ways and barely catching a glance of his back to the left.

Frowning, you wonder if he’s completely lost it, since that just leads off to empty offices.

Empty offices… with windows! You hurry after, then hear a crash and as you rush into the room you see Herald leap out of the broken window.

You jump after him.

Partly because you’ve been hanging out with Ortega for far too long, but also because you’re only on the second floor, which should be fine.

Fortunately it doesn’t matter as you manage to catch onto Daniel’s legs.

“What the- are you fucking insane?!” For the first time he says something and you grin up at him but your mind is still screaming, the image of the ground imprinted on the inside of your eyelids. You keep your eyes open. On your enemy, because there’s no doubt that it really is Herald.

He’s also starting to fight against your grip, steadily flying higher.

“What, are you going to kill me, Daniel?” You don’t know what answer you expect, but you almost can’t believe that you’re asking the question, maybe that’s why your voice is still steady. This whole thing seems surreal.

His expression, which had gone from surprise to anger, twists in conflict for a bare second.

“I won't. But I am going to grind you to dust.” He snarls, before shooting up. You hold on desperately, it’s hard even if he’s not trying to push you off any more but the wind is tearing at you and gravity is dragging you down. Then you crest the rooftop of the Ranger’s HQ, Daniel continues up in an arc, then accelerates down.

You realize what he’s going to do and you let go just before he hits the roof with you underneath.

You tumble quite a distance before you stop, bruised and battered, your head spinning, but you get up. Looking around you reorient yourself and spot Herald, who is hovering some distance away, having apparently avoided crashing into the roof when you let go.

Frowning, you wait for him to attack, but he doesn’t.

“I believe you said you were going to grind me into dust, but no matter how much better a fighter you are than you seemed to be you’re going to want to press your advantage.”

He sneers, a cocksure expression that looks completely alien on his face.

“Spare me the lesson, Antoine. I’m simply waiting for the cameras to arrive.”

“Then tell me why you’re doing this.” In the brief respite in fighting your brain has managed to catch up to the situation and so has your feelings. Confusion, hurt.

Daniel puts a hand to his chin, as if considering, “Well, I suppose I might as well tell you now.” His expression turns back to a mocking grin.

“It’s because I hate you Rangers, who think you’re doing any good in this shithole of a city, while you’re all just lapdogs to the corrupted system that keeps criminals in charge.”

“So what, you pretend to be on our side to take us down from the inside? Something you’ve already failed at, since I found you.”

“That wasn’t about you, as I said, you’re not that important.” He ignores your bait completely, continuing, the grin widens to show more teeth, “But taking you down is one step - and a satisfying one.”

You take that in, staring at the person you thought were your friend, partner, someone you thought you knew inside out. His thoughts had always seemed so open, unguarded, yet he’d managed to hide all this deep under the surface, drowning it in apparently false positivity. You don’t particularly disagree with him, but the fact that he hid so much from you makes you feel used, as well as his callous attitude. Whoever he really is you don’t particularly care what his reasons are, even if they’re good.

You’re not going to just let him beat you either. He might be sure of himself, but he’s never faced you when you’ve used the full measure of your skills.

“You can talk big, but I doubt you can put your money where your mouth is.” You taunt again, but he just looks off into the distance. Then you hear it too, the drone of a helicopter approaching.

Then you’re rolling over the roof again, though this time more controlled as you leap aside from his dive.

You circle each other, him hovering out of your reach.

You have to time this right.

The next time he goes down you don’t throw yourself away, just dodge barely to the side and make a grab for him. You only just manage to catch his ankle, receiving a kick to your chin that makes your teeth clack together painfully, but you hold on grimly, getting a hold with your other hand.

Once again you’re in the air, but this time much shorter as he flips around and your back slams into the roof, leaving you breathless and your grip loosens.

Before you can push yourself up he’s straddling you, hitting you, once, twice. Then you grab his head and headbutt him, then roll over so he’s beneath you, managing two hits as well.

Then he starts floating, straight up, with you still on top. You hit him again, then he grabs your wrists and rights himself up, making you slip down.

You hit the ground and roll, but the impact leaves you winded, the shock of it still travelling through your body as you dodge him again. Turning to face him, you realize this is going to be harder than you thought, though he’s not looking much better than you.

Herald also seems to realize that you are pretty evenly matched and time is on your side.

“Gonna give up?” You push, hoping he’ll come down again, you’re not sure what you’d do if he flew away, you could never track him…

He must know this too, because he’s looking away before he focuses on you again.

“Never.” There’s a dangerous look in his eyes now, but you hide a smile because he’s coming towards you again.

However, this time he’s the one who dodges, managing to twist around you and once again pushing you down, but this time you’re on your stomach.

He smashes your face into the concrete roof, knee pressed into your back. There’s a weight to him that is a lot more than you’re used to. Too much for you to push up from, or even turn around. Briefly you wonder if he’s using his powers to make himself heavier, you didn’t know he could do that...

“Gonna give up?” He repeats mockingly.

You barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. Still, you’re not going to let him have the last word.

“Bite me.”

There’s blood in your eyes and you can’t breathe well through your nose. Still, you try to throw him off, not successfully and you try to calm down because he’s not doing anything at the moment but you’re starting to panic.

“I’m sorry, I know you hate this. But it’s the only way.”

You take a while to register the soft words. When you do, you don’t know what to think. How can you believe anything that comes out of his mouth?

But the fact is it sounds so much like the Daniel you’ve known for so long that you want to believe it. The hand in your hair releases its grip and for a second you think you feel fingers brush your cheek.

Then you feel the weight on your back disappear and you roll over, to dodge another attack, to get up, to…

You don’t see Herald any more. Sitting up, you scan the sky for him and see the silhouette of him getting rapidly smaller.

You wipe your eyes again, watching until the blue form is swallowed by the equally blue sky. The drone of the helicopter is also becoming more distant.

You should probably go down and report what happened. But you keep sitting there, staring at the empty sky.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero #herald #sidestep #villain au #minor retribution spoilers #not much really since this is all pretty unrelated to anything #man i dont think i've written anything this quickly before #guess its because i could just do whatever #anyway hope someone enjoys this?#i haven't read through this and its past midnight but im posting it idk

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xmagicxshopx · 4 years

Text

💋 Often 💋

Genre: Slice of Life, Comedy Rating: M (smut) Warnings: strip club, oral (f receiving), protected penetrative sex Pairing: stripper!jungkook x reader Notes: AU fic. Not idol!jungkook. Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: This is a project and collaboration by myself, @katebacks and @taevjim Mine is based on the song Often by The Weeknd

Summary: She asked me if i do this everyday, i said often. Asked how many times she rode the wave, not so often. Bitches down to do it either way, often. Baby i can make that pussy rain, often.

Routine.

You were all about the routine. It was what you knew and what you were comfortable with; the different and the unknown being your two biggest fears in life. You had a routine. A simple five-day, nine-to-five job that paid you well. A morning schedule of get ready for work, coffee and bagel for breakfast, feed the cat, and drive exactly 20 and a half minutes to get to work. Your evenings were no different as far as having a set schedule. Come home, feed the cat, pop dinner in the microwave, eat, chill, sleep.

All of your friends and family, even your coworkers, tried to gently and kindly nudge you into mixing your life up a bit. Add some spice to it. Broaden your horizon. But you were just fine with the way things were. You didn’t need any spice in your life and your horizon was as broad as you wanted it to be. Your belief? Don’t fix it if it’s not broken and your life wasn’t broken in the slightest. Everything was just peachy. You were happy and that’s what mattered most, right?

Or were you happy?

You scoffed at your reflection in your bathroom mirror as the self doubt started to creep into your brain like an ominous fog. Of course you were happy! Why wouldn’t you be??? Brushing off the sudden wave of doubt that managed to fill your very core, you continued getting ready for work before heading out the door. But of course not before feeding your cat at exactly ten minutes till eight.

Upon walking into the office, you noticed that it was just another day. Everyone already at their desks typing away in their little cubicles while papers could be heard shuffling around into neat, organized piles. The copier buzzing away as it performed the tasks asked of it. You liked this. This was your comfort zone. Routine was good. Everything was good. You had just put your purse away and went to sit down at your desk when one of your coworkers popped up over the top of your cubicle.

“So, girl friend! It’s a Friday and I’m taking you out whether you like it or not. Be ready by nine!”

Wait what???

“But---”

“Wear something slutty, too.”

Okay, yeah. Because that was totally your style. As your coworker went back to her own work, it was now your turn to carefully climb onto your desk on your knees so that you could look over the other cubicle. Scoffing softly, you tried your best to argue over why you couldn’t go out with her tonight.

“But Gigi, I don’t have anything like that and besides, I go to bed by nine. I need my beauty sleep.”

You knew your words were weak and sounded feeble even to your own ears. What kind of excuses were those??? Well, in your defense, you really didn’t have anything in your wardrobe that Gigi would consider ‘slutty’ and the both of you knew this. With a soft huff, your coworker simply rolled her eyes and said with a confident grin,

“Fine. I’ll lend you something to wear. We’re similar in size and body build so it’ll totally work. And tonight you’re skipping out on that beauty sleep. You’ll have plenty of time to recover over the weekend.”

Just as you were about to try and come up with yet another lame excuse, Gigi continued in addition,

“And today you’re not driving home. You’re driving to my place. I’ll give you the address and we’ll make a whole evening out of it. We’ll order take-out and stuff our faces so that the food can absorb the alcohol we’re gonna tank ourselves in tonight. It’s gonna be a blast!”

Somehow you highly doubted that. None of that sounded like a fun time to you. Well maybe the take-out part. Pouting in both defeat and confusion, you couldn’t help but wonder what had gotten into your coworker. You and Gigi weren’t official friends or anything so why was she doing this for you? Why put so much effort into someone who didn’t want it? With a soft huff, you muttered in defeat,

“Fine.”

It was all you could think about during the day while you tried to focus on work. Sure you knew there’d be a lot of time spent in the safety of your coworker’s home, but then where could she possibly be taking you that had to wait till after nine at night? Wait----She mentioned alcohol. Ugh. It was probably a club. Gross. Loud music, sweaty body odor every time you turn around, the stench of cheep beer. Ugh. That was not your idea of a fun night out. You didn’t even dance. You don’t even dance in front of your cat!

Before you knew it, it was five o’clock and time to pack up for the day and start the weekend. Normally, you’d be treating yourself to some drive thru food and just staying indoors till you had to leave for work the next Monday morning. However, thanks to Gigi, those plans had changed and you still weren’t all that excited about it. Pouting like a child who hadn’t gotten her way, you trudged yourself out of your cubicle to see a beaming Gigi by the elevator waiting for you.

“Don’t look so glum, we’re gonna have a great time!”

“Why are you doing all of this? You hardly know me.”

Just then, the elevator made a bell sound indicating that it had finally reached the floor you were on and the doors opened up for the both of you. As the two of you stepped inside, Gigi pressed the lobby button before clearing her throat a bit shyly and replied in a small, sheepish tone,

“I just hate to see you missing out on life, you know? I’m still new in town and I don’t have a lot of friends and you’re the only one who’s shown me any sort of kindness. I really appreciate that so I know you’re a good person and I just.....I dunno. This is going weird. Just go with it, okay?”

Never before had you seen your coworker so awkward. Gigi was always strutting her stuff with her body language screeching ‘confident’. To see her so shy and sheepish like this was new for you but somehow, you found yourself smiling and feeling touched. Suddenly feeling quite timid yourself, you cleared your throat and said softly,

“Well, I don’t know how good of a friend I’d make, but we can be friends if you want?”

You weren’t expecting the loud squeal of joy followed by the near tackle to the elevator floor as Gigi practically flung herself at you. It never dawned on you just how lonely your coworker must feel after moving to town. An area where she knew absolutely no one. No wonder she was overjoyed to hear your words. Awkwardly patting her back, you smiled up at the elevator ceiling before the doors finally opened again and brought the two of you out into the lobby.

“We’re gonna have so much fun, girly! I just know it! Dinner’s on me tonight, okay? You can pay for your drinks but dinner is definitely my treat. Come on, I’ll just meet you over at your place so you can leave your car and then we’ll drive together over to my place in my car.”

Everything was happening so fast and you definitely weren’t used to it. You preferred life in the slow lane but dang. Gigi was making that a thing of the past. Perhaps it was just her happiness of having made a new friend that caused her to be live like a wire and talking 90 miles a minute? Either way, before you could blink, you were giving her directions to your house and dropping your car off so that you could hop into hers.

During the ride to Gigi’s place, the two of you discussed what to have for dinner. Turns out she was indeed taking you to a club later tonight so alcohol was on the table as well. You could only imagine what a light weight you must be considering the fact that you really didn’t drink much. You were more of a celebratory drinker. Things like holidays and such. Otherwise, you never touched the stuff. You preferred your teas and coffee.

After deciding on Korean BBQ, the two of you placed your orders and had it delivered to Gigi’s place where the two of you eventually dug in; getting sauce all over your faces and laughing at each other over how messy the two of you looked. It was nice. This was nice. Something that you really didn’t think you’d feel based on your previous mindset. Perhaps getting out and socializing wasn’t so bad? This wasn’t so bad.

However, as the night hours passed, the hurdles only got more and more difficult to get over.

“Can’t I just go in what I’m wearing???”

“Girl----You’re wearing work clothes. No one goes to a club in their work clothes.”

The blush on your face was enough to zip your lips as you let your coworker now turned friend do her thing. Work her magic, you supposed. Would you even look right wearing something other than your usual conservative attire? Subconsciously nibbling your bottom lip in worry, you watched Gigi as she started pulling out pieces of clothing to inspect them, only to put them right back. You knew it. Nothing was going to look right on you. This just wasn’t your bag.

“Ha! Found it!”

Dang it.

Trying not to pout too loudly, you watched the girl whip out a dress that looked way too form fitting for your liking. It was drenched in sequins and jet black. Well....black went with everything, right? At least it was a color you were used to wearing as most of your work clothes were black. Perhaps that was what Gigi was going for? Something that she knew you’d at least be somewhat comfortable with due to the familiarity of it. If that was the case, then you were extremely grateful and liking this newfound friendship more and more.

“Okay so you’ll be wearing this and I have some stockings for you too. Once we’re dressed, we’ll put on some makeup.”

“Makeup?”

“Yes, makeup. We’re going to a club, girl! We gotta look pretty for those boys.”

“Boys?”

“You’ll see, girl friend.”

You simply whined and pouted with sagged shoulders as Gigi flashed you a cheeky smile and wink in return. This was too much. Yet at the same time......you were......curious? Yeah. That was it. Definitely not excited. Just curious. Still pouting, you went to work on unzipping the dress she handed you and started to carefully step into it. Gosh it really was form fitting, wasn’t it? Your cheeks flared up in embarrassment but went ahead and had Gigi zip you up.

No turning back now.

Once the both of you were dressed, it was time to put makeup on. You had quickly informed the girl that you didn’t know the first thing about makeup which didn’t come as a surprise to either of you. In fact, Gigi had full intentions of doing your makeup as well as her own. You weren’t sure if you should have felt insulted or comforted. In the moment, you were more relieved than anything because if you were in charge of doing your own......you’d just skip out on that step altogether.

“Okay, so I’ll have you watch me first and then I’ll do yours. Just in case you ever decide you want to try and do your own someday.”

The probability of you doing your own makeup one day was slim to none but it was still sweet of your coworker to say such things and offer such advice. With all the products Gigi had spread out on her bathroom counter, you figured this would take awhile. No wonder she was starting so early. You could only imagine how much all of those products cost her. It looked like a small fortune scattered all over the counter. But it wasn’t like you’d know.

However, you did as she asked and decided to watch and it wasn’t till it was over that you realized just how wrapped up you were in watching her. It was like watching a painter perform art with Gigi’s face being the blank canvas. You had no idea watching someone apply makeup could be so.....fascinating? Interesting? You weren’t quite sure of what word you were looking for but you found yourself blushing when she caught you being quite involved in paying attention.

“Okay! Your turn, girly!”

So there you stood with her applying all kinds of products to your face. You were pretty sure she put at least three different kinds of things on your lips. Something about a foundation layer and then eventually topping it all off with some gloss. Dunno. You got lost with how fast she was going through it all. Gigi knew what she was doing and that much was clear. Once she was done with your lips and you could talk freely, you couldn’t help but ask in a small and timid voice,

“So how did you get so good with makeup?”

“Oh I used to work in one of the malls and my sole job was to do people’s makeup while introducing them to the latest products. It was fun for the longest time but it didn’t pay enough. So I moved here when a job opening came up.”

Wow. You knew exactly what type of employee she was because you’d always eyeball the young girls getting their makeup done just for the fun of it while you roamed the racks for new work clothes. No wonder Gigi was so good at this. It had been her job for the longest time. You felt the need to at least give her some kind of tip but you knew right away that she’d never take it; insisting that she was no longer on the job anymore.

“There! We’re ready to par-tay!”

‘Yay.....’

Gigi said that it would be pointless to do either of your guys’ hair so you two just simply brushed it a bit and let it hang loose. Having only your bulky purse, Gigi kindly offered you a clutch purse that went with your dress perfectly; offering to keep the rest of your belongings at her place to keep them safe. But you had all the important stuff in the clutch and that was good enough for you.

The two of you would take an Uber so that the both of you could get trashed as Gigi so elegantly put it. You highly doubted you’d drink enough to get wasted but it was a smart idea. This way you could just go straight home in case you wanted to leave before your friend was ready. You had the feeling you’d be leaving way before she did.

Upon arriving at the club, you could feel your body going into some kind of panic mode. Eyes wide, face flushed with heat, and you’re pretty sure your heart is swimming in your stomach. Perhaps you shouldn’t have ate so much. The possibility that you could puke was high at the moment. Looking all around you, were strippers. The majority of them female but you could spot a few males and good lord. Your eyes. Your poor poor eyes. In a shouted whisper, you scolded the girl next to you.

“You brought us to a strip club!?!!?”

“Don’t act so mortified. Lots of people go. See?”

“I’m not one of those people, Gi!!!”

But all you got was a coo in response as your coworker-turned-friend squished your cheeks together at the cute nickname you had just subconsciously given her. Before you could further complain and even rush out the door, you were being dragged to the bar area. Good lord. There were naked and half naked people everywhere. How could anyone call this fun??? It was barbaric!! With cheeks still flushed in shock and now embarrassment, you simply let Gigi order the drinks for the two of you so that you could try to pull yourself together.

It was going to be a loooonnng night.

With a couple drinks in your system, you were definitely starting to feel it. A light weight. You knew you were a light weight but dang. Allowing the tipsy Gigi to guide you over to a table close to the stage, you didn’t find yourself whining at the idea of being so close up to someone who was going to strip right in front of you. Perhaps it was the alcohol messing with your brain and you just didn’t have the energy to care anymore. You were stuck here so might as well make the most of it, right?

And then he walked out.

If you weren’t so out of it thanks to the alcohol, you would have had better control over your bodily functions. Like trying to prevent from drooling all over yourself. He was absolutely gorgeous. And that was putting it lightly in your opinion.

His facial features reminded you of a rabbit but he was anything but cute right now. Those doe eyes of his were sharp yet hooded as he put on a show of pure seduction while on stage. Yes. This man was a stripper but you couldn’t bring yourself to care right now. Your embarrassment was traded in for fascination as you watched him saunter his way to the center of the stage.

Dark locks hung in front of his beautifully handsome face and the product used in it made it appear as if he had just gotten out of the shower and his hair was still wet. It wasn’t the only thing wet right now as you tried to press your thighs closer together. Good lord. What age were you? Sixteen? Subconsciously licking your dry lips, you watched as he began to unbutton the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Yes. He was fit for all purposes of the word. You could tell this guy went to the gym often because of the way his muscles bulged within the confines of his outfit. His dress shirt had some sort of sequins in it that made it sparkle under the harsh lighting of the stage. It was like he himself was sparkling in all his gorgeousness. You truly had never seen such a more handsome man before. Not even on magazine covers.

As he worked on unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, you let your eyes wander further down his body. God his thigh muscles. How on earth did he even fit in those pants? They looked painted on! The next thing you knew, he was pulling the hem of his shirt from the confinements of those skin tight pants. If you weren’t certain he went to the gym before, you were absolutely positive now.

After watching him allow his dress shirt to fall on the stage floor, you were definitely drooling at this point. In fact, you were so wrapped up in watching this mysterious man perform that you didn’t even notice Gigi leaving you to your own devices. Had you been paying her any mind, you would have pouted at her smug expression of victory as she moved back to the bar for another drink.

With the man now shirtless, you took your good old time admiring his freshly exposed skin. He was perfect. You were pretty sure no other man could be as perfect and flawless as him. At least appearance wise. If this guy wasn’t proud of his body, then he should be. From the looks of things, perhaps he was a little too proud. You were a little drunk but you weren’t blind drunk. You could be blind and still be able to see the confidence that radiated off of him in waves.

What you didn’t expect, however, was for him to walk off the stage and into the crowd.

Walking right towards you.

Wait what????

Your eyes widened in shock as he strutted his way over to you. There was no mistaking that it was you he was after because there was no one else at the table you were sitting at. No. His eyes were all on you and the heat was spreading from your face, all the way down your neck and to the tips of your ears. Gosh this was so embarrassing! Where was Gigi!?!? Your heart pounded in your ears over the music as the man slowly held out his hand for you to take.

As if you still had no control over your own body, you found yourself placing your shaking, clammy hand in his own. Gosh his hands were big too. You felt so small at the realization as he gently gripped your hand in his. The next thing you knew, you were being swiftly pulled from your chair and twirled around only to land in a solid, hard lap. You were sobering up pretty quickly. Or at least it seemed like it.

Dear god this was so mortifying!!

“The name is Jungkook. I’m guessing from the frightened look on your face, you don’t come here often. Would I be guessing correctly, beautiful?”

God you needed to say something, anything, but you were just too shocked and embarrassed by your current situation that all you could do was part your lips but no sounds came out. Your eyes did all the talking as they stared into his own; yours full of helplessness and yes you were definitely scared. A shirtless stranger had you in his lap like it was no big deal. Handsome, sure, but still a complete stranger. He smiled and chuckled softly in endearment before carefully helping you off his lap and back to stand on your own two feet.

“I’ll take that as a yes. But worry not, beautiful, you’re safe with me. I won’t hurt you. Here, take this and once I’m done performing, hand this to the bartender and he’ll bring you right to me. I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

You stood there like a bump on a log as you watched him fish in his back pocket for something. How could he fit anything in those pants besides his hot ass and thighs? Seriously!? Those things weren’t painted on??? Blinking and feeling half numb by this point, you felt him press something into your palm and even helped close your fingers around it. As he walked away coolly back towards the stage to do his thing, you stared down at what was in your hand while fumbling to find your seat again. You definitely needed to sit down right now.

A key. This Jungkook guy had given you a key. It looked pretty antique and vintage, like something you’d see back in medieval times, but you weren’t going to question it. No. The real question was---were you really gonna take him up on this offer of his. Then again.....what exactly was he offering you? A private lap dance? That had to be what it was. Something that you wanted no part of.

Or did you?

Ugh. This was so troublesome. So annoying! Then again.....what did you really have to lose? But what if you couldn’t trust this guy? There was just so many things you didn’t know. Not to mention you were scared of looking like an even bigger idiot in front of him. He probably thought you were some spineless virgin. Granted the spineless part wasn’t far from the truth but at least you weren’t a virgin...

And before you knew it, the man was sauntering off stage back towards the curtains where he disappeared from sight. You almost choked when you realized he had stripped down to nothing but his boxer briefs. Was it a shame that you only caught his backside in that state? Wait----Of course not! You didn’t want to see what this guy was carrying around in his pants......

Or did you?

Trying to decide if you had too much to drink or not enough, you sat there for a few minutes longer weighing your options. On one hand, you could go in and see what he was proposing and if you didn’t like it, you could always back out. On the other hand, if you walk away now, you might be missing out on something that you didn’t realize you wanted. Heck, you never imagined you’d start the weekend off with a new friend. Perhaps you really did need to broaden your horizons.

Taking a deep breath, you stood from your chair and headed over to the bar where Jungkook, you’re pretty sure that was his name, had told you to hand the key over. The bartender seemed nice enough as he took the key and nodded his head with a soft ‘this way, my dear’. Oh boy. Here we go. No backing out now. It was now or never. You had half a mind to text Gigi what you were doing but something told you she didn’t miss the whole scene of you sitting in a stripper’s lap.

You were guided through a door that no doubt lead to a backstage type setting but you were totally not prepared for the scene you practically stumbled upon. Girls. So many girls. Some were half dressed while some walked around completely naked. Holy----Your eyes. Again, you weren’t a virgin but you might as well have been considering how warm your face had gotten. Some of them even giggled and flashed you cheeky winks. Oh boy. Apparently privacy wasn’t a thing around here. You could only hope there would be more privacy where you were headed.

Speaking of, after walking down two more hallways, the bartender finally reached a door and used that very same key to unlock a door before cracking it open just enough to let someone know you were here. Of course you could only presume it was Jungkook. Good lord. Hopefully there was no one else in the room. One stripper was all you could handle right now. And heck you couldn’t even handle that!

After the bartender politely bid you farewell, you found yourself gulping down a lump that had suddenly formed in your throat as you stared at the slightly cracked open door. This was it. Supposedly Jungkook was waiting on the other side. What if he was already naked??? Dear god maybe you should just politely decline and catch an Uber home. Yeah. That sounded like a good idea. Get a nice cup of black coffee and some headache pills so that you wouldn’t suffer a hango----

“You can come in, beautiful. It’s safe. I promise.”

Why did he have to sound so soothing and convincing for, huh?! Wishing you had a tall glass of ice water to jug down right about now, you did your best to brace yourself for what was on the other side of the door. Gosh your face already felt like it was on fire. How embarrassing! With a clammy and shaky hand, you put your weight on the door and eased it open further so that you could poke your head inside.

Oh.....

It looked so.....normal? Perhaps even.....casual and dare you say.......soothing?

It was pretty much set up like a master bedroom you’d find in any normal house. There was a mini bar set up with some expensive looking alcohol and drinking glasses already filled. Soft R&B music was playing in the background but the volume was so low that it indeed sounded like simple background noise. You could smell something. It was soothing but you could only guess it was coming from some kind of candle or maybe a diffuser.

“Hello there, sweetheart. I’m glad to see you took me up on my offer. I can assure you, I don’t bite. Unless of course you’re into that kind of thing.”

He was dressed so casually compared to the last time you saw him only moments ago. He was decked out for comfort despite what you believe his intentions were. Dark gray sweatpants and a matching hooded sweatshirt. They looked thin in material so it was probably just to help keep him modest while in your presence. His hair still had that wet look to it thanks to the mountain of products he probably had in it.

“Come sit with me and have a drink. Or would you prefer some water? You look quite flushed.”

“W-Water would be nice, thank you.”

Not realizing your legs had felt like jello, you managed to hobble your way over to the couch where you took a much needed seat. Your hands were still shaking a bit but perhaps it was just from the lingering nerves. The atmosphere really was soothing thanks to the dimmed lights that gave off a warm and soft glow; casting the perfect amount of shadow over everything. You were pretty sure you were smelling lavender and it was a comforting scent for sure.

“Here you go, love. Just try to relax. I’m not here to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. But you looked like you needed to loosen up. Maybe someone to talk to?”

Softly thanking him for the water, you tried not to chug it back but it was hard given how shook up you were. Not to mention your face still felt pretty warm. Perhaps you would have been better off to just splash yourself in the face with it instead. Managing to take a couple gulps without looking silly, you held the cup in your lap before looking over at him with guarded and curious eyes.

“So.....we just sit here and talk?”

“If that’s what you’re comfortable with? I’m at your service. Your wish is my command as the saying goes.”

His soft chuckles filled the room and you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling a little. Were all strippers this chill? Now that you thought about it, what made strippers different from anyone else? It wasn’t like they were some kind of exotic creature. They too were just normal, every day humans making a living. It wasn’t like they were a different kind of species.

Maybe this would be okay after all.

“So......you’re not here to give me a lap dance?”

“Oh my god! You’re so cute! I can’t!”

You watched in utter amazement as Jungkook, who had since been siting next to you on the couch, started to curl in on himself while he laughed; carefully holding his glass of whatever alcohol he was drinking in one hand while his other wrapped around his waist. Pouting and semi folding your arms due to the fact that you were still holding a glass of water, you mumbled in your own defense,

“What?! It’s a legit and reasonable question!”

Still pouting while watching and waiting for him to pull himself together, you decided to distract yourself with your glass of water. At least the blush in your face was letting up. Did that mean you were already getting comfortable with him? This guy.......He was like magic in that way. Knowing exactly what you needed to feel comfortable and relaxed. Then again.....he probably did this with everyone he brought back here. You suddenly felt the need to stand rather than sit on the couch.

“I swear, we’re only here to do whatever you want. So if you want a lap dance, I can do that. If you want to just sit here and chill, I can do that too.”

“But......why me? You had tons of other girls out there to pick from to bring back here. So why pick me? Clearly I’m an awkward turtle. Doesn’t exactly scream sexy.”

It was a fair question. A question that you were eager to have an answer for. Watching him closely, you noticed he was rubbing his chin in thought as if he was trying to find the right words to explain his reasoning behind bringing you back here. With a soft hum of said thought, Jungkook took a sip from his glass before replying casually while meeting your eyes,

“I guess you just looked.....lonely? Lost? You looked like you needed this. Clearly you didn’t come to a strip club by choice or at least not entirely. I could feel your tension clear across the stage. I was going to offer you a massage but I don’t want to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

Okay well that was fair. You couldn’t help but notice how good he was at reading people. Or perhaps you were just simply an open book. Yeah. It was probably that. You had often been told by everyone in your family that you carry your heart on your sleeve and your emotions along with it. Just as you were mentally scoffing at said family, Jungkook’s voice once again broke through your thoughts.

“Tell me, cutie, if it’s not too personal or prying to ask, when’s the last time you got laid?”

Well so much for that fading blush of yours. Granted, you knew you didn’t owe him an answer. Your sex life was your business and no one else’s. However....there was just something about Jungkook that made him easy to talk to. He gave off this aura of comfort and made you feel like you could tell him anything. With your cheeks still rosy and your ears just as red, you timidly sipped from your water again before mumbling in shame,

“Too long ago.”

But rather than laugh at you again, he offered you a sympathetic, lopsided smile; his eyes full of understanding and a small nod to go with it. You were grateful that he had picked up on the topic being a sensitive one for you and therefore respecting your feelings and not wanting to hurt you by poking fun. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he set his glass down on the side table that was on his end of the couch.

“Well, to be frank, I’m more than willing to give you a lap dance if you think it’d help you relax and unwind. I personally think it’d be good for you. You’ve got too much pent up tension there and I think we’re both in agreement when I say everyone needs a good release every once in awhile.”

Was he inclining what you thought he was inclining???

“You mean you want to have sex with me?”

His soft snort of laughter made you pout once more while you subconsciously tried to fan your face. Sure the lighting was dim in the room but was it doing anything to hide your raging blush? With a soft and warm smile, Jungkook couldn’t help but shake his head at you in fond amusement. You really were the cutest. Dramatically raising his hands as in defense or surrender, he said casually,

“All I’m saying is, that I’m more than willing to make you cum, pretty girl. You really look like you need a good release. I have no doubt you’ll feel better afterwards. I’ve been told I have the golden touch.”

Despite your lingering embarrassment, you weren’t too far gone to roll your eyes at his overflowing humbleness. But now you had a decision to make. Clearly Jungkook was a safe guy to be around. He wasn’t some crazy trying to rape you or anything. Or at least you were pretty sure he was a decent guy with a straight head on his shoulders. Absentmindedly nibbling on your bottom lip, you took a moment longer to think about it.

“So......how exactly do you give me a lap dance? Do I sit in a chair or something?”

Gosh you were absolutely adorable. Precious, even. Jungkook swore that if you got any cuter, he was going to have to retire and ask you out on a date. Or at least ask for your number and maybe meet up for coffee. Did you like coffee? You probably did. You looked like a coffee drinker. He wondered what your favorite drink was. Mentally shaking his head and focusing on his job once more, he smiled with his eyes sparkling in warm amusement before saying casually,

“It all depends on what you’re comfortable with, really. I can also easily give you a little show on the bed. Actually, the bed would probably be more comfortable for you.”

He then added with a slightly more serious tone,

“But if you do decide this is something you want to do, just remember that you make the rules in this too. While I have my own set of guidelines, I’m only here to do what makes you comfortable.”

Nodding in full understanding, you bit your bottom lip once more as you decided if this was something you really wanted to go through with. Jungkook really was a handsome young man. You’d probably be stupid to turn him down. And it seemed like he was allowing you to call most of, if not all, the shots in this. He would only do what you asked of him. What you permitted him to do. That alone was comforting enough for you to say----

“So the bed?”

“The bed. Make yourself comfortable, baby girl. I’m gonna take good care of you. Promise.”

Your face flushed pink yet again with a small, shy pout as he flashed you a bright smile and cheeky wink. Good lord you were really going to do this. Okay. Okay. You could do this. You needed this. It wasn’t like you were entirely blind. Of course you needed a good release but you had just never been given the right push to get there. Not to mention it had never fit into your daily routine.

After all, you were all about the routine.

Perhaps Jungkook would become part of that daily set schedule of yours....

“It’s okay to keep your clothes on but you might find yourself more comfortable if you take them off. Just saying.”

He had a point. You were already warm thanks to your permanent blush. This was it. Time to throw all caution out the window and just go for it. You weren’t a teenager having her first time. No. You were a young woman with a body to be proud of. You deserved this. Steeling yourself up with that confident mindset, you nodded and started to undress till you were left in only your black bra, matching panties, and your stockings.

Seeing that you had started to warm up to the idea and was becoming more comfortable with things, Jungkook decided it was his cue to finally get into character while being mindful of your shy nature. He felt like a lion and you were his little lamb. So pure and yet easily frightened. There was just something about you that spoke out to him. He wanted to help you. And that urge confused even himself.

“Okay, beautiful, I’m going to start now.”

With his hands reaching back for his light sweatshirt, he couldn’t resist adding with a smile and a bit of a warm and playful glint in his eyes,

“You look absolutely gorgeous, by the way. Keep those stockings on too.”

While mumbling a soft and shy thanks, you watched him as he did that super hot thing guys do when taking off their shirt. That thing where they magically tug the piece of material over their head from the back. Why was it so hot, anyway?? Was that just something every woman came to accept? It must have worked on you because Jungkook’s soft chuckles filled the room once more. Looking up into his eyes, you noticed he was rather smug and pleased with himself.

“Like what you see, cutie?”

“Well----I mean----You have a nice body. So yeah. I guess I do.”

You hated how choppy your sentences sound but it was like this guy knew how to turn your brain into absolute mush. You were already like putty in his hands and he had only taken his shirt off with those sweatpants hanging perfectly from his hips. Perhaps you really did need to get laid....

Just then, you watched as he started to swivel those very hips in a way that had you involuntarily gulping and pressing your thighs together. The last thing you wanted to do was make a mess of this bed. But then again.....perhaps that was part of Jungkook’s plan for you. He said he wanted to make you cum, after all. You hadn’t realized your throat and lips were so dry till you sucked in a breath at a particularly sudden hip thrust. Oh wow. He was so good!!

You definitely made the right decision to go along with this.

“Touch yourself if you need to, baby girl. It’s okay to explore.”

“I-I’m good. Just ke-keep going-ing.”

You could get used to his warm chuckles of amusement. It felt good to know that he wasn’t really laughing at you in a sense of mocking you. It was more like.....maybe he found you endearing? Whatever it was, you were just glad he wasn’t mocking you or belittling you for your lack of experience in all of this. Despite being a stripper, that certainly didn’t make Jungkook a bad guy.

You could actually see yourself sitting down with him over a cup of coffee. You wondered if he even liked coffee? He seemed like the kind of guy that you might find in a cafe sipping on a nice iced Americano.

“Focus, baby. Try not to let your mind wander or you’ll miss all the fun.”

He must have realized you were really zoning out and getting lost in your thoughts because after blinking mental images of coffee shops away, you nearly choked when you saw that he had stripped away his sweatpants and was left standing in front of you with nothing but his boxer briefs on. Dang he was built! He had to be pure muscle. Had to be!

Unknowingly licking your dry lips and swallowing a new lump in your throat, you decided to make yourself more comfortable by scooting back further onto the bed where you could rest your back up against the pillows and headboard. Once you were in a good spot, you turned your attention back to Jungkook and found he had somewhat of a dangerous smirk on his face. Oh boy....

“You really do look beautiful, baby girl. I can’t wait to take care of you like you deserve. If you’ll have me, of course.”

Not able to find your voice, you simply nodded while subconsciously playing with your fingers in your lap; thighs still pressed tightly together. Grinning, the male made sure to move his hips just right as he approached the foot of the bed. You couldn’t help but wonder what his game plan was to take care of you. And that was when he tilted his head to the side in curiosity and asked in a light tone,

“May I join you, lovely?”

“Ye--Yeah.”

“Wonderful. Let me know if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay?”

Still not having much of a voice, you simply nodded and watched him approach you like a predator after his prey. That smirk was back as he slowly climbed onto the bed; the mattress dipping under his weight. You could hear your own heart pounding in your ears as the anticipation built. This was your last chance to back out but for some reason you remained silent. Perhaps you really did want this.

The next thing you knew, he was gently running his hand along your one leg while his lips were ghosting up the other. Goosebumps rose from your skin at his touch and yet your core was starting to get hotter and hotter. Perhaps Jungkook really did have the golden touch? You felt your breath catch when he finally started planting actual kisses to your leg; starting with your knee. He was being so gentle and slow. Something that you were extremely grateful for.

“Your skin is super soft, baby. You must take really good care of your body. I can appreciate that in a woman.”

“Th--Thanks. I try.”

Jungkook knew you were extremely nervous despite your agreement to go along with this so he wanted to take things slow and sort of ease you into the whole idea of what he had planned for you. As he finally reached up to your thighs, he couldn’t help but playfully nip at the delicious skin that greeted him. Your little yelp and jump was so cute. With his head nearly resting on your thigh, he couldn’t help but sneak a glance up at you.

Your face was so red and you knew it was. Hardly anything sexy to look at but to Jungkook you were so precious and endearing. He could just eat you right up. Lucky for you that was exactly his plan. Planting a soothing kiss over his little bite mark, he then moved up to where he was eye level with your cleavage but still looking up at you with eyes dark while full of excitement and curiosity. Licking his lips, he asked,

“May I?”

Upon seeing your timid nod of approval, he smiled more warmly before moving his eyes to his latest target. You had really nice breasts from what he could tell. Just the right size, too. Not being able to help himself any longer, he moved till he was more comfortable on his knees and gently took one of your soft mounds into his large hand. Oh yeah. You were soft. And just like that, a small moan fell from your lips. Like music to his ears.

“Don’t hold back, beautiful. I won’t know if I’m doing a good job if I can’t hear you.”

Knowing it was something you enjoyed, he decided to give your other breast his attention as well by using his free hand. With both palms now happily occupied as they slowly massaged your supple mounds, he couldn’t help but let his lips wander. Their next target? Your neck. He briefly wondered if it was a sensitive spot of yours because it would definitely seem your breasts were sensitive. He rolled his thumbs over your nipples and could feel them harden through the fabric of your bra.

“So beautiful. I bet your tits are absolutely divine. Would you let me see them, baby girl?”

You shivered and released a shaky moan as his lips lightly brushed up against the length of your neck. His hands were amazing and he had hardly touched you. There was a small voice in the back of your head that was screaming at you to say no. That this guy was still a complete stranger and had no business seeing your tits. However, this stranger was also making you feel things you didn’t realize you needed or wanted.

“Ye--Ye---Yeah. You can.”

Being careful as if not to frighten you away, he removed his hands from your bosom so that he could slowly and gently reach around you to unclasp your bra. While his deft fingers worked on the clasps, his lips found their way to your neck once more where he started planting soft, open mouthed kisses. Once he freed you from the confines of your bra, he slowly dragged the straps down your arms before taking the thing off completely.

Tossing the black bra somewhere behind him, he couldn’t peel his eyes away from the sight in front of him. You really were quite pretty and he wasn’t just talking about your tits. Although they were nice too. Absentmindedly licking his lips in eagerness, he couldn’t help but mumble,

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, my lovely. Do me a favor and lay down for me. I’m going to worship this body a little bit longer.”

Worship you? It just didn’t sound right to your ears. Then again, your self-esteem always did need a bit of work. Blushing to the point of lightly fanning your face once more, you nodded and timidly wiggled in between his legs so that you could comfortably rest your head on the pillows. Staring up at him with your eyes full of curiosity yet uncertainty, you asked shyly in a small tone,

“What are you gonna do?”

You poor thing. Had no one really ever treated you to something like this? And he wasn’t even going all out. For some reason, it really irked him at the thought that no man had ever truly took time to appreciate your body like this. However, not wanting you to think he was grumpy with you or having second thoughts, Jungkook wore a warm smile with softened eyes and spoke sincerely but with a hint of teasing in his voice,

“Well since you look positively delicious, I was thinking of eating you.”

Not giving you time to respond, he added slowly while his lips drew closer and closer to your bosom,

“First, I want to suck on these pretty tits of yours. Then.....”

You watched with a slightly heaving chest as he gracefully crawled down your body till his lips were just centimetres away from the waist line of your panties. His intense staring of your core was making you squirm and a soft whine slipped out before you could bite your tongue. His grin suddenly came back as his eyes flickered to make direct contact with your own.

“Then I’ll eat you out like you deserve. You’re a goddess and that’s how I intend to treat you.”

The next thing you knew, words were flying out of your mouth on your own accord.

“Can we just skip the tits and you eat me out now? I don’t think I can wait any longer. It’s killing me to wait.”

It really had been forever since you last did anything. Whether it be at the hands of someone else or yourself. You were quickly getting used to the permanent blush on your face and your embarrassment was quickly being replaced with impatience as you stared down at him where he was perched between your legs.

Yep. He was going to retire, quit stripping, and sweep you off your feet; carrying you out into the sunset to live happily ever after. You were just too freaking cute for words. He liked them shy and innocent because then he could completely ravish them till they were ruined and begging for more. You were totally his type. Grinning like a fox, he teasingly gripped the waist line of your panties between his teeth and tugged only to let them snap back against your skin before saying in a low tone,

“Well I did say your wish was my command.”

It wasn’t till he was lifting himself up to rest on his knees and thighs that you realized just how worked up you had gotten. The sexual frustration was starting to get the best of you; especially as you were sobering up pretty quickly. Not having realized that you had spread your legs for him at some point in the game, you simply spread them wider so that he’d have plenty of room to do whatever it was he had in store for you.

That fox-like grin still on his face, Jungkook couldn’t help but lean back down onto his elbows so that he could gently nuzzle your chest before planting soft kisses around your nipples. You were torn between whining and moaning as you both enjoyed the touch but also grew all the more impatient for where you really wanted him. After releasing a soft groan of pleasure, you couldn’t help but gently tug on his soft locks in warning while saying in a whining tone,

“Jungkoooook. Stoooop. You said you’d eat me out now!”

His rock hard body shook gently against your own as he chuckled at your adorable display of impatience. He was pleased to see you finally letting go and allowing yourself this moment. It had been a task and a half, but he finally got you here. Planting one last kiss to the underside of your breast, he slithered down your body like the seducing snake he could be and finally started planting kisses down your stomach to the waist line of your black panties.

“I’m sorry, love. But I can’t help myself. You’re just too beautiful not to admire.”

However, playtime was over. Gently tapping your thigh, he gave you the cue to lift your bum so that he could slip off your panties more easily. With a blink of an eye, you were left with nothing but your stockings which Jungkook had insisted you keep on because it made you look all the more sexy to him. You couldn’t tell if his compliments were sincere or not but you were so wound up that you didn’t really care at this point.

“God you look absolutely delicious. I can’t wait to taste you, baby girl.”

His words made your walls clench around nothing and it only caused more slick to pool between your thighs as Jungkook had since gotten himself more comfortable between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders. Gosh he was so muscular. You could see his muscles bulge as he worked on positioning you right where he wanted you. You both licked your lips as eyed each other with equal amounts of hunger.

You watched him lower his head before feeling his tongue for the first time. Eyes instantly snapping shut, you felt your back arch off the bed and a moan fall from your lips. Yes. Jungkook not only had the magic touch, but he had the magic tongue. You were certain of it. The male gently dug his shortened nails into the meat of your thighs as he too let out a moan of his own. You tasted just as wonderful has he imagined you would.

“God, babe. You’re delicious. You’re spoiling me here. Where have you been all my life?”

“I-I d-d-du-dunno.”

Your thighs started to shake when you felt his tongue flick over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Maybe it was because someone else was touching you but not even your most expensive vibrator could make you feel this good. Needing something to ground you, your hands found their way into his mess of hair and you found yourself gently tugging on the soft locks that lay between your fingers. The action made Jungkook moan and you felt the vibrations with full force.

The male enjoyed having his hair pulled despite how dominate he naturally was. He considered hair pulling one of the many signs that he was doing a good job and that was something that had always been important to him. He enjoyed making others feel good. One of the few reasons he hadn’t quit his job as a stripper. But there was something about you.......He just couldn’t place it.

You really did taste amazing, though. His eagerness was more genuine than for show. Wanting to increase your pleasure, he pressed his face harder into your core, his nose buried in your scent while his tongue got to taste you to the fullest. You were so warm and wet. Jungkook could only imagine how you’d feel around his cock. Which had since grown hard within his boxer briefs. Gosh it was always the cute and shy ones that turned him on the most.

As he went back to teasing your clit and sucking it with hunger, he heard your moans coming to a halt as you half shouted in a desperate tone,

“Jungkook-----I want your cock! Please! I need you in me! Now!”

Well that escalated quickly.

However, he wanted to make absolutely sure this was something you wanted. Pulling his face away from your core, he looked up at you through his eyelashes with eyes that had grown dark with lust. Yours too were just as dark which was a huge contrast to the innocent shine they had shown only moments ago. You suddenly weren’t so shy and definitely not innocent.

You were a total wreck at this point. Your mind was a mess but you knew what you wanted. You had long sobered up from what few drinks you had and you knew this was something you wanted. Something you needed. It had truly been awhile since you last experienced an orgasm and you were long overdue for one. Jungkook, stranger or not, was your ticket to release and nothing was going to stand in your way.

Not even your routine.

“Please, Jungkook. Please.”

“Easy, baby girl. I’ve got you. I’ll take really good care of you.”

Releasing your legs and climbing off the bed for just a moment, he could feel your eyes on him as he fished out a condom from one of the side drawers. You were so wrecked and it was a beautiful sight. Your eyes hooded with your chest heaving. He had hardly touched you. Poor thing, you must be really sensitive.

Climbing back onto the bed, he made quick work of ripping the package and rolling the condom onto his rock hard length. You really did turn him on. Normally, he had to work himself to full mast but you being you.....it was no problem. Perhaps you yourself was magic too. Given his line of work, it wasn’t often he found a client who could turn him on as much as you did.

“You’re going to feel so good around my cock, baby girl. You sure you don’t want me to stre-----”

“No! Please! I’m good. I promise. Just hurry! Want you so bad!”

Jungkook had no doubt that you could have quite the dirty mouth on you if you were to let yourself go far enough. It was almost hard to believe that just mere moments ago, you were this shy young woman who wouldn’t dare do something so scandalous as having sex with a stripper. Yet here you were, desperate under his touch. He loved it. Thrived in it.

The lion had his little lamb right where he wanted her.

Not wanting to keep you waiting any longer, he made himself comfortable between your legs once more before aligning himself with your sopping entrance. You were so beautiful with your face all flushed and chest rising and falling at a slightly rapid pace. Your soft locks sprawled all over the pillow. So so pretty. And all for him. Trying to focus, he slowly eased himself forward till he could feel the tip of his length nudge your entrance. God you were so warm. He could only imagine how wonderful you’d feel once he was fully inside you.

“You’re so freaking tight, baby girl. It really has been awhile, huh?”

“God too long! Too long! Please! Ruin me, Jungkook!”

He knew it. You could be a dirty little girl if you’d just let yourself loose from your own leash. He certainly hoped this wouldn’t be the last time the two of you saw each other. You were a real treat in his book. A treat he wanted again and again. Someone he could easily become addicted to being around if you’d let him.

He could feel your velvety walls clenching around him as you were stuffed full for the first time in a long while. Not wanting you to go into some sort of shock, he gently rubbed your sides with his warm hands in soothing, repetitive motions. Leaning down, he gently planted kisses along your face. Just anything to take your mind off the slight sting he knew you’d feel.

“Deep breaths, baby. Deep breaths. You’re right here and I’m not going to let anything hurt you, okay?”

“Ss-s-so full.”

“I know, baby. I know. Bet you’ve never had cock this good, huh?”

“Ne-Never. Never ever. Ss-so good.”

You were already ruined and he hadn’t even moved. You poor poor thing. Depriving yourself for so long of something so good. Well he was going to make sure you didn’t miss out any longer. Feeling your body ease up from underneath him, he took that as a silent signal to start moving his hips. God you felt so good around him. His length involuntarily twitched what little it could while being buried inside your warm wet walls.

“You feel just as good, babe. So warm and tight. Just the way I like it. You were made for me, baby girl.”

Your moans filled the room along with his own as you found your arms wrapping around him to gently dig your nails into his muscular back. You needed something to hold onto despite his slow and easy pace. While you appreciated him taking things slow......you had long since grown impatient. Testing the waters since you really hadn’t done much yourself, you bucked your hips at just the right time so that they collided with his own.

Yeah. That felt good.

With a soft growl of pleasure, Jungkook found himself staring heavily into your eyes as he said in a low and slightly threatening tone,

“Ooohhh. So baby girl likes it rough, does she? Well two can play at this game. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Oh boy.....

And just like that, the male pulled out of you only for him to flip you over onto your hands and knees. All the sounds you could make were soft yelps of surprise before suddenly feeling him ram his hips into yours; successfully sheathing himself deep inside you once more. The action alone caused a loud moan to fall from your lips as you hung your head; body slightly shaking with overwhelming pleasure.

“Yes! Yes, Jungkook! Please! More!”

“Greedy little lamb! So eager for my cock. Gonna absolutely ruin you! Fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name and only remember mine!”

The room became filled with your moans along with the sounds of skin slapping against skin as Jungkook pounded into you from behind; his hands gripping your hips till he left marks. You had never been with someone who was so strong. His movements were so powerful that he was making the bed shake as well as yourself. Your moans came out shaky from how he managed to move your body with his powerful thrusts. You then felt him drape himself over your back.

He reached around you so that one hand could massage your breast and play with your nipple while his other hand slithered down to where he found your clit. It had already been a challenge for you to stay on all fours when he started ramming his hips into yours; let alone when he started feeling up your weak spots. God you had no idea you were so sensitive till Jungkook came along. It was like he already knew your body like the back of his hand.

“Jj-Ju-Jungko-oo-ok. I’m cl-cl-close!!”

“Already, baby girl? Surly you can last a little longer till I get there, hmm? Can you wait for me, beautiful?”

Normally, he could care less when his clients came. Sometimes, the sooner the better. But with you? Jungkook was just having way too much fun and you really did feel amazing. However, there was also that little nagging voice in the back of his head whining about how he didn’t want to let you leave. There was so much he wanted to ask you. Hell, he wanted to get to know you. Which he still hadn’t figured out why. Maybe you were just an easily likable person?

Your moans were even cute as you let out all your pent up sexual frustration. However, his strength must have gotten the better of you because he watched your arms finally give out from under you. Acting quickly, he used his own arms to lift you up so that you were leaning back into him; the both of you now on your knees.

With his nose buried in the crook of your neck, he began to place sloppy kisses to your heated skin while an arm wrapped around your chest; massaging your breast while that other hand went back to work on rubbing figure eights into your clit. He could feel your thighs shaking and quivering as he slowly but surely brought you to your end. He could tell you were close from the way your walls clenched around his length repeatedly.

Then you surprised him by reaching back behind the both of you to try and grab at his ass. Well well well. We’re you getting a little brave? He couldn’t help but smile against the expanse of your neck before gently biting down on the skin and sucking it gently; leaving his mark for you to remember him by tomorrow.

“Jungkook!! Please!! Please let me cum!!”

“Go for it, baby girl. Cream all over my cock. Be a good little lamb and cum for me.”

Definitely not needing to be told twice, you could feel the knot in your lower belly finally snap and your release hitting you like a tidal wave. It was so easy and natural for you to scream out his name as your body arched and shook against his own. You were so lost in your bliss that you didn’t realize he had a protective hold on you while he too found his own end; releasing into the condom. Shame you couldn’t have felt him fill you up instead.

The only sounds filling the room were the soft music coming from Jungkook’s phone along with both of your heavy breathing. You could feel his heart pounding against your back as you had to lean against him for support; thankful that he was still holding you up. However, it wasn’t long till he gently pulled himself from you entirely before easing you down onto the mattress like a real gentleman.

“Let me go dispose of this and get a wash cloth to clean you up, okay baby?”

Still floating on your cloud bliss, you simply nodded your head against the pillows while hearing him chuckle once more. You felt like dead weight but it was a good kind of feeling. Whew. How much tension had you really held inside you for all this time? You had no idea how badly you needed this. Sex with a complete stranger. Who would have thought this was how you spiced up your life and broadened your horizon.

Just as your eyes were about to close completely, you heard him come back and ask casually,

“So are you a coffee drinker?”

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

And Spring Became the Summer

[Read on AO3]

The very last of my follower fics for the 700 Followers gifts! This one was the bonus for making it to 750 before December, and I’m so glad I’ve FINALLY gotten this done...so I can do it all over again this year 🤣

The last term paper Mitsuhide writes for his undergraduate career he slips into a glossy plastic portfolio-- double-spaced and double-sided, graphs printed in full color-- and turns in personally.

It’s a wide-eyed TA that takes it, seated behind a desk that’s far too big for her. Or well, she’s not wide-eyed at first; instead she’s bent over her work, only glancing up absently to make sure she has it in hand. But a second one turns absence to alarm, eyes fixing to where he grips the plastic, and suddenly he’s all-too aware how easily how just one of his hands could swallow both of hers.

So is she; her eyes pulse wide, and then she’s tracing the line of his arm up and up doggedly, like as long as she just keeps going, she might hit the end of him. When she finally does, he offers her a sheepish smile, shoulders hunched lessen the blow.

She shrinks back, a mousey brown head peeking above an oversized university sweatshirt. So much for that.

“You could have emailed this,” she squeaks, plucking the plastic sleeve from his grip. “I mean, not that you can’t hand it in. It’s just, er...”

“No one does,” another adds, rolling across the floor with a level of curiosity that he’s pretty sure an in-person paper doesn’t warrant. When she measures him with her gaze, she enjoys every inch. “Pretty old fashioned, if you ask me.”

He recognizes both of them; their names had been on the syllabus at the beginning of the semester. He’d found them both on the department website, Amanda wearing the same Clarines sweatshirt she had on today, and Holly’s clearly from some beach vacation, cropped from the shoulders up.

(“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a stalker,” Obi says, hanging upside down from the armchair.

“I’m-- I’m not!” Mitsuhide sputters, heat creeping up his neck. One day, Obi would slip up and say these things in front of someone who mattered, someone with a much more rigid sense of humor than Professor Gazelt, or didn’t know to take every word of his with an ocean of salt like Dean Haruka, and then it would be him that got seated in front of a disciplinary committee. The last thing he needed to do before even finishing law school applications was explain his brother’s poor taste in jokes on the record. “It’s just...”

“That you’re compelled to look at cute girls on the university website?” he offers, so casual. “I could think of hotter majors, if you wanted. Psych seems like it’s the sort of place real tens might hand out, right? Maybe, uh, Education? Kindergarten teachers always are cute--”

“It’s polite,” Mitsuhide grits out, shoulders hunched up by his ears. “You should know everyone on staff in your department, just the way you should know everyone you work with. It’s the proper way to network.”

Obi watches him with wide eyes, like he’s some kind of zoo animal or-- or one of those really bad cooks on TV, the kind who tries to pan fry a chicken whole. “God, you don’t actually do that, do you?”

“It’s the secret to good business.” At least, that’s what his parents always told him.

“You must be...” Obi savors the moment, looking positively euphoric as he says, “Really fucking creepy at the department Christmas party.”)

“No one did,” says the first-- Amanda, graduate summa cum laude from Columbia-- tone aimed to shush. “I’m, uh, happy to take that, though.”

He gives her his most gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“No,” Holly-- Penn State, no honors-- mutters, casting him a speculative glance from the corner of her eyes. Hers go up and up too, but seem to come to a much more amicable conclusion. “Thank you.”

“Stop.” Amanda’s hands flex on the thin plastic; she has soft hands, a callus only on the knuckle of her middle finger, where a pen might rest. Like Shirayuki, only without the thousand nicks and cuts that dot her fingers, battle wounds from wrangling recalcitrant plants.

Her chin pulls up, set in a determined line as she says, “Congratulations on graduating.”

“Ah...” It’s a kind thought, and meant well, but knowing he’s about to spend the next three years earning the degree that counts softens the blow. “Thank you. I hope you have a nice, um, summer?”

“Definitely will be nicer not to grade papers,” Holly offers, immune to Amanda’s shushing. “Do you have pl--?”

“We should get back to grading,” Amanda says, just to the left of too loud. “Have a nice summer.”

Never repeat yourself, Mama always told him, it weakens your position.

You can never be too polite. That’s what Papa would say, when he thanked the cashier for a third time.

Mitsuhide winces; he’s always hated this, being stuck between his parents. It’s clearly time to leave. “Right. Bon été, Amanda.”

“Was that French,” he hears hissed the moment he’s stepped out the door; the same moment another voice says, “Did I tell him my name?”

He should have just emailed it. Mitsuhide can make any number of excuses about the joys of collating and color printing, about face-time and networking, but at the end of the day, he has to call a spade a spade: this has all been an excuse. A thin one too, to keep him out of the house. To put off what he knows need doing.

Mitsuhide steps into the cool air of the foyer, shivering as it catches the sweat that beaded at his hairline on the walk. His courage peaks as he stands there, right next to the shoe mat, grand stair stretching up before him, still in his oxfords--

And immediately effervesces when he catches sight of smooth, bare legs on the coffee table, fuzzy slippers worth more than his phone perched up on the mahogany. This is it, the moment of truth, fight or flight, and he-- he doesn’t know which way to run.

So he doesn’t. He’s drawn there with inexorable motion, a magnet to a lodestone, the hard soles of his shoes clacking against the wood the only thing keeping him grounded. It takes only a few steps before long, tanned legs lead up to sleep shorts; not the clingy kind that curve and cup, but the ones that hang like boxers around the tops of her thighs, rucking up as she moves. After that it’s a hoodie, worn loose and baggy, like it’s supposed to fit someone twice her size, its hood drawn tight against her face. Nothing...sexy, not the way Obi might say, with far too much eyebrows involved. But still, his mouth runs dry, tongue heavy behind his teeth.

How on earth is he going to do this?

“Kiki.” He speaks before he thinks, sinking down on the table. It creaks beneath him, ominous. “I owe you a date.”

“Oh shit.” Obi flops over on the recliner, wide gold eyes peeking over the arm. “Check out the balls on this kid.”

This is a terrible idea. He should have known not to do this in a-- a common room, one where other brothers might be hiding.

“Sorry,” he creaks, levering himself up. “I didn’t realize-- you’re clearly busy--”

“No.” Kiki’s lays her feet right on his thighs, pushing him down with a thump. “You were saying something important.”

He darts a glance to the shadow squirming obnoxiously on soft leather. “But Obi--”

“Obi,” she informs him, as imperious as any C-suite member, “can leave.”

Obi doesn’t so much bark out a laugh as honks it. “Not unless I got time to make popcorn.”

Her head doesn’t move an inch from where she’s got it, chin tilted up to meet his own gaze. Her eyes though, those slide pointedly away, fixed at their corners, radiating malice. Kiki is slow to speak, deliberate when she does, but her eyes-- well, there’s a wealth of words in every look, and right now they’re reading Obi the riot act.

It would have worked better if Obi wasn’t already so used hearing it.

“Ignore him,” Kiki decides, attention snapping back to him. “He’s furniture.”

“Oh, Ms Kiki,” Obi drawls, barreling towards a mistake, “you could sit on me any--”

“You were saying?” she says, every word iron. Obi takes the hint, for once.

“I, uh...well, you paid for a date,” Mitsuhide manages lamely, darting a worried look to where Obi lounges on the chair. “I mean, you paid a lot for a date. And I understand that you may have just wanted to donate to the frat, but if you wanted to--”

“I told you,” Kiki says, dry, toes flexing firmly on his knee. “I expect you to make it worth my while.”

“Ah, y-yeah.” Her saying that while looking at him like she did-- well, his brain had that queued up every time he blinks his eyes. Sometimes it changed venues, and there were some, uh, costume changes at times, but if he shut his eyes right now it’d spool up with perfect fidelity. “I thought it might, um, d-distract you if we tried before finals, but since you’ve finished-- we’ve finished--”

“As of twenty minutes ago,” Obi adds, so helpful.

“--I thought it might be a fun way to relax.” He’s honestly never felt less relaxed in his life just sitting here, contemplating it. Half of it he can chalk up to Obi, curled over the recliner like a gremlin, waiting to wreak his version of chaos the second he can weasel his fingers in, but the other--

Well, it’s hard to ask someone on a date when you know they’ve already got someone in mind for the position. Even if it’s just-- this. As friends.

His heart’s in his throat. At least, that’s what he thinks until Kiki’s mouth curves; then he knows it’s never been in his possession at all, but always utterly hers. “Sounds like fun.”

Tension rushes out of him on a sigh. “Ah, great. I though we might, er, go to Boston? You know,” he hurries to spit out, before any words can fall from her parted lips, “since there’s not much out here we haven’t seen.”

She hesitates. Of course she does. Boston’s practically her hometown, and he’s sitting here, thinking it’ll impress her. Like she hasn’t seen everything that’s worth seeing there twice over and in private. That she hasn’t just told him no outright is a testament to how well Mr Seiran’s raise her, and--

“Let’s make a day of it.”

Mitsuhide startles, nearly tipping off the table’s edge before he glances up, right into her row of perfectly straight teeth. Her mom’s smile, she always told him, but he’s only ever seen it on her. “I-- yes. That’s..good.”

Her lips curl, hiding her teeth. “Let me handle the accommodations.”

“Ah, no.” His head sweeps through big, nervous back-and-forths. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to--”

“You’re not,” Kiki informs him. “I’m telling you. I’ll handle accommodations. You’re seeing to the rest of the weekend, correct?”

“Y-yes.” He tries to fold his arms across his lap, but with her feet right on his thighs, it ends up with his hands covering her ankles. He expects her to move them, but instead her legs still, tendons relaxing under his palms. “That’s the plan, but, really--”

“It’s the least I can do.” She shifts her macbook off the couch’s arm, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “One night?”

“I...” He should decline. He should tell her that if she can drop a whole K on a date with him, he can shell out for one night at a hotel with a higher rating than a Holiday Inn.

But this is Kiki Seiran, heir to Seiran International. She’s not just used to five stars but the penthouse suite. He could book four star cheap on Hotwire, but imagining her in one of those suites, the sheets starched and thread count insufficient--

“Yeah,” he grunts, “one night’s fine.”

“Perfect.” Her teeth snap around the word. “Leave it to me.”

“So,” Obi starts before Mitsuhide’s even hit the last step. “We have a bet going on.”

He grimaces, shifting the duffel over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

‘Pretty sure’ turns to ‘certain’ once he catches Obi’s grin. “It’s about whether you’ll get your dick wet.”

“Sorry, not interested.” He heaves the bag beside the front door, brushing off his shorts. “Isn’t it too early for you to be up? I thought you didn’t know about the hours before ten.”

“I had motivation,” Obi assures him, slinking up beside him with a grin a mile wide. “You know, Shiira says that you won’t on the grounds that you’re a gentleman.”

More like the lady isn’t interested. “I already said I wasn’t--”

“Kai says you will,” he continues blithely, “and you’ll come back on time. Shuuka agrees, except that he thinks you’ll miss check out with all the boning down and won’t make it back until evening.”

“Isn’t this breaking the bylaws?” Mitsuhide grunts, slipping on his sneakers. “Don’t we have something about betting...?”

“For money,” Obi agrees. “Zen still wouldn’t put a bet down though.”

That’s assuring at least. “Of course n--”

“Shiira already took his.” Obi shakes his head. “And we wouldn’t allow him to say the same thing except that he thinks it’s because you’re and idiot.”

Well, that’s a little rich, coming from Zen. Mitsuhide was loath to remind anyone that besides Obi, he is the most experienced, but-- some people should be taking that into account. Even if nothing is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, Big Guy.” Obi claps him on the shoulder, smile somehow drifting towards kindly. “I gave you until Monday.”

“Obi--”

“And Kiki will walk in with a limp.”

“Obi, you know that’s not...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “That’s not what me and Kiki are like.”

“You keep thinking that, Big Guy, but--” he leans in, cupping a hand around his mouth-- “my original bet was gonna be Tuesday. Too bad Kiki had already taken it.”

Mitsuhide stares at him, slack-jawed. “W-what did you just--?”

“I should have known, you’re already here.”

His head jerks up, right to the top of the grand stair, the beginning of a quick glance-- but it’s no use. There’s no possible way he could make his eyes focus anywhere but on Kiki, not when she’s wearing-- when she’s--

“Ooh.” Obi’s mouth curls, matching Kiki’s knowing smirk. “Is that a skirt?”

It is. And not-- not her field hockey kit, mid-thigh with shorts beneath, but and actual skirt, one that floats just above her knees, gauzy and floral. A single flash of leg tells him there’s nothing else beneath. Ah, well, besides the obvious. Mitsuhide swallows hard, mouth dry.

She raises a brow, hand trailing sinuously down the banister beside her. “It is a date, isn’t it?”

Her heels clack when she takes the last step into the foyer, clack because it’s the cork of her wedges that hits the floor first, because-- nom de Dieu-- she’s wearing shoes that tilt her a few inches close to him. Close enough that he could just bend at the neck and--

“Ah,” he coughs, fingers clenching in his shirt. “You might be a little overdressed. At least for this first part.”

Both her brows raise now. “Am I?”

“God,” Obi mutters at his shoulder, head buried in his hands. “You could at least say she looks nice.”

Well, when he’s right, he’s right.

“You look, ah, great though,” Mitsuhide hurries to add. “Beautiful.”

Kiki, to his surprise, beams. “Well, I brought a few outfits. I’ll change at the hotel.”

“Ah, sure.” He scoops up his duffel, holding out a hand for her bag as she passes. “You’re ready to go?”

Her mouth quirks at a corner. “As I’ll ever be.”

He hums, uncertain, suddenly left-footed with her so close. They should leave, but that involves a number a movements he’s suddenly stymied by.

Thankfully, Obi opens the door, practically shoving him onto the porch. “All right kids, be safe now.”

“Obi...”

“Don’t worry,” Kiki drawls, sashaying over the threshold. “I packed plenty of condoms.”

The door cuts off Obi’s laugh, but Mitsuhide can’t escape the pounding of his heart.

“You know,” he sighs, trailing after her, “you’re only encouraging him when you say things like that.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she hums, floating past. “I was trying to encourage you.”

#mitsukiki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #ans #THESE ARE FINALLY FINISHED #and this little side jaunt is barely started 🤣#i wanted to do the whole date...then convinced myself half...#and now i just have the lead up #but lbr #it's better this way #since we get more chaos agent Obi #which only makes Obi's sensitive feelings about his OWN date funnier #buddy you bought and paid for the shit you're getting #and NOW you don't want it? no wonder Kiki gives you crap

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star-killer-md · 3 years

Text

Happy Hunting 2: Large Game

Part One Here//AO3

Request: From @clumsycopy: Charlie Barber + any of the kinks from October 17th in Kinktober list? 💕

Knife-play | 69 | Bondage

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: mentions of drug use, Kinfe-play, blood kink, blood as lube, knife fighting, violence against both the reader and Charlie, foreign object insertion, oral sex f receiving, afab reader but no pronouns used, dead dove do not eat, dark fic, it’s about to get bloody y’all

Ship: Serial killer!Charlie x Reader

Summary: Charlie Barber is not a man who is easily swayed by failure.

You were dancing again.

He could just make out the familiar movement of your hips, the way they swayed to a song he couldn’t hear. It was the same half-salsa feet-forward, hands beckoning him further into your coils—ready to wind him up in a vice grip and strike.

Charlie hadn’t been back to the bar—your bar, as you’d said. Your bar, your territory. No, he had been good, stayed off your hunting grounds ever since he woke up nearly frozen to a concerned police officer prodding him with a nightstick. So, he kept his distance from that section of the city, but he couldn’t quite manage to keep his distance from you.

It was even colder now with winter in full swing, and the harsh wind, tunneled by the city grids, beat at his back. Your street was small—quiet but not enough that he’d seem out of place leaning on the corner just out of range of the streetlights. Through your third story window he watched as you moved, staying just within the frame like it was a spotlight. Like this was just another performance and the stage notes placed you front and center for the whole of New York to see.

Well, maybe not the whole city, he thought when you pushed the curtains open.

He followed the movement of your hands, cracking the window despite the chill and letting some of the music drift down to him. It was soft, but familiar with a good beat. None of the crap that played when he drank and watched you stalk the small, neon lit dance floor for fresh meat.

“Did you know that prey animals never have forward facing eyes?”

He recalled more of that night than he expected too. And in particularly vivid detail, he remembered your voice. The growl of it, the power, the ‘I’d rip your throat out with my teeth and love every second of it’ snarl in his ear.

God what he wouldn’t give to hear it lilted and pitched high, whining with your hands clawing at his—

Charlie felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

It was familiar by now. You usually caught him—or at the very least he usually noticed when you did. A shiver ran through him every time you picked him out of the surroundings and pinned him with that predatory gaze that said ‘I see you.’

And you did.

You did see him, not just lurking in the dark on your corner, but you saw him. Saw the creature that lurked and festered behind his mask and understood it. That is why he had to keep coming back. Had to keep watching you dance from your bedroom window like a one person stage play, and he was the only one in the audience that got it. But really, who could blame him?

It wasn’t often one meets another of their kind and lives through it.

So Charlie came every night he could manage it, ever since you left him drugged and cold in that park with its circle path like a black hole. And he knew you watched him too.

He was your type after all.

It was so obvious once he thought it over, he almost kicked himself for missing it. You’d just been so distracting. All those men, tall with their dark hair and dark eyes and not nearly as handsome as him but close enough. None of them had ever walked away. But you took him to your graveyard, pressed him into the killing floor and…let him go.

There was desire in the way you’d ground yourself against him—a craving he knew all too well would not be shaken.

You slipped once, and you would do it again. He could feel it. And when you did...

The fallout would be delicious.

***

Slipping in was easy enough. Your lovely elderly neighbor was more than willing to buzz in ‘such a nice young man’ as it were, and your name was printed clearly along the mail slots with your unit number conveniently displayed adjacent.

That was quite the oversight.

You were at work, he’d taken off a day last week to trail you into the city center. The office building you worked in was a few train rides away and Charlie knew you wouldn’t be back until late that evening. Which left him plenty of time to get to know you a bit better.

Now, Charlie liked to think of himself as a man of skill. Maybe he’d underestimated you at the start, allowed his judgment to be clouded by fantasies of you, restrained and begging, gushing wet and ready to take him like no one else ever could. But after his last encounter, he’d grown sharper.

Anyway, he’d been right all along.

You would be so much more than a trophy.

But there was only so much he could learn from the few hours between rehearsals, hopping from train to train, and following you like a lost dog. He needed more than that, more than sitting outside your workplace or cafés. He needed you, all of you, and he suspected you needed him as well.

Why else would you have left him breathing?

Gaining back a bit of high ground would be necessary, though. You knew he was watching, and seemed to like it a little too much. All of this was a show to you, a character, a role, but Charlie needed to know about the actor. The hunter. And what better way to do that than to learn how you lived when no one was watching.

Or, when you thought no one was watching.

He climbed the narrow staircase to the third floor and found your door at the end of the hall. The lock was easy enough to pick and these older buildings never had security cameras. So when the door clicked open, he stepped in and shut it behind him without an eye batted in his direction.

Your apartment was neat, but in a lived-in sort of way. There were dishes in the sink and some clothes strewn about the floor of the hall and piled on the small sofa, but overall it looked exceedingly...normal.

To be fair, Charlie’s place was just as unassuming and far less homely than this, so his shock was probably unwarranted.

He wandered through your kitchen first. A mug sat on the counter, still lukewarm and half full from your breakfast he supposed. So you left in a rush. That seemed to suit you, always moving, The clothes on the sofa were separated into piles, lights and darks ready to be laundered.

His hands sifted through the mounds of soft fabric, lifting shirts and such to his face every so often to catch your scent. But it was mostly overpowered by perfume or soap until his hands felt strapy lace and pulled and that oh, that was what you smelled like. Tangy and sweet and making his mouth water. His jeans grew tight as he thought briefly about laying amongst your laundry, enveloped by the heady scent of you.

He could push the lace of your panties between his lips and suck hard, taste the remnants of your slick on his tongue, imagine your thighs were pressed against his ears. Conjure up the feeling of your knees at his back again and let the adrenaline course through him while he stroked himself.

While equal parts enraging, that night was the closest to ecstasy Charlie could recall. The weight of you, settled in his lap and grinding on his cock, while he could barely lift a finger was a rush unlike any other.

Suddenly he understood the allure of big game hunting.

You were his bear, his wolf, his lion, every dangerous thing that could rip him apart and fuck. Even getting close enough to land a shot now was invigorating.

That meant he had to be especially cautious, though. There could be no more mistakes this time. No more strings left untied or your claws would be at his throat again and he doubted his chances of survival the second time around. But, that didn’t mean he couldn’t reward himself just a bit. Just getting this far was quite the accomplishment. So, he tucked the underwear into his back pocket and moved swiftly through the rest of your home.

The bathroom was uneventful and your hall closet held nothing but sheets and towels. There was nothing left then but your bedroom at the end of the hall. He let the door creak open slowly, revealing a sizable bed graced by natural light from the window. The very same one he’d watched you through for weeks. It felt odd to be on the other side of it.

Your drawers yielded nothing of particular interest, though the closet was much less disappointing. On a shelf sat a bin peeking out from in between spare blankets. He tugged it down and cracked the lid, grinning when it finally dawned on him what exactly he’d discovered.

In his hand Charlie held one familiar, hideously neon green sneaker. So that’s what had become of your unfortunate first dance partner. It was intermixed with multitudes of other innocuous items. Some wallets, car keys, rings, and gloves were all folded and stacked with precision. Most were clearly men’s, and all were meticulously organized.

He chuckled, looking down at your trophy case. Keepsakes, he guessed, from all your former conquests. He wondered if you took them all to that park, or if it was new. Wondered if you left them all to freeze and be found by unsuspecting passersby.

Charlie was so entranced by this new information, that he failed to hear the front door drift slowly open. Never heard the soft steps of your feet on the hardwood, nor the drag of the knife from it’s butcher block. In fact, it wasn’t until the chill ran down his spine, gooseflesh erupting across his arms in a wave, did he pause.

“Hello, Charlie,” you mused from behind him.

The sound of your voice was like a cracking stick in the woods at night. A pair of glowing eyes in the glare of a flashlight. Ominous and growing closer. His breath froze in his chest as he rose carefully up from the floor and turned.

***

It was quite the sight:

You—shoulders relaxed and leaned against the doorframe, lips pulled into that mixed drink expression he’d grown to crave. One part grin, three parts wolfish snarl. Your finger was placed gently at the tip of a sizable carving knife, the other hand gripped tightly just below the bolster.

Charlie towered over you, but in that moment he felt dwarfed standing in your bedroom and staring at you down his nose.

He said nothing and you dropped the blade to your side.

“I thought we talked about this,” your voice echoed. “Seems like you did a piss poor job of listening.”

Slowly you took one step then another, until you stood only a foot or so away and your chin was tipped up to maintain your gaze. Charlie’s hands were curled into fists at his sides. You were supposed to be on your way to work, boarding the E train by now seated or standing next to the door so you could make it onto the platform before the incoming crowd. You shouldn’t have returned until late tonight.

Late tonight when you would have undressed and he could have seen the silhouette of your body through the sheer curtains. Could have locked the memory away for later and stroked himself off into the new panties in his pocket.

That was your pattern. Those were your rules.

Why would you break them now?

“Then again, I suppose the stereotypes ring true,” you said and grinned up at him. “Directors aren’t very good at taking orders.”

Charlie’s eyes widened and your smile grew.

“Did you think you were the only one doing research?”

“I’m impressed you found the time,” he mumbled into the closing space between your chests.

“It comes with experience,” you breathed across his lips.

His gaze was locked on you, but he made sure to keep the knife in your hand within view. Charlie was larger and he guessed he’d have little problem restraining you, but now was not the time to be taking chances.

You lifted the weapon slowly, trailing it up his chest and letting it catch on the buttons of his shirt. His hand was fast, moving on instinct and engulfing your wrist so that the tip of the blade rested right in the dip of his collarbone. The cool metal left a trail of tingling skin behind. His cock throbbed in his pants as your tongue flicked out to wet your lips.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Barber,” you brought your empty hand up to pat his cheek once again. “You can always learn from your mistakes.”

He grunted when you wound back suddenly and landed a sharp kick to his shin. In the scrabble you wrenched your wrist from his grip, slicing into his forearm before he could regain his balance.

“Fuck!” he hissed, pressing a hand to the wound. “You—god— you bitch.”

From the corner of his eye Charlie watched your circle to the left, “Now now, I don’t think your son would appreciate that kind of language.”

A sharp, stinging pain was radiating from his arm and his hands shook with the adrenaline and its accompanying rage.

“You need to shut your fucking mouth,” Charlie growled and pounced at you, catching your hand as it brought the knife down in an arch towards his chest.

“What, are you gonna make me?” you jeered and tried to twist your hand away but his thumb dug into the pounding veins just below the skin of your wrist. You cried out and he caught the movement before you could land another kick.

You let out a muffled yell when he gripped your thigh and yanked you off your feet. The blade clattered from your hand as you crashed to the floor as Charlie felt a familiar rush at seeing you, dazed and limp below him. Quickly he snatched the knife and pulled you up by your arm. Your hands were clutching at the back of your head where it had smashed against the hardwood and your eyes were unfocused. He shoved you towards the bed even as you tried to blindly scratch at his face.

His hand wound around your throat as your back hit the mattress and you clawed at his fingers.

“Not so talkative now are you?” he snarled against your lips, bringing the blade up to rest at your throat. “Little whore needs her prey drugged up and half dead before she can strike? Some fucking hunter you are.”

You squirmed as Charlie squeezed just enough to stop the blood flowing in your neck, watching your face contort with the pain and the loss of breath.

“Kiss. My. Ass,” you spat with what little air you could gasp.

He straddled your body easily, so much smaller now that you were pinned under his fist. The knife bit into you, sending pretty beads of scarlet down your bare chest. The tip dug just past the skin. He loved that sight, the way your skin yielded to the metal and parted at just the lightest pressure. The noise that left you when he first breached your flesh was almost as delicious as what he imagined you’d sound like when he sunk his cock into you.

Very nearly moaning at the sight, dragging the blade down leaving a shallow stripe that stopped just between your breasts. You stilled, wincing but licking your lips once again as his eyes trailed up the cut and met yours. The deeper slice on his forearm was dripping a slow, steady stream into the hollow of your throat that spilled out around his fingers and ran down your chest.

Charlie watched, entranced as your blood mingled and his pants tented. He dragged the hand at your neck through the mess. The smell of iron was thick in the air, and his own blood rushed. His ears were ringing, your bedroom fading out until all he could focus on was the pounding of your pulse under his palm and the heaving of your breasts as you gasped for breath.

His grip on your throat loosened. There was something happening, something coming over him as your eyes roamed his face, stuttering at his lips and traveling back to meet his stare. Time had stopped, and he was reminded again of how alluring you were.

How had he forgotten?

The same grace that he’d been drawn to was evident in the slow movement of your arm, moving to softly grip the knife in his hand and gently push it to the side. Charlie let you move the blade from your throat.

It was hours maybe, or just seconds that you both stared, bleeding, at one another. It was a standoff, the tension growing with each passing moment. The rolls had finally been reversed. You were right where he had fantasized you would be for so long, but there was still something in the way you gazed at him.

Head on, eyes forward.

Predator eyes.

And that had to be what all the others were missing.

That spark. That fight. The sharp teeth, eyes locked, ready to tear into his neck stare that made the catch so much more exciting.

The others were nothing compared to this.

This is why he needed you alive, wanted you kicking. Wanted you screaming and crying and moaning for him. On his fingers, on his cock, on his blade. Fuck, he wanted to be buried in you and it didn’t matter which way.

He needed to taste his victory, and it seemed so did you.

“Shit,” he breathed as you lifted the knife from his hand and placed the tip just above his belt, slashing his shirt open by the buttons one at a time until it hung loose around his shoulders.

“You want to hunt, Charlie Barber?” you asked slowly, and—fucking christ—that voice did something to him. His breathing came in pants as you pulled his hand from your throat and wrapped it around the knife handle, placing the tip at the hem of your top. “Let’s hunt.”

Charlie growled, really truly growled as your shirt tore easily in the path of the blade. It fell open, exposing your skin to the cool air as a new trickle of blood leaked down the valley of your breasts and rolled in rivulets down your ribs.

His mouth watered.

Placing his hands on either side of your head, he lowered his head and followed the trail of blood with his tongue. Groaning as the sharp, iron tang of it coated his mouth but the sound caught in his throat as you surged forward. Your teeth dug into the meat of his shoulder, very nearly breaking the skin and laving over the angry red mark you left behind.

“Do you always taste yours?” you asked, nudging his nose with yours.

Charlie leaned back on his heels as you sat up. He rested half his weight in your lap as you tugged the remains of his shirt off and trailed your fingers along the edge of the slice you��d left in him. The sting of it awoke something, some ache, an itch that was never quite satisfied with any of his other prey.

“I asked you a question,” you lifted your hand, two fingers coated red and pressed them to his lips.

When he opened his mouth to answer, your fingers slipped inside and dragged along his tongue.

“Yes,” he muttered

“Hm,” you bit your lip bottom lip and he wanted to replace your teeth with his. “Well then, how do I compare?”

He let you pull him down by his jaw, “I don’t think I’ve had quite enough to tell you.”

The mattress dipped when he pulled away and stood. You watched carefully—eyes flicking between his hands, his face, and the obvious bulge of his arousal—as Charlie brought the knife up and trailed the point along the fabric covering your pussy. The quick breath that left you made him shutter.

He glanced back up at you, and nodded his head to the buckle of your pants. A few seconds past in which the two of you stood your ground—a stalemate between alpha’s—until, shockingly, you relented with a huff.

Charlie kept his eyes on your face until the last of your clothing thumped softly on the floor. Bare and decorated with drying trails of blood, you laid back and let your legs fall open slowly, giving him a full view of your glistening lips.

It was unlike anything he’d seen before or even dared to imagine.

His mind raced through dozens of images just like the scene before him. But when he thought of all those before you, looking down on them was more akin to staring at a piece of meat. They were no more entertaining than a chuck roast, flopping about and whimpering. Even when they begged or screamed it felt nothing like this.

You were a cut steak in the same way that a dream was reality. He could treat it as such, but it would never be true.

It occurred to him then that until now, he had been much like a beast in an empty cage—pacing and yearning for some kind of challenge, something more stimulating than prey that couldn’t bite back. And you were exactly what he’d been waiting for all this time.

Slowly, you drew your fingers through the mess pooling between your breasts and brought them, dripping, down to draw bloody circles over your clit.

“Well, why don’t you taste a little more?”

***

Charlie was uncertain how long he’d been on his knees, your ass sat on the edge of the bed as he sucked and nipped at your clit, drinking down the slick that gushed from you. Regardless, it was long enough to have reduced you to what he assumed was the closest you would ever come to a writhing mess on the mattress above him.

“Fucking Christ,” you groaned and raked your nails harshly against his scalp.

He hummed as the sting intensified with your fingers knotting themselves in his hair and tugging. Your thighs tensed, slamming shut around his ears until he wrenched them open again and continued to run his tongue in slow circles over the nub, pulling it between his teeth every so often just to hear the catch in your breath when he did. Charlie had yet to even delve his fingers inside of you, and he could sense your growing impatience.

But every new gushing of your cunt flooded his mouth mixing with the blood on his tongue and clouding his thoughts in a tangy, metallic haze.

Shit, he’d decided the second he licked his first, long stripe up your pussy that he would never taste anything more delectable. If he ever got caught—which was incredibly unlikely—but if he was, his last meal would be to bury himself between your legs and drink until they took him away.

The only thing that dragged him back into the world outside of his mouth on your lips was the sharp smack of your hand against his temple. You yanked his head back and growled down at him.

“Don’t forget who you’re toying with, Mr. Barber,” you hissed.

Charlie couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his cheeks, “Trust me, I’m well versed in dealing with desperate whores.”

He caught the beginning of your lunge before your back left the bed. His passive palm slammed down onto your chest, smearing a handprint on the bloody skin and effectively pinning you on the bed. God, he had come close to cumming in his pants a few times since the start of your little game, but the sight of his hand encompassing the swell of flesh at the top of your breasts nearly brought him to his breaking point.

“Well,” you gasped and hooked your legs around his waist, rocking his aching cock between your folds, “luckily, so am I.”

Charlie grunted and felt himself start to boil over. Even through the rough fabric of his pants, your pussy was so incredibly warm and wet he had to wrench himself away. And then you were laughing, the chuckle building low in your gut and working its way out to grate his ears, make his face burn and his hands curl into fists.

“I think you would do well not to forget who you’re toying with, either,” he snapped, dragging you again to the edge of the bed and retrieving the knife he’d discarded on the floor.

“What do you think you’re—”

He cut you off, as he flipped the blade into palm and ran the pommel against your entrance, nudging your clit again, “You want something inside this fucking cunt so bad, I’m going to give it to you.”

The sharp metal bit into his hand as he plunged its hilt all the way into the bolster. The cry that left you, half sob, half choked relief at finally being filled seeped into his veins and spread like venom.

“You, son—fuck—son of a bitch,” you moaned as he pumped the knife handle harshly into your soaking cunt.

He couldn’t help himself.

Charlie’s hand dropped to the zipper of his pants, hastily unfastening the clasps and pulling his dick, raging hard and flushed red from the confines of his underwear. It slapped against the skin of his stomach and left a trail of precum behind. As he fucked you on the knife, angling the hooked end so that it stroked your upper walls, he roughly fisted his length. His hips bucked up into his dry palm but the friction was nowhere close to what he needed.

He wanted your hot, wet, pussy to clench around him so he could mark you with his cum and his teeth and make you his.

But he couldn’t give in so quickly.

The second he relented to those base instincts, you would have won, and Charlie couldn’t have you gaining any more leverage than you already had.

So instead, he let his cock go excruciatingly untouched and reached up to knead your breasts. Your nipples peaked under his fingers and he rolled one between them, listening to the whining in your throat as he pinched the stiff flesh. He almost lost himself entirely in the wonder of your softness, the way you yielded and shaped to fit in his palm.

Without much thought he arched up, mouthing across your tits and sucking hungrily at the nipple. When Charlie drew back, your skin was shiny with his spit and the blood still oozing out and collecting in the dip of your chest. Entranced, smeared his palm through the sticky, warm pool and coated his palm. He brought it down, jerking his cock once again and the sweet, hot slide of his blood covered hand was enough.

“You like it?” he mumbled, growing more incoherent by the minute. “Such a fucking slut, I’m going to ruin this pussy, you know that right?”

You kept your mouth shut, but through the haze of pleasure and pain, you managed to fix him with another bone-shattering stare.

“You’re going to take my cock and no one else will ever be good enough when I’m done with you,” he was rambling now, fucking his hand and your cunt with his face in your tits.

Charlie didn’t believe in a god, but right now—he certainly felt like one.

“Admit it,” he snarled, “we’re the same.”

His hips came to a stuttering halt, thumb teasing at his cockhead before letting go completely to press hard at your clit again. “None of those assholes you picked up ever satisfied you, I know they didn’t.”

“You’re right,” your words were so quiet he almost missed them entirely.

He never relented on your clit of the hand driving the knife’s hilt impossibly deep into your cunt, but he did raise his head from your breasts to hover over your face.

“What was that,” he asked in a whisper.

It suddenly felt incredibly wrong to speak any louder.

Your face was twisted in pain of admittance and the release that he’d kept you on the brink of for so long, “You’re right, nothing was ever enough.”

Until him.

You didn’t say it, but he knew that was what you meant.

And then Charlie Barber was kissing you. His lips were on yours in an instant and it was all teeth and tongue and battling for dominance which developed quickly into a truce of sorts.

Neither of you were better than the other.

Just two sides of the same monster.

You moaned, deep and low into his mouth, licking past his lips to trace the crooked edges of his teeth. He hoped you could taste yourself on his tongue.

Below, you were rocking your hips now, meeting each thrust of the knife. He could feel the tension on every backstroke as your walls clenched tighter against the hilt.

He wanted to see you cum so desperately. He needed to know what you looked like in the throes of bliss that only he could bring you. So, he tore his lips from yours and watched as your back arched into his chest and you threw your head back choking as your pussy clamped around the unforgiving handle while the orgasm washed over you.

There was a moment of silence as you both panted and twitched and revealed in the incredible satisfaction of finally, finally finding your equal—your match. But then your eyes were locking onto his face again and he felt the familiar predatory urge to bitesuckpouncepound once more.

The following seconds were a flurry of movement.

Charlie ripped the knife from your cunt and let it clatter to the floor as you latched onto his neck and sucked hard. In the midst of the tangle of arms and limbs his pants were fully abandoned and he crawled over your body, sitting back against the headboard and dragging you into his lap.

You pulled back, foreheads resting together and both looking down to his cock. Coated in a slick of blood and precum that leaked steadily from the tip, it was nestled between your bodies and twitched with every rapid beat of his heart.

Ever so slowly, your eyes drifted back to meet and he swallowed thickly before your mouths were crashing together again. Time was irrelevant as your bodies moved incomprehensibly fast, aching to be joined and satisfied.

“Take me,” he groaned into your mouth, sucking on your tongue and releasing it with a pop.

Thankfully, you just nodded. No smartass quip, no talking back.

The knowledge that you needed this just as much only spurred him forward.

Swiftly, you lifted your hips, guiding Charlie’s length between your folds and sinking down in one sharp thrust that seated your ass comfortably against his thighs. The blood and your first orgasm eased the slide of his dick. Almost immediately you started bouncing in his lap, and he gripped your hips, bursting vessels under the skin.

One hand traveled up to your back, holding your chests together as the other guided you down, spearing you on his dick and you both moaned at the feel of completeness.

Your nipples dragged across his as your bodies frantically moved together and the sweet sensation stung his fraying nerves.

“Charlie,” you sounded just as wrecked as he felt, “Fuck.”

“I know,” he whispered your name in between the sloppy meeting of your lips, “I know.”

The room was filled with the most base of animalistic sounds and the wet slap of your cunt on his cock. You were tightening around him and he felt your fingers bury themselves in his hair, tugging his mouth from yours so he was looking you in the eye. The hand on your hip was digging dark bruises into the pliant flesh as you ground against him, breath fanning over his face.

And this was it.

This was what it had all been leading up to.

The rest had just been practice.

And this was the culmination of everything he’d learned.

So when you came with a shout of his name, looking him straight in both eyes, he knew you really would be his last.

There would be no others after this. As much as he had claimed your cunt, your body, you for himself, you owned this pleasure—his pleasure—just as completely. And that alone had him pulsing, coating your walls in thick, hot ropes of him that mixed with the bloody mess coating your bodies and dripped out around the base of his cock.

The whole time, your eyes never left his for a moment.

Perpetually looking forward.

***

Charlie’s arm throbbed from under the packs of gauze and ace bandages. It was raining again and the train platform was particularly packed considering it was well past midnight.

Performances were set to start next weekend and rehearsals had him working till the early hours of the morning, catching trains at ungodly times and stumbling into bed only to rinse and repeat the next day.

He missed you.

It felt good to admit that. Not shameful or weak. He’d come to terms with the feelings of loss that had formed like a rock in his gut when he slunk from your apartment two weeks ago. Still marked in your blood and tasting you on his lips, Charlie had left you sleeping and stumbled back to his place to shower and make it to the start of dress rehearsals.

And since then, he hadn’t had a free minute to sneak away.

It’s not as though he could just shoot you a text the way his intern did constantly at even the simplest of tasks. But the closing wound concealed behind his cardigan and trench coat was a pleasant, if painful reminder of his final hunt.

He was right, after all.

If the others were lackluster before he met you, he was entirely disinterested now.

So he comforted himself by reliving the events that transpired in your room—your voice that he felt more than heard, the cut of the blade, his name caught between your teeth. He took a calming breath, glancing around to clear his head lest he miss the train while caught up in the fantasy of your bare skin on his.

As the tunnel vibrated and shook with the force of the approaching subway, Charlie gazed across the tracks to the adjacent platform. It was less crowded, not many people taking the southbound lines from this part of the city. He was certain he caught a familiar glimpse of a coat, a wolf’s snarl, two eyes locked on him. But the train blocked his view before he could get a better look.

Frantically, he boarded the compartment and shouldered his way to the opposite doors and looked out the smudged window.

His heart stuttered in his chest when he saw you.

Standing relaxed on the filthy green tile, you grinned at him and very suddenly Charlie was no longer bending under the weight of his work. As the train started up again, rushing faster and faster away, he looked for as long as he could at your figure growing smaller until it was swallowed up by the maze of pitch black tunnels.

With a sigh, Charlie sunk down onto the vacant bench and laid his head in his hands. Though just to hide the sinful smile that graced his lips from any prying eyes.

You really were a perfect trophy.

This hunt might be his last, but something told him it would not be ending anytime soon.

And that was more than enough.

#charlie barber x reader #serial killer!charlie #charlie barber smut #marriage story #serial killer!au #dead dove do not eat #dark fic #blood kink #kinfe play #kinktober #adcu fanfic #mind the tags #dr. b writes

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