#yet again absolutely spiralling from each of these snips | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luvdsc · 3 years

Text

haha, what if we kissed? (lol jk... unless?)

fact! you’re secretly in love with your best friend, and so is he!

pairing :: zhong chenle x reader genre :: fluff / best friend, buzzfeed worth it au word count :: 5,072 words warnings :: none playlist :: sunny afternoon (red velvet) ⋆ about love (marina) ⋆ all about you (nct u) ⋆ love (x lovers) ⋆ bella notte (f. murray abraham & arturo castro) author’s note :: i literally just finished writing the rest of this in my meetings today and am posting during my lunchbreak, but happy (1 day late) birthday, chenle sweetheart!! ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

“Hello, and welcome back to another episode of Dream: Worth It!”

Chenle shouts loudly from the driver’s seat, waving excitedly at the camera attached to the dashboard as he waits for the traffic light to turn green. You visibly flinch in your spot on the passenger's side, startled by the sudden greeting, and even Jisung jumps in the backseat, almost dropping the camcorder he was fiddling with.

Your best friend continues to give the camera a dazzling smile, paying no attention to your and Jisung’s brief glares. “Today on Worth It, thanks to a fan’s suggestion, we’ll be trying out three different spaghetti dishes at three drastically different price points to find out which one is most worth it at its price!”

“Yes,” you chime in, nodding excitedly at the camera and giving a little wave. “So if you want to see another riveting episode of Chenle and Jisung going on three dates at three drastically different price points while I third wheel again, please stay tuned!”

“Hey!”

Both the boys wildly protest, but you blatantly ignore them, checking your phone quickly before beaming at the camera again. “So here’s our first spaghetti fact! The word ‘spaghetti’ is actually the plural version of spaghetto. Spaghetto comes from the Italian word spago, which means twine or thin string.”

“Wait, that actually makes sense. Spaghetti looks like thin strings,” Chenle says, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Yeah, basically every language makes sense, except for English,” you remark, setting your phone down in your lap before turning to your best friend. “So are you excited for this episode’s dish?”

“Yes! Shout out to Moony for your suggestion,” Chenle calls out, driving forward before making a right. “If anyone else has any suggestions for future videos, please feel free to comment below.”

You start to explain the first restaurant to your viewers. “Our first stop is called Legalize Marinara! It’s a small hole in the wall place in downtown LA, and fresh pasta is made everyday. We’ll be talking to the owner and chef Johnny Suh about the daily process.”

“And cut!” Jisung calls out, and you stop there, pressing the off button to end the recording. Later on, the three of you will have to work on snipping up the recordings to create a smooth transition from there to a shot of Johnny and his restaurant before jumping into your quick interview with him.

You quickly scroll through the questions you had written ahead of time to ask Johnny on your phone, mouthing the words and memorizing them. You were always the one who asked about the history of the restaurant because Chenle wasn’t as good with the more sentimental questions and preferred the light hearted ones about the food specifically, which you didn’t mind. As long as you get to try good food at the end of it, you’re one very happy, very stuffed camper. You are very much looking forward to visiting Legalize Marinara.

“—and that’s how the pasta is freshly made everyday in the morning.” Johnny finishes up, giving the camera a very charismatic smile and a wink. “We also have a special brew of coffee created by my dad, but that’s a story for another episode. I’ll bring out the spaghetti once it’s ready.”

You and Chenle thank him before going over to sit at one of the small metal tables near the entrance. The place had a sort of modern, yet retro feel to it with an eclectic mix of vintage, kitschy furniture adding pops of color here and there to the otherwise simple space with a neutral palette. The name of the restaurant flashes as a neon sign, serving as the main wall decor along with records scattered here and there on the wall as well.

Jisung stands across from the two of you, propping the large camera on his shoulder in preparation. You and Chenle both take a sip of the special coffee drinks Johnny prepared for you each on the house, pleasantly surprised by the crisp, refreshing taste your taste buds are immediately hit with. Johnny appears minutes later, a pretty plate of simple spaghetti and meatballs along with some Parmesan and garnish on top in hand.

“Here’s our most popular dish: spaghetti with meatballs!” he announces, placing the plate in front of you both carefully. “It’s a simple tomato sauce, but it’s made with organic, local ingredients that we get from the farmer’s market every morning. We get the fresh meat from the butcher down the block everyday to make the meatballs and buy the cheese from local sellers as well. We also add the secret spice mixture created by my mom to the meatballs, which gives it a distinct flavor from other restaurants. Please dig in, guys!”

You immediately swirl your fork into the plate of spaghetti. It looks and smells absolutely fantastic, and your mouth is already watering. You cannot believe that this only costs thirteen dollars. This is an absolute steal. You are just about to take a bite when—

“Wait! We didn’t do a ‘cheers’ yet!” Chenle exclaims, sticking out his fork towards you. You clink your fork against his own metal utensil, and he’s finally satisfied, retracting his arm. Finally, you take the much anticipated bite. The flavors absolutely explode in your mouth, and you’re already reaching out to take a second forkful of the delicious masterpiece.

“This is amazing,” you declare, and Chenle nods enthusiastically, spearing a meatball with his fork. Jisung briefly pans the camera over to Johnny, who shows a double thumbs up before doing finger guns and giving an exaggerated wink.

“Here, try this.” Chenle cuts a piece of the meatball and offers it to you. You reach out for it, but he pulls back, smiling widely and eyes sparkling. “Nuh uh, that’s too easy. Say ah, Y/N.”

“I—” Your cheeks grow warmer than ever, and his grin grows broader, wriggling the fork in front of you. Face burning, you move forward and take a bite. You can hear Jisung fake gagging behind the camera and very much would like to flip him the bird, but you are a professional. You’ll get him back for that later. After all, revenge is a dish best served piping hot and spicy, and you have some Carolina reapers leftover from another video that may accidentally find its way into Jisung’s ramen next time.

You and Chenle spend some more time describing the dish in between bites as Johnny pipes in here and there with some well placed dad jokes that has Jisung shaking his head behind the camera. By the end of it, you both are very happy, and you switch places with Jisung who has a chance to try out the pasta himself at last. He silently eats it before tossing a thumbs up at the camera, and you stop the recording there. After thanking Johnny once more before the three of you leave, you all pile into your car and get ready to go to the next stop.

Up next: Penne for your Thoughts.

“Can we stop here?” Jisung pipes up, peering out the window with interest. His eyes scan the surroundings, peering at the empty space and the wide stairs in front of the spiraling columns of a grand building.

You furrow your eyebrows, glancing at your friend in the backseat. “We’re still a couple blocks away from the restaurant though.”

“This looks like a good spot to film a dance,” he muses to himself before sitting up straighter. “Can we take a quick break? We’re still early, and I wanted to film a quick TikTok before the sun sets.”

You look over at Chenle, who shrugs and pulls over. He backs up into an available parking space, parallel parking smoothly, one hand gripping the back of your seat and the other on the steering wheel. “Alright, do your thing, Jisungie.”

Jisung excitedly hops out from the back. You and Chenle follow suit, locking the car behind you. Your friend is busy setting up his collapsible tripod before placing his phone on it and calling over to you, “Hey, can you stand in front, Y/N? I wanna angle this correctly and check the lighting.”

You move in front of his phone, standing several steps in front of the stairs. Jisung fiddles around with his phone for a few moments, switching up some of the settings and zoom functions before straightening up, eyes bright. “Okay, stay there to mark the spot! I’m gonna press the start button to record. Chenle, can I borrow your phone? I need to play the song for the dance.”

Chenle hands him his phone, and the familiar intro to Doja Cat’s “Say So” begins to blast on top volume. Jisung hands it back to its owner and hurriedly moves to stand in front of his own recording phone as you step aside. “I kinda also need you two in my TikTok.”

“Wait, what? I don’t know the dance,” you protest, starting to back out, but Jisung grabs your hand, pulling you into view, as Chenle bounces over with a shrug of his shoulders, never one to shy away from the camera.

“You don’t need to dance. I just need you both to uh, kiss my cheek on, um, both sides when I tap on them both. It should be the fourth time she says ‘say so’ in the song,” he stammers slightly, face turning slightly pink. He avoids making eye contact as you give him a suspicious look, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What? Why?”

“It’s part of the dance! Now get out of the shot please because the chorus is finally coming up again!” He unceremoniously shoves you out of the frame, and Chenle quickly catches you before you faceplant into the ground. You have a few choice words to yell at your friend and are about to furiously march over to him, but Chenle tightens his grip on you. “Let’s just let him finish, and we can go on. You know how he is about dancing.”

“I’m paying Renjun to put another cockroach picture as his lockscreen again,” you huff, frowning at the dancing boy. “Why didn’t you say anything about the whole kissing request anyway?”

“Eh, I’ve done it before. It’s no big deal.” Chenle shrugs, and you start to stutter, brain malfunctioning, “Wait, you did wha—”

“Oh, it’s almost our cue!” Chenle pushes you towards Jisung as he runs behind the camera to the other side, and you find yourself stumbling for a second time before catching yourself. Grumbling to yourself, you catch Chenle’s apologetic expression, and you sigh, shaking your head as you wait on the sidelines for Jisung to do the move.

And there it is.

Jisung points at his cheeks, tapping them on both sides, and you and Chenle jump into the frame. You lean forward, pressing your lips softly against— wait.

Eyes widening, you jump back in shock, mouth popping open, and the same reaction comes from your best friend when you two realize that you just kissed each other. On the lips.

Crouched on the ground, Jisung looks rather smug after quickly dropping down mid-dance and orchestrating the whole incident. He quickly stands up, striding towards the camera and ending the recording, before efficiently packing up the equipment and walking back to the car without another word.

“Did we just—” you splutter, unable to continue your sentence, as your face grows increasingly warm. Chenle refuses to make eye contact with you, the darkening blush spreading across his face like wildfire. The two of you both direct your disbelief at the same target, rushing over to the car which he boredly stands next to, waiting for Chenle to unlock it.

“Jisung!” You both shout his name, and he just stares at you both, a small grin across his face that he struggles to hide. “What?”

“‘What?’ That’s it? What was that?! Why did you do that?” you exclaim, waving your arms around. Chenle is rendered speechless, unable to say anything after the quick outburst of his other best friend’s name.

“I was tired of listening to Che—mmph!” Jisung is abruptly cut off as Chenle throws his hand over his friend’s mouth, effectively interrupting whatever he was about to say. The two of them silently look at each other, maintaining some sort of telepathic stare that’s probably discussed in the universal book of the bro code. You’ve seen Jaemin and Jeno or Renjun and Donghyuck share the same look before and never really understood it. To be honest, it kind of reminds you of that one moment where the main characters of a chick flick gaze into each others’ eyes and then kiss.

The sound of a text notification cuts off your train of thought and breaks the intense stare down going between the two boys, and you check your phone, eyes widening. “Oh my god, we’re going to be late if we don’t go now! Taeyong just texted me to confirm if we’re coming.”

The three of you hurry into the car, buckling up in your seats. Your hand lightly grazes Chenle’s amidst the rush, and you freeze. You look up, heat spreading across your face, as Chenle meets your gaze, turning redder than spaghetti sauce.

“Alright, you can continue this moment at the restaurant,” Jisung says loudly, jolting the two of you out of your stupor. You quickly retract your hand, mumbling a quick apology, and look away, cheeks still growing warmer than ever. Chenle awkwardly clears his throat and starts the car up, driving to your second stop on the map.

Penne for your Thoughts is simply lovely. It reminds you of a place you would see on the shiny cover of Architecture Digest: a hot spot where all those social influencers would take aesthetic snapshots and post to their Instagrams. The restaurant is quaint and spacious: a large area filled with lots of greenery, hanging plants in simple white ceramic pots, white painted brick walls, and wooden tables with soft cushions on each seat. Once you wrap up the interview with Taeyong, you are seated next to an open window with a great view of a pretty koi pond in the back.

“We serve Korean fusion style food here, and our spaghetti has a freshly made tomato sauce that includes chopped kimchi infused in it. We found that using garlic marinated pork belly makes a more flavorful meatball, which we char slightly, paying homage to the wonderful KBBQ samgyeopsal. We also found that a raw egg yolk on top adds a richness to the pasta, which is similar to a bowl of bibimbap. And there’s some grated Parmesan and mozzarella on top.” Taeyong sets the plate of gorgeous spaghetti in front of you and Chenle with a shy smile. “I hope you both enjoy it.”

You don’t know how else to describe the dish, except that it is beautiful (Just like the restaurant owner, like have you seen his face? Lee Taeyong is the true modern day Adonis, but you digress). You swear you saw Chenle wipe a tear from his face out of the corner of your eye. Practically salivating, you impatiently wait for Jisung to take a few close up videos and pictures of the dish before you immediately dig in.

Fork awkwardly hovering in the air, you pause, turning to Chenle. “Uh, cheers?”

His own loaded fork is halfway to his mouth when he halts. “Oh! Right. Yes. Um, cheers, Y/N.”

The two of you stiffly tap your forks against each other before facing forward again and finally taking the much desired bite. The flavors are bursting like fireworks, and if someone told you that you had died and gone to heaven, you would believe them because there’s no other word to explain the taste other than heavenly. Dante had many circles leading to the center of hell. If you are to apply the same concept to heaven, Legalize Marinara would be the first circle you enter once you go past the pearly gates, and Penne for your Thoughts would most definitely be the second.

The clinking of Chenle’s fork against the plate breaks you from your thoughts, and your good mood falters when you remember the incident again. You plaster a quick smile as you begin to describe the dish to the camera. Chenle chimes in with a wide smile of his own that looks a little too forced, but the only one who seems to notice is you.

Once the recording is wrapped up, Chenle drops you off at your apartment building for you to change into a more dressier attire for the last stop. He and Jisung will change at their place before coming back to pick you up for dinner.

Up next: Terrazza San Valentino.

The place is positively breathtaking. It is an upscale restaurant with open seating on a terrace, leading to a beautiful view of the ocean. Wisteria vines and bright flowers weave their way through the twisting low iron fences encompassing the space as they climb the sides of the building. You have the perfect seat to witness the picturesque sunset over the rippling waters. A bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon had been brought out and now rests on the covered table, uncorked and already poured out into two glasses. It very much reminds you of the beautiful restaurants you visited along the Amalfi Coast, specifically Il Capitano in Positano. You only hope that the food here will be just as amazing as the pasta you ordered there.

You just wish your company was a little better. The atmosphere felt more awkward than the time your mom had set you up on a blind date with her coworker’s son. You had to text Chenle for help that time, and he came to your rescue, helping you escape after pretending to be your long lost son. Obviously, your date wasn’t dumb enough to believe that, but he did believe that you were completely off your rockers and immediately took off after that.

Sneaking a glance at your best friend, you sigh when you realize that he refuses to look your way. You carefully tuck the skirt of your wine red dress under your crossed legs. The sweetheart neckline emphasizes the simple gold necklace you have on, and the dress tapers off at your waist, accentuating your figure perfectly. You paired the outfit with a matching lipstick, a simple black clutch, and some elegant black heels with ribbons that loop around your ankles into a pretty bow.

In other words, you look stunning, and Chenle’s palms are growing sweaty. He undos the first few buttons of his white dress shirt, desperately wanting to take off his tailored suit jacket, but his attire would look much too casual without it. He avoids eye contact with you and remains silent, growing even more flustered by the second, and looks at Jisung helplessly.

Of course, his other best friend proves to be useless again (Disappointing, but not surprising). Jisung simply wriggles his eyebrows at him, eyes darting from you to Chenle, before zooming into his face at a very unflattering angle. Chenle throws him a dirty look, and Jisung merely sticks out his tongue in response. However, they immediately smoothen their expressions into much more pleasant ones when Jaehyun comes out with the plate of food on a small cart.

“This is our play on spaghetti.” He gives you a dimpled smile, and you briefly wonder if the customers rave about this restaurant because of the food or the chef. Perhaps it is a combination of both.

He continued to explain the dish, setting it down in front of you and Chenle. “We use strangozzi that is made fresh every morning. We infuse sun dried tomatoes that we dried ourselves into the olive oil for a minimum of thirty days. The pasta is cooked for sixty seconds, while we slightly sauté grated truffle in the oil in a pan. Once the pasta is ready, we transfer it to the truffle pan and cook it for another minute, making sure to coat the pasta in the sauce. And then we grate some Parmesan and truffles right on top at the table.”

Jaehyun pulls out the expensive mushroom, generously grating thin slices on top of the glistening strands of pasta. The smell is incredible, and your eyes are already hyper fixated on the dish in front of you. He puts down the mushroom and grater, picking up the second grater and the cheese from the cart before shredding the cheese perfectly.

When he finishes, Jaehyun places them back on the cart and smiles at you both charmingly once more. “I hope you enjoy your meal. If you need anything else, please feel free to ask.”

You thank him before he leaves, and Jisung takes all the necessary shots before giving the okay to start eating. You and Chenle offer up some comments about the elegance of the dish, describing its appearance and finally twirling some on the end of your fork. You murmur a quiet “cheers” as the two of you clink your glasses of wine together and take a sip before having the first bite.

The amount of money you have to pay to have a truffle dish is absolutely worth it. The taste is simply indescribable, and you truly have no words. You are blown away by the amount of flavor that can be created with just a few ingredients, and your taste buds are singing. Wide eyed, you turn to look at Chenle, who has the same astonished expression on his face, already staring back at you in complete surprise.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and your best friend agrees with you. “Holy shit indeed.”

You immediately go for another bite, and Chenle quickly follows suit. “This is— this is incredible. I don’t know how to describe it, except, except, wow. I can’t stop eating it, and the sun dried tomatoes, olive oil, fresh pasta al dente, and truffles just work so well together. It’s like a symphony in my mouth.”

“I agree,” Chenle nods enthusiastically, swiping another forkful of the yummy goodness. “This has to be one of the best dishes of the entire season.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” You spear a slice of the truffle with the pasta, and the ensuing bite is simply perfect and delectable. “I would come back here every single week if my bank account would let me.”

The stifled atmosphere between the two of you suddenly becomes relaxed at that point, the thick tension dissipating with food never failing to act as the perfect ice breaker and buffer simultaneously. For now, you can pretend the kiss didn’t happen and almost forget it (key word: almost).

“There’s a very popular fan suggestion,” Jisung pipes up, looking at the comment section of the previous video where you and Chenle announced your current recording’s star dish. “It got over twenty thousand likes and five hundred responses.”

“What is it?” You pause in eating, fork poised in the air, as you look over to your friend behind the camera. Chenle pays no attention, continuing to take another bite.

“Recreate the Lady and the Tramp moment.”

Your jaw drops, and your eyes grow round. Practically scandalized, your voice goes an octave higher. “You mean the kissing scene?!”

At the mention of kissing, Chenle chokes on a noodle, spluttering and nearly hacking up a lung, and you quickly reach over and firmly pat him on the back repeatedly until he stops coughing with a weak “thanks.”

“What? This is a food show! Why do they want us to kiss?” your best friend wheezes, and you pass him a glass of water. He grabs it from your outstretched hand gratefully and takes a large gulp.

“I don’t know, fan service? Anyway, it’s good for the views!” Jisung gives you a thumbs up, and you frown at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why don’t you do it with Chenle then?”

“It specifically says you and Chenle,” he informs smugly with a smirk, and you glower at him, much to his amusement.

“Well, if it’s for the fans…” Chenle trails off, a faint blush beginning to make its appearance on his face. He hesitantly pulls out one strand of the pasta, picking up one end on his fork.

You can’t believe this. Yet, you slowly reach out for the other end of the strand with your fork, twirling it onto the metal prongs securely. You move to take your end of the noodle, while Chenle does the same, both of you actively avoiding eye contact.

“Oh c’mon, at least make it a little more romantic than that. Jeno and Jaemin have more chemistry than you two right now,” Jisung complains, and you would very much like to chuck the half full bottle of wine at his big, annoying head (Chenle also has similar thoughts).

Taking a deep breath, you finally place the noodle’s end in your mouth. Cheeks burning, you can feel your heart rate already skyrocketing at the mere thought of kissing your best friend again. You know you’ll freeze up if you look at him, so you do your best to focus your gaze on the center of the noodle strand. You’ll have some time before the two of you meet in the middle, right?

Wrong.

It comes much too soon, and your palms are growing sweaty as your heart races in your chest at a breakneck speed. Your lips are mere millimeters away from his, and you pause. You can’t hear anything, but the pounding of your heart and the blood rushing to your cheeks, and you finally find the courage to peek up at your best friend. You find him already gazing at you, a soft expression on his face. His eyes dart down to your lips before meeting your eyes once more, and you suddenly realize that he’s waiting for you, that he won’t do anything unless you want it too, that it’s okay if you don’t.

But you do.

So you muster up all the courage you possibly can and close the distance, carefully pressing your lips against his for a tender kiss before biting off the noodle. When you pull back, you finally notice the awestruck expression written all over Chenle’s face. He lets out a small laugh of disbelief before he positively beams, bouncing in his seat, and you sport a matching smile, albeit a little bashful.

“Uh, anyway, who left that comment? We should probably give them a mention,” you say, clearing your throat and hoping the heat subsides in your cheeks soon. Chenle continues to grin like the Cheshire Cat and secretly grabs your hand underneath the tablecloth, intertwining your fingers with his. You can feel your face exponentially growing warm once again, but you still send a pleased smile to your best friend.

“Uh…” Jisung awkwardly laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “‘Insert goofy’s chuckle.’”

At Jisung’s answer, you freeze up entirely in your position before immediately turning and locking eyes with Chenle in complete horror, the both of you instantly coming to the same, dreadful realization.

“HYUCK?!”

One new notification: Dream: Worth It uploaded a new video!

insert goofy’s chuckle commented:

oh my god you guys actually did it. your relationship started all thanks to ME 🙆🏻 you’re welcome btw 😘 I take payment in the form of your first born’s name

notanimpasta replied: @ insert goofy’s chuckle ok calm down rumpelstiltskin

jisung pwark replied: @ notanimpasta what a perfect nickname for him. He’s an ugly little greedy man

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ jisung pwark LMAOOOO (and congrats, chenle and y/n!)

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ jisung pwark what tf no one asked???

notanimpasta replied: @ jisung pwark wait hold on you were supposed to edit that end part out????

jisung pwark replied: @ notanimpasta i left it for the views ☺️

big head king replied: @ jisung pwark people watch for the food tho!!! 🙂

nana ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ replied: @ big head king I watched it for the kiss. Love is so beautiful 🥰💓💞🥺🥺💕💛💟✨💖

jenojam replied: @ big head king I had watched it for the food! but congratulations, y/n and chenle :)

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ big head king i watched it because ron jeon said you mentioned me

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ insert goofy’s chuckle IT’S RENJUN!!!!!! 🤬🤬

mork lee rawr xD replied: hahaha I watch for the food~

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ mork lee rawr xD Thank you Mark, very cool!

winwin in past tense is wonwon!!! commented:

whoop whoop congrats lele 🥳🥳

rapperpunzel commented:

the pasta looks good 🍝

johnny’s communication center commented:

Thanks for stopping by! Come back for the couple’s special discount anytime 😉

baa baa yang sheep commented:

oh my god finally!!!

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ baa baa yang sheep you owe me $50 I was right, it happened before the season finale

baa baa yang sheep replied: @ ghosts are real so suck it hyuck suddenly i’m jared, 19

xiao dejasmine commented:

hahahaha cute ! 😁😁

ty track commented:

Thank you y/n and chenle for visiting ~~ congrats on your relationship !!! -TY

junguwu (◕‿◕✿) commented:

YAAAAAS CHENLE SWEETIE 😘😘😘

jisung pwark commented:

check out my latest tiktok video @ jisungpwark to see their actual first kiss!!! and don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe ☺️

notanimpasta replied: @ jisung pwark STOP USING US AS CLICKBAIT

jisung pwark replied: @ notanimpasta no ❤️

jisung pwark replied: @ notanimpasta also red is sus

big head king replied: @ jisung pwark so when are you gonna do the best friend kissing challenge huh 👀

jisung pwark replied: @ big head king SHUT UP CHENLE

honeyfairy replied: @ jisung pwark 😳😳

gu ren gui god commented:

wow~ very cute, chenle! my angel 😊

FIGHTING HAEYADWAE commented:

YOOOOO CONGRATS, MAN 🤩🤪🤪

prince jae commented:

thank you guys for coming by! please stop by next year on your anniversary free of charge (:

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ prince jae omg mark and I will be there for sure ❤️

showmethemonet replied: @ insert goofy’s chuckle my new boyfriend and I will be there too ☺️

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet I’m sorry, I was wrong, pls don’t leave me for bts jin even though i am so much more handsomer and talented than him 😌

apado gwenchana god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

1K notes · View notes

bard-llama · 2 years

Note

Llama, these snippets have all been such treats so far! I’m gonna be a little greedy and request more if you would be so kind! If not, you can absolutely ignore this lol how about 72 or 88? Thanks!

I am DELIGHTED to share these! Sharing is my love language, so it's really awesome to know people are interested in reading the random snips I throw out there!

72. Look me in the eyes and tell me what you like (Witcher 2, rorveth)

This one came from a suggestion on discord (anyone is welcome to join the Witcher Rare Pair discord!) about the hotness of being forced to say what you like while maintaining eye contact. But tbh, the WiP hasn't quite gotten there yet, so bear with me.

It wasn’t that Iorveth was intending to be

a tease, honestly. But he was aware that what he was doing could be put in a much less courteous manner. But he wasn’t leading Vernon on, he truly wasn’t! It was just…

Six months ago, Iorveth had arrived in Corvo Bianco at Gwynbleidd’s invitation, only to discover that that invite apparently extended to anyone and everyone in the witcher’s acquaintance. Which was fine, except there were only so many bedrooms.

Naturally, Iorveth ended up stuck sharing. But Geralt had a fucking shit sense of humor because his roommate was none other than Vernon fucking Roche, who Geralt knew was not only Iorveth’s nemesis, but the star of a particularly persistent sex dream that had refused to leave him alone all those years ago in Vergen.

The thing was… Vernon made him want. Not – not just the things that he shouldn’t, but the things that he really, really shouldn’t. Vernon made him want to lost control, to voluntarily give up control.

And that terrified him. There may once have been a time where he was more carefree and less rigidly controlled, but if so, that had been many battles and many centuries ago. At this point, control was more than just a comfort to him – it was habit, so thoroughly ingrained that the very idea of giving it up was both thrill-inducing and absolutely, positively the scariest thing that Iorveth had ever faced.

So when their arguing turned into thinly veiled flirting, Iorveth flirted back. A little. Never too much. Never enough to convince himself that he could have this.

But every time, he pushed that boundary just a bit further. And every time, Vernon responded in turn, wanting more.

And then – well, that’s where Iorveth ran into issues. Because the thought of Vernon wanting him was enough to send his brain spiraling away with incoherent gibbering interspersed with ideas for exactly what they could do together. Too many ideas, and he would get overwhelmed and instead of the solid bedrock of his comfort zone, he would find himself half a dozen steps outside it and then the panic set in.

Usually, Iorveth ran. He was good at running. Cowardly, some might call it, but most of them no longer breathed, so really, who was right?

Sometimes. Sometimes he lashed out. On accident, but that didn’t make Vernon’s broken nose any less real.

Iorveth had made himself scarce for a good week after that, more than aware that he wouldn’t be comfortable with a roommate that responded to mutual flirting by suddenly striking him with the heel of his hand.

Somehow, Vernon did not appear to hold it against him. “These things happen,” the idiot dh’oine said with a shrug. “Now will you please resume eating meals? Geralt’s starting to get worried and Marlene is this close to trying to climb onto the roof just to feed you.”

Since then, Vernon had started flirting with him less, which meant that now, Iorveth was initiating the flirting. Each time felt like the first time he’d gone into battle again – and more than once, he did the same thing he’d done then and ran.

He knew he wasn’t being fair to Vernon, he really did. He just… couldn’t seem to stop himself. At first, he tried just not flirting with Vernon. But then he would get jittery and distracted and Vernon would ask him what was wrong and then he’d just blurt it out and Vernon’s lips would twitch into this little pleased smirk and–

Well. That didn’t work. So he tried not to run, he tried so hard. But it was – gods, it was terrifying the way he could feel himself giving into Vernon’s control little by little. And the scariest part was how, after pushing the boundaries for so long, he was actually starting to get comfortable with giving up control. Only the tiniest bit, but still!

Then he pushed too far. He could tell by the way Vernon’s breathing changed that he had just jumped in over his head – and when he attempted to backpedal, Vernon snarled, grabbed his wrist, and threw him against the wall, pinning him in place.

Most of Iorveth was panicking, but there was a rapidly growing part of him that was relieved that he could finally let Vernon be in charge. That was just unacceptable, so Iorveth struggled.

With a low growl, Vernon pushed close until Iorveth could feel him against his entire body, then seized Iorveth’s chin and forced him to look into Vernon’s eyes.

“Since when do you start a fight and fail to follow through?” Vernon demanded, breath fluttering over Iorveth’s face and making him shiver.

He opened his mouth, though he had no idea what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t get the words out anyway. His mind was both going a mile a minute and yet was entirely incomprehensible.

Vernon stared into his eye and leaned deliberately closer.

“If you don’t want me to kiss you, you’d better say so now,” Vernon murmured, and Iorveth could feel the words against his skin.

He couldn’t have managed speech for the life of him, and that was a relief but also terrifying, because Vernon was apparently really gonna–

Their lips touched and Iorveth’s brain fizzled away, leaking out his ears as his hands were suddenly cupping a square jaw that was bristly with stubble that was surely going to chafe against his cheeks, but why would he care when Vernon was kissing him!?

88. “If you wanted to be fucked, all you had to do was ask” Iorveth fucking Roche (Witcher 2, rorveth)

Hahaha, so this one specifies Iorveth fucking Roche bc I started a different one based on this line that was Roche fucking Iorveth XD But I also wanted the reverse, so...

In which awkward conversation is made less awkward by gossiping about Geralt.

Once upon a time, the sight of none other than Vernon Roche in front of him would be cause for panic. In fact, the sight should still cause at least some panic, because Iorveth had no idea what Vernon was doing here or when Vernon might choose to attack.

And yet, oddly, all he seemed to feel was an odd sense of relief. He hadn’t actually believed that Vernon was dead, despite the rumors about the demise of the Blue Stripes. But he hadn’t been sure, and the sight of his old enemy soothed something in his chest.

Vernon was watching him carefully, not reaching for weapons, but not not and–

Vernon’s hands rose, palms out, until they were even with Vernon’s chest. Then Vernon very deliberately stepped forward.

Iorveth didn’t move, feeling caught in Vernon’s gaze, but he kept his own hands away from his weapons, and that seemed to be enough, because Vernon continued to slowly edge closer to him, until they stood an arm’s length from each other.

“Hey,” Vernon said casually, “um… how’ve you been?”

Huffing out a breathless laugh, Iorveth shook his head. Were they really going to just catch up like they were old acquaintances rather than former commanders on opposite sides of a war?

“Fine,” Iorveth said eventually. “And you? I’d heard–”

“Yeah,” Vernon cut him off, “yeah. They’re–” Vernon closed his eyes as if in agony, but just as Iorveth drew breath to change the subject, Vernon forced himself to say, “I got them killed.”

Iorveth swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, finding that he truly was sorry. The Blue Stripes had been worthy enemies, and while he was certain that he would’ve been pleased if he’d heard this news back when they fought regularly, at the moment, all he could feel was regret that such unique foes had fallen, and not even during battle with him.

“Yeah,” Vernon cleared his throat. “I – uh, I heard you founded a country of equality?”

Sighing, Iorveth just nodded, not overly eager to explore those memories. “Yeah.”

“So… why aren’t you there?”

Iorveth closed his eye, and even though he’d known it was coming, it still hurt to recall all that had happened.

“A lot of reasons,” he muttered. There were the basic ones – no one in Vergen had particularly wanted to rent lodgings to someone like him (even though the rest of his Scoia’tael had no trouble finding housing) and walking down the street meant enduring everyone’s flinches and that was so much harder than he’d ever anticipated. He’d known he wouldn’t be particularly well-liked, but the intensity with which he was despised had caught him off guard. Still, he could have taken it, if he’d had a real reason to stay in Vergen.

When Saskia had married a dwarf, it had become very clear that he had no reason to stay at all.

Saskia had been straightforward from the start. He’d known Saskia didn’t love him. But that didn’t mean he didn’t love her, and it hurt more than anything to see her with someone else, especially after everything. Because he’d hoped…

Well, it didn’t matter what he’d hoped, did it? He should have known better. No one could love a monster like him.

A monster like him didn’t deserve to be loved.

“Didn’t you like, win the whole battle for them?” Vernon asked, head tilted to the side and a confused frown on his face. “Surely they didn’t kick you out!”

Iorveth snorted painfully. At the time, he’d truly thought that perhaps that would be enough to win Saskia’s heart. He’d been so proud to be the cause of their victory.

It wasn’t even that Saskia was cruel about it. He almost wished she were, just so that he could hate her, but the truth was he’d just been deluding himself all along. Saskia would never be his.

“I left,” he answered Vernon’s question. It had seemed for the best. And if part of him had hoped that Saskia would try to stop him, then he’d been disappointed.

“Ah,” Vernon grunted, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “So how’d you end up here?”

He shrugged helplessly. How had he? Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure. He’d left Vergen and found himself with nowhere to go, so he’d just… picked a direction and walked.

“Yeah,” Vernon murmured as if he knew what Iorveth was thinking. As if his story was something similar. He cleared his throat again and the mood lightened with his subject change. “Hey, did you hear about Geralt?”

Iorveth snorted in amusement, “you mean that Gwynbleidd got himself hitched to the Nilfgaardian Emperor?”

“Yeah! I mean – what the fuck!? One day we’re killing Nilfgaardians together and the next apparently he’s sleeping with one.”

Chuckling, Iorveth let himself smile. “Only Gwynbleidd would end up with his sex life being the talk of the continent.”

“Honestly,” Vernon shook his head, lips quirked upwards. “I mean, fuck, I’ve slept with monarchs and you don’t see people gossiping about me.”

“Uh, actually,” Iorveth said with a wince. “The Scoia’tael used to gossip extensively about that.”

Surprisingly, Vernon just rolled his eyes, “you know what I mean. The average fishwife does not gossip about my sex life. But Geralt? Hell, they have his entire history!”

“Mostly thanks to Dandelion,” Iorveth pointed out, “and Gwynbleidd doesn’t appear to care.”

Vernon laughed, “guess it’s a good thing Dandelion has no interest in writing songs about me.”

Iorveth tilted his head. “I didn’t realize you knew the bard well enough to discover his lack of interest.”

“Ah. Well,” Vernon coughed. “Technically he was spying for me in Flotsam.”

Iorveth’s eyebrow jumped in surprise. He’d always thought that they’d identified all of the Blue Stripes’ spies. To be proven wrong was… interesting.

Vernon snorted, “would you believe the asshole wrote his reports in fucking iambic pentameter?”

That made Iorveth burst into laughter, his mind taking comfort in the familiarity of music and verse.

When his laughter petered out, Vernon was looking at him with a strange expression on his face.

Iorveth opened his mouth to ask what when Vernon blurted out, “fuck me.”

Choking, Iorveth stared at Vernon with a wide eye, taken completely off guard. That – surely Vernon hadn’t actually said that. He’d… he’d just misheard. That was obviously it.

Except… except the way that Vernon was looking at him was bringing back all sorts of feelings that he’d thought long gone. Vernon hadn’t occupied his mind since Flotsam and everything with Saskia had taken precedence over daydreams about an old crush. But now… now Iorveth was remembering exactly how many times he’d imagined actually fucking Vernon.

He didn’t realize how long he’d been silent until Vernon cleared his throat uncomfortably, ears flushing in embarrassment.

“Nevermind. I should probably go,” Vernon mumbled, turning away, and Iorveth panicked.

His body acted on instinct as he was overwhelmed by the rushing in his ears and his fingers wrapped around Vernon’s wrist.

As he dragged Vernon out of the market, all Iorveth could think about was the way that Vernon had never taken those words back. ‘Nevermind’ was not ‘I didn’t mean it’, and Iorveth was putting all of his hopes in that because he had to.

Finally, he spotted a shadowed alleyway and hauled Vernon between two buildings. Then he threw Vernon against the wall and kissed him desperately.

Vernon flinched away, expecting an attack, but Iorveth was uninterested in fighting, not when the prospect of fucking Vernon was on the table. He forced himself to slow down, to gentle his touches until he was stroking his fingers across Vernon’s face in a soft caress.

He pulled away from Vernon’s lips enough to ask, “okay?”

Vernon let out a strangled sound, hands coming up to cup Iorveth’s hips and pull him closer. “Very okay,” Vernon managed to grunt.

“Good,” Iorveth said, dragging Vernon into another kiss.

#rorveth #iorveth x roche #the witcher #WiPs #ask game

15 notes · View notes

consumedkings-archive · 3 years

Text

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter five: dark vibrations

word count: 11.4k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: body horror, hallucinations (?), mentions of self-harm, mentions of suicide. spooky scary activities ensue. elliot has an increasingly difficult time keeping a grasp on reality. we knew this was gonna happen, though!

notes: howdy! i hope y’all enjoy this. sometimes i go weeks without updating and sometimes i wait like, 4 days before manically writing an entire chapter. you know how it be like that sometimes. i was feeling a bit more inspired and felt like i finally hit a groove on where this story was going, which i think definitely helped, and i hope you all enjoy it!

thank you, as always, to everyone who reads, likes/comments, even if you just come into my dms with two nice words or write something nice in your tags; it really does make my whole night to see even one person enjoying anything i’ve made. <3

Cold morning light filtered in through the window, drenched in wedding-silk grays thanks to the wintery cloud-cover. Everything in the room looked to be placed with absolute intent and care; polished, porcelain-white decor in elaborate geometrics, gold accents, a king-sized bed with impeccably pressed sheets. Truthfully, John had thought for certain he’d come back into the house to be informed by Elliot’s statuesque mother that, in fact, she had rescinded her offer to let him stay and actually, he would need to depart immediately, lest the authorities be called.

He was glad that it hadn’t come to that, of course, because it would’ve been such a shame to have to dampen Scarlet’s opinion of her own daughter so quickly into their meeting.

Dropping his small bag of belongings—the manila folder packed full of information, including his own scribbled notes; the burner phone; a few quickly-packed clothes that had been meticulously cycled to avoid the most long-term wear—John paused as the heat in the house kicked on with a delicate whirr.

Everything in Scarlet Honeysett’s home seemed to be precisely the shape and color that she liked, with not a single thing out of place; and yet, as the heat kicked on, he was certain that he could hear the sound of sharp, hushed voices downstairs, a little ripple in the woman’s perfect, arcadian home scene.

It was good. It felt good, to be here. To have gotten the upper hand. So much of the past weeks he’d spent with Elliot had felt like he was slowly, violently spiraling out of control, but this? She was here, and she had to play by his rules for once, and—

And he’d wanted just one more second alone, with her. To watch the way her eyes flickered over his face, to drink in the way her chin tilted up in defiance but not unlike the way she used to do it when she was waiting for him to kiss her, the same lovely high-color in her spreading along her cheekbones and the same little spark in her gaze. Whether it was anger or allure was neither here nor there, anymore; with Elliot, they were interchangeable, a stepping stone one way or another, just the way it had always been with them.

Because John liked her anger. He liked her wrath. He wanted to put his hands on it, his mouth on it, break it into pieces and wring it out of her and put it back and do it all over again, while she said his name, his name, and not anyone else’s. God, she’d been so fucking close—so close, and he couldn have just had her if he really wanted to, grabbed a fistful of her hair and kissed her when the sting of her slap was still fresh on his face. She liked when he did that; kissed her, like he was starved for her. Because he was starved for her, and then she could knot her fingers into his shirt or dig her nails into his skin or whatever it was she wanted to make him desperate.

The sound of excited barking downstairs broke him out of his thoughts. John blinked, taking one last swift look-over of the immaculate room his mother-in-law had decided to put him up in before he nudged his bag beneath the bed and stepped out into the hallway.

To say old money would be almost an understatement. Surely, this house had to have some kind of historical significance; it was several stories, with one of those grand staircases that was wide going up, hit a landing, and then split to either side of the house. As he made his way down, he caught sight of the flicker of Scarlet’s silk robe in the kitchen; music drifted out of it, the same kind of hazy, older music that Elliot had turned on in her mother’s house back in Hope County.

“Stop moving,” Elliot was saying to Boomer, strapping him into a little reflective vest that sat on him like a saddle blanket. For a second, she didn’t notice his presence—or willfully ignored it; he couldn’t say for sure one way or another—and instead focused on the Heeler, rubbing his ears and kissing the bridge of his nose. A tiny little smile ticked the corners of her mouth, and he thought he heard her say, so handsome, best boy, yes you are.

Boomer’s attention snapped to John, now at the foot of the stairs. He let out one sharp, accusatory bark (could dogs sound accusatory, John wondered, or was that just Elliot getting to him?), and what little of his hackles were visible from out under the vest spiked up instantly.

“Good to see you too, beastie,” John greeted him, trying to ignore the way the hound’s low-pitched, reverberating growls made his skin crawl. Flashes of Boomer’s numerous and vicious takedowns of not only Eden’s Gate members but at least one member of the Family that had the misfortune of having chained the dog up darted across his memory, like a flipping through a photo album.

“Don’t talk to him,” Elliot snipped, cupping Boomer’s ears protectively. “I don’t need him getting the idea we’re friendly.”

John rolled his eyes. “More than friendly, I’d say.” His eyes darted over her, drinking in once against the shock of her appearance—red hair, so fucking red that every time he looked at her it was almost like staring at a stranger until he took in the rest, the freckles smattering her nose and the flush in her cheeks, cupid’s-bow lips that were glossed. Had he ever seen Elliot with more than river-soaked mascara on before?

The woman shot him a look, dry and unamused, coming to a stand. He asked, “Going for a walk?”

“Trying to,” she replied tartly, “but someone is evil enough that Boomer doesn’t trust them.”

“We’re pals,” John offered pleasantly. “Me and the beast. You know, were, anyway. He probably just needs to spend a little time with me.”

“Speaking from personal experience, more time makes you less palatable.”

“Let me come on the walk with you,” he tried again, letting her little barbs and jabs roll right off of him, water skating off of his feathers. At this point, he really quite enjoyed her venom; it was familiar. “I’m sure we’ve got plenty to catch up on.”

Elliot eyed him warily, eyes giving him a scathing once-over—eerily reminiscent of her mother’s own disdainful look, and now he thought, ah, yeah, that is where she gets it from, then—as her mouth twisted around whatever it was she wanted to say but wouldn’t let herself. Something too vicious for Scarlet to overhear, perhaps. The threats she’d made in the past had been wildly colorful, but each second that Ell spent considering her words more carefully rather than saying whatever it was she felt with her eyes darting to the kitchen was another second that John became more aware of how little Scarlet actually knew.

“Fine,” Elliot said at last, her eyes narrowing. “I suppose that we do. Mama, we’re leavin’.”

The little quirk of an accent at the end of her sentence made him swallow back a laugh. He’d barely heard that Georgia accent back in Hope County, but maybe spending time with her mother had reinspired it.

“Alright,” Scarlet said, drying her hands on a towel as she stood in the doorway. Her eyes glanced between them, inquisitive for a moment, before she said, “Be quick. Doctor’s appointment in an hour and a half.”

John tilted his head. “Oh? Baby check-in?”

“Can’t imagine what else it would be, Mr. Seed,” Scarlet idled. “Are you familiar with the process of pregnancy?”

“Not beyond the knowledge of a man, I’m afraid.”

“Well, allow me to educate you,” the blonde said, her voice light. “When a woman is carrying a baby, she has to make frequent visits to the doctor, to ensure that all is well. Can’t have anything going wrong with the baby, you know.”

John steadied the intake of breath so that it did not sound so abrupt. He would have done a double-take and thought perhaps she was just overbearing, and not attempting to insult him, were Elliot not smiling. Certainly, only her mother’s attempted insult of him could elicit such an expression out of her.

“Then my arrival was fortunately timed,” he announced. “I look forward to it.”

“And you’ll be sorely disappointed,” Elliot cut in, her humor fading. “You won’t be coming.”

Ah, yes. That’s why I don’t love her attitude. “That’s absurd,” he replied, incredulous. “It’s nearly six weeks, and I haven’t seen a single ultrasound of our baby.”

He was careful, this time, to keep it to our baby. He’d seen the way Elliot’s expression tightened when he’d said my baby, even though that’s what came so naturally to him now, being that they were hardly on the same team—but he’d seen it, that look in her eye, the way she’d squared her shoulders like she’d suddenly been ready to go at him.

Only one thing to do with a rabid dog, Jacob had said, not two days before they found Elliot drenched in another man’s blood in the woods.

John half-expected Scarlet to jump in, to say that it was the father’s right to be there; she was more traditional than Elliot, if her comment about wedlock or her insistence of him staying were anything to go by, but when he turned his gaze to her, the older woman’s expression was devoid of any sympathy. Typical of Honeysett women, he was coming to find.

“If she doesn’t want you there, then you won’t be there. I won’t have my daughter stressed out,” Scarlet told him. “Stress is bad for the baby. Surely that falls within the realm of what a man knows about babies, Mr. Seed?”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Surely.”

“Good. Hour and a half, my beloved, do not be late.”

That a woman had become so capable of tacking the softness of my beloved onto something that verged on a threat was nearly beyond John—would have been, certainly, were he not accustomed to Isolde’s particular brand of venom that was not so unlike Scarlet Honeysett’s.

“I won’t,” Elliot promised. “Can you call the handyman? My TV’s been acting up lately. Turning on static and whatnot.”

“Fine,” Scarlet replied, waving her hand. “I’ll have them come out this afternoon.”

Elliot turned on her heel and opened the front door out into the frigid morning, letting Boomer dart out ahead of her and not waiting for him in the least. He fell into step beside her easily, shrugging into his coat halfway out the door as it clicked shut behind him; she trudged through the snow, passing the garbage can and opening the gate that led out into what had once been pastureland and towards the woods.

It was the same fence that she’d been standing at, early that morning, face lax and serene. If the return to the fence bothered her at all, it didn’t show on her face any more than her irritation at having him there.

“Your mother’s quite...” John’s voice trailed off. “Tall.”

“Mm.”

“Statuesque, even.”

“Mmhm.”

“I get the feeling she doesn’t like me that much.”

“Yes,” Elliot acquiesced, her tone dripping with something close to venomous amusement, “I’ve never seen her take so poorly to someone so quickly before.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.”

“You would be.”

A fourth of the way into the snowy pasture and Boomer was far ahead of them, leaping like a little speckled gazelle in drifts of snow. It was easy to forget that the dog had been ready to rip him to shreds just a little under an hour ago (and once more, more recently). Still, as they trudged through a path that it seemed Elliot had worn through a few times before, John let out a little puff of breath and glanced over at her.

For just one second, she wasn’t spitting any venom at him, but rather seemed to favor the act of pretending like he wasn’t there, which was a bit worse than having her fix her fury on him. Her gaze was focused forward, following Boomer’s little lines in the snow. Attention at all was one thing, but acting as though he didn’t exist?

John said, “So, Burke just got his autopsy reports back and dropped you off right here at home, huh?”

Elliot’s face had already gone pink from the cold, right on her nose and spreading through her cheeks. At his words, a new flush of color rose, a shade more vicious than the last, and her gaze slid to him. If looks could kill, he thought, that dreamy little spike of delight at her eyes on him going straight to his head. Look at you, my little Wrath. You’ve got the good girl mask on, but I know what your true face is.

He’d seen it. Kissed her when the blood was still in her mouth. Let her feed the monster inside of her when she told him to beg, when she dug her nails into his skin, when her breath hitched in her chest from the pressure of his knife blade against her sternum—not in pain, necessarily, but delight at that pain.

The scar had to still be there, of course. The reminder of its existence, swathed in the heavy winter fabrics she wore now, made his fingers itch. If he could just get his hands on her—get his mouth on her, if she would just stop being so obtuse—but he didn’t think he’d be so fond of her if she wasn’t.

“The same way the government probably drove you and your siblings back to the compound and dropped you off,” she replied at last, her voice tight, “isn’t that right?”

John flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Very astute, hellcat.”

Her expression tightened at the moniker. She sucked her teeth, fixing her eyes forward again, shifting back into the strategy of being withholding of her attention rather than entertain him.

“Oh, come on,” he said, swinging around in front of her and stopping her single-minded journey across the pastureland. “You can’t say you didn’t miss me even a little bit, Ell.”

“I told you,” she replied tartly, “not to call me that.”

“Because it reminds you of what it was like when we’re together,” he agreed.

An exasperated noise came out of her. “Did you forget that I lied to you?”

“At the end, sure,” John said, eyes flickering over her face. “But I don’t think you’re so good a liar you could lie about all of the times you said please, or the way that you said my name, or—and I think you’ll recall I’ve insisted on this bit from the beginning—the undeniable connection that we’ve had since we met.”

“You are a fucking lunatic,” Elliot snapped, her face flushing red. “And don’t fucking talk about me like I’m—like I wasn’t there, I know what I—” She sucked in a sharp breath; lower, and more threatening, “I’m aware of what I said. Of what I did.”

“And you’re going to tell me that it was all fake?” he prompted, unwilling to let go of this little thread. Gripping, sliding through his fingers, but he wouldn’t be so quick to let it escape him now that he didn’t have to think about her mother pitching in an unwanted opinion. “That you lied the whole time and you don’t feel anything for me, that—”

“Of course it wasn’t fake,” she bit out. Her voice had gone venomous, sharp, unbridled in its timbre. “I’m not a fucking psychopath, John, I can’t fake loving someone like you can.”

John opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. He hadn’t been expecting that. Sure, there was a part of him that was sure Elliot had her doubts about his intentions, otherwise she wouldn’t have fucked off to the middle of nowhere (nor turned them in), but—still?

“You think I—” He paused again, blinking. “You’re not that stupid.”

Her eyes narrowed. Everything about her stiffened, quite suddenly, like maybe she was bracing to take another swing at him. “You are fucking begging for a punch to the face.”

“I mean,” John began quickly, waving his hands a little, “that you surely don’t think that whole time I was just—”

Elliot made a disgusted sound and brushed past him, letting out a high whistle; the sound immediately drew a flurry of activity as a flock of birds when bursting from the treeline, followed closely behind by Boomer’s gray-and-black speckled form. John fell back into step with her, huffing out a breath of air. He was going to table that discussion for later—she was clearly still upset, still a little sore and tender from their departure, and that was fine. There were a lot of things at play concerning his wife’s mood, including but not limited to being pregnant.

So she did, he thought, glancing at her through the corner of his eyes. Love me. Back then, and maybe now, still.

“How have you been sleeping?” is what he said instead, when the moment had spread between them long enough for him to think that he was safe to speak again with incurring her wrath once more. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Fine,” she replied, her voice tight.

“Yeah?” he asked, keeping his tone conversational. Elliot blinked once, slow, clearly trying to temper herself. “I just remember what a restless sleeper you were, back home.”

He wanted to say, I saw you at three AM, twice, staring out your window and then walking out into the snow barefoot. I saw you sleepwalking, I know you aren’t sleeping well.

He wanted to say that, and he couldn’t, because if Elliot knew he’d been tailing her for a while she’d go berserk—pull the plug, self-destruct, take whatever loss she had to in order to fucking end him.

“I’m sleeping fine,” the redhead reiterated. For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something; her eyes flickered uneasily, like something was bothering her and she hadn’t been able to say it to anyone but maybe she wanted to, and maybe she could say it to him, but something in the treeline drew her attention away. They were about ten yards away, now, the low breeze skimming pine needles against each other as Boomer barked conversationally at the birds that had so rudely taken flight.

Elliot’s molars clicked, grinding together. Her lashes fluttered, and she sucked in a sharp little breath through her nose.

“Elliot?” John glanced at the trees, but that was all he saw—tall, dark pines, bunching together erratically through years of growth spurts and inevitable fellings. He turned his gaze back to his wife, gaze inquisitive. “What?”

“Don’t you—?” She stopped herself, and sucked in another sharp breath, and now John felt the concern spike sharp and hot in him, because when he reached up she didn’t even seem to register his movement; Elliot, the same woman who had snatched his wrist and threatened to snap it in half for having the audacity to ‘sneak up on her’ when he’d been in the middle of talking to her, completely transfixed on something that he couldn’t see.

“Elliot.” He tried something firmer this time, his hand coming up to sweep the strands of her hair away from her shoulder and neck. The gesture finally startled her out of wherever it was she had gone, yanked her back to reality.

Her shoulder bunched up to her jaw in an effort to deter his hand, swatting at him absently with her hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“Are you going to tell me where you were just now?” John asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

“I was here. Just thought I saw something in the trees,” she replied tightly, turning away from the treeline and clearing her throat. “Just birds.”

Just birds, she said, even though the birds had already taken off and the forest was otherwise still and serene. Behind her, Boomer whined before beginning to follow her back towards the house. Elliot moved with a newfound purpose, one that she had been distinctly lacking before.

His mouth pressed into a thin line. John turned his attention back to the trees, searching for anything—any tangle of branches of play of shadows that might read sinister or threatening.

Only the trees and their shadowy pines. He thought about that night he’d fished Elliot out of the Family’s grip, when she’d been so fucking drugged up to her gills that she’d balked at the sight of the treeline on their way out. I don’t think I can, she’d said then, her voice pitching high with the anxious vibrations of panic. John, I don’t think I can—

“John,” Elliot snapped from ahead of him, “are you coming, or are you just gonna stand there all fucking afternoon?”

He thought about the way Ase had grabbed her hand, blood and viscera coating Elliot like she’d become a tried-and-true Scream Queen. If he searched long enough, if he sat in the memory long enough—did Ase’s mouth open? Had she said something to Elliot? What had she said?

“John,” came the grinding demand, again, less patient than before. “As much as I would love to leave you to freeze to death for insinuating I’m stupid, mama would hate to have to deal with a corpse on her property and I’d never hear the end of it.”

“I missed our banter,” he replied, though the jest did not quite land the same way that it would have were he not so deep in his own thoughts. By the time he’d started walking in her direction, his back to the forest, something uneasy had settled just under his skin; the feeling of being watched, eyes on the back of his neck, anticipation prickling along like his spine.

The house loomed, polished and pristine, on the horizon; as they picked their way across the snowy field, Elliot puffing out breaths occasionally from the labor of it all, John tried to shake that pervasive feeling of dread that had settled over him.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Weyfield was just Weyfield, a small town not unlike Hope County, and maybe he was just jumpy from the way the Family had conducted their business, and maybe it was the same for Elliot, who had certainly been put through a different experience than he—but regardless:

The sooner they got out, the better.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Shouldn’t have agreed to let him drive me here.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?”

It was stupid. Stupid, I should have put my foot down, told him to fucking stay at the house and wait for me to come back.

“Elliot?”

She blinked, vision fuzzing and refocusing around the sterile white of the doctor’s office. Her abdomen was sticky, and the ultrasound machine had been turned off along with her shirt tugged back down. Like usual, Dr. Harding did not say anything about the gossamer-webbing of scars, but did pause upon first seeing them, as though she hadn’t seen them times before.

“Sorry?” Elliot said, the apology quirking up at the end in question. She sat up from the bed, the paper crinkling beneath her as she moved.

“I asked,” Harding reiterated, “have you been getting enough sleep?”

Elliot knew the answer. She felt the exhaustion souring in her mouth already, the way something spoiled when it went too long without attention. A sickness. She should say that she hadn’t been sleeping well at all, that she’d begun sleepwalking, that

(seeing things, I’m seeing things when I close my eyes and when I look in the dark treeline, I see faces, heads, people I don’t know but they feel familiar and their faces drop down in between the branches of trees on invisible silk threads and their terrible dark mouths open but they can’t scream)

she’d been feeling out of sorts, as of late. That seemed like a nice way to put it.

The dark images that had fluttered between the trees on her walk earlier that morning with John felt as real as any memory—and that wasn’t to say that her memories always felt real, because they didn’t. But the validity of this morning’s waking nightmare of floating heads drifting between tree-trunks, swinging loosely while John asked her how she’d been sleeping.

“Fine,” Elliot said after a moment, feeling a fresh wave of nausea come over her. “I think, um, maybe the stress about the baby is keeping me up at night.”

Harding regarded her for a moment. The severe sharpness of her dark hair pinned back did nothing to soften her expression—though the woman was hard-pressed to be cheerful, she, at the very least, never sugar-coated anything. “Have you been trying those breathing exercises before bed? And spending time at the stables, as I suggested?”

“I have,” she replied, which wasn’t entirely untrue—she was doing at least one of those things. “It’s just been a lot of—stress, is all. I’m sure it’ll get better once the holidays are over.”

“That can definitely help,” the woman agreed, nodding her head and typing a few loose notes into the computer. “If you find that you aren’t getting enough sleep—enough,” she continued, pointedly, “restful sleep, you let me know and we can figure out some next steps.”

Elliot nodded, coming to a stand; the sudden movement had her head rushing, and she for a second she thought again of the floating heads, swaying with the breeze through the pine boughs.

“I’ve been sleep-walking,” she blurted out impulsively, her doctor’s gaze turning quizzically towards her. “I mean—um, just twice.”

“Do you have a history of it?”

“No,” Elliot began, “but I’ve always been a restless sleeper.”

“It’s not uncommon for sleepwalking to increase with pregnancy, Miss Honeysett,” the doctor replied, her voice even-keel. “It sounds like you’re under quite a bit of pressure, as well. I would suggest trying something mild—an over-the-counter sleep aid would be fine. Unisom is a typical one. Try half of one first, and see how it makes you feel.”

“Okay,” she murmured, sliding her coat back on. Something that was less heavy-duty than the pills her mother had left for her might be good. “Are there any—symptoms? To sleeping pills?”

The doctor adjusted the glasses on her nose, regarding her for a long moment. “Some adverse side-effects, on occasion. Usually with stronger, prescription sleep aids, you could have worsening anxiety and depression, day-time drowsiness. That kind of thing.”

So, no hallucinations, then. No sleepwalking, no lost time, no...

“Are you having other symptoms?” Harding asked.

You’ll think I’m crazy, Elliot thought, you’ll think I’m fucking nuts if I tell you about my dream with the television, and Joey’s body, and walking out nearly to the treeline in my sleep clothes. You’ll think I’m fucking nuts and I’ll have to be committed.

So Elliot said, “No, just curious,” and Dr. Harding hummed as she scribbled the name of the sleep aid onto a sticky note for Elliot to take out with her.

“You have a healthy baby, Miss Honeysett. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” The brunette gestured for Elliot to head out the door, walking with her back up the hallway that led to the front lobby once again. “Next appointment we can find out the gender, if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Elliot said, surprised. Was it that soon already? Had it already been that long of being—like this? With child? She swallowed, pleasant little flutters in her chest. It was the first time that she’d felt something other than dread concerning the baby. Well, first time, sans John’s annoying little assertion about his claim. Why had that bothered her so much?

“You can decide to keep it a surprise,” Dr. Harding added, sound a little amused. “Think about it, and in the meantime, get some rest. Half a pill to start, remember.”

“Will do, thank you.”

She waded through the small collection of people in the lobby and out onto the street. Something strange was humming inside of her—it was sad, she realized, with a little spike of panic. She felt mournful. So fast, and so soon, she would figure out the baby’s gender, and suddenly the baby would be all the more real and she’d have to start thinking about names, she couldn’t have a baby without a name, and how was she supposed to pick a name? How was she supposed to decide something a real human being was going to be saddled with, forever?

Was the baby a Seed? Or a Honeysett?

Which one was she?

“What’re you doing, just standing out here? You’ll freeze.” John’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, shaking her back to reality again. He must have seen her standing there, glassy-eyed in the middle of the sidewalk, from where he’d been waiting—perhaps, if she was lucky, even suffering over the fact that he hadn’t been allowed into the doctor’s appointment—and come out. He’d kicked up a big enough fuss about not getting to come in that she’d said, fine, you can fucking drive me there, but that’s it, and true to his word John hadn’t pressed the matter any further than that.

Even though he wanted to. She could tell he wanted to, the second they had parked on the main street. She could tell he wanted to say, so, maybe I do come in, hm? What do you say to that? But he hadn’t. And that was...something.

Fuck, she needed to stay focused; she couldn’t keep letting her mind wander like that. Twice in less than an hour?

“I was just—thinking,” Elliot replied, feeling exhausted already. John’s brows furrowed at the center of his forehead, and she sighed. “Stop looking at me like that.”

He arched a dark brow loftily. “Like what?”

“Like you fucking care,” she snapped.

“Contrary to what you might believe concerning my feelings for you,” John quipped, his voice tart, “I do have every reason to be invested in the well-being of our baby.”

She thought to reiterate again that the baby was, in fact, hers, and not any part his, as she was doing all the work and John had done nothing to endear himself as an acceptable father-figure, but she was too tired. Something about the doctor’s office and the way she’d had to dodge the truth of how she’d been feeling left her empty, scooped out her insides like she was a Jack-O’-Lantern and left her floating, aimless.

“Ell,” he began. His voice had pitched lower, now, and his hand reached up; she saw it move in the corner of her vision and something inside her said, yes yes yes, this is what we want, we remember you, we know you. He twisted a loose curl around his finger, letting it smooth out against her shoulder, the corner of his mouth ticking upward when she absently batted his hand away. “Tell me about the appointment. Did everything go well?”

“The baby is fine,” she told him, and then sighed. “I mean—healthy. The baby is healthy. The doctor wants me to pick up an over-the-counter sleep aid, so we’ll need to stop at the store on the way home.”

“I thought you were sleeping fine?” John prompted. He sounded sly. His was a gotcha tone, the way he got when he thought he’d walked a particularly fine circle through the holes in what she chose to tell him or not. Elliot’s expression flattened. She ignored the way that he was looking at her—hungryhungryhungry, always greedy and never, never content with what he had—and fixed her eyes on the passing traffic behind him.

She said, “Just when you’re being somewhat tolerable, you have to go and ruin it.”

“If it’s intolerable for me to point out when you’re withholding information from me about your health,” he demurred, “then I’d prefer intolerable.”

“I cannot believe that I have to say this to you,” Elliot bit out, the sudden spike of irritation flaring hot and violence in her chest, “but I don’t fucking owe you anything. I don’t owe you the truth, or an explanation, and quite frankly, the fact that I allowed you to even chauffeur me to this fucking appointment is a sign that I’m being incredibly generous with you—far more generous than what you deserve.”

John’s teeth flashed in a grin. Before, back in Hope County, the venom had bothered him—he’d hated it, frowned and fought back with a little poison of his own, despised that he had to work so hard to get to the nitty-gritty underneath. But he had once, and perhaps now that he had known her, it only thrilled him.

How frustrating.

“Everything I did,” he said, lowering his voice as he closed some of the small distance between them now, “whether you believe me or not, was for us—”

“Ugh.”

“—and I might have gotten a little heated,” John continued, and this time when he reached up again Elliot’s mouth twisted into a grimace and she tilted her face away, don’t say it don’t say it don’t you fucking say it fuck you fuck you fuck you, “back at the ranch, but I meant it when I said that I l—”

“Honeysett!”

It was Via. Her greeting immediately cut off John’s words, effectively driving a wedge between their metaphorical—and physical—closeness. Snapped her out of the magic of his cologne and his voice and his hand coming up to her shoulder with its grounding weight.

“Missed you at the barn today,” the blonde chirped, cheery as she approached, hands tucked into her fluffy parka pockets. Her eyes flickered over to John, inquisitive. “Friend?”

And then Via turned her eyes back to Elliot, waiting expectantly. It struck her quite suddenly that Sylvia was checking—that despite the kindness and warmth in her voice, she was giving Elliot the opportunity to escape, to wave a red flag and ask for help. She said friend?, and what she meant was, is this man bothering you?, and it made a fuzzy warmth spread right through Elliot’s chest, uncomfortable in the softness is inspired in her.

“Hey, Via, this is...” How best to proceed? How to explain, this man is the father of my baby—which, by the way, I’m pregnant—and also technically we are legally married, oh and also he’s supposed to be in Federal custody right now but he isn’t, somehow, but it’s fine, we’re all good? “...my...John.”

Sylvia eyed her for a moment, sticking out a gloved hand. “Howdy, Elliot’s John. I’m Sylvia.”

John was clearly trying not to have the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he shook Via’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Sylvia,” he replied pleasantly, once again reminding Elliot that the man was a tried-and-true practiced liar and could slip a perfect face on at any time. The knowledge was almost enticing, to know that she’d seen him without the masquerade, more than once.

It made, in hindsight, reflecting back on that moment he’d come unraveled at the ranch—No way, baby, I’m fucking it for you—have a different light. She had done that to him.

Good.

“Y’all busy?” Sylvia asked, blissfully not prying any further for an elaboration on what the nature of their relationship was. “I was just about to meet Wyatt at the Wild Rose. It ain’t trivia night, but they do have a live band playing tonight that’s supposed to be good.”

“Oh,” Elliot said faintly, “I don’t think—”

“That sounds excellent!” John interrupted. “I’ve barely seen anything of Weyfield. What do you say, Elliot?”

I say you can eat shit, she thought, but Sylvia was watching her closely—trying to make sure everything was okay, she supposed, considering Elliot had said nothing of John since they’d become friends. She took in a little breath and looked at the blonde, giving a small smile.

“No harm in a little time out of the house,” she agreed after a moment. “I’m starving, anyway.”

She wasn’t hungry in the least. The sticky note with the doctor’s suggested sleep aid was crumple in her pocket, and a little sweaty from the way she’d been clutching it, but somehow the idea of returning back to the house only seemed to fill her with more dread.

The tv, buzzing static, dull and thrumming in the back of her head, in the roots of her molars. HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? And the heads, twisting and turning in the breeze, their silk-spun puppet threads invisible, their mouths swinging open as they try to scream.

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

“Well, can’t have you starvin’,” Sylvia said amusedly, looping her arm through Elliot’s own and beginning to walk. “You’re not keeping my girl well-fed, Mister John?”

“Trying my hardest,” John replied, his gaze sly, “but she can be a bit ornery.”

“Hm, that does sound like her. Where are you visitin’ from, anyway?”

As they chattered, over her, John on one side and Sylvia on the other, Elliot got the distinct impression that her friend was quietly, politely fishing for information without putting Elliot under the stress of it.

HAVE YOU

Snow underfoot. The forest breathing, expanding, swelling because it holds some great, dark beast just waiting for her to get close enough.

BEEN HAVING

(Itwaitsforyouitwaitsforusallanditwillhaveyou)

STRANGE

“Careful,” John cautioned, reaching for the door with all of the gentlemanly nature of a man not possessed by the devil to hunt her down across states, “it’s slick.”

He opened the door into the Wild Rose, the sweep of warm air rushing over her a pleasant shock to her system that managed to draw her back to reality. Sylvia nudged her inside, effectively planting herself between Elliot and John as they moved single-file into the crowded bar.

She was tired, and having nightmares, and once she finally got some sleep she would feel a lot better about everything. All she needed was some sleep. And in the meantime, try to enjoy her time with her friends as best she could.

Get some sleep. Feel better in the morning. Burke’s old mantra popped up in her head, running through the worn grooves that were a sad, bittersweet sort of comfort to her now; the second you think you can’t anymore, you keep going anyway. Dig, dig, dig, until her fingers were dirt-packed and bloody, as deep as she fucking needed to go to keep moving, because it wasn’t just about her anymore.

Get some sleep.

Feel better in the morning.

Sylvia had drifted out from their little formation to make her way to the booth they had recently staked out as their own, where Wyatt already sat waiting and waving for them. John planted his hands on her shoulders, squeezing and lowering his mouth to her ear. “What do you want to drink?”

“You’re acting awfully domestic for someone who should be in Federal custody,” Elliot replied lowly, looking at him over her shoulder just in time to see him flash a smile that was all teeth.

“C’mon, hellcat,” and he all but purred the words at her, making her skin prickle in a type of anticipation that wasn’t purely dread. Traitorous, treacherous body. “You can at least play at liking me while your friends are around.”

“Iced tea.” She shrugged, disembarking his hands from her shoulders. “No lemon. A lot of ice. Think you can swing it without, I don’t know, lying halfway to Hell on your way there, Slick?”

��Anything,” he replied, pitching his voice even lower amidst the din of the bar, “for my lovely wife.”

Elliot’s head snapped around, ready to grab a fistful of his shirt and remind him to watch his fucking mouth, but he’d already started his journey to meander through the crowd and reach the bar on his little fetch quest.

Fucker, she thought, even when her stomach twisted with something other than vicious disdain. John had only been here for a day and was already too comfortable taking liberties; she’d have to make sure that got nipped in the bud before he got any funny ideas about his own personal redemption arc.

It would have been nice, to just be able to turn off any and all feelings whenever she wanted. But she couldn’t, and that meant she’d have to do the next best thing:

Get John the fuck away from her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Eden’s Gate did not make a good first impression. Eden’s Gate did not even make a good second or third impression; in fact, Isolde had come to the conclusion that Joseph’s little compound was incapable of making any impression that didn’t fill the observer with a sense of despair. Every time she stepped out of the little building Jacob had set her up in, she was overwhelmed with disgust—eyes followed her, but none of them held anything beyond a dull spark of interest, nearly smothered by what seemed to have been a full-body beat down by the other cult.

The other cult, she constantly had to remind herself, because that’s what Eden’s Gate was. A cult.

A few miserable days at the hands of Montana’s coldest winter by record had her in a foul mood. The snowfall seemed inevitable, like it wouldn't ever stop, and the amount of times there had been paths shoveled between buildings—all leading to the chapel—were equally endless. Isolde couldn’t imagine coming to fucking Montana for fun, let alone for work, and yet she was somehow here for the latter and not the former. Distinctly, painfully lacking in fun.

It didn’t help that Joseph was insufferable. It didn’t help that every time he fixed his eyes on her, she felt an uncomfortable heat dripping down her spine like some kind of molten IV, like they hadn’t left on the worst of terms. Like she hadn’t told him to get the fuck out of her loft, like she hadn’t thrown an engagement ring on the floor like it was poison.

That was a time of her life that she had the distinct desire to not revisit, not even once, and yet in his presence—she found it nearly impossible to ignore. Joseph seemed to take a special, muted pleasure in making her hackles raise, and at least that hadn’t changed about him.

“Sol!”

Jacob called to her from halfway down the compound’s yard, a truck idling beside him. She stopped her trek back to her little hovel and looked at him, arms crossing over her chest.

“You wanna get out for a little?” He inclined his head toward the truck. “I’ve got some errands to run.”

“What kind of errands do the Collapse dictate?” she asked.

“The important variety.”

“Hm.”

She didn’t elaborate on that any further, and Jacob waited only one heartbeat before he reached for the driver’s side door and opened it, slowly.

“Going once—”

“I am not a child, Jacob.”

“—going twice—”

Fuck, did she want to get out.

“Fine,” Isolde snapped, “but bring that truck here. I’m not hiking through a snowdrift to get to you.”

Jacob, sounding quite pleased with himself, replied, “I thought you weren’t a child?”

He seemed moved enough by the dramatic eyeroll to oblige her, and if he found it annoying, it didn’t show; enough so, at least, that Isolde was able to clamber into the passenger side of the truck once he pulled it around, tapping the snow off of her shoes before pulling herself in.

“Thank you,” she huffed, shutting the door and rubbing her fingers to circulate the blood again. “This weather’s a bit abnormal, don’t you think?”

“Not anything out of the ordinary for this time of year, no,” Jacob replied. He nudged the windshield wipers on, plowing a thin layer of snow that had already begun to accumulate off of the window before starting to pull out of the compound. “I think you’re just not suited to the snow.”

“Could have told you that myself,” Isolde snipped. “I’m a hot-blooded creature.”

Jacob made a noise, something like an mm, a place between agreement without incriminating himself by agreeing too fervently or elaborately. She glanced over at him through the corners of her eyes as they turned onto the highway. In the comfortable silence that elapsed between them, Isolde settled back against the seat of the truck and tried to appreciate being out from the stifling dread of the compound.

It did seem to her that Joseph was markedly different than he had been, before. In the few instances in the last couple of days where he hadn’t been picking a fight with her, it almost felt normal—but of course, he was doing it in his own way, this pot-stirring, this instigating. With politeness. With kindness. By remaining completely unrattled by anything she said to him, every, any critique, so self-assured in his righteousness that not even reason could make him look twice at the state of his congregation.

Then, he had always been that way. Righteous. Assured. She had found it appealing, once—she liked a man with confidence—but now she found it—

Equal parts frustrating and attractive. Objectively, of course. Not anything that she felt herself.

“Trying to account for the bodies of the Family against the ones we know we saw before,” Jacob explained, when she had been quiet long enough to let him sort out his thoughts. “Seems like they started killing themselves, in pairs, once the two leaders were done with. I sent out a couple of scouts and they radio’d back some locations, but they’ve gone quiet for a while.”

“Dedication,” Isolde murmured, digging the nail of her thumb into her lower lip. “How dreadful.”

“The dedication, or the act?”

“Both. Imagine being so bound to something or someone.”

Jacob’s mouth twisted in a wry smile, and he brought the truck to a crawl. Two bodies, swallowed by snow nearly up to their waists, sat propped against the cliff face. He fished a pad of paper and a near-worn out pencil out of the center console of the truck and held them out to her.

“Mark it down, Sol.” When she blinked at him, he continued, “What, you thought you were gonna get out and not help me?”

“Well, I was hoping.”

She sighed, taking the pad and pencil—a glorified secretary is what I am, she thought bitterly—and marked two tally marks down. From where the car was stopped, she could see that the arms of the corpses came together, and though it was buried in snow, she had to think that beneath the white frost their hands were intertwined.

They went like that for a while; Jacob would drive to a spot, have her mark down the amount of bodies, and then go on. By the time they had reached Fall’s End, Isolde had counted nearly twenty dead bodies. As they rolled into the far end of town, Isolde realized very quickly that most of the buildings were blackened, and when she rolled down her window, the stale scent of charcoal still sat in the air.

“What happened here?” she asked, grimacing and scrunching up her nose.

“Dunno,” Jacob replied tightly. “Someone with an agenda.”

Isolde’s gaze snapped to him, to try and wring any information out of his expression, but true to his nature Jacob remained completely unreadable. It wasn’t until they had gotten to what appeared to have once been a bar and tallied up the bodies there that Jacob threw the truck into park.

“What in the fuck?” he muttered, eyes fixed forward. When Sol followed his gaze, she realized that it was fixed on someone—someone running towards them, frantically, nearly falling over themselves in the snow.

“Is that one of yours?” she asked. “Jacob?”

“Shh.”

He had busied himself fishing around in the back seat, and as he did Isolde squinted, trying to get a better look at what was going on. The man running definitely had to be Eden’s Gate—he had the big red emblem on his shirt, but he wasn’t wearing any coat, and—

And there were others.

“Jacob,” Isolde said, “there are more.”

“What?”

“Bodies,” she managed out, “there are more bodies.”

The snow wasn’t so deep on the roads that she couldn’t see the width of a body, and she did—see it, that is, tousled dark locks reflecting wet and sticky in the overcast, late-afternoon light. The man running was waving his arms and yelling for help, and then he fell over one of the bodies, fell to his hands and knees over the body of someone else, and made a sound kind of like anguish.

Jacob finally managed to pull out what he’d been looking for—a pair of binoculars—and immediately lifted them to his face.

“Shit,” he said. “Fuck, they’re ours.”

“All of them?” Isolde demanded. “They’re all—”

“Yes,” he bit out, opening the driver’s door and grabbing the rifle from the back seat. “They’re all ours. Isolde, stay in—”

Jacob’s words were cut off by the violent crack of a gunshot. For a split second, Isolde saw nothing; in the space between heartbeats, sluggish from panic, she saw the arterial spray coming from the back of the running man’s body before he hit the ground, screaming.

He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead, he was still crawling, dragging himself through the snow, leaving a smear of red behind him, and that’s when Isolde saw them.

Jacob had stopped moving as well. The person at the far end of the main road leading through Fall’s End had yet to shoulder their weapon. From here, Isolde could see that she was tall—short-cropped, blonde hair, swathed in dark clothes, but beyond that the features were near impossible to make out.

“Close the door,” Isolde hissed, not moving, her instincts screaming to duck but the fear that sudden movement would draw attention prevailing. “Jacob, close the fucking door.”

The eerily satisfying click-click of what could only be the bolt-action rifle in the hunter’s hands clattered around in her head. The rifle was returned to their shoulders, brought up level, and then fired again.

Out of pure instinct, Isolde flinched—but once again, the bullet was aimed not at them, but at the man already crawling in the snow. The sound of the gunshot, and the subsequent bullet-on-bone impact, was enough to make her stomach churn; now, at least, the man lay slumped in the snow, one of the many bodies that seemed to have been the unfortunate pull-and-fire clay birds for the stranger.

“Who,” Isolde whispered furiously, as Jacob carefully put the truck into drive without letting it move forward at all first, “Jacob, who the fuck is that?”

The redhead’s expression was unforgivingly tight, pulling taut with it the scars and mottling of his skin visible outside of his beard. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather kept his eyes fixed forward, as he closed the driver’s side door.

“Fifteen men,” he ground out between his teeth, “that’s fifteen fucking men I sent out here to figure out the body count.”

The stranger finally lowered their rifle, apparently satisfied with their work. This far away, it was hard to tell, but Isolde got the distinct impression that they were being watched, looked at now, where before the attention had been elsewhere.

And then it was confirmed, because the stranger lifted one gloved hand and pressed her index and middle fingers right against the hollows of her jaw. A snakebite. A cut right to the carotid. A message.

Jacob cranked the wheel, the tires shrieking in protest against the snow as he pulled between buildings in a sudden rush of acceleration. The stranger was quickly cut out, stifled by the side of the used-to-be-bar, leaving them out of direct range of a sniper rifle. Not that her companion seemed that pleased about it, anyway.

“Fuck,” he bit out, seething as he tried to navigate the narrow space in the clumsy Eden’s Gate truck. “Fuck, did you count how many bodies were on the ground?”

“Hm, no!” Isolde snapped viciously. “I was a bit too busy trying to make sure they were going to shoot us!”

Jacob gritted out another string of swears between his teeth, turning the truck until he could take what looked to be a back alley in the opposite direction of their little hunter. He checked the rearview mirror frequently; his expression was set in a deep frown, and he only looked at her once before continuing his regular scanning of the road behind them.

“Well, aren’t you going to turn around?” she demanded.

“For what?” Jacob replied flatly. “I’ve got a hunting rifle, not my HTI.”

“I don’t know what that means, and I don’t care,” Isolde bit out.

“It means, the chances of me getting shot before I get a shot on them are significantly lower,” he told her, his knuckles whitening along the steering wheel, “and as confident as I am that I could kill them before they killed me, I’m not confident they wouldn’t take a shot at you first.”

Isolde’s stomach rolled. It wasn’t the violence that bothered her—it wasn’t the death, or the guns, or even the blood—but the message itself. The Stranger had been hunting the Eden’s Gate men and women for sport. For fun. To pass the time, while they waited. But what for? What could they be waiting for?

She stayed quiet, listening to Jacob radio back to the compound quick, short orders that flew right over her head. She couldn’t stop thinking about it—the gesture. The stranger. Who were they? The remainder of the other cult, perhaps? What were they waiting for?

You’re next, that two-fingered, snake-bite-right-to-the-carotid gesture had said.

You’re next, and I’m coming for you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sylvia did not seem that impressed with John Seed, and Elliot could not blame her.

John was exceptionally charming. So charming, in fact, that he and Wyatt seemed to get along smashingly. It was almost frustrating, how quick the blonde took to John—but then, Wyatt did strike as the type of man who got along with everybody until they gave him a reason to think otherwise. After all, he’d been kind to her, and she was...

Needless to say, Sylvia was a harder sell, which was nice. Reassuring. It made Elliot feel more grounded, to see Sylvia politely smile at John’s chatter—she’d nearly forgotten how much he liked to talk—but then decidedly turn to Elliot to ask her about something or dive into a different conversation. It was pointed, and if the way John watched them interact was any indication, the message of it was not lost on him.

By the time the evening had drawn to a close, for her and John at least, the brunette had departed to go warm-up the Jeep and left her standing by the doorway, keeping warm, with Sylvia.

“You sure you’re doin’ okay?” the blonde asked after a moment, propped up against the wall in the tiny little doorway that led out to the main street. “You look tired. Stressed out. I was worried when we didn’t hear from you this morning, about comin’ to the barn.”

Elliot felt a little pang of guilt digging in, just there below her sternum. “I’m okay,” she promised. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, I—had a doctor’s appointment this morning that I completely forgot about until my mama reminded me, and John showed up this morning too, so it’s just been...”

“A crazy day,” Via agreed, her nose crinkling cutely in amusement. “He’s a funny fella, that John of yours.”

Oh, if only you knew. “I think so, too.”

“What is he?” she asked, conversationally. “Maybe a—car salesman?”

Her friend’s playful jab was enough to elicit a laugh, billowing out of her and catching even herself by surprise. But then, she shouldn’t have been shocked to find that Sylvia had gotten a quick read on John. Given the way she’d quickly diverted from the attention on Elliot’s scar and carried on, she thought maybe Via was more perceptive than she liked to let on.

“Lawyer,” Ell replied, and Via winced comically.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I mean—Elli,” Via intoned playfully, “he might as well be sellin’ you snake oil when he’s a lawyer.”

Elliot sighed ruefully, glancing out the window to see John clambering out of the front of the jeep. Snake oil seemed a light judgment for him, all things considered.

“Hey, Via,” she began, swallowing a little, “if I tell you something, you’ve gotta promise you won’t say anything?”

Via regarded her curiously, head tilted. “Okay, sure, Freckles. What’s up?”

She shifted on her feet. “John and I are actually, um—” Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to, because saying it out loud—her, and not John—made it real. Gave it legs. Forced her to face what had happened and what she couldn’t change yet.

“You don’t have to,” Via told her gently. “I could tell there was somethin’—you know, out of sorts. You don’t get a slick-talkin’ lawyer grinnin’ like the cat what ate the canary if he hasn’t done somethin’ to piss a woman off.”

Elliot shook her head. “We’re actually, uh,” she tried again, pulling at a loose thread on her shirt, “m—married.”

Saying the word out loud didn’t feel as wretched as she thought it would, which was almost three times as concerning. She felt, instead, more dread waiting for Sylvia’s reaction—waiting to see what her one friend had to say or think about that.

The woman’s face screwed up comedically. “Oh, Freckles,” she said, her tone teasing. “Say it ain’t so.”

“I’m not kidding!” Elliot felt a nervous little laugh bubble out of her. “I mean—what, Via? You clearly have an opinion on him.”

“I don’t know the man from Jack walkin’ down the street,” Sylvia demurred. “I just think...well, I just think you’re a real peach, you know? And you didn’t seem too pleased to have this John walkin’ around, and I take that kind of thing seriously.”

Sighing, Elliot scuffed her shoe against the ground, watching John pick his way through the crowd back down the street.

“We left on—bad terms, sort of,” she explained. “He showed up to make amends.”

“Do you want to make amends?”

The question caught her off-guard. It was an obvious one—obvious in that, it should have been one of the first things anyone asked her regarding John, even John himself, and yet: no one had. Not a single person had asked her if she wanted to suffer through making amends with the man who had lied to her, violated her trust, and still somehow managed to be the one person she didn’t have to fear seeing the worst, ugliest parts of her.

“I don’t know,” Elliot said after a moment, clearing her throat. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Then I will reserve judgment,” Sylvia replied firmly, “so you can make a decision on your own.”

The door to the street opened, bringing with it not only a waft of chilly wind, but John himself and the scent of his viciously-expensive cologne. It took every ounce of Elliot’s self-control not to burst into laughter at the absurdity of it—John Seed, charisma-extraordinaire, somehow managing to make poor first impressions both on her mother and her friend.

“Car’s all warmed up,” John announced, rubbing his hands together. He glanced between the two women, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. “What’s so funny, hm?”

“Nothing,” Elliot replied. “Just talking about you.”

This piqued his interest. He said, “Good things, I hope,” and she could see it on his face—the painful reminder of the way John had craved Joseph’s approval, the way he’d lit up like a nuclear mushroom cloud the second Joseph deigned to say anything remotely kind to him.

“Jury’s still out,” Sylvia said lightly, and then flashed a pretty smile and clapped him on the shoulder. “But don’t worry bud! We’ll get you there eventually.”

John tried very hard to feign polite laughter, but the uneasiness bled through readily—and it was a little satisfying, to see John squirm, to see him out of his element, no longer surrounded by a constant chorus of Yes hitting his dopamine centers nonstop. No wonder the man had a conniption anytime someone dared to dislike him.

“Better get this lady home, she looks like she’s about to fall asleep standing,” Sylvia announced, reaching and giving Elliot a gentle hug. “Night, Freckles.”

“Goodnight.”

John and Sylvia bid each other a pleasant goodbye as Elliot stepped out onto the street, careful to avoid icier parts of the concrete as she made her way to the car. Her brain felt fuzzy—a lot of socializing, a lot of time spent trying not to let John get to her. It had been long enough since she’d had to hold her walls up for so long that she felt exhausted from doing it, even for this long.

Maybe that was his strategy. Wear her down, then swoop in, just like last time.

“Did you have fun?” John asked, and she realized that she was at the car, having climbed into the passenger seat already. He closed the driver’s side door, settling in before carefully beginning to back out of the parking spot.

“I mean, having you loom over my shoulder the entire night was a little odd.”

He made an affronted sound. “I was not looming.”

“You were,” Elliot told him, “a little.” She paused, feeling the exhaustion pulling at the edges of her vision, begging for her to close her eyes—but she couldn’t. Not in the car, not with John driving. If she did, he might just keep driving and not turn back around. “It’s funny—”

“My quote-unquote looming?”

“How much different you are,” she finished, “when you’re not around Joseph.”

John was clearly trying very hard not to look like he was stiffening at her words. Gotcha, she thought, with a little pinprick of pride. Yeah, I didn’t forget. I didn’t forget how much you hated it when I brought him up.

“I don’t know what you mean,” John replied, keeping his voice light. “I’m exactly the way I’ve always been.”

“You haven’t tried to drown me a single time.”

“That time was a miscommunication,” he insisted. “I wasn’t trying to drown you. Just—coerce you. And besides, that’s behind us now. I know you, Elliot Honeysett, intimately, which means such forms of brute persuasion aren’t required.” He paused. “It’s much better when you indulge me willingly, anyway.”

Elliot’s nose crinkled. “You sound fucking nuts when you say that. ‘That one time I thought about drowning you was just a miscommunication’. No wonder Sylvia doesn’t like you.”

“So she told you? That she doesn’t like me?”

He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering over to her, and when he saw the very subtle upturn of her mouth he exhaled out of his nose.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Not necessarily. But if I was—it would be the least you deserve.”

He was different, out from the insane pressure of the cult, out from under Joseph’s thumb. It was like, given room to breathe, he was suddenly relearning what it was like to make his own decision—to exist outside of Joseph. Back in Hope County, John had been fervent in his belief that he owed Joseph everything. Maybe the distance had done him some good.

Don’t, something inside of her insisted viciously, as she turned her attention out to the side of the road where the headlights illuminated snowdrift after snowdrift. Don’t get soft on him. That’s how he got you last time, you know. Don’t let it happen again.

But if he wanted to press the issue about Sylvia—or about her comment concerning Joseph—John seemed to exercise a remarkable amount of self-control and instead focused on driving. In the quiet, without him chattering on about doing things for them or how much he missed our banter, it was almost...Comfortable.

“Finding out the gender,” Elliot said after a moment, the exhaustion now settling like a deep chill in her bones. “Of the baby, I mean. At the next appointment.”

The brunette shifted in his seat. In an attempt at nonchalance, he said, “Oh, yeah?”

What am I doing? she thought. He plays nice for one night. He’s good at that. Short-term goodness.

“I’m nervous,” she added after a moment. “About finding out.”

“Not excited?” John tilted his head.

“No,” she admitted. “Nervous.”

Ahead of them, she saw the dark blur of a figure. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. John was saying something—something about how he’d read a number of books and it was normal to feel nervous, or some other kind of psycho babble—but she shifted forward in her seat, eyes straining to see.

“Slow down,” she said, “I think there’s a dog...?”

“What?” John asked. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

“Just up ahead. Have you not been paying attention to the road?”

He made an indignant sound—“I am the best driver between the two of us, you know,”—but before Elliot could think up a response, the dark, furred creature slowed down ahead of them, stopped in the middle of the road, and turned its head.

The headlights caught it immediately. It was a dog, four-legged and large and shaggy black fur, but when it turned its head, it was a man’s face, the mouth slung open and the gently-rounded teeth of a human’s mouth blaring white in the headlights. Something dark and slick oozed between the teeth, in that split second, she watched the dog-human-creature push off from the ground and stand on its two hind legs.

She screamed, and John swerved, and immediately threw the car into park and slammed his hand on the hazard lights button.

It was dread, pure dread and fear, sending a pulse of adrenaline straight to her brain. Bent over at the waist, Elliot closed her eyes tight, trying to will the image out of her head, out from behind her irises. John had quickly unbuckled and reached over, his hands doing the same to hers.

“Elliot,” he said urgently, fingers pushing the hair back from her face. “Ell, take a breath, come on—sit up, you have to take a breath—”

“Is—is it gone?” she asked, but the words came out closer to a wail, the fear spiking viciously in the timbre of her voice. Please, God, what the fuck, please let it be gone. God, oh fuck, what the fuck what the fuck— “The—the—”

“There’s nothing—?” John stopped. Elliot frantically scrabbled at the high neck of her parka, fingers shaking and clumsy. “Ell—”

“Can’t breathe,” she managed out. “Too hot, can’t—”

The brunette reached over the console and stilled her hands. She was still bent at the waist, but he made do, pulling the zipper of the parka down until she could pull her arms from it; once it had been deposited in the back seat, his hand went to the back of her neck.

She sat up slowly, her eyes immediately making a frantic search of the road. There was nothing. Only quiet snowfall.

“Where—” She paused, swallowing thickly. “Where did it go?”

“Ell,” John murmured, “there wasn’t anything in the road.”

“What do you mean?” she moaned. “I saw it, the—I saw the—”

“You saw...?” he prompted. His thumb swept across the back of her neck, coaxing.

“The dog,” she insisted. “It was a dog, but it had—it’s face was—it was a man’s face, and it f-fucking—it fucking stood up, John!”

He was watching her carefully, his gaze searching her face for a long moment. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t see anything,” he told her. “Just that you—you just screamed, so I pulled over.”

“I’m not crazy,” Elliot bit out, her voice wobbling.

“I know,” John replied plainly. “Maybe it was just—you know. The snow. In front of the headlights.” And then: “Have you really been getting enough sleep, Ell?”

She felt her lip tremble, the desire to cry almost overwhelming. She couldn’t stand it—couldn’t stand John being tender to her, worrying about her, questioning the validity of her saying that she had been sleeping fine because he could see that she couldn’t. He was wretched and wicked and it needed to stay that way.

“Please take me home,” she said finally, re-buckling and rolling the window down to let the cold air on her face. “Please just take me home.”

John waited for a few heartbeats before he turned the hazard lights off and put the Jeep in drive.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he told her after a moment, glancing at her a few times. “I mean it, Ell.”

“Fuck you,” she replied, exhausted and feeling furiously wound up. “Just take me home.”

Get some sleep.

Feel better in the morning.

#my writing #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #ch: helmi #ch: isolde khan #ch: jacob seed #fic: witching hour #she gets a lil face lift #as a treat : ' )#far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #john seed x deputy #fc5 oc #john seed/deputy #normally i would be making more of a commentary in the tags but head empty !!!!#but: thank you thank you anyone and everyone who reads!!! ily!!!!!

18 notes · View notes

evoedbd · 4 years

Text

Queer Advice

Summer - Emily Collins is terrified that Dracula's Brides will need a virgin sacrifice, and she knows exactly who that person would be. Havenfalls finest are LESS than helpful with their brilliant plan to protect their virgin huntress. ((Meshed in Mac having a version of her MC, because she’s the only character who truly NEEDS her MC to reach her full potential.)) *******

“Alright. This is serious business. We’ve found out more of Dracula’s plan and i- SERIOUSLY?” Emily started out seriously, striding into the closed bowling alley with purpose. Once the door swung shut, however, the party lights revealed something that nearly made Emily blow a gasket. A cuddle pile! An honest to whatever god may exist cuddle pile! During what was meant to be a meeting to save lives. Not just A life, but multiple. On a potentially world dominating scale. This was serious business and yet four bodies remained tangled together; a series of semi naked limbs and plaid that became indistinguishable from each other.

Mackenzie Hunt was the easiest to distinguish amidst the chaos. The Alpha was an absolute beast of a woman, in no uncertain terms. A copper skinned goddess standing at 5.11ft high, with muscles that appeared to be forged from literal copper by an artist of ancient times. Forest green eyes kept careful watch over the bowling alley, even though the gentle smile on her lips betrayed her affection for the others. Her duty as pack leader and town sheriff seemed to weigh her brows down ever so slightly, a fact emphasised by lighter hair against darker skin. Her short, choppy hair was ruffled, suggesting she had been running a little earlier. Or perhaps fingers had been running through her hair, like she now ran her own fingers through Aisha’s chocolate dust locks. Just as Atlas allegedly held the world, Mac supported the tangled individuals on her lap. Even then, she positioned herself so that she could break away and spring up at the first sign of trouble.

Aisha Collins appeared content enough with her head resting on the arm of the couch. Aisha looked so similar to Emily one might mistake them for twins, with their high angled jaws and blazing blue eyes. Aisha had grown into her grace, keeping her head held a little higher than Emily, which made her features seem finer. Her sharp edges were softened, as if the world around her was constantly caressing them into tranquillity. The cargo pants she wore hid her lanky legs, even as they tangled with another pair of fine legs clad in designer jeans.

Annabelle Shepard lay facing the other direction; legs tangled through Aisha’s. Her chest rose and fell with the gentle contentment of peaceful slumber. It was easy to forget how fierce the young woman could be when one looked at her soft face. From gentle curves to large, expressive eyes, Annabelle was disarming. When awake, her cheer was almost infectious, yet she held a certain bite to her. An unnameable quality that exposed the truth of the hardships she had faced. That made you respect her without even knowing her. Her lithe arms remained folded against her chest. As always, her arms were covered by long sleeves with buttoned cuffs. The few times Emily had seen Annabelle’s bare arms, she had been greeted with thick, unsightly scars. They were vicious and deep, as if she had been savagely attacked by a rabid animal.

Damien Ryder took the weight of the cuddle pile. He supported Annabelle’s sleeping form, with his nose tucked into her hair. His arms wrapped around Anabelle, with one of his hands holding Aisha’s legs. The tussles of his signature jacket tickled over plaid and denim, offering something for Aisha to twist around her fingers in her half-conscious state. Looking at Damien, the most striking thing about him was the pain. It darkened his ginger ale brown eyes; dragged on his broody brows. Even in a relaxed setting, his squared jaw seemed hardened and his lips downturned. That along with his shoulder length fawn hair gave Emily the impressions of a western outlaw. All that was missing was the twig of barley for him to chew on.

“Pack thing.” Aisha sleepily explained, waving her free hand in a dismissive manner. It seemed as if she believed that nobody would understand it, so she did not bother explaining. There was a gentle cheekiness to her tone; a happiness which Emily couldn’t bring herself to attack. It was with a long-suffering sigh she directed her attention towards the literal devil in the room.

“You just want time off work.” JD accused, a smirk touching their lips as they leaned back against the bar. Jordan Davies was the epitome of teenage angst turned into professional anarchy. Lanky and long, JD was only a smidgen taller than Emily, yet appeared to be half the weight. Beneath the biker’s leather jacket and baggy red singlet, Emily was positive she’d find nothing but a ribcage. That leanness was matched in JD’s youthful face. Mischief twinkled in ember coloured eyes, as always. Nobody could look at JD’s troublemaker getup; numerous piercings, and flame orange hair without feeling as sinful as if they were sneaking out after curfew. Something about the Jersey Devil invited chaos and trouble of the best kind. The kind where you’d wake up hungover, married to a goat and wondering where your trousers were.

“It would mean you’d have to actually do your job, Jordan.” Razi commented, an amused smile forming beneath his elegantly groomed facial hair. Razi was a picture, with only one stylish lock out of place. With his broad, defined features and luscious dark hair bound into ponytail, it was amazing he settled for a bowling alley in a backwater town. Mythical blue eyes shone; sapphires gleaming against his bronzed skin. As usual, the hunky Djinn wore a silken button up shirt, with the sleeves folded up to his elbows and dark suspenders. The half-popped buttons showed off his defined chest, along with the many hairs curling across his skin. When the light caught those hairs the right way, Razi appeared to glow, adding to his calm mystique. This, along with his dazzling smile, was truly what made Emily think the only way to describe Razi was “An exotic gentleman.” ... yet Razi’s sister called him the ugly duckling. If that was true, Emily doubted the world was ready for the Nassar family.

“Come on, Razi. Hikari has that locked down.” Aisha called teasingly, her lips peeling into a troublemaker’s grin to match JD’s. Emily could only wince in sympathy as she looked over to the poor demon, who was struggling to rearrange the bowling balls without breaking them.

Hikari barely passed for human, being half Fae and half, well, Satan. Her soft, youthful features were only hardened by the copious amount of eyeliner surrounding her neon pink eyes. Darkness was a theme for Hikari, with her full, blackened lips and tiny black horns which sprouted from her coloured hair. Her long hair was perhaps the most colourful thing about her, fading from pink to purple the lower one went from her scalp. Two tiny buns sat on top of her head, little spirals of colour that were almost disarming... almost. Nothing could disarm Hikari’s attitude or sharp tongue.

“Look! This is serious! I was doing my homework on potential rituals which the Brides may preform to resurrect Dracula and it turns out that, aside from me, they may ne-“

“Wait... don’t tell me. A virgin sacrifice.” Aisha snipped in, appearing awfully amused when she spoke. When the entire group remained silent, powerful blue eyes widened in absolute alarm.

“Seriously? I thought that was bogus... talk about cliché.”

“Well, Van tried to correct things apparently, but nobody took him very seriously. If he were around, Vanessa is convinced he’d have a lot to say about the current state of things.” Emily informed, her own brows pinching as she went to speak again.

“Of all the things to get right, eh?” JD laughed, only to grow silent at the look on their friend’s face. For all JD’s chaos, they knew when someone was hurting, and they knew when their common brand of humour wasn’t going to add to the situation.

“Not any virgin. The closer to the intended, the better. We already know I’m the intended, with that kidnapping proposal and me being the only human Collin’s woman in town. The virgin sacrifice, well I think I know who that is. I assume it can’t be any of you. Or Diego. I already know it can’t be Grace-“

“Definitely not Grace. We can both confidently confirm that.” Aisha agreed, causing both her and Emily’s faces to flush furiously. Grace’s prom night had not ended with her date dropping her off, rather with Emily and Aisha chasing a teenage boy out of her room with a mixing spoon and a coffee mug. It was an uncomfortable enough moment that all the Collins women did their best to avoid discussing it, yet none of them could ever bleach it from mind. Aisha had seriously considered trying it once she became a wolf. Thankfully, Mac had convinced her not to test out her new powers. JD also refused to erase the memory, finding it too hilarious to see Emily and Aisha squirming.

“I don’t get along with any other family members. Don’t have any friends outside of Havenfall. The only other person I am close to is Vanessa. What do I do? She’s already in the crosshairs, if they catch onto this...” Emily appeared to dissolve into panic, her brows contorting. All the way from her shoulders to her hands appeared to vibrate, blurring subtly due to her trembling.

“If you don’t want her to be the virgin sacrifice, just have her lose it.” JD suggested rather casually before they took a swig of their drink. Emily could only gape, her eyes almost bulging out of their sockets as she did her best impression of a guppy fish. Mouth agape, lips flapping as she tried to find the words.

“Wow. Just wow. Is sex literally the only solution you can offer, JD?” Emily demanded, almost on autopilot. She was in shock. The idea was ludicrous! Insane! Utterly bonkers! She couldn’t just go up and offer to sleep with Vanessa! The huntress was already so shy about most interactions, given that she had never even had friends, let alone a boyfriend or girlfriend. If a compliment left her utterly flustered, and proximity took her breath away, then what would suggesting making love do? No, it wouldn’t be making love. Vanessa couldn’t be in love with her. It’d be sex. A physical convenience. It’d rob the hopeless romantic Vanessa of her first experience with love if she agreed to it.

“I’m just saying. A good shag would solve several problems for her.” JD pointed out, once more grinning like a cat who had gotten the cream via nefarious methods. Emily was ready to burst. To smack the demon over the head with a bowling ball. Better yet, ask Hikari to do it. The Scene Demon would probably love to dish out some payback to JD.

“And who would you suggest we get her into bed with? You? Diego? Razi?” Emily demanded harshly, bringing a hand up to pinch at the of her nose. Her thumb rubbed over the small scar beneath her glasses, which bounced over her knuckles as Emily attempted to purge the images from her mind by rubbing at her eyes. Picturing Vanessa with JD did not bring images of love, only an image of the Huntress kicking a demon’s flaming backside out of her van. For Diego, she could only picture a holy sword shooting out the van to decapitate the vampire, or a stake plunged into his heart. Hardly romantic. Razi... might at least be allowed to speak, but he’d wind up with the door slammed in his face.

Emily was so caught up in her musings that she missed the look shared between Aisha and Mac, yet she did not miss the words her cousin spoke.

“Actually... you’re the best candidate.”

“What? Why me?” She almost shrieked, feeling as if she’d been sucker punched in the gut. Was it because Vanessa was her bodyguard? Did they just assume that it’d be acceptable? Was this how boys felt when paired with their female friends? Pressure? A touch of violation? Great. First it was a girl and boy couldn’t be friends, now it was automatically that if two women were close, they had to be lesbians. Would the clichés and stereotypes ever truly die?

“You’re the only single human woman here.” Mac pointed out. Ok. Emily could concede to that logic.

“Huge flaw in that, guys. You’re all just assuming Vanessa is gay!” Emily stated the obvious. Instantly, she was met with various looks of amusement and pity, all of which made her brows feel heavy and her lips ache with the urge to tip into a scowl. Honestly, for a group of outcasts and Queers, their lack of consideration was astonishing.

“Or kinky. Come on. The leather? The whip?” JD unhelpfully added, miming a whip with their left hand when Emily fixed her glare upon them. The human felt her brow twitch even as she opened her mouth to snap back at the overly satisfied demon. Before she could even utter a single sound, a snort from her cousin cut her off.

“It’s true. No Straight woman would wear that much leather.” Aisha added, smoothing out the moment with logic.

“That’s a value judgement!” Emily scolded on instinct. A rather calm, deadpan stare was the only response. It only got worse as Emily felt her cheeks flush a brilliant cherry tomato. A flush which she was convinced spread to her collar given her spike in body temperature. She wasn’t stupid enough to blame it on the room heating up, not when she was the only one suffering. Okay, so maybe Aisha had a point... slash the maybe. Emily had to concede. She’d never met a woman who kept her nails short and wore so much leather who wasn’t somewhat inclined towards women. Thinking back over their interactions, Emily remembered when she had raised the question about dating history. Boyfriends? Girlfriends? Vanessa had stated explicitly she had no time for girlfriends... ok. So that had to be a hint, right? Vanessa had been so flustered even saying it. As if she expected backlash. So maybe she was a little bit gay? A little. But that was only one half of the sexuality equation.

“She stares at your ass when you walk away. Seriously, she wants a piece. The biggest piece. I can see the gay from across the bowling alley.” Hikari’s voice rung out, drawing Emily’s focus to the approaching Fae daughter of Satan. Hikari had a look of utter condescending disbelief on her face, as if she was utterly flabbergasted that Emily could be so stupid. The intensity of that look sure made Emily feel more foolish than she had ever felt in her entire life, even if she was unsure why.

“She looks at you like you’re chocolate cake, but she forgot to bring a spoon to eat you with.” Razi continued Hikari’s logic in a much gentler fashion.

“Are we forgetting the little issue my last partner had? It’s called a penis!” Emily strained the word “little” with her voice and her fingers, thumb and forefinger held apart to depict the size.

Mark had started out a wonderful partner. A caring man who was decent looking. He had a good job, solid family and had been involved with his church. Early on, Emily had thought he could be the one. Or rather, the best she would ever land with her background. When she had brought him to the bowling alley to meet her friends, however, things had gone south. Fast. Mark had torched his pristine image within minutes by his relentless attack on JD’s lifestyle. Mark exposed a traditionalist streak; which Emily couldn’t overcome. At the time, she hadn’t understood why everyone found Mark’s shouts that JD was going to hell so funny. She’d been busy dumping the tool.

“Ahha! So you admit it was small.” JD cheered, leaping on the chance to have another dig at Mark. The Demon’s grin was victorious; so full of malicious glee that Emily couldn’t even bring herself to defend her ex. Not that she would ever feel inclined to.

“So not the point.” Emily groaned, dropping her face into her hands. Maybe if she pinched the bridge of her nose hard enough, she could repel the building shitstorm which was her massive headache.

“Does it matter?” Hikari demanded in an almost aggressive manner. Shocked, Emily removed her hand and stared at the Fae daughter of Satan. The Faemon appeared impassioned, her neon pink eyes blazing with such intensity it could be compared to a blast of heat straight to Emily’s face. As if she’d stepped from an air-conditioned building into 116 degrees.

“Like, seriously. Who cares if you’ve only been with men in the past, they ain’t the shit.” The Faemon continued, earning an almost amused snort from Emily. JD smirked, Razi coughed. An actual laugh came from Aisha, whilst the rumble of a chuckle echoed softly from Mac.

Emily had always known she found both men and women attractive, yet no woman had ever fit the bill of Girlfriend material. Usually because they were straight. Men had always been easier when it came to dating, thus Emily had learned how to handle her foolish crushes and attraction to men. Women not so much. They still left her tongue tied, overwhelmed her thoughts when she found one she deemed attractive. She still couldn’t flirt in any capacity, and she absolutely could not contain her thirst.

“If you actually connect with Vanessa, go for it. She’s cute, she’s single as fuck and into you. Are you seriously telling me a vagina is getting in the way?” The Fae continued, driving her words home with several firm pokes to Emily’s shoulder. The human could only blink. Hikari had an excellent point.

Vanessa was gorgeous. There was no getting around that. All lithe muscle in a highly feminine frame. Dark hair spilling down her back; hair which seemed to absorb the light in a lilac black cascade. Breathtaking violet eyes, which shone with every single emotion Vanessa ever felt. Yes, Vanessa was physically stunning, yet there was more beauty to her than just her appearance.

Vanessa was just so earnest. Everything about her was so sincere and true that is knocked Emily off her feet. Vanessa’s bravery; her capacity to make Emily believe in the impossible with her blistering passion and steadfast loyalty. It was inexplicable. Emily was forever awed by Vanessa as a Huntress, as well as a person. Whilst Vanessa’s heroism was undeniable, so was the woman beneath the legend. The tender concern in Vanessa’s eyes was almost blanketing; a warm comfort in the night. Vanessa’s genuine smiles transformed Emily’s heart into a prism of light, reflecting the warm glow of happiness throughout her entire chest. Watching Vanessa’s wonder as she was exposed to new things was addictive. To Emily, it felt like watching a whole new world birthed from nothingness. The gentle warmth and pride Emily was a constant undertone for her excitement to engage Vanessa. To learn more. Every scrap of information given by Vanessa was a treasure; a clue leading Emily deeper into a labyrinth. The journey alone was worth more than any treasure. Each moment a glistening point of connection that Emily felt content to exist in. Vanessa’s laughter... melodic. An angel’s song. The sound alone made the world fade away and infused Emily with a sense of unequalled joy. Such a pure, sincere sound as a happy Vanessa gave Emily’s heart wings.

“They sell solutions for that.”

And with Aisha’s comment, Emily’s joy came crashing down. She plummeted, feathers falling from her metaphoric wings with every flap of logic and confusion tangling around her. One moment there was an argument that just because Vanessa was a woman it didn’t mean Emily couldn’t like her, or even, lord forbid, LOVE her. Then, the next moment Aisha was starting to talk about changing Vanessa? It was in jest, clearly, yet that didn’t stop the violent impulse to shout surging within Emily’s veins. Vanessa was PERFECT the way she was. Why would Emily need a silicone attachment to try to deceive her when... Ok, so maybe she was completely into Vanessa. But with angels song and happiness, why would Emily want to ever leave? Or violate that trust?

“I wouldn’t tolerate the townsfolk bothering you two, you have my word.” Mac chimed in, noticing the increasing furrow in Emily’s brow. That was enough to break Emily out of her outrage. Mackenzie was being sincere. Worrying for Emily as if she were one of the pack. That was enough to draw a soft smile to her lips, a gesture of gratitude to the Sheriff.

“Seriously. Humans are so hung up on this shit.” Hikari huffed in annoyance, pausing to blow on her bubble-gum. The bubble grew for a second, then the pronounced pop rung through the silent air. A gunshot before Hikari delivered her perfected opinion on humanity.

“Losers.”

“Gods, are all supernaturals Queer?” Emily didn’t even realise her question had been out loud before she noticed the group pause.

Razi appeared to have been stuck by lightning. His utter shock at the question was reflected by his parted lips when he went to speak. Instead, no words escaped, and his elegant jaw snapped shut. Hikari simply resumed blowing bubbles, evidently indifferent to the question. JD let forth a bark of surprised laughter, followed by a series of eyebrow wiggles at their shocked boss. The Djinn took it in good humour, simply sighing. Meanwhile, Mac and Aisha shared a knowing look; a secret amongst the pack perhaps. Annabelle appeared rather amused as she cast her sight on Damien, who coughed subtly when faced with the weight of his pack’s stare.

“Most are open. Even the ones in typical relationships.” He strategically answered, his eyes lingering anywhere save the almost smug grins of his pack.

“Its a small community, we don’t judge.” JD chipped in. If the devil was burdened by the focused attention of the room, they didn’t show it as they leaned against the bar. In response to the silence which followed, they gave an all too casual shrug. That irritating silence was broken by Emily, who let out an unspeakably pained groan as her head to fall forwards into her waiting hands with a rather pronounced thud.

“This conversation has veered so far off track it’s stuck in the gutter.” Emily’s voice was muffled by the palms of her clammy hands, which were shielding her face. In another universe, the one flashing behind her closed eyes, this conversation had not taken such a turn. They had remained logical and avoided all embarrassment as they came up with the perfect plan to protect Vanessa. There wouldn’t be a literal pile of attractive Supernaturals snuggling on the beaten down old couch. No devilish devils or sexy, well dressed Djinns making jokes. This wouldn’t have dissolved into a discussion about sexuality... and Emily’s temples wouldn’t be throbbing in time with her marching band for a heart.

“I get it, this topic is uncomfortable. That doesn’t change the fact it would reduce Vanessa’s eligibility to practically zero.”

Whether Aisha was genuinely trying to help, or was teasing was uncertain. Her deep eyes held the gentle understanding of a mother; matured and nurturing with a underlying protectiveness that was enough to knock an elephant off track. However, the subtle tilt of her lips betrayed amusement. Restraint. The entire wolf pack seemed to somehow snuggle closer together.

“Look, I’m not about to go up to my friend and be like Hey, so you’re a virgin. Let’s change that so Dracula won’t sacrifice you. That is so tacky, even a porn film would reject that script!” Emily practically exploded, turning to make endless gestures to emphasise her points. Hands and hips became a second language, crudely mimicking out points in a manner equally as explosive as her booming voice. Honestly, the AUDACITY of these people! If Emily had cared a little less or was just a little braver, she’d have already bitch slapped all of them.

She paused, taking a moment to breathe. Deep breaths. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. Her thumb sought out the small scar across the bridge of her nose when she pinched it, almost as if the gesture could contain the storm about to explode from within her.

“She deserves someone she wants to share her life with, not just some convenient exchange.” Emily concluded, pouring every ounce of sincerity into her words. It was true. Vanessa was a romantic, behind everything. For such a vulnerable thing as physical intimacy, Emily wanted Vanessa to have the dream. The perfect first time. Candles and romance with the person she was in love with. The person she wanted to spend eternity with. Emily couldn’t even imagine a world where she took that away from Vanessa. A world where duty claimed the last piece of Vanessa; the piece only protected by lack of time. It was Vanessa’s ONE true freedom. The only part of her life that the Order hadn’t dictated or infected. How could anybody ask Emily to take that away from Vanessa? How could they even THINK it?

“It’s clear you care about her. That must count for something.” Mac’s gentle tones drew Emily out of her internal raging. When Emily turned her gaze to the Alpha Werewolf, she met kind forest green eyes. Mackenzie Hunt understood, at least enough to sympathise with the Collins girl. Mac bore the weight of her power so well that it was all too easy to forget Mac was only a couple of years older than Emily. As far as werewolves went, Mackenzie Hunt was a young Alpha. Barely more than a pup. Yet, she saw Emily’s struggle. Even without a word of it, she offered her full support. Her approval. Even without being a wolf, Emily could feel the power in it. The warmth that emanated from the Alpha’s care.

“Yeah. A better time.” JD added in a remarkably sincere tone. For a split second, Emily almost believed it. Then, the devil’s lips curled. Moment ruined.

“I’m not listening. La La La.” Emily announced, lifting her hands in a weak effort to cover her ears. Still, she couldn’t help letting her mind wander. What if they didn’t have a choice? Would Vanessa be willing to accept her? Could she even live up to even a single dream or fantasy Vanessa had? Vanessa’s lavender tinged grey eyes were so expressive. Would those purples tinges darken to black with lust? Could Emily hold her gaze, or would Vanessa’s gaze devour her soul? How would Vanessa’s soft skin feel beneath her lips? Would hardened abs twitch underneath loving a kiss? Would Vanessa even want that? Could she have the patience to allow Emily to truly make her feel divine with gentle explorations and sincerely sweetened words? Or would she be inclined to take the reins? How would those battle forged hands explore if given freedom to do so? What would she want? Maybe the whip...

“You’re blushing.” Aisha’s amused tones dragged Emily’s mind from such a salacious place. She had to get out of the bowling alley, before things became even more awkward. Before she started imagining things more explicitly. She lowered her hand to her pocket, wiping clammy palms against the coarse material before she pulled out her phone. A lifeline to save her from humiliation.

“Oh look, I got a text! Gotta go!” She stumbled over her blatant lie in a rush to get the words out. Her phone had not chimed. Without waiting, she broke into a brisk walk towards the door.

“To ensure Helsing’s safety!” Came a quip from behind her. Emily didn’t hesitate in raising her middle finger over her shoulder, shouting out to the chorus of laughter chasing her into the streets.

“LA. LA. FUCKING. LA.”

#lovestruck #Vanessa Helsing #havenfall is for lovers #vanessa x mc #supernaturaldisasters #Everyone is a little gay #fluff and humor

12 notes · View notes

megalony · 5 years

Text

Unlawful protector- Part 1

This is a new bodyguard! Ben Hardy series that I came up with which is a bit different from my other series. This involves a royal (princess) reader and a darker, more evil Ben. I hope you all like it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction

Summary: Ben takes the job of protecting (Y/n) when her family is threatened due to her father’s ill health which means one of her siblings will be crowned. But Ben isn’t all he seems and slowly, people in the royal family start to die.

Ben Hardy masterlist

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

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

Thick heeled boots clacked and snapped against the polished tiles that quaked from the force the boots imposed. His presence was easily heard from the steady tempo his boots set against the black and white tiles and resembled a chessboard.

His hands were clasped with an iron grip behind his back as if he were a prisoner with his hands shackled behind him. His chin jutted out as his head was held high to show a sense of authority and power over anyone he passed. His jawline was razor-sharp and was prominent when his head tilted up at an acute angle. He had eyes that were pale emerald green as if they had been tainted and watered down but that only made them look cold and uninviting.

Those glassy eyes hardly looked around the vast room he entered like he either already had the image imprinted into his mind or he simply didn't care for the decore enough to have a look around.

His height made him seem like a skyscraper compared to those he walked past as he was easily the tallest person in the room.

He wore a crystal white dress shirt that was tucked tightly into his high-waisted black trousers with the hems of the trousers resting neatly on top of his ankle boots. His dirty ash-blond hair was set in waves and folded back on his head so no strands would distort his vision.

He stopped walking and stood as straight as a board, five feet in front of the three people sitting in front of him. There were two other men that he clearly guessed were bodyguards or some kind of protection here for the people sitting in front of him. His stoic expression never changed once as he stared into the eyes of the girl sitting in between a guy around her age and a woman many years older.

His expression never changed once but the girl sitting in the middle noticed a brow twitch as if he was silently conveying a message to her that she couldn't understand. She watched him with intrigue as she knew who he was and exactly why he was standing in front of her but she didn't expect him to be or act like he was.

(Y/n) had expected a man in his thirties with slick, greasy hair who was maybe a tad shorter than the blond in front of her. She expected someone who smiled proudly at their job and looked cocky. Someone who spoke and held a voice or arrogance and a face that screamed authority. She expected someone with a bad posture who would be jumping from foot to foot with anticipation. Someone who would stare at her with a wolfish grin and bare his teeth. Someone like many of the men her father had employed throughout the years.

She had not been expecting a younger man with towering height and bland, bored and even cruel expression. She didn't expect someone with good posture who was tall and thin but at the same time built with muscle. She hadn't expected someone who held their head up high but said nothing and had no air of arrogance about them. His feet stayed firmly planted on the tiled floor as he didn't move or fidget once. She had to share very hard at his chest just to ensure that he was actually breathing beneath the tight-fitting shirt he wore.

Even when her mother spoke to him he simply curled his lips into the tiniest smile he could muster and nodded his head only once at each question and statement that passed her lips. Not once did he mutter a single word or syllable.

(Y/n)'s mother was not one to be put off or unnerved easily and yet (Y/n) could see her mother leaning back into her seat at the boldness this man held to say absolutely nothing and look unamused. He was intimidating a woman who could look at a murderer and feel hold her nerve, without having to do anything at all to unnerve her.

"You're going to be looking after (Y/n)-"

"Jesus, mother he's not a nanny." (Y/n) snipped quietly, resting her chin on her hand as she slouched in her chair. She made it seem like she was hiring him to look after a toddler not to protect (Y/n) from the threats the whole family had been receiving. She wasn't a toddler and this man wasn't here to be a nanny and babysit her from time to time. He was being employed as a protector, a bodyguard.

"That's enough."

(Y/n) liked to think that she could keep her fire in her spirit burning but as soon as her mother or father opened their mouths and spoke in that kind of tone her own mouth shut and her body shrunk. She felt spineless in the presence of her parents or even her three elder siblings, keeping quiet was better than fighting a losing battle.

(Y/n) was the youngest of four, she was the one who didn't care about the throne or their family that was as corrupt as anything she had ever seen in her life. Their father was ill and he wasn't getting better which meant that the thone had to go to someone else when he passed. Their mother had married into royal blood and her father was the king so that meant when he passed it would be down to his heirs that would take the throne.

There had been threats made on the family because people knew that once her father died and his children took over they would reign in the same way he did. They would carry on what he had done which had caused people to die and threats to be passed around like party favours.

She saw no reason for her to have a bodyguard when it was her brother and sisters who were the ones in immediate danger because Louisa was the eldest. She was the one who was going to inherit the throne when he died and she wasn't going to change anything or rule fairly. If something happened to her then it would go to Daniel and then Anna and if in doubt, pass it to (Y/n). There were three siblings to take charge before (Y/n) but with the threats they had been receiving their mother insisted she has protection too because people were out for blood from any of them that they could get.

Turning her head to the right, (Y/n) looked at Joe who was sitting next to her. He was a member of the court but he was her closest and probably her only friend that she could trust. She noticed the look in his eyes that showed he either didn't like the guy in front of them or he seemed to know him from somewhere.

Pushing herself to her feet, (Y/n) sighed as she sent Joe a small smile before beginning to walk away. A shiver ran along her spine when she heard the clacking of sharp heels against the tiles that signalled the stranger was now following after her like her mother had instructed for him to do.

She didn't see why she should have a bodyguard when she was in no immediate danger. (Y/n) wished she wasn't even part of this family that was broken and corrupted.

The death threats and poisoned pen letters that they kept receiving were due to her father anyway. There were so many rumours about him and the illegal dealings and ways he ran the kingdom and how he had caused deaths throughout the years and (Y/n) believed every one of them because she knew her father.

People knew that Louisa, Anna and Daniel would rule in much the same way because they were spoilt and they didn't care. At least, Louisa didn't. She would let others make all the decisions and simply sign whatever they asked her to because she had a head full of air. Her brother and Anna would just follow in the footsteps of their father and (Y/n), she would abdicate the throne simply because she would never want to rule. She wasn't Queen material.

As soon as she entered the corridor and was out of sight of the guards and her overbearing mother, (Y/n) turned her head to look at the bodyguard assigned to her.

He didn't have a plain expression anymore, he seemed to be amused by something. His lips had curved into a smirk that was small but evident as his eyes seemed to crinkle at the edges, their colour darkening as he looked rather... (Y/n) didn't want to think he looked evil. It was more, dominating than anything else.

"So what do I call you?" (Y/n) asked, her voice rather timid as she turned her head back so she was looking where she was going. Turning left to head up the small, spiral staircase as she heard his boots hitting hard against the stone steps. When she reached the first floor, (Y/n) felt her breath catching in her throat when his hand grasped her arm to spin her around causing her to lean against the wall for stability.

"Anything you like, darlin'."

This was the first time he had said anything since arriving here and he had to go and say something like that. Something that made her shiver and her blood tingle like it was fizzing soda in her veins. He grinned at her like a shark as his voice was deep but very sweet like it was dipped in honey.

"But my name is Ben." With that, he pulled away from her and motioned with his hand for her to continue walking. He clasped his hands behind his back again as he kept a minimal distance between them as they started to walk. His eyes burning into her back as he followed her down the corridor.

This was going to be fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "I don't trust him." Joe sneered the words at (Y/n) in a hushed whisper as he knew the man he was talking about was just on the other side of the door. There was something about Ben that ruffled Joe's feathers and he thought it was his job to tell (Y/n) and try to change her mind about this.

"That doesn't matter because he's not protecting you." (Y/n) couldn't help if Joe didn't trust Ben because she needed him. She needed someone to help her because someone had already made an attempt on Louisa's life. If they got to her when she was in the castle then none of them was safe. All (Y/n) had to do was wait until one of her siblings was crowned and then she could take her leave. She could take some money and disappear to a place where no one knew her name and have a fresh start.

"I can protect you. We could leave-"

“When someone else is on the throne then talk to me about leaving this God-forsaken place. Until then, you let me worry about who I trust to protect me."

(Y/n)'s tone was final as she watched Joe grind his teeth together, his head leaning to the side as his expression begged her to change her mind but he knew she wouldn't. Since they were little they had talked about leaving, it had been the biggest dream they had which they shared. To just up and go somewhere different, somewhere they could be whoever they wanted to be without people knowing who they were or judging them.

But leaving now meant (Y/n)'s father and mother would just send people to look for her. When one of her siblings was on the throne that would be the talk of the town. That would be it, them on the throne and them getting married and having a family and how they would pretend to rule differently but nothing would really change. (Y/n) could leave during the commotion or when the dust settled down and no one would care as much and she could just be free. But right now if she left people still knew who she was and she would still be in danger of being hurt or killed.

With a nod, Joe leaned and pressed a kiss to her cheek before he left the room. As soon as he walked out, Ben walked in since he had been kindly asked to wait outside so Joe could talk to (Y/n) in private.

Although Joe had his concerns about Ben (Y/n) also had thoughts but they weren't so much concerns, just little annoyances because she couldn't figure him out. He had been with her for almost every second of every day for just over two weeks now and (Y/n) had seen multiple sides to him which were different and intriguing but she couldn't work him out.

If they were in the presence of other people he would be cold and silent, he would stand by her side with his hands shackled behind his back and his heels pressing together. He would nod his head but he wore a cold stare that made everyone feel nervous for no apparent reason.

When they were alone he was different. He would smirk, he would grin like the Cheshire cat, he would tease and whisper things in her ear that would make her blush beet red. He liked to play games, that much was for sure but only if the situation called for it. If they were taking a walk and no one was in sight he would be cheeky but if people were around or he thought something was wrong he would turn stoic again and seem as hard as nails and very uninviting.

"Do you think I'm a bad influence?" Ben suddenly questioned, catching (Y/n) off guard as she spun around to face him. He was smirking like this was a game that he knew he was going to win.

"I haven't decided yet. But it doesn't really matter, you're not here to influence me, are you?" (Y/n)'s lips curved at the corners as she watched his brows raise in surprise. She didn't normally give answers like that, normally she would blush furiously and either shake her head or just mumble something that he couldn't work out.

She didn't have to trust Ben at the moment because no one had tried to hurt her so he was just following her without much reason. She didn't care if he was a bad influence because he wasn't here to changer attitude or her thoughts or the way she was. He was here to protect her so he could have all the bad habits and ideas and words in the world but as long as he was good at his job it didn't matter.

"Wow, the princess does know how to speak her own mind. I'm impressed." Ben folded his arms over his chest as his tone was slightly taunting and rather sassy.

"You can drop the formalities, you know my name." (Y/n) spoke gently but Ben simply chuckled at her words as if he knew something she didn't. She didn't like people calling her princess or miss or anything that wasn't her name because it made her feel uncomfortable. She didn't like to think she was above anyone else even if technically she was.

Her breath hitched in her throat when he walked closer to her but kept his arms folded over his chest. He leaned his head down as if he was going to whisper a secret in her ear but he simply hovered his face over her own. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her lips which made her tongue instinctively dart out to run over her lips.

"It's not a formality, princess. It's a pet name." He watched her body visibly quiver and almost shake at his words that sent her mind tumbling.

He spoke so frank, so easy going yet he could say the sweetest or dirtiest things with a plain face or just a smile. Joe never said things like that to her, he hardly ever called her anything but her name. He didn't have pet names for her and he only joked around with her, not about her. He didn't talk like this, no one talked like this but the strangest thing was, (Y/n) didn't want Ben to stop.

She didn't know what to do.

What was there that she could say in response to that? Was she meant to pull away and make things awkward or was she just meant to stay put and wait for him to make the next move?

(Y/n) decided that since he had instigated things she would wait and let him take the lead on this. She felt her lungs beginning to burn as she didn't allow herself to release the breath she was holding in her lungs, too concentrated on what he was going to do to dare think about breathing.

A shiver tingled between her shoulder blades and spread like a wildfire through her arms and down her spine when she could feel his lips so close to her own. She felt his lips pressing so very lightly against her own that they were only just barely touching. When his lips finally pressed firmly to her own it was like kissing the wings of a butterfly. But that was it. That simple touch that sent her heart rocketing was there for two seconds and then it was gone. As if the butterfly wings had batted against her lips but had then since flown away with the breeze.

He pulled back to his towering height with a smirk on his lips that showed he was toying with her. But that didn't mean that the kiss meant nothing, it simply meant it was part of a much larger game at play. A game (Y/n) now seemed conscripted to play.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Turning his head, Ben rolled his eyes but his lips wore the fainted hint of a smile. He folded his arms as (Y/n) held up her hand and signalled that she would be two minutes. His head nodded as his arms folded over his chest, his eyes following her frame as she drifted back into her room which he stood outside of as she needed to either grab something or change into something else. Ben didn't really care which as he leaned against the wall next to her room.

When his eyes flitted down the corridor a gleam like a star sparkled in his pupils as he saw the familiar blonde hair that was straightened to a crisp and reached the girl's shoulders.

Louisa.

The eldest sibling. And as luck would have it as if he was being watched by the stars, there was no bodyguard following after her as she entered her room on the other side of the corridor he was standing in. He watched as she started to pull the deep baby blue gloves from her hands before the door closed behind her.

Two minutes.

That's all he had and that was all he needed to set this game into motion. His heeled boots were thankfully silenced by the thick dark red velvet carpet beneath his feet that stretched the length of the corridor. Walking a few feet to the left, Ben crossed to the other side of the corridor like he was crossing the road before doing a final scan to make sure no one was around.

He closed the door behind him when he found that it wasn't locked which further proved that he was being watched by the stars tonight and aided in his plan.

Louisa was clearly surprised to find the bodyguard she had only seen once or twice around the house now standing in her room with her. She threw her gloves onto the ottoman at the end of her bed on her right before placing her hands on her hips. Clearly confused and wanting answers as to why he thought it appropriate to come into her room.

The rather unamused expression on her face disappeared the moment Ben grinned like he had won a prize or was a predator closing in on its prey. Her lips curved down at the corners as her eyes seemed to spark with worry as Ben's face clearly showed he did not have good intentions in mind.

But neither of them had time.

Ben didn't have the time to talk or taunt her like he was desperate to and Louisa had no time to say anything because Ben stole it from her. As quick as a dart being thrown, Ben advanced from his spot in front of the door to stand in front of Louisa instead. He said nothing and the moment her lips parted to either scream or ask him what he was doing, a strangled but all too quiet gasp left her lips instead.

Ben's hand reached around to the waistband of his trousers behind his back, his fingers slotting into the groves of the black handle which he pulled out to brandish a knife. His lips turned into a pout as he tutted at her like he was telling her off for something before he plunged the knife through the rather thin material of her peach coloured dress. His force moving the blade through her skin and between two ribs to reach her heart. The force he used and the swift motion the knife glided through her skin showed this was not the first time Ben had done something like this and it wouldn't be the last either.

He wrapped his left arm around her waist to catch her when she fell into him, her lips still parted but all that escaped was a slow trickle of dark red blood that dribbled down her chin and coated her lips like rouge lipstick.

He wasted no time in laying Louisa out on the carpeted floor before ripping the knife from her skin which caused a worse flow of blood to leave her lips as her breaths slowed down significantly. Her lovely peach dress now tainted with a mishapen circle of rouge that was spreading quickly as if the material was magically changing colour on its own.

"Your father's debt has been paid with your life, my love." Ben whispered the words so quietly in her ear he wondered if she would even hear him at all as he dragged the blade over her dress to smear the blood from it and clean the weapon he tucked back into the waistband of his trousers. Pulling his black shirt down over the blade to conceal it from view. Well, part of her father's debt had no been paid but he had a long list of debts that he owed to many and Ben had only cleared a quarter of it away.

When he pulled back he noticed the look of horror in her eyes which were quickly draining and drying up. They looked more like glass marbles than peals with blue tints in them. They were dried up and cracking as no more breaths pushed through her lips.

Running his hand through his hair, Ben pushed the wavey strands back, folding them over one another so they didn't fall in his eyes as he left the room and quietly closed the door behind him. Checking his hands for speckles of blood but as usual, they were clean. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back, gripping his fingers together with the intention of stopping the adrenaline from making them shake as (Y/n)'s door opened just as he leaned back against the wall. Her smile making his heartbeat increase dramatically.

The game had only just started.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben x reader #imagine #bodyguard #borhap #joe mazzello #joe x reader #unlawful protector

59 notes · View notes

stusbunker · 5 years

Text

Known: The Ending You Expected

A Supernatural DARK Fan-fiction

Featuring: MOC!Dean x Female Vessel OC, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Demon!Reader

Summary: Dean’s back and ready to set things right.

Warnings: Possession, restraints, angst.

Series Masterlist

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Soul Survivor Continued

“What the hell are we doing to him, Cas? I mean, even after I gave him all that blood, he still said he didn’t want to be cured, that he didn’t want to be human.” CC watched them from her perch against the table, the angel Castiel carefully listened to Sam’s worries.

“Well, I see his point. You know only humans can feel real joy, but also such profound pain. This is easier.” The silence loomed as they watched over Dean’s unconscious form.

CC sighed before disagreeing. “It’s really not though.” She stood, eyes remaining on Dean while her companions shared a look, uncertain with where her thoughts were heading. “He’s not in control even if he doesn’t have a moral compass. He was spiraling with Crowley.”

“Chloe?” Cas’s voice was deep and tentative.

She closed her eyes against his caution, exasperated with being treated as a threat. “Yeah?”

“You’re still possessed. How do you feel?”

“Like I got the shit kicked out of me? You? Borrowed grace as good as the real deal?”

Sam’s brows popped up at the jab, but he waited for Cas to answer.

“It will do. I’m just curious, how you’re—”

“Guys?” Sam’s voice broke their tense chat, quickly he unscrewed the flask of holy water. Dean was waking up again, after the last dose had knocked him out. He opened his eyes, which drained from ebony to their usual whites, pupils and irises all back in place. Chloe didn’t need to get confirmation from another holy bath, she could see that the demon had been turned. Dean’s essence filled his body, snug as last year’s bathing suit after the holidays. A smile of relief floated up to Sam, while Cas’s eyes remained squinted in apprehension.

“You look worried, fellas,” Dean quipped, his breath still ragged in his throat.

Sam tossed out the flask, coating his brother in the final test. When no one flinched, everyone let out their collective sigh of relief. “Welcome back, Dean.”

*^*

Chloe didn’t know what to do with the sudden calm that flooded her system. They had cured Dean, though the Mark remained silently mocking her from his forearm. A seemingly impossible outcome, especially as the fever spiked and he was more unconscious than awake. She settled in the library across from Sam, Castiel joining them with obvious reservation. Dean had taken a nosedive into his memory foam, barely having looked her in the eye. She hovered in the oasis of whiskey and an exhausted stupor, Sam keeping pace alongside her.

They talked quietly, the laughter bubbling up in spurts, as if the weeks between her latest possession and the days they worked in tandem to find Dean hadn’t happened. As if Sam wasn’t still down an arm and she hadn’t survived, everything she had. They both felt it coming, Cas’s eyes stayed on the polished wood as he spoke, breaking the small window of unquestioned triumph.

“Chloe, what happened after what Dean did—Do you know what you were doing?”

She raised her eyes and lolled her head from the angel to Sam and back to Cas in deep dramatic rolls. “For starters, it’s CC, which I’ve told you before. Why don’t you tell me how much you know about me, Cas?”

Cas’s gaze skirted to Sam and Sam shrugged.

“We know you’re not human.” Sam cleared his throat. “Uh, while you were comatose, I had Cas check you over and, well, he wasn’t sure—”

“You contain heavenly power, but you’re not an angel.” Cas squinted, again.

“And you’re asking if I know what I am or are you still trying to figure it out on your own?”

“Kinda both?” Sam huffed.

“And how can you be possessed? Is the demon biding her ti—”

“She’s in timeout, I needed to be the one to take Dean on. So, I tapped in. She’s not a threat, guys.”

Sam and Cas shared another look, Sam spun his tumbler between his finger and thumb on the smooth library table. The silence became deafening.

“Look, you guys don’t know what we’ve been through. What she’s been through to get him home. Like it or not, she’s not your enemy.”

“She tried to run me over with a truck.” Cas ignored CC while imploring Sam, whose cheeks were pink beneath his glazed eyes.

“Yeah, well, you took something from her, apparently. I can’t see everything, but she considers you a thief.” CC poured the end of the bottle into her glass, tossing it back before Sam could complain. “If the third degree is over, I’d like to crash. Man do I miss that bed.”

She ruffled Sam’s hair, which he half-heartedly dodged, before she shuffled down the hallway. The heavy stares weighing on her back until she could shake them off with a swift slam of her former bedroom door.

“Don’t, Cas,” Sam snipped, barely audible.

“You realize that one problem is solved, but at least another three remain?” Cas leaned across the table, resting his forearms against the tabletop. “Dean is no longer a demon, that’s true. But the Mark of Cain, that, he still has and sooner or later that’s gonna be an issue. Not to mention we have something that shouldn’t exist, containing powers she doesn’t understand in the blast range.”

“What are you saying Cas? That Dean’s the red button and CC’s the nuke?”

“I’m saying, that we need to eliminate all the threats before we truly celebrate.”

*^*

The next afternoon

Dean came to in his own bed, still clothed and with a vicious throbbing in his neck, knee and forearm. Thoughts and sensations melted into the haze of rebirth. He sat up, shaky and justifiably uncomfortable with himself. He went through the motions, showering and sauntering into the kitchen for coffee, despite having missed the breakfast hour by half a day. Someone had left out a plate of bacon from which Dean quickly pried the dried strips from the paper towels surrounding them; it was better than he could have hoped for. He licked his fingers of the salty grease when a poorly timed greeting from Cas broke into his quiet return to his creature comforts.

“Hello Dean.”

Dean closed his eyes before he turned around, holding the coffee mug in his hand as if it were a lifeline. “Mornin’.”

“It’s quarter to three.”

“It’s morning somewhere.”

“I am aware of time zones, Dean, however confusingly this country decides to divide them.”

Dean huffed in amusement; somethings managed to stay the same in his absence. “Hey, man, thanks for stepping in when you did. D’you see Sam? He want a divorce?”

“Sam knows that whatever you said and did, that, that wasn’t really you. It certainly wasn’t all you.”

“I tried to kill him Cas. I probably did kill CC, if she wasn’t still demon armor.”

“We need to talk about that.” Dean held his hand palm side up as he sipped his coffee, waiting, Cas bit his lips eyes heavy with the annoyance at Dean’s indifference. “She’s still possessed.”

Dean looked to the floor and weighed his thoughts with a bob of his head. “Kind of surprised you guys waited for me to come to.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Mind?” Dean’s brow furrowed. “I was ready to off the damned thing before my sulfur and eye job.” He gestured with his hand indicating all of his body. “Now that I’m restored to factory settings shouldn’t change what we do. Exorcize it. And while you’re still around, you can heal her.”

“It’s not that simple. She insists that the demon isn’t a threat.”

“And you think that’s CC talking? Demons lie, Cas. We’ve all been there.” Dean set his cup on the counter and walked toward Castiel, he corralled Cas into the hallway checking both directions before continuing. “What’d Sam say?”

“He just wanted to get drunk.”

Dean walked carefully toward CC’s room. “Yeah, well, can’t blame him there. She still around?”

Cas gave Dean his most annoyed glare before hissing at him. “Yes, Dean, we didn’t let the demon-possessed, hy-, woman, escape.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, unsure of what had made the angel trip over his words. With a curl of his bottom lip and absolutely no ceremony, Dean walked into CC’s room. And instantly froze.

*^*

Dean burst in with Castiel on his heels; all CC could think about was how much softer he looked. How very breakable he was. It was almost like everything had been a fever dream until she really looked at them. Watching their true colors bleed through, reluctant yet battle ready, a desaturated combination lining their faces.

“What the hell?! I mean, glad to have you back and all, but knock much?”

“I didn’t know he would just walk in,” Cas offered.

Dean pulled back. “I’m sorry, did you want to do this later? Got somewhere better to be?”

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Dean, exactly what are we doing?”

“Cas, go get Sam.”

“There’s something—”

“It’s fine, Castiel. Dean wants some alone time, he’s back from war after all.” CC watched Dean twitch and swallow against her tone. That mossy stare asked more than he could put to words. CC felt the impasse as she dropped down on the bed, her hand falling habitually over her knife while Dean strolled over to the desk chair. “What’s this all about?”

“Chloe, I-” Dean had settled backwards on the seat, forearms draped along the back. “What are you doing?”

“Besides arguing with your angel buddy and stopping you from putting some serious hardware through your brother’s skull?”

Dean wasn’t amused, though his concern shined brighter than his annoyance. “Why the hell are you still walking around like that? This is you I’m talking to, I can tell. So, tell me, why?”

“Did they tell you why they are so worried about me all of the sudden? Did that angel tell you what’s got his haunches up?” CC waited, seeing the easy smile slip on to Dean’s face.

“Because, you’re willing housing a demon, Cease!”

“No, it’s because I’m not even human, DEAN. Castiel and Sam are all up each other’s asses because I shouldn’t exist.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Hey, guys?” Sam’s greeting intruded around their stalemate. Dean rocked back down on to all four legs of the chair while Cas closed the bedroom door behind them.

“Get out.”

“Chloe, it’s for the best.” Sam failed diplomacy.

“Just slow your roll! What the hell do you mean, you’re not even human?”

“Cas thinks she some kind of hybrid.”

“Hybrid of what?”

“Human and, well, Angel,” Cas looked painfully at CC now, her anger tight in her jaw and her shame burning in her eyes. “But in a way I have never seen.”

“Your dad’s an angel?! Who?” Dean stood, pushing past the desk chair after CC who dove for the door. Sam had it covered before she could land three steps. Castiel’s hand heavy on her shoulder.

“Do you know who it was?”

“I don’t have a father!” CC shrieked at the ceiling through clenched teeth, her fists tight at her sides. She folded them over her chest, trying to hold herself together; barely stopping herself from throwing punches. “Just leave me alone, if I you don’t want me here, that’s fine; I’ll go. Just stop this, for your own sakes, stop asking.”

“Whoa-kay?” Dean held up his hands, watching Sam and Cas suspiciously until they backed away in the little space between them and the door. “Gonna try and not take that as a threat, Cease, but I’m gonna need you to trust us too.”

“How am I supposed to trust any of you?” CC stamped her feet at herself; her voice had cracked, revealing her soft underbelly to her sudden captors.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice dropped, “give and take, alright?”

“Dean—” Sam started, uncertain.

“It’ll be fine,” Dean snapped, not bothering to look back to his brother. “You gotta let us get that demon out of you, Cease. Let us send her packing and we’ll stop asking questions, alright?”

CC shook her head almost imperceptibly, her tears brimming in hot puddles, sloppy and uneven.

“Alright?” Dean asked Sam and Cas, his no-nonsense face demanding their allegiance.

Sam started the chant as CC sputtered. Dean stepped forward, catching her hands and folding them between their chests. Cas grabbed her from behind, arms tight around her waist, much like how he held back Dean the night before. She looked up into Dean’s eyes, pleading with him, “please, don’t. Not like this. Dean, please?!”

“Shhhh, it’s gonna be alright. She’ll be fine and you can be free.”

“Don’t do this to us, Dean. Please. No. I am saying no!”

Dean inhaled sharply, pinning CC’s face to his chest as Sam continued. Part of her wanted to keep him close, to be held and reassured, but that part burned away with her rage. The parts of her that wouldn’t be taken from again, not while she was in control and not while she had a voice to protest. She thrashed against Cas’s arms; her head fought Dean’s embrace.

“Get off of me!”

They were all thrown apart, sailing in all directions: Cas remained upright, but his arms were lax at his sides. Sam was rocked into the door, eyes searching for Dean, while Dean had whipped back, taking half the desktop on to the bed with him. CC stood before them with a golden aura hovering over her head and chest. As Sam started barking the final lines of the exorcism, her eyes popped open, bright amber pupils against a milky gray sclera.

“Sammy,” Dean warned.

CC dropped. Sam finished the chant as they circled her once more, cautious with the lack of the telltale black smoke. Cas grabbed Dean’s arm before he could reach CC, shaking his head up at Sam who loomed over their crouching forms.

“Chloe?” Cas asked gently.

“Where is she?” Muttering, CC sat up. Slowly groaning as if she had just been shaken from the depths of sleep.

“Cease?” Dean hitched off Cas’s grasp, falling to his knees. His hand cupped her jaw, pulling her face up for further inspection. “Hey now, you okay?”

“Nooooooo,” her voice broke out in a choked sob. “She’s gone and I don’t know what happened! Dean, what’d we do?!”

Sam whispered into Cas’s ear, on another planet from where Dean let Chloe wail on the floor. “Where’d it go?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Any guesses?”

Cas stared back at Sam; volumes of possibilities shared between them.

“What did you do?!” CC demanded from no one more than herself. She had reached hysteria; she lolled forward, resting her temple against the cool floor, shoving and kicking Dean away whenever he came too close.

*^*^*

June 5, 2014

The Bunker

Sam hadn’t left CC with you easily, but she wasn’t one to be swayed by his concern. She knew what stood inside the tiny Desi girl before her. Once the overprotective failed legacy of Azazel closed the false wall behind her, CC stormed forward, squaring her shoulders.

“Funny how demons can get into places they’re not supposed to. You. Crowley. Waltzing into one of the most secure buildings in the world as if you owned the place. He side-stepped Sam’s summons and made off with Dean like a thief in the night. Something tells me you could have come back at any time. Could have taken me while I was out cold. But you didn’t. You too scared? No, you were licking your wounds, huh, slut? Dean didn’t want you outside of me and now you are trying to get whatever you can?”

The wall of your invisible prison stopped you from reciprocating her words all over her face. Your eyes burned black and the snarl turned into a growl as you slammed into the wall in frustration. “You’re just bitter I fucked him better than you ever could.” You let out a rattling laugh, “Hell, Cease, would you have even gotten involved with a Winchester if I hadn’t started scratching that itch for you? Just when did you start caring about him as more than a fellow hunter? Huh? Ever wonder why?”

That shut her up.

But not for long. She thumbed the handle of her sheathed knife and peered down her nose at you. “How do I know you won’t kill me once you get him back?”

“You don’t. Just like I don’t know you won’t kill me once I bring him back.”

The moment dragged on, an out of body experience for you must have been something all together more uncomfortable for her.

“Just promise me one thing. When the time comes, you have to let me take back control. I can’t explain why, but… you owe me.”

Arguable. “And what time is that?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“So, you’re winging it?”

“No, you are.” She dropped in a single motion, knife already in hand to scratch the paint off the damp cement. The barrier instantly stopped humming and you felt fresh air fill your lungs. With a rushed exhale you left your current vessel for one with a little more fight in her.

*^*

October 22, 2014

An unforgiving place

It was almost pathetic how expected it was. The trip, however unconventional, was essentially a flight home. An assault of color and stratus; atmosphere, vegetable, mineral, ether, void and then the source: Hell. Your essence hummed and throbbed, falling back into place, atom by atom into your true shape. Long, lean and barbed, teeth and eyes sharp as you gathered yourself. Your feet were held in place, locked in the rotting debris of a vast cavern. Looking toward the ceiling, your insides swam and pitched, a thick smoke rolled through burning with purifying scents, just out of your grasp.

It was a lost-and-found agony, somehow made new. You pulled and pushed, kicking against the muck with all your strength. Yet you remained tethered by refuse, completely alone.

‘I guess that was the right time,’ you thought sardonically. CC had been threatened and still she tried to protect you. How had they done it? A part of you wanted to blame the angel, but you couldn’t make anything stick. Your thoughts swam with those last moments on Earth and just when you came to Dean’s face everything went dark.

*^*^*

The Bunker

CC passed out after they had put her through their tests, bitter tears drying alongside the unspoken accusations that loomed behind heavy eyes. She was clean: celestially flavored and now demon free. Their deep voices were kept low in the hallway, but even whispers carried at those octaves. The words that reached her fitful sleep were broken, monotone and foreign. The spells wafted through the Bunker, banishing and confusing all manner of creatures.

Sigils burned brightly as Sam and Dean worked to rekindle their protections.

“How did we miss this?”

“Well, Men of Letters’ fail safes were put in place decades before we showed up,” Sam explained. “I guess, we aren’t the only ones who work both sides of the aisle to meet an end.”

“Huh, still kind of annoying that Crowley could comeback whenever he wanted.”

“Well, King of Hell could have had something to do with his case.”

“But there was Gadreel.”

“And Cas, Dean. All beings that shouldn’t have been able to get in here without us. We were just oblivious, especially to those closest to us.”

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, dabbing his paintbrush back into the gummy concoction before spreading it out in overlapping arches. “Wait, are we going to have to formally invite Cas in each time now?”

“No, man, we’re just resetting them. Once he is invited back in, he’s clearance is reinstated, so to speak.”

“Got it.”

Sam watched his brother, pretending to be studying the next incantation. Dean hadn’t answered many questions since he’d been cured, especially involving his time with the demon and Chloe. Her possession and whatever depravity that had passed between them had forged another cross on his brother’s buckling back. Dean was where he was supposed to be, at Sam’s side, ready to face the next hurtle. Though it was clear that his thoughts were anywhere but. Sam swore to make coming back easy for Dean; forgoing the usual cycle of nonchalance and prodding that led to annoyance.

“What would you say to a road trip?”

*^*^*

Next Chapter: Off Key

#known series #dean winchester #moc!dean #demon!dean #dean x reader #dark fic #possession #dean winchester x demon!reader #dean x oc #soul survivior #spn s10 fic

39 notes · View notes