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prettyfastcars · 4 months

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cry, little girl | Lewis x Reader

Summary: You never got along with Lewis. Your mom and his dad were dating but you never considered him to be family. He was always just… too much. Too famous, too powerful, too perfect. You simply couldn’t compare. Even now as your blended family vacationed together, you tried your hardest to avoid him. But despite your best efforts, you could never ignore that burning, sizzling tension between you and your ‘stepbrother’.

Themes: stepbrother!lewis, smut, jealous!lewis, slight gaslighting, degrading kink,, possessive!lewis,

a/n: you don’t have to, but you may read part 1 here ;)

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. You almost messed up your perfect red lip at the sound of his sudden, annoying voice. Your mother’s boyfriend’s perfect son. Lewis.

You caught his deep, freshly melted chocolate brown eyes through the mirror above the sink. He walked into your space like he owned it. Well, technically this was his house.

You were in your bathroom, getting ready for a night out with a couple of people you had befriended since coming here recently. And he had the nerve to interrupt you.

You closed the lipstick and slammed it down on the counter before turning around to face him. Utterly annoyed. “I understand that this is your place and what not, but just because a door isn’t locked doesn’t mean you can walk right in whenever you feel like it.”

Lewis took a step forward, stopping at the wooden door frame. His voice lowered, deep, and serious, “I asked what the hell do you think you’re wearing?”

You gave him your best dirty glare. Fuck him for being hot. Braids tied into a little bun. Just the right amount of facial hair. Even dressed in comfy sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt he looked more put together than most people. Another reason why you hated him. The man just never looked bad. Ever. He always looked like he was on set for a photoshoot, even when he was just lounging indoors.

Ignoring his question, you said, “You can’t talk to me like that.” Then you turned around and grabbed the lipstick once more. “Watch your tone.”

“Yes I can,” He persisted, ignoring the rest of what you said. “Are you going out with someone?”

You didn’t miss the way he looked you up and down. You tried to ignore the way you felt warm under his stare.

“Maybe.” You said, purposely sounding like a brat to piss him off. “It’s none of your business, so get out of my room.”

He took another step forward, stepping into your little bathroom now. “It is my business if my little sis decides to go out wearing that.”

You frowned, turning around again to face him, “I’m not your little–,”

He cut you off, shamelessly staring at your exposed skin. “Go change. You’re not going out wearing that.”

You stared at him, surprised at this audacity. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He said. “Go change. You’re practically naked.”

“Naked?” You sighed in disbelief.

Of course you weren’t naked. You turned to look at yourself in the mirror. Sure, it was quite a revealing dress. Mid thigh length, open back, thin straps, deep low cut, a risqué slit at the front. Okay… a little scandalous perhaps. But it was your favourite little black dress, perfect for a night out with new friends. Plus, you were a grown woman.

“Come on, it’s not–,” You stopped talking the moment you looked up and met his eyes through the mirror.

Lewis was closer now. So close you could feel his warm breaths fanning your exposed shoulder. But he wasn’t touching you yet. Still, your body instantly remembered all those times when you and him blurred the lines of what’s appropriate and what’s not.

“You’re going out with a guy?” He asked, looking all smug and confident, with enough distaste and bitterness to make you shiver despite the inches of distance between your bodies.

Under a spell by the look in his pretty eyes, you answered without putting up a fight, “No. I mean, not just one guy. A couple of people actually. I met them at the diner the other day.” You explained even though he didn’t ask. “We’re just gonna go get drinks at a bar, and then dinner.”

His tattooed hand felt like a fiery brand against your skin when he placed it at your hip. His metal rings were cold against your skin. A couple of his fingers brushing mindlessly against your skin, exposed by the slit at the front of your dress.

Oh fuck. It was such a simple touch but… fuck.

“Oh?” He leaned forward just enough so the fabric of his t-shirt brushed against your exposed back. You held back a whimper, and he smirked when he noticed. “So you’re going out with strangers dressed like this?” He accused. “Showing off your body like that?” His voice lowered enough that it felt like his chest rumbled with each word. “You need attention from men that badly, little sis?”

You gasped when he lowered his hand down your hip, touching more of your skin. His touch was warm, burning. You wanted more. Your head was already foggy, heartbeats echoing in your ears at the proximity. Like he was some psychoactive drug.

“That’s not…” You tried to argue. “I’m not… doing it for attention.” You said with a little frown, still watching him through the mirror.

He smirked. “Then why are you dressed like a little slut?” He asked, casually. His voice mean and commanding. “Hmm? Because I can tell you right now that every man who looks at you in that dress is only going to be thinking about how you’ll look with his cock inside you.” He brought his mouth closer to your ear, whispering dangerously. “Is that what you want, baby? You want every man to look at you and fantasise about fucking you the whole night?”

His hand wrapped around your neck faster than you could process it. You let out a gasp when he squeezed it just a little, making your heart race and your body tingle like it sensed danger.

“Is that what you want?” He asked again, “Because that’s what dirty little sluts want.” He whispered into your ear, tightening his grip around your throat a little more, “Are you a dirty little slut, baby?”

You whimpered quietly, “Lewis, please…”

His other hand drifted down until it slid past the slit of your dress. You moaned while Lewis hissed when he found out that you were wearing nothing but an excuse of a thong. “What’s this?” He taunted, fingers and cold rings pressing against your wetness through the flimsy material of the thong. “So you wanted random men to feel you up at the bar, huh? And you wanted them to find this?” There was that accusatory tone again.

His fingers tore the undergarment off of you in less than a second. Sometimes you forgot that he was a trained fighter and incredibly strong. You whimpered helplessly when he threw the torn material carelessly on the floor of your bathroom.

“It’s mine.” He growled into your ear, cupping you down there in between your legs. “If anyone’s gonna touch, taste, or fuck this pussy, it’ll be me. You understand, little sis?”

You nodded. Or at least tried to but failed given he was still holding you by the throat.

He smiled and rubbed a tattooed finger over your lips until you parted them. He slid a finger into your mouth, slowly moving it in and out, stroking your tongue and lips. “That’s a good girl.” He cooed. “And you know what else good girls do?” He stared into your eyes through the mirror, occasionally looking down to where his finger basically slow fucked your mouth. “They don’t go out dressed like little sluts and let strange men look at them.” He whispered.

You could only whine as his finger in your mouth moved in sync with his fingers in between your legs as they circled your clit, spreading your wetness around. You moaned around his finger as it stroked your tongue sinfully.

He couldn’t take it anymore. “Bend over the counter. Now.” He ordered. He removed his hands from you, nothing of his touched you and you trembled due to the absence of his touch.

The fog in your brain diminished just a little so you could think. Your mom and his dad weren’t home at the moment, and they wouldn’t be for some more hours. And you were beyond the point of no return now. Yet again. So, fuck it.

You lifted your dress up, revealing your legs, hips and thighs as you bent over the counter. You looked at him through the mirror. Watched how he looked at you with wild hunger in his eyes. Your eyes were teary, smearing your eye makeup around. Your red lip was, well, a smudged mess.

“Look at you.” Lewis whispered, his hands on each side of your waist, rubbing up and down along your hips, thighs, touching you however, wherever he pleased. “You’re gonna be an even bigger mess when I’m done with you.”

He leaned closer and your ass pressed against the front of his pants. You whimpered at the feeling of his thick, hard cock beneath the fabric, rubbing, grinding against your bare, soft, wet folds. Your warm gasps of pleasure fogged up the mirror like the sight of him standing behind your bent body fogged up your brain again.

His touch made you feel floaty. Like nothing else mattered in the world.

Lewis finally trailed his fingers down in between your legs and lazily traced along your slit. “So wet.” He chuckled, then his smirk disappeared. “Were you going to let another man do this to you? Hmm?” His tone was calm, but something about it was dark. “Would you let him touch what’s mine?”

“No,” You spoke softly, trying to grind your hips against his hand. “I… wouldn’t.”

He hummed, sliding a finger inside you and fucking your slowly with it. Like he did your mouth earlier.

You whined as he touched sensitive spots inside you, “Please Lewis…” You sounded just as desperate as you were.

“Please what?” He acted oblivious, looking at your reflection like he wasn’t being mean.

“Make me come,” You whispered, begging. “Please.”

He slid another finger inside you, stroking you so perfectly you were on the verge of tears again. “Do you deserve it?” He asked, “Talking back all the time, dressing up like a little whore, going out with strange men,” He listed all the sins he was going to punish you for, “Do you deserve it? Huh?”

You cried out when his fingers brought you right to the edge before sliding out of you.

“Fuck!” You whined. “Yes, yes! I’ll… I’ll be good,” You begged. “I won’t talk back, I won’t go out with people, I… I’ll be so, so good Lewis, please.”

He chuckled. “Aww, baby.”

Your heart raced when you watched him take his shirt off. The metal chains around his neck. The tattoos. The muscular chest, the huge fucking arms that looked like they could crush you. You watched those muscles move as he lowered his pants. You watched all that ink on his perfect skin… fuck, he was gorgeous.

You got impatient. You whimpered as you pushed your ass against him even more. Lewis smirked, grabbed you on either side of your hips before pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance, rubbing it up and down and around your hole but not pushing in yet.

You were burning with desire and lust. So much that you didn’t realise you had tears streaming down your face until he pointed it out. Dark tears, due to the eyeliner and dark eye makeup.

“Aww,” He cooed mercilessly, “Are you crying, little sis?” He couldn’t help the cocky smile on his face. “Is big brother messing with you? Hmm? Is he making you work for it?”

You whined in desperation. “Please...”

He scoffed, “My desperate little slut,” he murmured under his breath as he pushed himself slowly inside of you, feeling your walls tighten around him.

You whimpered as he filled you up, stretching you out as he went. He pulled out and thrust deep back into you, making you moan and gasp under him. You looked at him through the mirror and almost came just looking at the look on his handsome face.

Lewis reached out and grabbed your wrists, pulling them off of the counter and pinning them down at your lower back as he started rocking into you. Hard and fast, making your front bump against the cool counter each time.

“Only I get to touch you like this, you hear me?” His voice was raspy. “You only spread these legs for me, do you understand?”

“Yes...” You whimpered as he pounded into you.

He tightened his grip on your wrists as he fucked you harder, feeling your walls clenching tighter around him. He slammed his cock harder into you, making your eyes water even more. He thrust so deep into you that it felt like you would simply split in half.

You gasped for air, fogging up the mirror even more. Lewis’ groans and moans echoed around the room, making you whimper at the sound of them. He sounded so good. So in control. Just so good.

Then he grabbed you by the back of your neck and pulled you up. Your bound wrists were the only thing between your bare back and his chest. “Give me that mouth,” He whispered before turning your face to the side and kissing you hungrily.

Lips, teeth, tongue – all of it. He messed up your red lip even more but you didn’t care. You feared you might come too early with a kiss that hot.

“Fucking little tease,” He whispered against your wet, open mouth. You still gasped in pleasure as he kept fucking into you. “It’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? To be fucked like this. Like you’re my little slut.”

Then he let go of your wrists and neck, pushed you down, bending you even more over the counter as he grabbed your thighs and parted them further so he could fuck you deeper.

“Lewis…” You gasped, “I’m so close…” You whimpered as you watched him fucking you from behind. The sight of him so focused, looking down to see his cock disappear into your body each time, that look of authority on his face… gods.

“You feel so good,” He murmured, looking down at you. “So fucking good… I’m gonna lose my mind if I ever see another man touching you, you hear me?” He spoke, pounding into you relentlessly while his fingers teased your clit. “This is mine, you’re mine.”

“Yes…” You whined as you felt yourself getting so close to the edge again as he pounded into you hard and fast. You watched your reflection and another hot tear slip out of the corner of your eye as you felt the pressure in between your legs getting too much.

Lewis felt it too, as your walls clenched violently around him. “Fuck,” He growled into your ear, “Come for me, my little slut. Come all over this cock…”

You didn’t hear the rest of what he said because you came with a loud cry. Lewis followed shortly after, coming undone while buried deep inside you, gripping your hips to keep you in place. You could already feel the bruises his touch would leave behind but you didn’t care.

You fell forward onto the counter, catching your breath and preparing yourself to look at your reflection which would surely be a mess. Your makeup and plans for tonight now ruined.

Lewis caught his breath too, his hand lazily rubbing up and down your back. “Come on,” He said, sighing in bliss and relief while he fixed his hair, “I’ll run you a bath.” He smacked your ass, making you yelp in surprise before he turned around and walked towards the large tub. “Can’t have you limping in front of our parents tomorrow morning.”

Asshole.

part 3

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton au #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

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gutsby · 5 months

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Mr. Dixon

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

Warnings: NSFW. Dad's friend Daryl! Drastic age gap!! Daryl's a dirty old pervert in this one :-) Voyeurism. Masturbation. Descriptions of oral sex (m!receiving). Dirty talk. Degradation. Slight misogyny. Daryl may or may not masturbate out a window at some point.

You had an old pair of Daisy Dukes and a dream.

Faded, frayed, and two times too small for your frame, the shorts hiked an inch up your ass every step you took across the room. Made it damn near pointless bending over before the man in front of you—he could see every inch of your butt regardless—but you did it all the same.

This was Mr. Dixon, after all.

Cool blue orbs illumined by candlelight took the sight of you in and flitted away just as fast. His hands busied themselves with the gun he was taking apart, while you reached for the bullet that had just rolled onto the floor.

“Here you go, Mr. Dixon.”

Your voice had a charming lilt as you held the round out to him.

“Over there,” Daryl grumbled, jerking his head toward the end of the table, “An’ what’d I say ‘bout callin’ me tha’?”

“I feel weird calling daddy’s friends by their first names.”

You shrugged and chucked the tiny piece of lead into the pile of ammunition like Daryl had told you to. Then you sat down beside it, crossing your arms.

He could be so cruel sometimes. Just fooling with his pistol and barking orders like a drill sergeant. Never looking at you longer than a second, and if he did, just shooting you a glare or wounding you with a scowl.

He’d been the toughest nut to crack out of all your father’s friends. No matter how straight-laced and upstanding the men around Mr. Grimes had made themselves out to be, you’d always found the fault line—the weak spot that got you access to the filthiest parts of each one. You’d teased and you’d flirted, earned a couple groping touches and open-mouthed caresses from the likes of the late Mr. Walsh and many others. But never Mr. Dixon.

Even now, sitting across from him in your skimpy Wrangler cut offs, wedges, and a skintight, starch white tank top stretched so tight over your tits the fabric was practically see-through, it was like you were invisible to him. You kicked your feet out in front of you as they dangled from the table and actually felt yourself pout at the feeling of frustration bubbling in your chest.

“I wanna help.” Sounding pitiful.

“No use,” Daryl said as he studied the barrel of the gun with an inscrutable expression, “Already told yer dad, ain’ no use for little girls on the range.”

Your nostrils flared as you started back on your feet.

“I am plenty useful, Mr. Dixon. And I— I’m not the little girl you think I am,” you fired back, sounding more miserable and juvenile with every word you spoke.

At the last, Daryl looked you up and down. It was hardly more than a passing glance, but deliberate enough to be expressive. Emotive.

He looked repulsed by you.

And, rather than dignify you with a response, he simply discarded his firearm on the table and left the room. You trailed behind him into the kitchen and watched him swing the refrigerator door wide on its hinges. Blue eyes surveying the shelves for a can of PBR, most likely.

“I can do anything you need me to,” you rejoined in a huff, desperate to be heard, “I’m twice the shot my old man ever was at my age, I can track if I need to— hell, I’m always doin’ stuff, Mr. Dixon. Things.”

You weren’t sure what rattling off your talents to a man who clearly had no interest in hearing them would accomplish, but you tried it anyway. You sounded like your father. When both of Mr. Dixon’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise and he plopped down on a bar stool opposite you, you wanted to melt right into the floor.

“Doin’ stuff, huh? Thangs?” he mocked your twang.

You gripped the door frame so tight your knuckles turned white. Daryl took a couple swigs of beer and stared you down through every swallow. He brought the can back to the counter, near-empty now, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I got a couple thangs for ya ta do,” he started, grinning, “Why don’t ya put those pretty hands ta work, throw a little apron on, and just...bake me a fuckin’ cake?”

“Funny,” you spat. You felt a surge of bile rise in your throat at the sight of his smug expression.

“Wash my car?”

“Fuck you.”

Daryl’s amusement only grew as the forbidden F-bomb flew from your lips—a word he knew Rick would never tolerate if you’d been in his presence. Presently, his eyes raked over your slight, shaking form at the threshold of the room and figured himself pretty lucky to have provoked such a strong reaction from you. He polished off the last of his drink in a single gulp.

“No need ta get all foul-mouthed, Ms. Grimes, I only—”

“Fuck. You.” Your reply came slower and a touch more measured than he’d expected. Even punctuated with a hint of a smile, making sure to stretch that Southern drawl when you added, “Dar-yl.”

It was the first time you’d ever used his first name.

You weren’t sure you liked it.

Daryl, on the other hand, felt quite certain the sound of his name suited your mouth just fine. A subsequent stir in his jeans wiped the smirk clean off his face, and he began to shift in his seat.

Before he could speak, you were already turning on your heels to leave. Formalities escaped quicker than your anger, and your fingers seemed to move of their own accord to flip Daryl off over your shoulder as you strode out the door, far out of his sight.

Meanwhile, and much to his chagrin, Mr. Dixon was already growing ill with the sounds of your parting wishes bouncing loud off the walls of his skull. Before the front door had even closed, his fingers, too, seemed to move involuntarily and do a thing they probably shouldn’t have done: touch the mound in his jeans.

He rubbed his clothed erection and groaned.

You were such a fucking brat.

Daryl had always thought with a father as eagle-eyed and attentive as Rick, you’d never reach this level of naughty, haughty, and straight up cunt-like, but here you were. Doing Lori proud the way you’d gotten another one of Rick’s best friends wrapped around your little finger.

You were good like that, and still too dense to understand a fraction of the effect you had on him while you did it. The way you’d been looking at him earlier, Daryl was sure you’d convinced yourself he hated you.

If you could only see him now, spitting in one hand and unzipping his fly with the other, freeing his cock, and finally, finally getting his fingers wrapped fast around his shaft with the sole thought of you on his mind as he did. If you could watch him shudder, close his eyes, draw a deep, jagged breath through his nose to scour the air for the faintest trace of your scent lingering there—maybe you’d get it.

Daryl slid his hand down his cock and exhaled a shaky breath. You would simply never “get it,” because he’d already promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen.

As his thumb grazed the head of his red-hot, leaking cock and imagined it was your tongue doing all the work, he had to remind himself this was nothing but a fantasy for him. There was just no way in hell he’d sink to Shane’s level and actually lay his hands on you, no—he was better than that.

He was a man of principle, furiously jerking his cock in his kitchen with the thought of his best friend’s daughter on his mind. He just couldn’t touch you.

Damn if those tits didn’t sit nice under that top, no bra to hold ‘em in. And those shorts…

Daryl felt his head drop back as a wave of pleasure coursed up his spine. In his mind, you were sucking him now, hollowing those soft, sweet cheeks around his member and bobbing your head up and down, again and again, eyes never leaving his. Maybe you’d know to cup his balls, use your tongue to draw a couple lazy shapes down his cock. Any way you wanted it done was exactly how Mr. Dixon needed it, he’d decided.

He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and fucked his hand like a man half his age.

Someone like you.

Scarcely nineteen and so oversexed they might burst.

The difference was Daryl would explode any second now; he had only to hunch over, pump himself a few more times, and finally shoot his load, pretending it was spraying your insides and not the floor of his kitchen.

He’d intended to do just that, clenching his jaw at the filthiest thoughts of you yet, when suddenly, a sound shook the house.

Daryl dropped his cock and looked right out the window.

Down below, outside, you’d laid heavy on your car horn. Let the noise blare a couple seconds before Daryl came bounding over to the window.

When he did, the man thought his legs might buckle.

You were standing beside his truck in the driveway, sponge in hand, soaked head-to-toe in water and soap and smiling brighter than he’d ever seen you. The fabric above your tits was translucent now, clinging like a second skin and affording his lustful gaze every inch of your torso. Your free hand was waving up at him.

Daryl inched the window open with trembling hands.

“Mr. Dixon, this truck is filthy!” you shouted from down below.

Swallowing and blinking was all he knew how to do, it seemed. Finally, Daryl managed, deadpan:

“I know.”

You placed your hands on your hips and narrowed your eyes up at him.

“Have you always been such a dirty old man?”

Fuck. It was like you knew what he’d been doing, crouched over in the privacy of his home while he drooled and dreamed of fucking you stupid. He watched you cross the front of the car.

And lean down to start rubbing your sponge across the hood.

Daryl sincerely feared you might hear his loud groan the second it rose to his throat. He gritted his teeth, tried to fight the sound, but came up short with nothing to show for his efforts but a whimper slipping past his lips.

You started swirling your sponge in circles, tits shaking with every movement you made.

“Too bad little girls ain’t good for nothin’,” you sighed.

When you leaned flat across the metal surface below you, Daryl pictured himself standing behind you, taking his dick and shoving it deep between your folds. Stretching you out and making you scream into the space in front of you.

Slowly, discreetly, Daryl’s hand drifted back to his cock.

“Yeah. Too bad,” he mumbled as you bent over to soak your sponge once more. When you straightened up, you made sure to squeeze the thing over your chest so the water would douse your front. Daryl took the window frame in one hand and his cock in the other, leaning out just slightly to ask, “This the ‘stuff’ ye’s talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Thangs, really,” you answered dryly.

The two of you exchanged a brief smile, and Daryl’s hand started stroking his length.

Lucky for him, and unlucky for you, the size of the window wasn’t primed to make you privy to the sight of him pleasuring himself. At most, you saw a forearm moving gently back and forth. You bit your lower lip and kept your sponge moving in loops.

“Well these ‘thangs’ are gonna get ya in a whole heap of trouble with yer daddy if ya keep this up, girl,” Daryl warned, nodding toward your house with a wary look.

“It’s empty, Mr. Dixon. Whole place is mine for the weekend,” you replied with a sly intonation.

Finally, you stopped long enough to get a hand back down to your shorts. Facing Daryl still, you popped a button on your denim cut-offs and looked up at him with a glossy, innocent stare. You pretended to feel for something that wasn’t there, snagged the band of your light pink thong, and lifted it up to Daryl’s hungry gaze. You saw his bicep visibly strain as he jerked his cock even faster.

Back inside, Daryl was panting, groaning, reeling at the thought of you all alone in your house next door, splayed out across your bed in a baby pink panty set. He soaked in the sight of you and curled his toes into the floor as a new jolt of pleasure broke out through his body.

He was closer than he’d ever been. He rested his head against the window and watched you run your hands over your body, down your front, in your shorts. He imagined your fingers grazing your cunt and how wet you must’ve been then, imagining him right back and fucking him steady with your eyes.

For a moment, your eyelids fluttered, and a blissful look crossed your features. Daryl rutted his hips at the thought of you finding your clit in front of him—desperately wanting to be the source of that pleasure himself—and pumped himself even faster.

“Darlin’, I…I need ya. In such a bad fuckin’ way.” He couldn’t keep the tender term of endearment from dancing on his tongue. The sight of you alone had his brain on the fritz.

You slipped your hand out of your shorts and brought a couple honeyed fingertips to the edge of your lips.

“How bad, Mr. Dixon?” you asked, eyeing him intently.

Daryl whined and felt his insides churn with the threat of release. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

“So— so bad. Need to fuck ya so bad.”

That satisfied your affirmation-hungry itch well enough. You pushed two digits between your lips and started to suck.

From that point on, you didn’t need to see him or hear him or be there waiting patiently on your knees to get a mouthful of his cum—you knew it was coming. Daryl’s face contorted with a blissful, fucked-out expression, and suddenly he was pumping that space below the window full of his load, likely spraying the whole damn thing on the wall.

You stood back and admired your work. Daryl had all but collapsed with both hands planted on the windowsill, wet, brown locks hanging low in his face as the aftershocks of his arousal washed over him.

He was panting and barely able to meet your gaze. You couldn’t quite read the expression.

At any rate, you knew your job here was done.

With a hand waving sweetly back up at him once more, you eyed the mess of a man—your father’s best friend—and started to reach for your bucket and sponge. You buttoned your shorts back up and took a step from his truck. When it seemed Daryl was just then starting to open his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and called out, cheerfully,

“See ya around, Mr. Dixon!”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #smut

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talaok · 6 months

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I love your dad Pedro! Could you please do a cute fluff piece of a him just loving being a girl dad? Maybe he and baby girl just spending the day together, hom singing purple rain and dancing in the living room with her and trying to teach her to walk? Ooommggg 💚

Pairing: Pedro pascal x f!reader

a/n: i think dad pedro is my all time favorite so thank you for requesting it (and i do not know shit about babies or when they start walking or talking properly so just pretend this is accurate pls)

He still couldn't believe that this was his life.

that he was living in a home that he shared with you, the most amazing and incredible wife he could have ever dreamed of, and with your daughter, with his beautiful daughter who happened to be holding onto him, singing or, more accurately, mumbling sounds resembling the words of his favorite song: Purple rain, desperately trying to keep up with him as he softly sang it for her.

He couldn't believe that the angel looking up at him, with her mom's beauty and his attitude, was actually his, that he had helped create her, that she was standing on his feet and gripping his shirt as he guided her around in a makeshift slow dance.

He couldn't believe any of it, but god was he grateful.

He had everything he ever wanted, and every day felt like a dream, it didn't matter anymore if he didn't get cast for a role, if he fought with a director, if the guy beside him skipped the line at the grocery store, nothing simply mattered anymore as long as he had you, the two loves of his life.

And yes, every day was perfect, but today especially.

It was a beautiful sunny Sunday

he didn't have to work, and he didn't have anything to do so he could spend all his time with you.

He woke up with you curled up close to him, and a wide smile couldn't help but pull at his lips as he watched you sleep so peacefully.

After a few moments, he decided not to wake you, and only allowed himself a soft kiss on your forehead, before sneaking out of the room.

And that's when he walked by your daughter's room and heard those cute noises he knew too well, so he knocked, opened the door, and found her exactly as he had predicted, sitting up on her bed with two of her dolls in each one of her hands.

And again, he smiled, he smiled that happy smile he seemed to constantly have on his face lately.

So then he offered to go have breakfast, but she counteroffered to stay in her room and play instead, and of course, she had won.

You always made fun of him for how easily he agreed to whatever your daughter said, and as much as he liked to protest, he too, knew it was the truth.

God only knows how many tea parties he had attended with her stuffed animals, or how many times he had ended up with a full face of makeup because those big eyes of hers had gotten him to fold.

But anyway, after some time she eventually got hungry so they moved the party to the kitchen, he cooked some pancakes and cut some strawberries and he watched, as she ate everything on her plate, smiling like an idiot the whole time, and forgetting all about his own breakfast.

And then you had woken up and he had gotten to actually kiss you, and then somehow, he was dancing in the living room with his daughter.

And he still couldn't believe it.

The day only got more perfect as he watched his daughter stumble barefoot in your backyard as he tried to teach her how to walk.

He'd been at it for what felt like hours, guiding her with his hands at first, then trying to hold a toy with her, and letting go when she walked, but nothing seemed to really work.

"c'mon peach, you can do it" he encouraged her, luring her with one of her dolls "Come to daddy"

But all she did was crawl back to him, smiling widely as he reached him.

He let out a soft chuckle as she gave her the doll and watched her sit back to play with it next to that green ball she also adored.

"you know... she doesn't have to learn how to walk today" you murmured, walking beside him to put your arms around his torso as he stood up "She'll get there in her own time"

Your eyes were both on her as you spoke to one another.

"I know" he nodded, "I just..." he sighed, not able to finish

"What?"

"I'm just scared that she'll get there when I'm not gonna be there to see it" he confessed, his voice suddenly thinner

"baby" you cooed, urging him to turn towards you "that's not gonna happen" you shook your head "and even if it does, it's not the end of the word, what matters is that she does it"

"I know, you're right" he breathed "I'm just scared that with work and everything I'm gonna miss all her important steps"

"but you haven't" you murmured "You were there when she said her first word, and you were even there when she ate all her food without throwing it on the ground for the first time" You couldn't help but laugh at the memory

"I know" he smiled too now "You're right... as always," he said, leaning in to kiss you.

You chuckled softly "You're an amazing dad, baby, you need to stop worryin-"

But your words died in your thought and your eyes widened as they focused behind him.

He took your expression in and turned in an instant, worried sick,

But when he expected to see the worst, to see something happen to his angel, what presented itself before him, was actually the opposite.

She was walking.

She was stumbling behind the ball as it rolled away from her to try and catch it like it was nothing.

She was walking. His daughter was walking

"Is she...?" you stuttered

"she is"

And once again, he couldn't believe it

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theplumsoldier · 1 year

Text

feels like home

summary: you🥺love🥺each other🥺🥺😩

warnings: vulgar language, smut, breeding kink, angst, fluff (please let me know if im missing anything!!)

a/n: i love him omg hes so dad shaped

Starting out, it was a brewing crush, a sparkle between you and Joel on the job. Getting to know one another, it quickly became playful. Quirky remarks, cocky comments; that kind of thing. You began noticing your heart rate increase rapidly whenever he would speak, his voice suddenly sounding sweet and soothing, the playful shoves became lingering touches.

It was innocent, a subconscious pleasure that made the days do by. It was nice. Until it wasn't. When you realized the feelings they were way too strong for you to comprehend.

The fluttering butterflies no longer tickled, they scraped against your stomach, trying to claw their way out. Your heart rate felt alarmingly fast when in his company, which you quickly found was not good when working. It made you flinch, mistaking the faint clicks of an infected with that of your own pulse.

It resulted in a close call and a fitting rebuke from Joel, calling you out on your actions, or lack thereof.

Joel's harsh words got to you, never having heard him raise his tone at you unless it was call your name. His anger was evident but it was the disappointment seeping through his venom-laced tone that hit you like a brick wall.

Little did you know he did not react like that because of your rookie moves, nor was it because of the fact that you were putting everybody else's lives on the line while being so careless on the job.

No, it was a whole other thing, a feeling that wasn't too far from the one you were haunted by.

Nonetheless, Joel reprimanding you made you be more careful around him, the pining turning into something of a self-conscious degree.

Joel noticed your shy demeanor after that incident. He figured you would understand overtime, understand his harsh words came from a place of worry, of love. But as time passed, and you only talked to him when on the job, when necessary, there came a point where he found himself eager to confront you. He was having none of it.

It wasn't that he was going to tell you that he reacted the way he did because he was in love with you. He was simply going to check in on you, imply that there was something off with you. He substantiated his own idea by concluding it was best for the group to know whether this mien was going to keep up. That way he wouldn't have to reveal his feelings. Joel knew it was not going to be a pleasant conversation, but he just wanted your giddy self back.

He missed the funny comments, the playful touches. He missed making you smile, seeing you laugh. It was what got him through the day and lately he had found himself constantly thinking about you, dragging the days out to a point where he felt one exceeded the usual count of 24 hours.

It was an excruciating pain, feeling you were reluctant whenever he would enter the room, falling silently and making yourself small.

He looked for the right time, postponing the inevitable, to the point where another incident occurred, sending Joel over the edge.

"What the fuck, Y/N!?" barked he, following you into your room, slamming the door behind him.

"What, Joel!? What is it now?" yelled you in frustration, too beat to take anymore of his bullshit, his glares, any of it.

You justed wanted to clean up and go to sleep. It was all too much.

This time had not been much different from the last. Your train of thought had distracted you, leading to Joel saving you. Again.

It was honestly getting embarrassing at this point.

Joel's tongue wet his lips while he opgivende slumped down, taking a seat. He breathed out, calming himself and stretched his arm over the back of the couch.

"You need to get your head out of your ass before you--" said he as his eyes pierced through the back of your head, watching as you had turned your back to him, doing whatever.

"And you need to get off my back," retaliated you, swinging around and pointedly staring at him.

The way he kept his cool just sitting there on the couch while you were getting fed up struck a nerve.

His tone differed from his exterior, however, a judgemental feel to it.

"What's going on with you, huh? These past few weeks you've been reckless out there! Shit, I've already saved your ass twice this week--"

"Fuck you, Joel!" you interrupted, trying your best not to make it sound like a preschool shouting match. Well, you were the only one yelling, so perhaps that was the wrong parallel to draw. Regardless, you gave him a piece of your mind. "You know, I signed the same fucking waiver as you did! If anything happens to me, you take me out. That's the job. I never asked for you to save me so why you take that upon yourself--that's beyond me!"

Joel shook his head, biting back the grin he knew would bite him in the ass if you heard it. It was ridiculous to him, that you thought he would ever let anything happen to you.

Take you out.

He stood up, taking a step closer to you, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "Of course I'm gonna fuckin' jump in when I see ya danger! Jesus Christ, you don't even realize it's 'cause I love you, do ya?"

Oh.

That took you by surprise.

"Tell me you don't feel the same way," said he, watching as your eyes dropped, certainly thinking about what he had just said. Carefully inspecting every clue your features gave away, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you. He tipped your head, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Y/N?"

He felt himself getting nervous like a school boy revealing his crush, fearing he had fooled himself. He couldn't help but worry you hadn't put much thought into the flirting, that perhaps you were simply playing around.

He tried stepping away, to let himself think, but you quickly latched onto his arm, pulling him even closer than he was before.

"No, I..." hesitated you, trying to figure out the best way to put it. "I realized I do really like you. It's why I've been so... off, I guess. You've constantly been on my mind, and--I've been trying to figure out... what to do about it, I guess."

Your eyes were fixated on his chest, right where his shirt was unbuttoned. Your cheeks red, you felt too self-conscious to look him in the eye, fearing what you might find. It seemed no matter how many times you had fallen in love, it never got easier.

But to your surprise, you felt safe when Joel tilted your head and your eyes met. Reassured.

Shit.

The eyes really were the window to the soul, huh?

"And did you figure it out? What you wanna do about it?"

There was a certain glimpse in his eye as he asked. He had decided what he wanted to do.

Instead of replying, you pulled him into you, pressing your thirsty lips against his. It seemed the prior anger had fueled your hunger, suddenly very desperate to have him even closer.

Luckily, Joel did not mind one bit and immediately wrapped his arms around and cradled the back of your head, holding you like you might slip.

And shit the sweet, sweet taste of him made you think you just might.

His scent wrapped around you like a blanket, making you feel safe again, the feeling somehow always emitting from him, only this time tenfold. It reminded you of the sense one got when stepping into the comfort of their home after a long time away. He felt like home.

God, it felt good to be home.

While one hand rested on the back of your neck, the other began sliding down your side, feeling your curves beneath his rough fingertips.

When he steadied and squeezed your waist softly, you tugged lightly on the strands of his hair.

"Joel," whispered you breathlessly, pulling back but not enough to not still feel his breath on yours. You didn't dare let him move further away, fearing you might lose his warm touch and wake from this fever dream.

Joel hungrily bit for your lip, but you had to catch your breath. His lips were parted, tongue dancing just behind his teeth in anticipation as he muttered your name.

"Want you inside of me."

His eyes locked on yours for a second, like a predator picking out his prey, and a second later, he was all over you.

Crashing his lips against yours, he was suddenly both pulling and shoving you, a clumsy waltz in the ecstasy ballroom, determined to take you to bed and claim you as his.

Stumbling onto your bed, you were pinned to the mattress and the sheets delved around you, hugging your sides with Joel's body the perfect cover.

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him to rub his restrained cock against your clothed crotch, moaning at the feeling. Like a goddamn rock.

While making out, he continued the motion and when he finally let go of your wrists, you did not hesitate to slide your hands under his shirt, feeling his warm skin.

"Been thinking 'bout this. Can't ever stop myself from imagining how pretty you'd look, squirmin' on my fingers. Those sweet, sweet eyes begging me to tear into you, make you come around my cock."

You whined at his words.

You hadn't realized you hadn't given his pillow talk much thought. Prior expectations had only let you down, becoming disappointed in men when they didn't live of to the version of the person you had made them out to be in your head. You knew your kinks, and wanted them played out in reality and only then you realized what a match Joel evidently was.

Clawing at his shirt, he helped you pull it over his head as you began undoing his belt.

He stopped you, chuckling at your eagerness although he could barely hold himself together.

Instead he pulled up your shirt, kissing down your stomach and unbuttoned your pants.

"Easy, baby," muttered he. "Gonna make you feel real good."

Upon having removed your clothes, Joel continued his path down your stomach, kissing right under your bellybutton, building up a whole lot of tension inside your core as he continued down.

You felt his hot breath against your pussy, finally looking down and only then did he dive in and you gasped at his greedy tongue. He was hungry and he was not holding back.

His tongue licked a long wet stripe through your glistening folds, his nose and stubble tickling your clit. His hands held you down when you arched into his mouth and you cried his name, needy for his touch.

A chuckle vibrated from his mouth and he teased your entrance with a finger, taking you off guard when he suddenly shoved two in.

"Fff-uck!" You moaned and squirmed, completely spellbound as you felt your self tense up at the slow but consistent pace he had sat.

Considering you had indeed imagined having sex with Joel, you were surprised to find him so eager to take care of you. His now all around careful touch so contradicting to what characterized him on the job. Of course, he had never been rough with you and although you were getting more and more excited to have him fill you, you felt ecstatic experiencing him like this, treating you like delicate Chinese porcelain. You felt loved. An unusual feeling, but a welcome one.

While his fingers worked you up, he spared a look your way, finding you crushing your head into the mattress, eyes squeezed shut. The content look on his face was replaced with a focused one as he sucked your pulsating clit.

The pleads you emitted were far from coherent, only the choked cry giving you away.

"Shit, doll, don't think I'm gonna fit in this lil' pussy. Just two fingers making you all dumb for me," he chuckled, basking in the pleasure he gave you, each moan a stroke to his ego. He was set on ruining every single man for you.

Despite his taunt, he shoved a third finger inside your cunt, the only resistance being your tight walls.

Curling his fingers he stretched you to a point where he was comfortable enough with replacing them with his cock. His balls were beginning to get sore at the lack of breathing room.

The grip you had managed on his locks loosened when you felt him pull away, making you stutter as you opened your eyes again. It took some adjustment before the dots vanished and the figurative stars blinding you were replaced with the sight of his glory.

A broadshouldered, tanned naked hunk of glory. Sweat glistened on his chest, small beads decorated his hairline and his freed cock stood to attention. You hadn't noticed you were gaping at him until your mouth ran dry.

Gulping at his size, you gave him a dazed look that made his cock twitch against his stomach.

Before you had the chance to say anything - whether it be a horny comment or a total subjection to the God towering you - Joel grabbed you by your legs, pulling you down so that he was positioned directly above your entrance.

Although your juices provided more than enough lubrication, you noticed his cock had done the same, a small bead having escaped his slit. A sudden urge to taste him, you quickly reached down to swipe your thumb across his mushroom head, indulging in the salty taste.

The move made Joel groan although you could've sworn it was a whimper in disguise, a certain lovesick gleam in his brown eyes.

Crushing a kiss to your lips, he aligned himself at your entrance. As he inched in, Joel's forehead pressed against yours, his eyes focused on every change in your expression.

Your brows were knitted together in concentration, lips parted in a gasp and doe eyes glistened up at him through a watery lense.

Sliding in with easy, Joel stilled, quieting your moan with an open-mouthed kiss. He felt his cock stretch you, your walls hugging him tightly making him think you were made for him.

Your nails scratched against his back as he moved and you let out a cry, throwing your head back. It was both too much and not enough. Insatiable.

"Taking me so good, darlin'. Not gonna last long in your lil' cunt."

Joel slid a hand between your bodies, thumb suddenly drawing sloppy but aggressive circles on your clit. When he had first found a rhythm his hips did not stutter.

The mix of wet slapping sounds and chopped moans composing your lovestory. With his snapping hips and relentless work on your bundle of nerves, you felt yourself flutter against him, nails digging into his ass as he fucked you through orgasm.

Disjointed grunts echoed in his chest, revelling as your cunt squeezed his cock, pushing him out each time only to let him ram right back in.

Head nuzzled in your neck, kissing, nibbling and biting, he moved only to haul your legs over his shoulder. To enforce the deep feeling, he grasped your hand and put it just below your belly, pressing down.

"Ya feel that, doll? Rippin' you right open--fuck! Wan' me t'fill you up, uh?"

He tore you right apart, his cock ramming into you so hard you just knew you would be sore. But it didn't matter. He was worth it. This was worth it.

A slap to your cheek suddenly pulled you from cloud nine, his coarse hand roughly grasping you by the jaw.

"Tell me," murmured he, his jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours.

"Y-yes, Joel! Please, please!" Melting in his grip, you eagerly nodded, your words disjointed by your cries from feeling him so deep. "Need your cum, ba--"

Your plea was cut off by a muffled scream as all and any kindness left him, and he sped up for a brutal pace. Biting his shoulder, his hips snapped a few more times until he stilled deep inside you.

You tugged him close to you as pumps coated your walls, hot streams already oozing out. Panting, Joel sloppily fucked his come into you, wet kisses smudging across your collarbone. As you felt yourself come down, you reached for his face and kissed him breathless.

Finally he slumped off of you, falling into the place beside you, making you realize the brutal cramp in your legs from the position. Stretching your leg in the air, pulling your toes with your fingers you couldn't help but laugh when Joel noticed your situation.

"M'sorry," Joel chuckled awkwardly, the back of his hand running across his sweaty forehead.

You just shook your head, schooching closer to him to wrap your leg over his and you smiled lovingly up at him, adoring him.

"Don't worry, didn't even realize 'till you pulled out."

He wrapped his hand around your waist, pulling you closer to him, two sweaty bodies melting into one.

"Well shit, next time I ain't gon' be pullin' out then. Gonna fall asleep inside ya."

Nibbling his earlobe, you hummed and closed your eyes with giddy smile. "As long as you fuck me into the morning you can do whatever ya want."

#joel miller imagine #theplumsoldier #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x y/n #the last of us smut #the last of us imagine #the last of us

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starlightshadowsworld · 12 days

Text

Bsd except Atsushi was taken into the Port Mafia by the Old Boss.

After being given the cue to begin from Mori, Hirotsu starts his tale.

"About a decade or so ago, a couple who were quite high up in the Port Mafia ended up betraying us. The details I don't know of, but for whatever reason the Ex Boss took it personally."

It wasn't unusual. The Old Boss tended to deal with traitors first hand rather than leave it to his underlings. It definitely made the man terrifying. But taking it so personally was odd.

"They bargained with him. You see they had a son who possessed powerful ability. It worked, the Ex Boss was impressed with it and sparred them with the trade being he kept their kid."

Hirotsu took out his lighter and lit his cigarette.

"The Ex Boss grew to adore him, the kid was basically his son. Atsushi Nakajima was the crown jewel of the Port Mafia.

He was a good kid you would think he was bathed in light. And yet there was a darkness to him. He was as vicious and cold as he was kind and warm."

Mori raised an eyebrow.

"If he was so special, how is it I haven't heard of him?"

Hirotsu sighed "well, like I said the kids ability was powerful. But he couldn't quite control it, we had our measures and things in place of course. But as the Ex Boss started to sick, he became afraid of Atsushi."

He shook his head frowning.

"The kid he loved like his own was now a monster in his eyes. He locked Atsushi down underground, under more security that we have for Q. Forbade anyone for even mentioning his name, it was like the kid never existed."

Mori was intrigued by that "and was this extra security warranted or was it simply paranoia."

"It wasn't at first, Atsushi wouldn't have hurt any ally and especially not the Ex Boss."

Hirotsu knew, because even when Atsushi was fully transformed he remembered the scent and smell of his allies. He'd never attacked them, not unless they stepped out of line.

"But the longer he stayed down there... Any love Atsushi had for the Ex Boss turned into hate. The Ex Boss come taunt him, torture him and betrate him. Eventually the he got too sick to go down there."

Dazai hummed, sitting up in his chair. "And I'm guessing he's still down there?" Hirotsu nodded "I think the plan was to slowly starve him. But his caretakers continued their jobs, I've been down and he's still there."

Mori nodded "so you think he'd be a useful addition to the Port Mafia?" Mori already knew the answer of course but he wanted to hear it.

"Definitely. Atsushi never quite had a home before us, he values this city as his. His to protect, his to take care off. It's what convinced him to start taking training seriously.

It didn't fit the Ex Boss's vision, but I know he'll fit yours sir."

And that, that was all Mori needed but they chatted a bit longer. On exactly what this ability was, and it definitely was quite impressive.

Who knew he'd find a diamond below his feet?

"So my old man is dead? Did he suffer?" Asked Atsushi, watching as Mori approached his cell. He was standing, the chain around his neck taunt but he didn't seem bothered by it.

"He did, right go the end. I would know, I killed him myself."

Atsushi's look of shock turned into a chuckle. "So you did. So what do I get for choosing you hmm?" He sounded relaxed but there was hidden malice in his voice.

"Time out your cage, and the ability to protect this city as you wish." Said Mori. Atsushi looked at him in suprise, than smiled at that last part.

Hmm someone who cared more for this city than their own wellbeing, oh Atsushi definitely would be useful to the Port Mafia.

"I can do that, could also share some tales of dear old dad. He's got secrets buried in these walls." Said Atsushi nonchalantly and it was Mori's turn to chuckle.

"I can do that, so Atsushi Nakajima what do you say?"

Atsushi lowered himself onto one knee. "I swear my life, my blood and my loyalty to this organisation. I will be it's eyes, it's ears and it's executioner as you see fit all in the name of protecting Yokohama."

"Welcome to the Port Mafia, Atsushi Nakajima."

#bsd atsushi #atsushi nakajima #bsd mori #mori ougai #bsd hirotsu #hirotsu ryuurou #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs #bsd

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underground-secret · 2 months

Text

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x F!reader

Description: After getting a call from John Winchester after no contact for months. The group gets led to a town in which a couple goes missing every year around the same time. But Sam doesn’t want to follow orders anymore, and the town still needs help.

Warnings: Cannon Violence, fight scene (tell me how i did, im still learning how to write it!), arguing, a little angst, talk of crimes, cursing (i think), talk about sacrifices and Pagan rituals (i fricken love learning about Paganism), Y/N gets a little snarky and cocky, use of magic and abilities

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44, @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn

Word Count: …14,005

Scarecrow

(Master List, Prev. Chapter, Next Chapter)

“So you’re with the Winchesters?” Adeline says, her voice just as husky and amused as I remembered. It had been months since we talked, I'm surprised she wasn’t mad at me, though maybe she was and she was just hiding it well. “Yes.” I answer simply, waiting for the impending lecture.

“I should be surprised, but I'm not,” She remarks, and I can hear the smirk on her face.

“You know B/N said nearly the same thing!” I laughed lightly, but it soon died down when she didn't join in instead going completely quiet.

“You should have told me.” She says, venom on her tongue, but I know it’s out of worry. “No text, no call, not even a letter! I show up at your house. Not only are you not there I have to find out from your co-workers that you quit and haven’t been in contact with anyone. Did you quit because of those Winchesters? ‘Cause I swear to God I wil-“

“No!, quitting had nothing to do with them.” I cut her rant off, “Look Addie I'm sorry. I got so caught up in it all I didn’t think of telling anyone.” I sigh, leaving out the part I forgot I had people who cared about me—which is so stupid. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you or scare you. But that isn’t what I called for…”

Suddenly a sharp demanding knock sounds at my door. I don’t move for a second, watching it, “One sec, Addie” I place my phone down on the bed pulling back the heavy blankets. I tiptoe to the door, the rough carpet dragging on my feet. I take a deep breath preparing myself for the worst, I unlock the door, creaking it open just wide enough to see who is there.

Dean stands there, his eyes wide and his hair a little messy, still in his pajamas. A black shirt and some plaid pajama pants, though I figured he might have thrown those on before coming to my door- I knew he wasn’t foreign to sleeping with just a shirt and underwear on. I open the door further, “Are you okay? What happened?” I spew out.

“Get dressed. Dad called, ‘doesn't want us following him. He's going after the thing that killed Mom, says it’s a demon. He gave us a bunch of names and needs us to go investigate. Meet by the car.” He answers quickly. I stared at him, all of this was rushed, we barely got any sleep and we were already leaving rather quickly. He looks me over, nods, and then walks away back down the hall to his room, giving me no chance to ask if he was okay.

I closed the door a little shocked, making my way back to my phone and before it was even by my ear I heard the impatient click of her nails against some hard surface, “Now what” she huffed. Definitely mad at me. “I’ll have to call you back later” I sigh, “I need to go.”

“No you don’t get to just call me—“ She nearly yells but I cut her off again, “Addie I promise I’ll call you back.” The line goes silent for a beat and I wonder if she’s still there.

She sighs, “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m okay” I smiled sadly, yet even as the words passed my lips my stomach twisted itself, “I will call you.”

“Fine.” She huffs but she doesn't sound so convinced.

“I love you, Addie.” I say, and I mean it.

“I love you too. Stay safe, and call me!”

“Alright, just to double check all those names are couples?” I ask from the back seat of the Impala, copying notes down on a little notepad. “Three different couples. All went missing.” Dean confirms from the passenger seat. The darkness of the night cloaks us in its cold embrace.

“You said they were from all different states, Washington, New York, Colorado, and all went missing at the same time each year trying to travel across the country. But is it possible that it’s just a serial killer? Not to undermine your fathers findings.” I explain motioning my pen around as I speak, “I mean it is possible the suspect lives in Indiana, knows the roads well, and which way people go when road-tripping. Then being able to intercept them therefore fulfilling his or her urge. Then that kill can satisfy them till next year.”

“I guess, but they always disappeared in the second week of April. One year after another after another. That’s pretty weird.” Dean points out.

“Not necessarily, serial killers can have a certain connection to a date like an anniversary of something. Feeling only the need to do such an act during said time.” I ramble.

“Well, we’re still checking it out” Dean answers plainly, practically shutting down my theory. I guess it’s safer to check but it’s nighttime. I didn’t get any sleep, they barely got any sleep, and rushing over to Indiana in a 3-hour long car ride doesn't sound so fun if it turns out not to be a supernatural thing. “And this is the second week of April.” Sam remarks.

“Yep.” Dean nods.

“So, Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?” Sam asks, though it’s clear he knows the answer.

“Yahtzee. Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? All the different obituaries Dad had to go through? The man’s a master.” Dean beams, flipping through the papers he had on the missing couples. He very clearly looked up to his Dad in some manner, even though he wasn’t deserving of such praise. I know Sam feels this way too, he never had an issue calling out John and he certainly can see all that’s wrong with how they grew up. The thing is I know Dean knew too, he was just trained to be loyal.

I watch Sam in the rearview mirror, his nostrils flaring in anger, his hands gripping the steering wheel harder until the knuckles turn white. He pulled the car off to the side of the road, sharply, my body jerking at the motion. “What are you doing?” Dean asks confused, straightening the way he sat.

“We’re not going to Indiana.” Sam says firmly.

“We’re not?” Dean replies, shock and amusement written on his features.

“No. We’re going to California.” Sam answers, “Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code.”

“Sam.” Dean warns.

“Dean, if this demon killed Mom and Jess, and Dad’s closing in, we’ve gotta be there. We’ve gotta help.” Sam reasons, and I don’t disagree.

“Dad doesn’t want our help.” Dean argues, his voice getting louder.

“I don’t care.” Sam answers rather calmly.

“He’s given us an order.” Dean bites, using one of his favorite excuses.

“I don’t care.” He repeats himself, this time more firmly, “We don’t always have to do what he says.”

“Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain.

“Please stop fighting, why don’t we work this job, put all our energy into it. Work it quickly. Then immediately head to California, both of you win” I offer, always the person trying to cool the fight down and offer some sort of solution. But even as the words leave my mouth I know I’m wrong, this argument is more than working a case or chasing demons. This is years of grief built up. Sam half turns to view me, his eyes are pained and I almost think he might be close to tears, “It won’t be enough. You said it yourself. My Dad moves fast, if we don’t head there right now we’ll miss him entirely.” He looks between both of us now as he adds, “But I’m talking one week here, to get answers. To get revenge.”

Dean sighs, “Alright, look, I know how you feel.”

“Do you?” Sam spits, nearly yelling. “How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?”

Oh. This is old grief on top of new grief, he hasn’t coped with the loss of his girlfriend not that we could have expected him to. It’s too soon. These emotions are too raw, too new. Dean matches his brother yelling, “Dad said it wasn’t safe. For any of us. I mean, he knows something that we don’t, so if he says to stay away, we stay away.”

“I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it’s like you don’t even question him.” Sam argues, looking at his brother strangely.

“Yeah, it’s called being a good son!” Dean yells. The tension has exploded, the car falling quiet in its aftermath. My dislike for their father seemed to grow ten folds, to make your own child feel like that—

“Dean, that’s no—“ But before I can say anything more about it Sam exits the car. Slamming the door behind him. Dean and I get out of the car following him to the trunk where he unloads his things from. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want. Don’t care what anybody thinks.” Dean yells.

“Dean!” I snap, “This has gone far enough, you don’t get to say things like that, he’s your brother! Both of you calm down, please.” I didn’t want Sam to be treated like this, not from his brother who I know cares about him. “No. It’s okay, Y/N” Sam says calmly, his movements slowing as he stares his brother down, “Is that what you really think?”

“Yes, it is.” Dean gives a single sharp nod.

“Well.” Sam shuts the trunk, “then this selfish bastard is going to California.” he puts his backpack on and starts to walk away.

No. This can’t be happening. “Dean,” I say desperately, he has to apologize or stop him so they can talk it out. This isn’t my place but I can’t watch this happen. He looks out at his brother, “Sam, come on. You’re not serious”

“I am serious.” Sam responds, still walking away.

“It’s the middle of the night!” Dean yells out, “Hey, we’re taking off, I will leave your ass, you hear me?”

Sam stops walking, turning around, “That’s what I want you to do.”

I let out a frustrated groan, “What the hell is wrong with you both?! Just talk it out, we can come to some sort of agreement or—or reason with each other.” I practically beg. Both their eyes fall to me but Dean just responds with, “He’s made up his mind” his eyes turn back towards his brother, “Goodbye Sam.”

I stand frozen, eyes wide, this is not happening.

Dean grabs hold of my wrist, his hand warm despite the cold night, practically dragging me to the passenger side of the car. He waits for me to sit and buckle myself before closing the door and making his way to the driver's side. He gets in, putting the car in drive.

I watch Sam turn back around and walk away in the car's side mirror. Dean must have been watching too because he slams his fist on the steering wheel, takes a deep breath, and then does it again and again. I place my hand over his just as it connects with the steering wheel again. “Dean…” I say softly, but it comes out more like a plea. His hand goes still under mine, and when I turn my face to look at him, his eyes are glossy.

He does not turn to look at me though, keeping his eyes straight ahead at the dark road. “Dean” I say weakly, letting out a shaky breath feeling my own eyes welling up, “please, stop the car.” He listens, slamming on the brakes, my body jolting at the sharp stop. He snaps his head towards me, “Why so you could leave too?!”

I lean away from him retracting my hand, placing it on my lap, “No” I say quietly. But his reaction made me want to leave, the tears in my eyes finally fell over, spilling down my cheeks, “Do not take your anger out on me.” He sighs, turning his face away from me, cursing.

“I know you don’t want to hear this…but you must” I begin to say, having to pause to clear my voice of its shakiness, “I care for you both a lot but I’m so sick of you guys constantly fighting over something stupid when all you have to do is talk.”

“That's easy for you to say.” Dean snaps back, still looking away from me.

I huff, annoyed, “See! You get all standoffish instead of dealing with your emotions and I know that's what you’re used to but you don't have to be that way around me of all people.” He goes quiet, with no snappy comeback or even a grunt of annoyance. His jaw clenches and I wonder if that's from anger, trying to hold back tears, or both. “What if were destined to always hate each other,” he says quietly, and I know he means him and Sam. “He doesn't hate you, and I know you don't feel that way either,” I answer softly, even when I know what he truly means. He turns his head towards me, a single tear rolling down his cheek, “Then why does he keep leaving?!” he says through gritted teeth the last word coming out as if he spit venom.

In truth, I can't possibly know what he feels. He raised Sam and was there every moment of every day. He saw him take his first step and say his first word, brought him to school, fed him, put him to bed, and kept him safe. I was more like Sam in that aspect, I was the youngest with an older brother who took care of me and looked out for me. Honestly more than our own Dad, maybe that’s why he and Dean got along together so well- a shared understanding.

So, no, I could not understand exactly what he felt, not even a fraction of it. But even despite that I reached my hand out carefully, my fingertips barely brushing his cheek before pausing giving him time to pull away and hide if he wanted to. He didn't. I cup his cheek, whipping away another tear that fell. His green eyes seemed softer then like his anger had diminished enough but still lay beneath the tears. I don't have all the answers, “I know it may not seem like it, but he isn't leaving you. He went off to college ‘cause he wanted a chance away from this life. Even now he is going in hopes of stopping what started this all, he’s going to come back…your brothers you can't escape each other even if you wanted to.”

It's not a solution, and I don't expect it to help. But all I can do is hope it eases something in him. He leans his face into my hand, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes a deep breath in.

In one quick motion, I unbuckle my seat belt with my free hand. He must have known what I was going to do because he removed his face from my hand only to put the car in park, release his seat belt, and turn his body so I could hug him properly. I close the distance between us so I can wrap my arms around his neck, his body immediately reacts to my movements. His head falls to the crook of my neck, his arms wrapping around my waist. He pulls my body impossibly closer and tighter.

His breathing gives him away, his warm breath coming out uneven against my neck a wetness forming against where he resides. I don't say anything about him crying, or anything at all, I just move my hand up and down his back in soothing motions, hoping to ease him.

I do not know how I managed it but after he finished crying I got him to switch seats with me so he could rest while I drove. I've never driven the Impala before, maybe this was him showing me he trusted me even though I already knew he did, or maybe it was tiredness overtaking him. But the drive was pretty straightforward and it was dark so there wasn’t a worry about other cars.

He managed to drift off, which I was envious of but I was more proud of being able to drive Baby to notice my exhaustion. I even got to play music that wasn’t the usual rock songs he liked to play, which I don’t have any problem with but a change is nice sometimes (even if I played it very quietly so he could rest).

Just as we pulled into the small town he woke up, grumbling a “good morning” before staying silent the rest of the time. He went on his phone at one point, pulling up the contacts but ultimately he did not call anyone. “Ok, ready?” I ask, shutting off the car after pulling into a spot.

“Yeah” He nods, his voice still a little gravely from sleep. I hand him back his keys before exiting the car, the pure feeling of accomplishment pulling over me. I drove Baby accident-free and made it to the destination! I’m so good!!

We walked up to the only person in sight, an older man sitting on a wooden rocking chair in front of a café. Maybe it was too early for anyone else to be out, it certainly felt too early to be up though I guess I never really went to sleep.

“Let me guess,” Dean points to the store's sign that reads Scotty’s Café, “Scotty.” He looked proud of his stupid joke if you could even call it that, a dumb grin on his face. Scotty looks up at the sign and then back at us looking unamused, “Yep,”

“Hi, my name’s John Bonham and this is Pat Phillips” Dean introduces us both, and I want to glare at him for using a member from a popular band's name but if Scotty doesn't know then the glaring would give it away.

But of course, our luck has long run out, “Isn’t that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?” He looks at Dean pointedly then at me, “And his wife?” Now I really do glare at him, I didn’t know Pat Phillips was Bonham's wife! I barely knew Bonham was the drummer for Led Zeppelin, only remembering because of Dean rambling about it. Dean looks at me, eyes raised as if to silently say he didn’t think he would know. He turns back to Scotty, shock clear on his face, “Wow. Good. Classic rock fan.” Alright, he wasn’t even trying to deny it, great.

“What can I do for you, John?” Scotty asks anyway and I’m surprised he didn’t completely write us off. Dean takes out two pieces of paper from his pocket, unfolding the missing person's flyers. “I was wondering if, uh, you’d seen these people by chance.”

Scotty takes the flyers, barely studying them before answering, “Nope. Who are they?” Huh, that was a little weird, I would think he would want to think harder about it. I study the older man but his face reveals nothing, no fear in his eyes.

“They’re really close friends of ours, honestly we’re worried,” I explained while trying to test him, if he is responsible and he knows friends are looking for them and hasn’t given up he might crack a little. “They’ve been missing for a year now, passed somewhere through here. And we already asked around Salem and Scottsburg—“ But he doesn't let me finish my list, “Sorry.” He hands back the flyers to Dean, “We don’t get many strangers around here.”

Once more his eyes and face reveal nothing but still something about him is coming off weird.

“Scotty, you’ve got a smile that lights up a room, ‘anybody ever tell you that?” Dean tells him, earning a glare from the man himself. Dean chuckles, amusing himself at this point, “Never mind. See you around.”

I wait until we’re back in the car to say something, Dean taking his rightful place in the driver's seat, “Is it me or was that guy acting weird about this all?”

“Nah, he just doesn't have expressions,” Dean responds. I laughed, “That is not what I meant!”, I turned in my seat to face him, “Okay if someone came to you and was all like ‘my friend went missing and she’s been gone a long time and I think she passed through here do you know anything.’ Wouldn’t you really study the photo and try and think back, especially cause it’s a year ago. Scotty barely looked at the photo!”

He seems to contemplate what I said, “ ‘Could also just be a jerk.” he responds. I let out a frustrated sigh, “Dean.”

“Alright, you could be onto something sweetheart. We’ll keep asking around.”

Our next stop is a sort of Gas Station, all road trip essentials lining the walls from maps to mixed nuts. Aka the perfect place someone would stop at on their trip. “You sure they didn’t stop for gas or something?” Dean asks the older couple working.

“Nope, don’t remember ‘em. You said they were friends of yours?” The man who introduced himself as Harley responded.

“Yes, dear friends,” I answered.

“Did the guy have a tattoo?” A sweet blonde girl probably around our age asks, coming down the nearby stairs with a large box in her hand, her face just barely visible. “Yes, he did,” Dean responds. She puts the boxes on the counter and looks at the picture of the dark haired Vince then back up at the couple, “You remember? They were just married.”

Harley’s eyes suddenly widened making a little ‘oh’ sound, “You’re right. They did stop for gas. Weren’t here’ more than ten minutes.” Dean and I shared a look, now this guy wanted to suddenly remember. “You remember anything else?” Dean pushes further.

“I told ‘em how to get back to the Interstate. They left town.” Harley answers, finally sharing some truth. These townspeople were strange. “Would you be able to point us the same way?” I ask him, eyeing him carefully.

“Sure.”

Dean drives down the long road, slower than usual, both of us looking for anything unusual or suspicious. There was undoubtedly something going on whether it was supernatural or not. But there wasn’t much near us, just trees and endless roads.

We pass by what looks to be an orchard, apples hanging from the lush trees.

If I was kidnapping and possibly killing people I would choose somewhere along this Interstate, it was practically dead and no one would suspect anyone driving here even late at night. My thoughts are cut off by a violent buzzing noise coming from just behind me, most likely in the back seat. I turn to Dean, giving him a confused look, he turns his head to the back of the car looking instead of the road. “Dean. Road” I remind him, his eyes going back where they belong.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, shifting myself so that I was kneeling on the seat. I lean over the back seat, having to drop down low to reach his duffle bag, the top of the seat digging into my gut. My ass is definitely sticking up in the air and most likely close to Dean, but I ignore the embarrassment of that idea as I shuffle through his bag. I move one of his shirts around, finding the cause of the loud noise, “It’s your EMF” I call out hoping he can hear me even with my head still buried in the little space between the floor of the car and the backseat. I grab the box, the medal heavy in my hand.

I lift myself up and back to my seat half turned and sitting on my legs, it continues to buzz violently, the meter blaring to the red. “‘Think it’s the orchard” he announces, pulling the car off to the side of the road. We venture into the trees.

The ground was soft beneath my shoes, a light morning dew still clinging to the grass. If this was any other day or occasion I’d say it’s a rather nice orchard but the EMF has not stopped, and I think if it could go any further red it certainly would be there.

The trees were all lined up, apples scattered about the ground and a potent scent of rotten fruit following it. From where we pulled over it wasn’t hard to find the middle of the orchard, the trees cut down in almost a circle, except some paths that broke away in various directions.

A tall post stood in the middle, a creepy scarecrow on it. It looked rather human and full rather than stuffed with straw. Its face looked like a mask with stitches adorning it and hollow eyes, greasy long hair flowing from beneath his fedora. The only scarecrow-like thing about him was the fact he was tied to a wooden post and had a sort of jumper with patches on it, though the added black trench coat contradicted this. And in his hand was a sickle, what was meant to be used for agriculture only made him that much creepy.

Its head was leaned down, and looking up at it made it only seem like he was staring down at us with those empty eyes. “Dude, you're fugly.” Dean says out loud and I almost expect the thing to move or respond, but it doesn't. “Maybe you should say sorry to him.” I practically mumble to Dean. If it came to life I didn’t want a target on his back for insulting it, or mine if it thought I was guilty by association.

“Why would I say sorry?” he counters.

“So that he doesn't kill you if it comes to life!”

“I think it’d kill us either way”

Rationally I knew he was right, but the thought of something like a doll or in this case a scarecrow coming to life creeped me out a little too much, “Good point, but he is horrifying.”

“Yeah, horrifyingly ugly” He chuckles at his own joke, a stupid smile on his face. I try to hide my own laughing, not wanting to encourage him.

“I think I see something,” He murmurs. He moves back, turning to the closest tree with a ladder against it. He picks it up as if it weighs nothing, placing it right next to the scarecrow. He climbs it until he’s at eye level with the thing. I watch his eyes fall to the hand that held the sickle, his gaze at its wrist. Its sleeve ripped a bit revealing leathered “skin” and a sort of design.

I wrack my brain for any customs or cultures that decorate scarecrows beyond just its clothing and face, but I couldn’t come up with anything. Why would anyone put a design on a scarecrow's wrist?

Dean pulls out a paper from the inside of his jacket, unfolding it swiftly before placing it near the thing, comparing the two. “Look who has a nice tat.” he says, turning the paper down so I could see. He held Vince’s missing poster, the young man holding a mug in his hand the perfect pose to see his tattoo. Detailed ink with all sorts of shapes I could even begin to describe, I look back up at the scarecrows tattoo. The two are the exact same, far too alike to be any sort of coincidence.

“Nice tat indeed.”

We immediately got in the car and turned around back to the town. Something was going on and someone was causing it. Now Dean pulls the car into the local gas station. Turning it off and exiting, I nearly stay put in the passenger seat until I see the same blonde girl from before walking up to the car. We needed answers and she seemed to be the only one willing to help.

I exit the car, keeping the door open as I lean my arms on the roof of the car. “You’re back” she greeted, smiling. “Never left.” He replies smoothly.

“Still looking for your friends?” She asks, acknowledging us both. “Yup, call it stubbornness or what have you but we aren’t given up.” I respond, still pushing the same agenda as before. “I’d call that a good friend,” she smiles.

I don’t think she’s involved in all this, she’s willing to answer our questions when no one else was and she seemed to genuinely care. If she was involved then she was quite the actor. “You mind fillin’ her up there, Emily?” Dean asks her, nodding his head towards the car. The nameplate necklace she wore came into view as she grabbed the pump and began to fill the tank. That’s how he knew her name.

“Did you grow up here?” I ask, starting back up conversation.

“I came here when I was thirteen. I lost my parents. Car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in.” She explains shortly.

“They’re nice people.” Dean replies plainly. She nods as she speaks, “Everybody’s nice here.”

“So, what, it’s the, uh, perfect little town?” Dean shrugs, nonchalantly.

“Well, you know, it’s the boonies. But I love it.” she pauses for a moment, “I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms. But here, it’s almost like we’re blessed.”

Dean turns his head towards me, giving me a look. This definitely was weird, I mean how could every town around them be failing but not here?Were they making sacrifices to the scarecrow? It would make sense considering its tattoo. Dean turns back around to Emily, “Hey, you been out to the orchard? ‘You seen that scarecrow?” We were thinking the same thing.

“Yeah, it creeps me out.” She answers her nose scrunching. “You can say that again” I laugh, “Do you know who owns it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just always been there.” She shrugs.

He nods to something behind her, I turn my gaze to it, my eyes landing on a red van parked by a garage, “That your aunt and uncle’s?” he asks.

She shakes her head, “Customer. Had some car troubles.” That’s a little too convenient, “Is it a couple by any chance? A guy and a girl?” I ask, worried that they might be the town's next victims.

She nods even as her face twists with confusion, “Mmhmm.”

As soon as the Impala's tank was filled, and Emily gestured toward the couple's location, we wasted no time heading straight there. Dean opens the glass door for me, the little welcome bell ringing above us. I walk in first, immediately being hit with the sweet smell of baked goods, the culprit of it being a thick piece of apple pie that Scotty delivered to a couple sitting by the window.

“Oh, hey, Scotty. Can I get a coffee, black?” Dean greets, walking in behind me, adding “And a green tea…actually while you’re at it some of that pie too.” I have to hold back the smile that wants to escape onto my face, he was being slightly annoying on purpose which is proved further when Scotty gives him a nasty look before walking away. But beyond that I’m surprised Dean knew what I wanted, yes I drank tea quite often but how did he know I was feeling that flavor in particular?

He moves to sit at a table right next to the couple, I sit in the chair next to him trying to come up with a conversation starter for the people only a table away. I mean how do you say ‘hey you’re in danger! haha, please leave town’ to someone without them thinking you're actually insane? I am pulled out of my thoughts at the feeling of my chair moving, a soft scratching noise below it. Immediately I see Deans hand at the side of my chair, pulling me closer to him without saying or looking at me.

I try to ignore his strange antics and the butterflies that flutter in the depths of my stomach at his movement as he talks to the dark haired couple, “How ya doin’?” God for someone whose usually so smooth he was being so awkward. They share a weird look clearly looking uncomfortable before waving and smiling. But their uninterest in starting a conversation with strangers is very obvious as the girl leans closer to her boyfriend placing her arm up to lean her head on as if to block us out.

“Just passing through?” Dean continues, ignoring their reactions. “Road trip.” The girl answers plainly, clearly trying to shut down the conversation.

“Hm.” Dean hums his hand suddenly finding my thigh. My heart lurches, my leg twitching slightly at the sudden movement but he just gives me a little squeeze before readjusting his hold. Splaying his warm hand against my thigh, his fingers hooking onto the inside of my leg as he pulls them apart slightly, the gap just big enough to hold my thigh comfortably. He gives me another squeeze as if he was testing the feel of me again…oh god.

My brain seemed to short circuit, any logical thoughts I had turning into a mass space of blankness and static. I swallowed roughly, my heart beating out of my chest and the butterflies in my stomach flying frantically in warmth. This was just for a cover, if we acted as a couple too then they might feel more comfortable and inclined to talk with us, I try to reason with myself. But god when did my face get all warm? Stay focused Y/N, stay focused, I repeat to myself in my head. This wasn’t the time. Can’t be thinking of my feelings for him or the fact that this was only making me feel more desperate for him. Stay focused.

“Us too” He adds, and I have to think for a second what he’s talking about…Oh yes, we are also on a road trip, yeah.

Scotty walks over with a pitcher of something brownish orange, maybe it was apple cider considering this town clearly has a large supply of it. He moves right past us, refilling the couples cups, “I’m sure these people want to eat in peace.” he scolds us.

“Just a little friendly conversation.” Dean smiles up at the grumpy man who begins to walk away, “Oh, and that coffee and tea, too, man. Thanks.” Scotty just stares at him, the scowl on his face deepening, but he doesn't say anything as he walks away fully. “So, what brings you to town?” I ask softly, a sweet smile on my face in hopes of erasing the awkwardness in the air.

The girl answers, “We just stopped for gas. And, uh, the guy at the gas station saved our lives.”

“Aw, really!” I respond trying to sound amused.

The guy answers this time, “Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking. We had no idea. He was fixing it for us.”

“That’s really sweet” I nod with a smile even as concern eats at me. They were definitely going to be the next victims. But I’m also terribly confused, I have no idea what he was talking about. I'm guessing a broken brake line means you won’t be able to stop the car but I didn’t know it could leak…

“Yeah.” The man nods trying to go back to his food.

All at once it hits me, I nearly want to kick myself for not thinking about it right away. I want to blame it on Dean's hand placement but it was most likely my lack of sleep because I was in fact enjoying his hand on my thigh…

This small town in Indiana was practicing Pagan rituals, and as much as I hate to admit it learning about Pagans was one of my favorite things to do.

“So, how long till you’re up and runnin’?” Dean asks them.

“Sundown.”

It was common in Paganism to sacrifice something or someone to the gods. It was a time where they didn’t understand why certain things happened like crops dying, so they blamed this on not respecting the Gods enough. When the real cause could have been for a number of reasons from lack of water to not crop rotating…

“Really.” Dean pauses for a minute, “To fix a brake line?” He receives a nod. “I mean, you know, I know a thing or two about cars. I could probably have you up and running in about an hour. I wouldn’t charge you anything.” He offers.

…However in terms of supernatural beings when these sacrifices were made it did work, whether or not it was the Gods “cursing” them or just not understanding agriculture. Either way it did work, the gods answered, and the bigger the sacrifice the bigger the payout which is why they typically did human sacrifices, sometimes even on a mass scale.

“You know, thanks a lot, but I think we’d rather have a mechanic do it.” The girl replies, looking nervously at her boyfriend.

“Are you sure?” I chime in, “He really is good, I mean you should see the level of care he puts into his own car. ‘Keeping it all good even though it’s decades older than him, he even keeps my old car in check.” I knew with every word I was stroking his ego, but it was true. Beyond his own car I can count on two hands the amount of times he helped with my old Volkswagen Beetle, he’s probably the reason why it still works.

In the corner of my eye I can see his cocky sexy grin, he squeezes my thigh once more and my thoughts fizzle out again as a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters in my gut. Jesus Christ, Dean Winchester will be the death of me without knowing.

“Yeah we’re sure” The girl insists.

“Sure.” Dean pauses, his smile dropping, “You know, it’s just that these roads. They’re not real safe at night.” I guess he figures they won’t listen any other way. The couple exchanged a look, “I’m sorry?”

Dean leans in closer, “I know it sounds strange, but, uh—you might be in danger.”

The man finally snaps, looking annoyed, “Look, we’re trying to eat. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean says disappointingly, "You know, my brother could give you this puppy dog look, and you’d just buy right into it.” The couple looks at him strangely.

The bell above the door rings and I figure we don’t have much time left, “Look we aren’t trying to bother you and ruin your day, okay, I’m sorry.” I start, looking back at the Sheriff who had walked in. I lean in, speaking just low enough for them to hear, “But you really are in danger, for the last couple of years couples have gone missing this time of year repeatedly withou—“

“I’d like a word with you both.” The sheriff practically booms. I go quiet giving the couple a warning look both to say to listen to what I said and to not bring anything up now, they look scared and hesitant.

“Come on. I’m having a bad day already, ‘m just tryna make it better with my girlfriend” Dean reasons, I know it’s a lie but the way the word slipped so easily from his lips made my heart flutter.

“You know what would make it worse?” The sheriff replies. Dean releases his hold on my thigh, a tingling feeling taking its place. We got up and followed the man outside then following his orders, he was going to follow us out of town and we weren’t allowed back.

We drive down the interstate, both knowing we would turn back once it was clear. But for now we trudge toward passing by a sign that says ‘Thanks for visiting Burkittsville.’ I check the side mirror, the sheriff making a U-turn, heading back to town. Great.

“Should we find a motel nearby and return at night?” I ask, knowing the couple wouldn’t have a car to leave with ‘till sundown.

“Yeah, you need sleep” He hums. I wonder if he’s saying that because he knows I haven't slept at all. “Unfortunately I will not be sleeping ‘cause I have a very good idea on what’s going on and I wanna research further” I answer, opening up the glovebox to pull out the map that resided there.

I unfold it, tracking down Indiana and then the small town we just left, following the colored lines. “I think if we stay straight we’ll be at a rest stop in about 15 mins” I mumble, hopefully reading it right.

“Anyways!” I place the map down in my lap, “I’m very sure this town is sacrificing the couples to a Pagan God.”

“‘Thinking the same,” He answers.

“Okay, good. Now I'm not 100% sure i’m right on which one it is ‘cause there’s a lot of agricultural Gods as well as Gods of the woods, but the second I can search it up I’ll confirm it.” I ramble, talking with my hands.

“To be honest, sweetheart, ‘don’t know much about Norse Gods except the basics.”

“Oh don’t you worry, I got this” I beam.

I grumble for the fifth time typing different wording into the search bar. I want to scream as the page turns blank, the only words on the screen being ‘No Results.’

“What is it?” Dean asks from where he lays in his bed his fathers journal open, looking for anything on Norse Gods.

“Somehow there is nothing on Vanir Gods and when I mean nothing I mean nothing!” I get up from my bed walking the short distance to his, I climb on it putting my legs beneath me. I turned my laptop towards him, showing him the screen, “See!”

His eyebrows scrunch up looking just as confused as I feel, “I know we aren’t in the town anymore but do you think it’s somehow related?” I ask.

“Maybe. We aren’t that far from Burkittsville” He answers, taking my laptop and searching up ‘Books about Vanir Gods’ but again the same message pops up ‘No Results.’

He types in ‘Books about Norse Gods’ a couple searches pop up the main one being a thick book only available in a college in Burkittsville. “That’s so strange.” I mumble, I mean how could they be interfering with the internet.

“If they can make sacrifices to a god I’m guessing they could mess with google of all things. We’ll go there later” Dean responds and I’m sure he means after making sure the couple is safe. He closes my laptop, “You should sleep, I’ll wake you”

I studied him for a moment, and he was right. I should sleep, it sounds wonderful actually. I nod getting up, I don’t even bother changing into comfortable clothes or even taking off my bra I just crawl underneath the covers of my bed. “Good night, Dean.” But it was hardly close to night time.

He smiles, “ ‘Night baby.”

Dean sped down the interstate, the sun was nearly down and we would have been there on time if not for all the semi trucks in the truck stop not knowing how to exit. You really think it wouldn’t be so hard.

Continuing by the vast orchard, we scanned for a red van parked on the side, hoping to beat them there.

After some more driving, we eventually stumbled upon the deserted car, devoid of anyone. He stopped the car short even as we still had multiple feet between us and the vacant van.

He turns the car off and I meet him by the trunk, he hands me a shotgun, “Go through here, cut ‘em off--get in front” he rattles off the plan as he cocks his own gun. I nod, cocking my gun before shutting the trunk as he takes the lead.

I catch up to him, running at his side, passing through each tree as my shoes crush the fallen apples with a satisfying crunch.

I squint my eyes, the dark haired couple too far away to get there before the dark figure of the scarecrow does. It was a clear distance away, I could bring us there in a moment's time. I’ve practiced this sort of distance before, it was doable, and nothing like the asylum. “Get ready to shoot 45 degrees to your left” I shouted, reaching a hand out to grasp Dean's shoulder. He meets my eyes with a look of determination hard in his irises. I focus back ahead on the target, forcing my energy there.

The air ripples around us even as we continue to run, in a blink of an eye we’re in front of the couple. A loud shot rings out, Dean shoots the thing square in the chest. But all it does is stumble back before it continues to walk forward.

Its head was tilted slightly, that greasy hair dangling on his shoulders, the sickle gripped tightly in its leathery hand. “Get back to your car!” I yell behind me, “Go!” I looked behind me for a split second, they were running and we weren’t too far from the orchards clearing.

Almost at the same time Dean and I start walking backward away from the horrifying thing. I raise my shotgun up, shooting it right in its chest as Dean cocks his gun again. But these salt bullets were doing nothing and was hardly buying us time, “Get ready to run!” Dean orders as he shoots the thing again.

Not needing to tell me twice I shift my footing, running towards the clearing right after the couple. Beyond Dean's own shoes hitting the ground hard next to me I could hear the subtle click of its boots walking the ground. Now I know how every character in Halloween felt as Myers went after them.

I do the thing that you should never do in a horror movie and turn my head to see how close the scarecrow was. It couldn’t be more than 10 feet away, “Screw this” I mumble, twisting my footing again so I could walk backwards as it came towards us. I uncomfortably hold the gun in the crook of my arm as I extend my hands forward, effortlessly calling upon my abilities as I shoot out pure energy from my hands.

The scarecrow goes flying what seems like 100 or more feet, landing harshly on its back. I want to celebrate and get all cocky but this was dealing with Norse Gods and I didn’t particularly feel like getting on their nerves at the moment.

I make it to the clearing, my chest heaving from the running and use of powers. Man, water would be good right now.

A familiar arm wraps around my shoulder, the crook of his arm touching my neck as he brings me into his side. His chest heaves too, “Good job.” The praise makes my heart swell but the sweet moment is cut off by the man in the couple panting, “What—what the hell was that?” He points between the orchard and me. Double yikes.

“Don’t ask.” Dean responds.

We sit in the Impala just outside of town so we wouldn’t technically get in trouble.

After helping the couple officially leave, thank god, we went back to the motel. It would be hours until the college opened so we really just had to wait. We ate at some all night diner before showering and sleeping for a couple more hours. We woke early, I threw on some low rise black jeans and a fitted black & gray long sleeve baseball tee, heading out to grab some coffee before heading back close to town to wait.

Dean had called Sam, placing his phone on speaker and positioning it in the middle of the dashboard so we could both hear and speak. He called his brother on his own accord to talk about the “hunt” and I didn’t dare say anything about it knowing he would just brush it off. The call was certainly more than just letting him know how the hunt was going. “The scarecrow climbed off its cross?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I’m tellin’ ya. Burkittsville, Indiana. Fun Town.” Dean muses, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

“It didn’t kill the couple, did it?” Sam responded concerned.

“God no” I scuff.

“We can cope without you, you know.” Dean adds.

“So, something must be animating it. A spirit.” Sam theorizes.

“No, it’s more than a spirit. It’s a god. A Pagan god, anyway.” Dean answers.

“What makes you say that?”

I answer this time, “There’s a lot that points to it, from annual cycle killings to the choice of victims. And I’m sure you know human sacrifices were common in Paganism especially when it comes to fertility. There were even mass sacrifices to even protect them and or help them with wars.”

I begin to speak with my hands again, getting more animated as I get excited, “And according to a local all the towns around them are failing in multiple degrees especially in agriculture, while Burkittsville remains flourishing largely in their apple department. As seen not only through their extensive orchard but their numerous apple products, they practically gloat upon it.”

“And you should see the locals. The way they treated this couple. Fattenin’ ‘em up like a Christmas turkey.” Dean adds in.

“The last meal. Given to sacrificial victims.” Sam acknowledges.

Dean answers, “Yeah, we’re thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some Pagan god.”

“So, a god possesses the scarecrow…” Sam starts, Dean adding in with their usual weird finishing each other's sentences, “And the scarecrow takes its sacrifice. And for another year, the crops won’t wilt, and disease won’t spread.”

“Do you know which god you’re dealing with?” Sam asks.

“Well, there’s hundreds of Gods.” I answer, “But it will most likely align with Norse Paganism which are broken up into two sections one of them being Vanir Gods. From what I remember they’re Gods of fertility, wealth, wisdom and two other things. I don’t remember too much and unfortunately there’s an issue with the internet so I can’t even confirm my theory.”

Sam laughs, “What do you mean issue?”

“Long story,” Dean responds, “But we’re on our way to a local community college, they have a book on Norse Gods there. You know, since we don’t have our geek boy to figure out the issue with the internet crap.”

Sam laughs again, “You know, if you’re hinting you need my help, just ask.”

“I’m not hinting anything.” Dean replies quickly with a fake annoyance to his voice, “Actually, uh—“ He looks at me as if he isn’t sure what to say, I nod my head encouragingly, “I want you to know….I mean, don’t think….”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, too.” Sam says seriously, seemingly knowing what his brother was struggling to say.

Dean looks to his hands cradling his coffee cup to straight ahead through the windshield, “Sam. You were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.” I don’t try to bite back my smile, he wasn’t looking to begin with, either way I was proud of him.

“Are you serious?” Sam asks, probably never expecting to hear that.

“You’ve always known what you want. And you go after it. You stand up to Dad. And you always have. Hell, I wish I—“ He cuts himself off, sighing, “anyway….I admire that about you. I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” Sam says quietly.

“Say you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“Call me when you find Dad.”

“Ok.” Sam responds, though he sounds upset, "Bye, Dean.”

He collects his phone from the dashboard, hanging up. He catches me staring, “What?” I don’t answer, just smile at him, “No. Don’t give me that happy go lucky sweet look.”

“Oh come on!” I laugh, “That was really sweet of you Dean! So can’t a girl be proud of her boy.”

He rolls his eyes, placing his coffee in the cupholder before crossing his arms across his chest, but his face gives him away a light pink gracing his cheeks. “You are a sweetie pie” I declare, placing a hand on his shoulder. He removes one of his arms from their own hold, placing a warm hand on top of mine, grasping it gently to remove it, “I’m not.” he bites. His tough boy act was so cute.

“If you say so” I shrug, the smile on my face giving away the fact that this wasn’t me giving up on the fact he was a total softy. He turns his head away, facing his window, mumbling something incoherent.

I want to start skipping into the library, who knew a community college would have such a nice one. Though to be fair I would say any library was nice as long as it was in good shape. I make my way to the librarian's desk, “Hello!” I greet, my excitement getting the best of me, “Could you point us to the books on Paganism? Or even just Norse mythology?”

The old woman at the desk looks at me a little strangely, maybe I came off too strong. But her expression contorts into a small smile, “One of our dear old professors would have those sorts of books, lucky for you sweetie I think he’s free right now. I can just give him a little call.”

I look back at Dean, who stands a little bit behind me, he shrugs, I guess it wouldn’t hurt talking to a professor about this. Especially if it meant looking at that book.

I turn back to the old librarian, “Yes please.” But she already placed the phone back in its holder, “He’ll be right down.” Oh. Okay, this woman works fast. “You can take a seat there, it’ll be a moment” she points to just behind us at a mostly empty table. “Thank you!” I smile.

“It’s not every day I get a research question on Pagan ideology.” Professor Williams says, as he leads us to his classroom.

“Yeah, well, call it a hobby.” Dean responds, not sounding all that amused.

“Well what are you looking for in particular?” The older man asks.

“Uh, local lore, maybe” Dean answers, looking at me to jump in at any time but I don’t know if I want to put all my eggs in one basket. We had to choose who we could trust here, and maybe I shouldn’t have been so forward with the nice librarian but doing so made getting to the book easier. I hope. “I’m afraid Indiana isn’t really known for its Pagan worship.” He answers.

I can already feel this being a painfully slow lead to the answer, “You know, actually,” I began, “I was interested in the Vanir Gods. It struck me the other day and when I can’t get an easy answer for something I go digging.” The professor stops in his tracts, turning to face me, “Very well. I was not expecting to hear such a clear topic.”

I laugh a little uncomfortably, “I just like to learn.”

We follow him down the rest of the long hallway into his classroom. A small room with desks and chairs lined in order while a large whiteboard rested on the long wall. He beckons us over to his desk, a thick and long brown leather bound book lying there, “Well, let’s see.” He leafs through a couple of pages seeking what seems to be the chapter he’s looking for, “Ah ha, there we are” he declares, turning the book towards us.

I read the first page quickly, breezing through information I already knew. I turn to the next page only to be met with a picture of a scarecrow-like thing on a post in a field with farmers surrounding it. I read out loud the text just below the image, “The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male, and one female.”

I looked up from the book catching Dean's eyes, this was definitely it. “This particular Vanir that’s energy sprung from the sacred tree?” Dean asks, gaze flipping to the man in question.

“Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic.” He answers not all that helpfully.

“So what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it’d kill the god?” Dean questions further. He’s really just putting it all out there. The professor laughs, “Son, these are just legends we’re discussing.”

“Yes of course” I fake laugh along with him, “My, uh, friend here just loves the hypotheticals, you know?”

“I do,” Dean nods seriously. The professor just looks at us strangely. God I really hope he just thinks we’re weird people. “Listen, thank you very much.” Dean says, holding out his hand. The professor takes it, giving what seems like a firm handshake before offering one to me, “Yes, thank you so much,” I say sincerely, taking his hand for a single awkward handshake.

I follow Dean to the door, an odd feeling settling itself in my gut as if something was about to happen. He opens the door and the feeling spikes, my heart jumping at the simple action. What the hell. I want to ignore it, push it to the back of mind and chalk it up to just random anxiety. But I can’t, genuine fear twists itself around within me, clawing at the walls of my stomach as if to warn me. Just as my foot breeches the hallway everything in me screams to turn around.

I listen to my body, turning around as I take a half step back, a large book only inches from my face. A small breathy squeak leaves my lips as I duck, a loud bang and tumble coming from beside me. This was a trap.

Using my bent knees as leverage as well as the attackers stumbling at missing me, I latch on to their forearms pushing up and out still holding on tightly as I lift my leg and kick. My foot connects with the soft expanse of the person's stomach, letting go of his arms at the same time. It was no doubt the professor as he was the only one in the room with us. I watch him stumble backwards, knocking into his desk roughly.

My brain works quickly, adrenaline rushing through my veins. The bang and tumble I heard must have been someone attacking Dea—I twisted my upper body to the right, catching the sheriff's wrist before the blunt of his gun could hit me too. I didn’t need to look to know he already got Dean. God this town was crooked.

I bring his arm down closer to my level, twisting it in an attempt to put it behind him, but he uses his free hand to left hook me, his fist connecting with my cheekbone. I let go of his arm at the action, my hand instinctively going to my cheek that stinged until something cold clinked onto my wrist. I knew it was handcuffs but my eyes went to my wrist anyways just as he clicked into place the other half of the cuff.

He looked smug, as if he had won. He must have been stupid. Not that it changed much but my hands were cuffed in front of me, magic aside it couldn’t have stopped me. I tilt my head slightly, giving him a ‘seriously?’ look before kicking him where the sun doesn't shine, immediately he doubles over holding onto his crotch with teary eyes. I guess you could add assaulting a police officer to my list of crimes, he may have been a sheriff but it probably still counted.

He would be down at least for a minute or more so I turned back to the professor who seemed to be stalking closer with the same book raised as if he was trying to kill a bug. The second my eyes landed on him he stopped moving, I foiled his plan. “Could you stop with the book?!” I exclaim. He seems to contemplate what I said, his eyes slipping from me to something behind me. He was not good at this fighting thing.

Thin but strong arms wrap around me, forcing my arms to my chest. I flailed around trying to shake the guy off, I didn’t want to use my magic yet. The less they knew the better. “Watch, she’s a kicker” the professor warns. “I know” the somewhat familiar voice of the sheriff huffed from behind me, his chest rumbling with each word. His chest was rising and falling fast, I wonder if he fully recovered from my crotch attack or if he was pushing through.

All at once I stop flailing, a smirk making its way on my face, and before anyone can do or say anything more I bite down hard on the sheriff's hand, my neck bending at a weird angle to reach him. He yells letting me go to hold his wounded limb.

I take a couple steps away from both of them, “I’m also a biter,” I muse. I look between both men, neither of them seeming to know what to do. They hadn’t expected this. “Which one of you wants to go next?” I point between either of them, the handcuffs rattling with my movement, “ ‘cause I can go all day, baby.”

They look at each other, worried in their eyes. The sheriff's throat bobbed with a hard auditable gulp. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re scared” I tease, smirking viciously, I was having too much fun with this.

The sheriff reaches slowly for his gun, the one he must have put back after I kicked him. I watch him do it, he’d pull it but wouldn’t shoot and ask me to stand down or come with him. He expects me to be afraid of the gun, at the prospect of being shot which is why he assumes it would work. He pulls it out, holding it firmly out in front of him aiming for my chest, “Get on your knees. Hands behind your head!” he yells. How predictable.

The smirk on my face only deepens, I lift an eyebrow at him, “If you wanted me on my knees so badly you could’ve just asked.” I was never usually so flirty or straightforward, but this was just so fun. I knew I was getting cocky. Maybe I was hanging around Dean too much. “Knees now!” He yells again. At this point he was just feeding me these easy openings. A laugh escapes my lips, I must look like a psychopath.

He readjusts the gun in his hand, his finger scooting back towards the trigger, but he couldn’t shoot, not when they wanted to use Dean and I as sacrifices. “Last chance!” He warns. Last chance indeed.

I catch my eyes flaring purple in his shiny revolver, a look of horror and confusion apparent on his face. A look I was used to, and as much as it normally would upset me I could use it now. The air fizzled around me, maybe I was getting better at this, in a blink of an eye I was right behind him. I kick the back of his knee, the man buckling under his own weight, his gun going off. The bullet hits the ceiling light right above where I stood only moments before.

Shards of glass fall, the light flickering for dominance before eventually going dark. I easily grasp the gun from his hand, turning the safety back on before sliding it across the floor out of the room. Without a plan to actually hurt the man, I used what he gave me, pressing the linked chains of the handcuffs to his neck as I brought the back of his head to my stomach.

He grunts against my hold his hands trying to pry the chain off as his eyes search the professors for help, but his partner backs away hands up in defense. I loosen up my hold, I wasn’t trying to severely hurt the guy or kill him for that matter. “‘Had enough?” I ask, mostly teasing.

Suddenly a soft plush material is pressed to my face, I move to fight or teleport away but my limbs suddenly feel too heavy and my eyes begin to droop. My body feels like it’s falling even as I stand in place, I think. My eyes begin to flutter close, my legs giving out on me. The world turns black.

My head feels fuzzy. My eyes are too heavy to open just yet. It smelt bad, a musty smell combined with a farm-like smell. The ground was comfortable.

I try to open my eyes but they flutter shut again. Someones calling my name, they’re too far away…need to come closer. My head was pounding.

Something suddenly brushes into my hair repeatedly. Even still half gone, fear spikes in me. My eyes shoot open, my upper body jolting up into a seated position. Familiar hands hold my shoulders as I sway, the room seeming to move back and forth, “It's okay, you’re okay” Dean says soothingly. I stare at him, his features becoming less and less blurry as I blink.

He cups my face gently, his fingers barely brushing against my skin. He seems to study me, most likely noting the bruise that is undoubtedly forming where I was hit. His thumb brushes over my wounded cheekbone gently, yet even so I wince sucking in a breath between my teeth. “Sorry” he mumbles, meeting my eyes. I hum, my tongue feeling too heavy to utter a word. “What happened to you?” he asks softly.

I swallow, trying to force my tongue to work enough to answer but my words still come out too quietly, “You went down first. I fought, but I think someone else came. They covered my mouth with a thingy, maybe they used, um, what is it called?” My thoughts felt all jumbled still, fog covering the expanse of my brain. My head was killing me too much to think straight. He practically scowls, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned down in a frown, “Chloroform” he answers. I smile weakly, “yeah that.”

I want to lay down. The room was still spinning, my head hurt. This was embarrassing, I had gotten all confident before– feeling invincible only to be drugged. I remove Dean's hands from my face, holding them instead as I place them on his lap. I looked around us, the room might be moving but it was obvious enough it was some sort of basement. No, a cellar. It was dark and empty, except for the straws of hay lying around. And just across from us was a small staircase up to what seemed like cellar doors. “It's locked,” Dean says, noticing my stare. Of course it is.

But if I could just right my mind, clear the fog, I could get us out easy peasy. Almost as if I willed it, the cellar doors creek open. The sunlight floods through, I try to block it with my hand, the sudden light worsening my headache if that was even possible. I need Advil. Dean lets go of my hand getting up quickly, just watching the quick movement makes me want to vomit. I blink slowly, following suit, with a lot of stumbling I make it to my feet even as it feels like the room is pulling me down.

Four jerks stand just outside the cellar, Harley and Stacy, Scotty, and the Sheriff. Harley moves close to the stairs as if he's about to descend them before getting abruptly stopped by the Sheriff, “I wouldn’t, she's feisty.” Dean laughs at that, my assault on the man very apparent by the various bruises he displayed. I would smirk or laugh too if it didn't feel like I was using all my energy to keep me standing. Harley knocks the Sheriff's hand off but makes no move to get closer, “She’s also still drugged” he bites. “Wrong,” I pointed a finger up, feeling more like a drunk as I spoke, “This would be the side effects or aftermath of Chloroform.” All four of them looked at me blankly, maybe I was wrong. I don't know.

“I hope you both know this is for the common good,” Stacy nods. I furrow my eyebrows, “Thanks for the preaching, lady. It really eases the brain into all this sacrificial nonsense.”

“That's enough” she replies rather calmly before nodding to the others. They begin to close the cellar doors, darkness enveloping us. I sat down rather quickly, landing on my butt harshly, “I'm surprised you didn't say anything snarky to them.”

“You were more entertaining” He answers with a half shrug. He tries the cellar door again but of course it's locked, he huffs moving to sit next to me.

I lean my head on his shoulder. He speaks softly now so as not to disturb my throbbing head, “Where do you think this important tree would be?” He was referring to the tree we would have to destroy in order to kill the scarecrow, and it was a good question. “Hm” I hum, “It would be the oldest tree here, probably the most protected. Maybe the first immigrants brought it over here, so it’s wherever they would plant it. I would say in the middle.” He nods and I swear I could hear the gears in his head turning.

The cellar doors open again, Stacy coming into view “It’s time.” I want to ask why they didn't just take us the first time they opened the doors but I guess waiting to die a little later was better than sooner. I remove my head from Dean's shoulder, do we fight? It would be 4 against 2 except I wasn't completely okay. But we could fight, right? I mean we always make it out, we always wind up fine.

Harley and the Sheriff come down the stairs, the Sheriff watches me carefully as he lifts Dean forcefully up. Harley doesn't show any remorse as he grips my forearm tightly, lifting me to my feet before grabbing my other arm roughly holding them behind my back. I struggle against him attempting to step hard on his foot as he forces me up the stairs behind Dean.

Real fear twirled itself around me, were we not going to fight?

They drag us forward deeper into the orchard, I dig my heels into the dirt trying to slow it down as much as I can. I’m scared. I don't want to die. I don't want to be sacrificed to some god. Please. Please. My headache needs to go away, let me use my powers without pain. I struggle against him more, trying to let my magic seep into anything around me but immediately my headache worsens by ten folds. I grunt in frustration, trying to shake the older man off further but he only tightens his grip. I hope bruises won't come from it, not that it would matter if I died today. I close my eyes tightly, digging my heels in further, please. Please. Anything, please.

Harley pushes me forward effortlessly. I don't want to die. Please. Please.

The ground begins to rumble, shaking violently. Apples tumble from the trees hitting the ground with a bunch of thumps. My heart beats wildly in my chest as if it's trying to jump out and run away. His grip loosens on me as he freezes in place, “It's angry at us!” Stacy yells covering her head. I wiggle out of Harleys hold, taking a couple steps away as my legs wobble like the ground. A familiar click locks into place, I come face to face with a gun, “It’s not causing this. It's her” the Sheriff accuses.

“Dont touch her” Dean yells, struggling against Scotty's hold. The Sheriff must have passed him on to hold me at gunpoint for the second time today. “I'm not doing anything” I spit, the shaking ground growing more intense.

“Your eyes are glowing again” he states. “What are you talking about?” I nearly yell, I think I would know if I was using my own abilities. Plus I've never done anything like this before so how would I be able to do so now?

Before I can react he has my hair wrapped in his fist, pulling my head back forcefully a hiss of pain escaping my lips. It felt like it was going to rip itself right from the roots. “Dont you fucking hurt her!” Dean roars. The ground seems to become more violent, the large trees themselves shaking where they stood while everyone nearly stumbles over. He pulls my hair hard, my neck snapping back as he moves his shiny gun in front of me, showing me its side.

My only slightly blurred reflection stares back at me. My cheekbone had a dark bruise painted there and my eyes were–

My irises were purple. No. It doesn't make sense, I wasn't controlling this. I wasn't making it happen, I've never done this before. The Sheriff pushes me forward letting go of my hair at the last minute, I fall to my knees only a foot away from him. The barrel of the gun is pressed into the back of my skull, “Make it stop or I'll make you stop” he threatens. I can hear Dean struggle against Scotty again, and in the corner of my eyes I see him finally pull away before turning around and punching the man right in the face. Scotty doubles over, but before Dean could do any more damage to anyone else Harvey grabs him.

“You can't kill her, we have to leave them both for it” Stacy argues. The ground seems to roar, the earth shaking so siverley I nearly fall to my hands. “I would stop if I could!” I admit, “I don't kno–” I cut myself off, a sudden deep memory making its way to the surface of my brain. A memory of a deceased corn field, a disaster I caused.

“Make it stop!” the sheriff spits. “I told you I don't know h–” Suddenly the gun is raised up and before I could do anything to stop it, the gun hits the side of my skull. My head feels like it explodes as I hit the ground, my eyes struggle to stay open. The last thing I see before it all goes dark again is Dean trying to lunge forward and the ground halting in its shaking.

My eyes flutter open, my horrible headache accompanied with an even worse head-ache. Both in my head and outside. At this point my brain should be a scrambled mess.

My wrists were zip tied to a thinner part of the tree trunk my back rested on. It was just beginning to be dark out. I move my gaze from above me to across me, Dean sitting against a different tree in the same position I was in. His eyes widen and he attempts to move closer before grunting in frustration at the restrictions of his wrists, “You're awake. Are you okay?” He licks his lips, “I swear to fuckin’ god I’ll kill ‘em.”

I don't say anything, my head is too heavy. He's staring at me with wide eyes, fear clear in his irises. “‘You okay?” he asks again. I nod, my head hurts and I’m confused and upset, but I’m alive so I’m okay. He shakes his head, “No.” I look at him confused, I don't understand. He continues to shake his head, wetting his lips again, “Say it. I need to hear you say it,” he sounded breathless, “I need to hear you say you're okay.”

“Im okay” I say weakly. He sighs, relief clear in the way his shoulders drop. But I had a feeling he knew I wasn't being totally truthful.

He swallows roughly, “Can you see the scarecrow?” Despite my heavy head I look in each direction for the thing, until I can slightly see the post. “Dean” I start and I can hear my own voice wobble with fear, “It's not there.” He fights against his restraints, and I would join him in that effort if my head hasn't already given up on me. “I hope their apple pie is frickin’ worth it” he grumbles.

A shadow catches just behind Dean, I squint hoping I'm just seeing things from potential brain damage then the actual scarecrow. “Dean, I think it's behind you.” Forget everything I said and thought, I begin fighting against my own restraints, the zip ties digging into my wrists harshly. “Dean?” a familiar voice called out.

Sam’s tall figure comes into view as he rounds the tree Dean is tied to. Dean twists his neck oddly to see his brother, “Oh!” he sighs in relief, “Oh, I take everything back I said. I'm so happy to see you. Come on.” Sam takes that as his chance to assess his brother's binding before pulling out his pocket knife, “‘You okay, Y/N?” he asks as he works on sawing the bindings. “Dandy” I respond, truly done with this all.

“How’d you get here?” Dean asks his brother.

“I, uh–I stole a car.”

Dean laughs at that, “That's my boy!” His bindings finally break with a snap. Sam doesn't wait for his brother to get up as he walks the short distance to me, beginning to remove my own restraints. His eyes gaze down at me every now and then, most likely assessing the damage.

Deans at my side a breath later, squatting down to be at my level. He brings his hand carefully to my face, gently moving a piece of my hair behind my ear. Something feels dried and stiff there and I wonder if it's blood from being hit or just dirt. I tilt and roll my head away from him, the pain overwhelming even with the delicate touch.

My restraints snap above me, bits of the plastic tangling itself into my hair. My wrists are raw and red, just one more thing to add to the list. I place my hands on the cold dirt, trying to pick myself up but my ears begin to ring and my vision spins. I sit back down again, huffing. Strong arms grab my arm and waist all but lifting me off the ground and onto my feet, “‘You got eyes on the scarecrow?” Dean asks, looking at his brother who shakes his head. “Alright, I can carry you, the clearing isn’t far off” Dean says looking down at me.

“That's ridiculous,” I shake my head, “I’ll slow you down. I’ll just push through, and we don't have time to argue this.” He grumbles, he doesn't like the idea. But again we don't know where the scarecrow is and we can't waste time bickering over stupid logistics.

I immediately regret not taking the offer. My brain feels like it's jumping around in my skull and swishing side to side as if on a boat. I feel like the orchard is spinning around me, tumbling over itself like one of those tunnels in a fun house.

“Alright, now, this sacred tree you’re talking about–” Sam pants lightly as we run, Dean having filled him in on the information we gathered. “It's the source of its power” I finish, my voice feeling far away even in my own ears. “So let’s find it and burn it.” Sam annonces.

“Nah, in the morning.” Dean counters, “Let’s just shag ass before Leather face catches up.”

We come to a skidding stop, just at a clearing of trees the four jerks from before as well as a couple others stand guard. Sam nudged us in a different direction just to be met with a wall of people, we were surrounded. “Did the whole fricking town come to watch us die?!” I exclaim, “Just let us leave!” I was so tired of this, I just want to go to a motel or something and shower off today's fears before falling into a deep sleep. “It’ll be over quickly” Harley says, and if it was meant to be comforting it was not working. “It's for the greater go–” suddenly a sickle is pushed through his stomach. His mouth opens in shock, blood dripping down the sides. Screams come from all around us, and I hardly know if I was screaming too.

He’s raised off the ground before the sickle is quickly pulled out. Stacy still stands there screaming, watching her dying husband on the floor. But soon her screams are cut off too, the sickle going through her throat. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open too as blood not only spurts out of her neck but spills down like a waterfall onto her shirt. The air fills quickly with all the blood's metallic scent. The scarecrow does not retract its weapon, keeping the curved blade in her neck as it grabs onto Harley's collar dragging them both behind it.

Shock had frozen us in place, but apparently not the townspeople. “Come on let’s go,” Dean insists, leading us away.

Morning came by far too slowly but at least we passed the time by using the stolen car to drive back to the college to get the Impala before returning to the orchard. It all went by so weirdly, I knew I was moving but it felt like I never left that road outside the expanse of apple trees. I hardly remember the drive there or the drive back, everything still spun and the ringing only got louder. I think I might have lost my mind.

We stand in front of the sacred tree though I don't remember how we found it. The tree had Vince’s tattoo printed onto it, that was a tell tale sign it was the right one. Sam pours gasoline all over it, Dean picks up a long branch lighting it on fire before throwing it onto the tree. “‘Think the towns ‘gonna be okay?” Sam asks as the flaming tree roars with the crackling flames. “Don’t know” Dean shrugs, but I think the answer was apparent to all of us.

“And the rest of the townspeople, they’ll just get away with it?” Sam adds.

“Well, what’ll happen to the town will have to be punishment enough.” Dean answers.

We walk back to the car leaving the burning tree behind us, though I hope it won’t spread and cause a whole forest fire, “So, can I drop you off somewhere?” Dean asks.

“No, I think you’re stuck with me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“I didn’t. I still wanna find Dad. And you’re still a pain in the ass.” Sam explains, “But, Jess and Mom—they’re both gone. Dad is God knows where. You, me, Y/N. We’re all that’s left. So, if we’re gonna see this through, we’re gonna do it together.”

I give Sam's arm a little squeeze, it was a really sweet speech.

“Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful.” Dean smiles, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder who hits it away. They fall into a fit of laughter, “You should be kissing my ass, you were dead meat, dude.” Sam says between laughs.

“Yeah, right. I had a plan, I’d have gotten us out.” Dean scuffs.

“Right.”

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #john winchester #slow burn #witch reader #witchcraft #dean winchester x witch reader #dean winchester x f!reader #the hunter and the witch #the hunter and the witch update #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female reader #angst #arguing

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kenny-the-ken · 1 year

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Save the Date

Aged up readers, Y/N is 17, Kenny is 18. All in high school. Mentions of drugs, alcohol, sexual themes and strong language. NOT FOR MINORS!! I hope you all enjoyed my first fic, it was written while running after my 2 year old who throws WAY too many tantrums so sorry if it wasn't my greatest work!

Kenny watched you from across the classroom, he watched how you twiddled your pen between your thumb and forefinger, how you the tip of your tongue darted out of your mouth as you concentrated on what you were writing. Your perfect y/h/c hair flowing in soft waves that cascaded down your back. He had fallen, and he had fallen hard.

Both of you were inseparable, the best of friends, you did everything together, albeit not much, because neither of you could afford to go a lot of places. He loved nothing more than laying down beside you in your bed with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, you were the one of the only people that knew he was Mysterion, you were one of the very lucky few who had seen him without his orange parka hood suffocating his face. But the most important to him, you were the only one to remember, the first time he died in front of you, you were shattered to a million pieces, your heart completely broken, and the only thing that could ever fix it was Kenny coming back alive, not like that could ever happen.

But it did, and when you heard a small knock on your front door all those years ago, opening it to see those beautiful blue eyes and fluffy blonde hair standing smiling at you, your face covered in smeared black lines of mascara, he knew.

"Kenny?" You uttered, rubbing your eyes as if you were hallucinating, a glove clad hand reaching to cup your tear stained face, he just simply looked at you, tears now welling in his own eyes.

"You- You remember?" He asked, you giving him a small nod as his answer. You smiled, tears still falling down your face.

"Of course I remember, Kenny! You got hit by a bus and everyone shouted about how you'd been killed and then called them bastards!" You responded, before he grabbed you with both hands, saying nothing but pulling you close to him for the tightest hug you'd ever had.

"I'm so glad you remember. No one else does."

That day will stay forever engraved in his mind for as long as he was destined to be on this earth for. And he knew, he knew you were his one true soul mate. Yeah, Kenny had been with plenty of girls before, but none of them made him feel how you did, normally so confident in asking girls out, he was known as a flirt, but he had never been confident enough to ask you out. That was until today.

"Put your balls in your purse, Kinny!" Eric said to him, exiting the class watching you walking in front of him. He was half listening, half in a daydream about how good your ass looked in your jeans.

"Kenny? Hello? Earth to Kenny, are you even listening to us?!" Kyle said, waving his hands in the air in front of Kenny's face.

"Hey dude, I was getting a good view there!! Fuck you, man!" Kenny exclaimed, sighing as he seen you turn the corner in the corridor.

"Dude, you seriously gotta ask her out!" Stan said, the other two boys nodding in agreement.

"How, man? I don't have any money to take her places, what am I supposed to say, 'Hey Y/N wanna come to my house and see my shit bedroom, my mom and dad screaming at each other and our meth lab?!' She'd never go for a guy like me, dudes. And she deserves better than me." He said his head bowing to stare at the tiles of the corridor. His life really was a mess.

"And that's where the broship comes in, dude!" Eric exclaimed, the other boys staring at each other in confusion.

"I bet you $70 you won't ask her out by the end of the day!" Eric said, knowing Kenny couldn't pass up on money like that.

"And if you do, then the money will come in handy for a date right?" Eric said, a shit eating grin plastered upon his face.

"Fine." Kenny replied, saying nothing else before walking off to find you.

There you sat with the other girls, chatting about god knows what and eating your lunch. You could feel a pair of eyes burning through the back of your skull as you turned round, there he stood, your prince in an orange parka. You couldn't see it because of his hood, but he was smiling at you, and was that a blush on his cheeks?

You had serious love and feelings for Kenny, and you always had, but you knew he was a player, he had been with a lot of girls throughout the years, and he never ever chose you, maybe he just didn't see you that way.

He was nervous, a small bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. He made his way over to you.

"Is it hot in here, or is it just being so close to you, girl?" Kenny flirted, causing a small blush to spread along your cheeks.

"What's up, Kenny?" You asked, offering him the half of your sandwich, he normally didn't have much food to eat, so you liked to help when you could. He great-fully accepted the kind offer and then bowed his head slightly, taking on a rather unusual mannerism for him. Normally he was so confident and cocky, but right now, he looked like he might pass out.

And he felt like it too!! Maybe he could just die accidentally and come back tomorr- No! He has to do this! It was now or never.

"Can I- um... can I talk to you about something?" Kenny asked, his gloved hands fidgeting together.

"Of course, Ken, we can talk about anything together! Do you wanna head somewhere more private?" You asked, as he simply nodded in reply, taking off a glove and offering his hand to you.

"I rolled a joint I didn't get to smoke before school today, wanna dip and go to the park?" Kenny questioned, his eyebrow quirking, hoping you'd be down.

"I have Mr Garrison's class after lunch so fuck yeah I wanna dip. My mom isn't home as usual, said she was going to get drugs last night and hasn't came back, so we can go smoke up at my house if you want? I've got frozen pizza!" You exclaimed, a large smile on your face. You could never pass up quality time with Kenny, you both knew that.

"That sounds like absolute bliss, babe. But when we smoke up, I really do need to talk to you about something." He stated, your hands now fully intertwined. As you guys approached the double doors of the school you passed Eric, Kyle and Stan, the three boys staring at you both, wide eyed and mouths wide.

"Hey, fuck you Kinny!" Eric shouted, handing him $70. "Make it last! God knows when you'd be able to get $70 again, Kinny!" He shouted loudly, the blonde boy smirking and flipping him off on his way out the door.

"Fuck you, dude! I'll text y'all later." He shouted back, the doors finally closing behind you both.

The walk was long and cold to your house, since you lived in the same part of town as Kenny, and the school bus wasn't running, since technically school was still in session. During the walk Kenny had shedded his jacket, putting it on you instead, making sure you didn't catch sick and kept warm in the never ending snow that resided in South Park.

Soon enough you were both in your bedroom, the window cracked slightly as Kenny sparked his lighter, taking a long, slow drag of the joint before passing it to you.

"So, what did you wanna talk about? Has your dad gone psycho again?" You asked, taking a few drags of the joint and passing it back to Kenny, your hands grazing slightly, and when you two touched, it felt electric.

He shook his head no. "No, for once it's not my parents." He laughed out, smoke coming down his nostrils.

"Then what's wrong, Ken?" You asked eyebrows raised as your studied your best friends face. He had a light dusting of freckles, soft, pale skin and the most perfect, light pink lips and of course you couldn't forget the adorable little gap in his teeth when he smiled at you. You were in love, you had been in love with him for as long as you could remember.

His hands were ice cold, the blood not reaching them due to the speed his heart was beating at.

"I um... I-" He stuttered, his cheeks a deep shade of crimson, as he quickly puffed on the joint you two shared, passing it to you, he should've asked if you had any vodka here that he could take a shot of, a little Dutch courage, but it was too late, he was already sitting here, your full attention on him as he became a stammering mess.

He took his gaze away from you before he said it, he actually had finally said it to you, and he did so as quickly as the words would come out of his mouth.

"Do you maybe wanna, I don't know, bemygirlfriend? I mean, only if you want to! If you don't, I totally understand, I wouldn't wanna be with me either, I mean, you deserve the world and I can barely afford to feed myself-"

You cut him off by grabbing the front of his t-shirt and pulling him towards you, your lips crashing against one another. You had waited for this since you were younger, you had always dreamed of being his, being his girl. And now you were!

His eyes fluttered closed, melting against you and wrapping his slender arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him on the bed. He had dreamt about this, he had wanked about this! More than once! He'd thought about how your boobs looked without any clothing covering them, how your nipple would feel in his mouth, how hard he could slap your ass, how tight you would feel around his coc-

You both parted ways, panting as you did, a string of salvia connecting your mouths. Both of you were blushing profusely, and Kenny shifted on the bed, feeling the tightness in his jeans starting to bother him.

"I've wanted to do that since the fourth grade." You said, almost in a whisper, only for Kenny to hear.

"Then let's go use this $70 fat ass gave me and I'll take you on our first official date!" Kenny said, a small smile on his lips as he kept his arms wrapped tightly around you, as if a gust of wind could blow you away from him.

"I love you, Kenny McCormick."

"I love you too, Y/N, and I always have." Kenny sighed, the relief he felt come crashing over him. He no longer had to keep it a secret, he loved you, and you loved him, and that was all the mattered. You made him want to stay alive, you made him happy, and you made him whole. I guess soul mates really do exist.

Hey guys!! I really hope you enjoyed this fic, I just kinda banged it out and I haven't checked any spelling or typos, so I'm really sorry about that, I just hope you all enjoy it. Kenny's a cute lil fluff, and I love writing for him, but I'll write for anyone from South Park so if you guys have any suggestions or requests please do send them my way!!

#kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick smut #kenny mccormick x reader #kenny south park #stan marsh #stan south park #eric cartman #kyle south park #kyle brovlofski #south park #south park x reader

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bitchinbarzal · 1 year

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Last Christmas | M.Barzal

this is my entry for @antoineroussel christmas fic exchange!

this is for you, @lhugh! happy holidays annie 🎄🤍

this fic does use they/them pronouns as they are annie’s pronouns! 🫶🏼

word count: 2,461 words

Last Christmas, you walked into December planning every festive activity possible; the Rockefeller Christmas tree, Nutcracker at New York City ballet, Radio City Rockettes even letting Mat show you up at skating.

That was until Mat dropped the break up bomb on you. You couldn’t really comprehend it all, too confused and hurt at once.

You were supposed to spend Christmas with Mat and the team at the Martin’s. You never answered Sydney’s texts after the breakup.

You spent Christmas alone.

You were thankful the islanders tanked their 21/22 season. It meant that they all left to go home as soon as possible.

That meant no islanders, no jerseys, no chants on the train home from work.

No Mat.

He went home to Coquitlam two days after the islanders lost to Tampa.

Mat spent his first summer in seven years bouncing around from place to place. He was out on the lake with Tyson for a few weeks and he visited Anthony and Emma when they bought their new home in Quebec.

He wasn’t home long with his family until he got a call, from Brock. His dad had died.

He asked if you and Mat could attend the funeral, his father really adored you both in the time he’d met you and he knew Mat well. Mathew agreed to attend, claiming you were busy but sent your well wishes.

He flew into Minnesota the day prior, dropping off flowers to Brock’s mom and she welcomed him into her home giving him a drink and thanking him for coming.

“He always liked watching you play, unless you played against Vancouver of course” she laughed, Mat gave her a smile “It’s a shame y/n couldn’t come”

“Yeah, it’s a shame” he mumbled.

Next he saw her was at the funeral, listening while she stood talking about her husband, the love she had for him, how much she missed him already.

All Mat could think about when he heard her words were you.

You were his best friend.

You were the person who knew him best.

You were supposed to be around forever.

When Mat got home after that trip he didn’t do much, he was no longer in the mood to go out partying, celebrating with friends.

Mat returned to Long Island in the end of August.

He frequented the coffee shop you guys often did and he even walked the route in the morning you did. He didn’t see you.

It wasn’t until week 3 of attending the same coffee shop that the barista, Logan said to him

“Mat, they don’t come in here anymore I’m sorry. Said they needed a fresh start after the breakup”

He silently nodded to the girl, hoping she hadn’t caught his face falling. He simply took his flat white from the counter and exited to building.

Contract talks started in mid-september.

The organization called in May to the office to discuss; throwing around money and perks.

He took the time to digest the information. He called him mom and dad to see what their opinions were on the whole thing, called his financial advisor and even called Anders but the number he kept hovering over belonged to you.

Everyone’s advice was along the lines of “you need to see yourself settling down in Long Island with a contract term like that” and he did, with you.

The deal was signed on October 4th.

@ny_islanders: “I love It here” says Mathew Barzal, after signing his 8 year extension to stay here in Long Island 💙🤍🧡

You read the tweet, saw the posts and the stories from your mutual friends. You wanted to text him — tell him congratulations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

So instead, you simply put an orange heart emoji under the islanders post about his extension and scrolled on.

Mat saw it. His heart soared at the simplicity of it but yet the fact he knew you were still thinking of him, that you in some way still cared.

Late October, the leaves were starting to fall and hockey was beginning again. Mat wasn’t playing his best — missing goals, easy passes and a lot of falling over.

People started doubting him; calling him a fake, a money grabber and claiming they wished Lou hadn’t even drafted his extension papers.

Mat started to doubt himself too.

was he good enough?

should he have signed the papers?

was he worth the money?

was Long Island better off without him? were you?

There is was! The real problem.

Ever since that last December his mind had been stuck on you and really it shouldn’t have because it was his fault, he broke up with you.

If anyone asked Mat why you broke up he would say “We just wanted different things”

If Mat was honest with himself he would say “I was scared I wasn’t enough for them”

The first few months of hockey came and passed with not a single goal from Mat.

Lambert pulled him aside one morning at practice to tell him “You better get your head out of your ass son because one more game the way you’ve been going and you’ll be benched for the rest of this year”

The last game in November, against Philadelphia Mat was a healthy scratch.

His punishment was over by the next game but Lane told him in no specific terms he had to step up. Mat just groaned and mumbled a “Yeah, I’m fucking trying” before leaving the office.

It was harder now that it was December.

In summer he could just pretend things weren’t different.

You weren’t at his families house? You had to be with your mom.

He was alone at the casino event? You had work.

But Christmas, that was different. Christmas wasn’t something he could sweep under the rug and pretend you were busy.

You’d spent every Christmas together since Mat was eighteen years old. Your first Christmas in New York was an overwhelming experience and Mat thought it adorable at how excited you were about everything.

He bought you a necklace that year. It had his number on it, the gold chain necklace held the number thirteen on your chest and you never took it off.

It was a staple piece in your collection, whenever someone at one of your fancy work dinners or meetings would ask

“Hey why does your necklace have the thirteen on it?”

You would smile so bright, in such adoration and reply “My boyfriend, mat. He plays hockey for the New York Islanders and he’s number thirteen! but always number one to me” and everyone would laugh and call you cute.

You’d left that necklace behind the night you’d packed your stuff up to leave. Mat found it when he returned home from Boston on an away game to find you’d obviously been in and cleared out your belongings too while he was gone.

He took the necklace and posted it to your mom’s house, the only address connected to you he knew. He never knew if you’d gotten it back, not that it mattered much anyway because why would you want to wear it after you’d broken up?

Mat’s no goal streak continued up to the last game before Christmas, December 23rd and he was goal-less.

He was so frustrated at everything he couldn’t think straight about getting this goal. He was spending Christmas alone for the second year in a row — alone, without you.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. How you’d been here tonight wearing a silly Christmas jumper and cheering about the last game before Christmas.

They tanked the first period, Tkachuk got away with the puck leaving them up one by the end of the first. There were so many penalties, stupid penalties. It was a mess.

Second period, they equalised in the first few minutes with a goal from Beau before Brock got them up another which was matched not long after by Florida.

When the third period hit it was like something went off in Mat, that he had a surge of energy.

He got a goal, his first season goal! Then another and another with only a few seconds left on the clock.

Hat-trick. He got a hatty.

He’d done it. He finally scored a goal this season, they won the game and he got a hat-trick!

So why didn’t he feel like it was enough?

When he got back to the locker room, Mat pulled his phone out of his bag and looked at his notifications; texts from friends and family congratulating him on the goals, random emails but it was as though he was searching for something.

He clicked through the phone until he landed on what he wanted and pressed it before holding the phone up to his ear.

It rang twice before it connected

“Hello?”

“Um, hey! This is weird and I’m not sure why I’m doing this but I felt like I had to because, well because I scored my first goal of the season tonight. I scored my first season goal and I got a hatty too which I mean is a lot but I don’t feel like it’s enough”

Mat sighed, completely blocking out his team-mates listening to this conversation and looking on with sympathy

“It’s not enough because I know you’re not here-“

“-Mat-“

“No, please let me finish it’s taken me long enough to get the courage to call you. I was stupid for what I did last Christmas and I will wholeheartedly tell you that this year has been the worst year of my life and maybe you call that karma, I call it a wake up call that you… you’re the love of my life and that I want to be with you, I was scared and stupid but I’m better I will be better for you! I’m ready to be the man you need”

After his spiel, Mat took a deep breath awaiting your answer but instead was met with a dead line.

You hung up on him.

Mat looked dejectedly at him phone in hand before he got up to get dressed as he was very spitefully aware of the media and press awaiting him outside the door.

He breezed through media by giving them one word answers and a bored look, they usually let him away early when he did that.

Collecting his bag from the now empty locker room and sulking down the hallway towards the car park.

He wasn’t even looking up, instead opted for the wonderful view of his scuffed shoes. Paying so little attention he didn’t even see you standing at the end of the hallway.

“Nice shot!” His head whipped up, locking eyes with you almost immediately.

You watched his face go through a multitude of emotions before it softened and he muttered “What-“

“I was here Mat” is what you said, gesturing to the stairs you’d descended from your seat “I was sat up there and I watched it, I was cheering you on”

Mat was speechless, fumbling over his words and his eyes flickered across your body, trying to drink you in while you were stood in front of him before his eyes landed on your neck.

Lay on your black shirt was a necklace, the necklace.

The number thirteen lay to elegantly on your chest “You got it”

You looked down and smiled “Oh yeah, my mom sent it to my apartment” playing with it between your thumb and pointer finger.

A soft silence settled between you both, it wasn’t weird or awkward — it could never be awkward between you and Mat.

Until Mat broke the silence by asking

“Why are you here?”

You smiled gently “The islanders last game before Christmas has always been my tradition since I moved to New York you know that and so I never changed it this year, despite the circumstances” the last bit was a little snappy and he knew that.

“I meant what i said on that call by the way” you nodded curtly as a reply before holding out your hand for him to take

“How about you drive us around that neighbourhood with the good Christmas lights and we can talk, in the car eh?”

The Christmas lights, another tradition between you both.

Mat reached out, clasping his hand in yours and nodding “Yeah, let’s do that”

The lights on peoples home’s had somehow gotten better this year and you admired them all in a childlike fashion from the passenger seat of Mathew’s Range Rover.

“This is one of my favourite traditions we started” you say, still looking out the window. Your hand rested now on the console in the middle of the car.

Mat slipped his hand into yours, taking a leap of faith which paid off when you clasped it in yours and squeezed it.

“Yeah, i love it” he muttered, pulling the car into the side of the road now you’d reached the end of the street.

You turned to him now, waiting for him to say something.

“Listen, this is all really weird and I wish I was better with words because I would like to be able to tell you the million and one ways in which I absolutely adore you and regret what I did last Christmas every single day. However, what I can do is promise you, I promise you that I will work everyday to prove to you how much I love you and how sorry I am — I ruined Christmas and I think that’s what hurts the most is that I tainted something you love so much-“

You cut him off then, your hands resting on his cheeks; forcing him to look at you and you said “Christmas is not ruined, Christmas has brought me back to the boy I love with my whole heart and being. Don’t you ever think that you ruined Christmas because sure it wasn’t fun last year but we will have a million more Christmas’ to make up for it”

He nodded, head moving slightly so he could press a kiss onto your palm “I’ll make every Christmas the most special just for you”

“As long as I’ve got you, baby any Christmas is special”

On Christmas, when Mat arrived late to the Lee’s for Christmas with the team he walked in smiling

“Sorry, sorry I’m late I had to pick something up!”

“Dude it’s Christmas Day where could you possibly have gone to pick-“ Anthony cut himself off when he saw you enter the house, gifts stacked up in your arms that you placed on the table next to the door before grabbing Mat’s outreached hand.

“Oh my god, it’s a Christmas miracle!”

#mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine

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k1ngpin42 · 9 days

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✨Abandoned Lot ✨ (A Dinellabs story)

Request by: @Osteologistimposter

Warnings: Switch Ellie, Sub Dina, Dom Abby, fingering, public, threesome, other sexual stuff I don’t remember what honestly, minors DNI

Note: I’ve never even heard of this ship until this suggestion so bare with meee. Also Joel didn’t kill Abbys dad in this and Joels still alive too cause I mean 🤷 we’ve seen enough heart break in the show and game to have that angst with us today. Enjoy my pookies

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

Ellie had never been the type to be subtle when she had a crush on someone. This wasn’t to say she was a flirt, in fact it wasn’t definite Ellie even knew how to flirt, but her blushing and awkwardness (more so than usual) when she’s around someone she’s into says it all. This worked in her favour when it came to her relationship with Dina, who practically did all that scary, first kiss stuff for her, and now they were happily in a relationship. Mostly.

After Joel saved some chic called Abby from a horde of infected, Jackson had recently allied with her large group in Seattle. Women, children, a LOT of soldiers, and both Ellie and Dina alike had been interacting with them a lot. It was no secret that Dina had found Abby attractive when she would help her move stuff between the bases, and Ellie had similar experiences when she took up the shooting range and found Abby already immersed in it, not missing a single headshot on any of the mannequins.

The two hadn’t brought their attraction up seriously, but Dina had made one or two subtle jokes about Abby “joining them” when Ellie and Dina would go shower or get changed for patrol, to which Ellie would react with “reckon we should ask her?” Or simply a playful smile or laugh.

They had never expected to be in the position they were in now. Or rather, positions- with Dina leaning up against a truck, sitting in only her underwear on the ground of the abandoned parking lot with Ellie’s hand on her waist, watching Dinas eyes roll back as her fingers curl inside herself, all while Abby’s hand wraps around her neck while she leaves a line of hickeys down one side of it.

“Look how wet our girl is.” Abby remarks as she notices the shiny liquid coating Dinas fingers. Ellie hums. “Let me get that for you.” Without much more warning than that, she puts her whole mouth over Dina’s clothed area, tonguing her clit like it was necessary for their survival, and getting a chorus of desperate gasps as a result.

Abby doesn’t miss the chance to put both her wide hands on the smooth skin of Dinas face, kissing her deeply and muffling some of her gorgeous moans. It’s not long before Dina’s first orgasm of their afternoon swirls in her stomach, washing over her hard and causing any and every thought she could possibly have shatter into a million, insignificant pieces.

“Suck for me baby.” Abby coos, presenting Dina with a rather large black strap. She blushed hard.

“You’re gonna use that?” She asks, causing Abby only more amusement.

“You can take it, sweet girl. Or would you rather I dick your girlfriend first?”

“No. No I can take it." Dina tries, and neither Ellie nor Abby believe that.

“What do you think Ellie? Should I give it to her nice and slow? Or all at once?” Abby grips onto Dinas thighs, thrusting her into a new position.

“Let her get stretched out….” Abby chants, more to herself than to Ellie. “See how her pretty little body reacts to the two of us, hmm?” Abby tilts her head, admiring the view of the two of them.

“Take off your top.” She instructs Ellie, who’s face becomes red, much against her favour as she battles to keep her composure, convincing Abby she isn’t the brat Abby could so easily make her be.

“Fuck..look at you.” She exclaimed, cupping one of her warm breasts and fiddling with Ellie’s sensitive nipple between her fingertips. Ellie gasps at the suddenness of it all.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” She adds simply, sucking on the other as she continues feeling it. Dina chuckles shortly.

“You two know how to make a girl jealous.” She remarks, and Abby pulls her mouth away, smiling.

“M’sorry baby. Ellie, kiss your girlfriend for me while I put this on.” Abby effortlessly puts the strap around her waist, gripping onto Dina’s hips.

“Good girl Ellie, now just watch for a second m’kay? If you be good I’ll reward you is that okay?” Ellie sighs, already internally folding at Abbys words.

“Yeah.” She replied, lamely. Abby offered her hand to Dina as she thrust at least the first quarter of the strap inside

“Sorry…it might sting at first, just hold onto me.” Abby explained, not taking her eyes off of Dina’s cunt and the way it greedily swallowed at the tip of the strap. “I…like it.” Dina admits, and Abby just nods, already knowing by the way her body reacted to every bit of contact Abby had offered her so far. She increases the pressure, inching more of it inside her.

“Oh fuck…” Dina remarks, eyes rolling back to her head. Ellie pools at the sight of them, already feeling desperate to touch herself, but she knows better than that. Besides, the thought of being fucked within an inch of her life as a punishment from the significantly stronger woman was too intimidating for her to consider right now. And so she just watched in awe as Dina takes more and more of Abbys strap.

Abby cautiously puts a hand around Dina’s throat again.

“Can I squeeze it? I’ll be gentle.” Abby grazes the question against Dinas ear, almost entirely inside her now. Dina was already so cock-drunk, which only added to Abbys arrogance as she moved effortlessly in and out of Dinas pretty body. Ellie and Dina rarely used a strap. Ellie claims it feels better natural, whether that involves grinding on each others thighs or pussies, Ellie preferred it that way. This was far different. It was hard, desperate, and Abby had so much control, more than Ellie ever had over her physically, and for some reason both Ellie and Dina were fucking encapsulated by that.

“I asked you a question.”

“Fuck…fuck sorry- yes…choke me please.”

“Please?” Repeats Abby teasingly, directing her gaze to Ellie.

“Hear how fucking polite your girlfriend is when I fuck her? I’ll show you what good girls- fuck- fucking get.” Abby groaned out, filling Dina entirely while fiddling her fingers over Dinas neck. Ellie let out a slight moan, which she pretended had not come out of her mouth.

“I’m sorry, did you say something Ellie? Or were you moaning without me even laying a finger on you like a fucking slut?” Ellie hesitated, she wasn’t usually this desperate. When she slept with Dina it was always passionate, equal. As there wasn’t usually much topping Ellie could just use her words to assert dominance. Words that Abby was using on Ellie right now, and that felt embarrassing and so fucking good all at once.

“I’m sorry just…please let me touch myself, you’re both driving me crazy.” Ellie pleads, not directing her gaze at either of them. Abby just smiles.

“Good things happen to those who wait.” Dina’s close again. The anticipation of her orgasm feels so fucking good her head feels like jelly. She’s a moaning whimpering mess, clinging onto the muscles in Abbys shoulders and grinding down on the strap like the perfect person she is. Abby moans back, sighing and gasping as she stretches the orgasm out.

“So…so close please…please let me cum.”

“That’s my good girl, you wanna cum? Okay, cum for me then Dina.” Abby kisses her harshly so that when Dina does cum, her wetness flowing between her thighs and even a little on the cold ground beneath her, she can practically taste her moans as they vibrate through her mouth. Dina continues clinging onto her for a while, riding the orgasm out, questioning if she’s seeing fucking stars for a while before they open again and the world falls back into place.

“You did so fucking good baby.” Abby tells her, gently lifting Dina off of the strap and reaching her hand to Ellie.

“I…I can’t cum like that.” Ellie blurts out, and the suddenness of her words make both Dina and Abby laugh.

“What?” Abby questions, still smiling. Ellie blushes more.

“I’d like to….but I can’t cum with just a strap I….need to be touched too.” Abby thinks for a moment, removing the strap and tossing it beside them.

“Sit on my face.”

“I- What?” Ellie practically gasps. Abby shrugs.

“You’ve been eaten out before surely….”

“Yes but, I’ve never sat on someones face, how will you breathe?”

“Don’t worry about me Ellie.” She grabs her arm and pulls her up so she’s near Abbys face.

“Your whole body weighs less than my warm up weight, now get on, and none of that hovering bullshit or I’ll fucking stop before you can even get your eyes back open.”

“Okay…”

“Yes. Abby.” Abby corrects. This is what makes her finally look Abby in the eye.

“Yes Abby.” Ellie murmurs, her face bright red. She cautiously sits on Abbys gorgeous nose. It’s not as big as Dinas, Ellie notes as she adjusts herself, but her pretty little nose bump immediately hits a place that causes a moan to escape her lips which sounds embarrassingly similar to that of pornography. Abby takes this as a sign to tongue ever so slowly between Ellies slick coated folds, moaning as she devours her taste. Ellie moans even louder.

“Fuck….Abby please…don’t tease me…need it.” Is all she can managed. Abby smiles into Ellie’s pussy, going faster directly on her clit, probably just to prove that arrogant, beautiful girl knows just were to put what. She sucks eagerly, not stopping even as Ellie whimpers and lets out a “I’m so fucking close Abby…” In fact, she doesn’t even stop as she swallows all of Ellie’s wetness with her thighs shaking, Ellie gripping onto Abbys braid as support, it was a sight to fucking see.

“Okay…okay please…please stop it’s too much.” Ellie begged, her hips bucking into Abbys face. Abbys pace still didn’t relent.

“Fuck!” Ellie cried, and Abby finally pulled away.

“There pretty girl, was that so bad?” Ellie gasped for air, still light headed from her orgasm.

“Fuck you.” Ellie teased, smiling. Dina smiled too and Abby pulled them both into her.

“I must say, I’m rather happy I almost turned into a runner that day.” Dina laughs.

“Yeah well, Joel can’t help himself when it comes to saving people. And doing things that are reckless.” This is when Ellie chimes in.

“It’s a gift, he says.” Abby kisses her deeply, then Dina.

“I’ll say.” Abby whispers to herself.

#tlou2 #abby anderson #ellie williams #dina tlou #smut #dinellabs

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stiltonbasket · 7 months

Note

Could we see some of Sizhui's point of view on the whole "my dad just got 'gifted' a new concubine and now he has to send me to war" thing? He's so sweet, always, and Im wondering what he's feeling + what he sees watch LWJ and WWX interact.

Wen Sizhui wasn't quite sure what to think when he heard that a new concubine would be coming to the Wei-fu.

In fact, he hadn't known what to think when his father took Yu-shushu and Li-yiniang in as concubines some six months earlier. Diedie had never been married, and he was far too virtuous to put one foot over the threshold of a brothel or take one of his servants as a tongfang; but one morning, Yu-shushu and Aunt Li simply appeared, as if his father had woken up at the advanced age of seven and thirty and decided that he must have both a shu wife and husband at once, if he couldn't have a legitimate spouse.

Sizhui couldn't imagine what to make of it. At first, he believed that his father had actually fallen in love, though it hardly seemed reasonable that Fuqin could fall in love with two people at once when he had entertained no suitors or bridal candidates over the past eighteen years—but Yu Zhenhong behaved as if he was Father's lover, and Wen Sizhui did not learn otherwise until his Qing-ayi announced that Li Shuai was with child.

The sounds of Li Shuai being ill in the night began scarcely eight hours after she arrived at the High General's manor; and Sizhui had been taught enough about the care of ladies in their confinement to understand (once he knew why she was sick so often, and why she didn't seem frightened about it) that her child couldn't possibly belong to his father.

Judging by the haggard look on Yu Zhenhong's face whenever Aunt Li had one of her bad days, it was likely that he didn't belong to Diedie, either.

And then, at the turn of the winter, Hanguang-jun arrived. This made some modicum of sense to Sizhui, because Wen-zongzhu was determined to mete out some form of punishment that would make Yu-shushu miserable without physically harming him: and also because Hanguang-jun was difficult to control, whether he had the use of all four of his limbs or not. Before his hasty removal to the High Genera's manor, it was evident that he would be less of a threat under Fuqin's care than the jailers'—so Wen-zongzhu freed Hanguang-jun from the underground dungeon, and warned him to keep his head down lest he provoke a manhunt for his young nephew, Lan Jingyi.

Now, nearly half a year after Father and Hanguang-jun's wedding, Sizhui finds himself wondering if his stepfather's kindness towards him is due to his love for that nephew, whom Hanguang-jun will likely never see again unless Wen Ruohan manages to capture him.

"Is that what you think?" Hanguang-jun asks, when Sizhui visits his courtyard on the day before his regiment's scheduled departure to Langya. "I understand why, of course: but you and Jingyi are wholly different to me."

Sizhui puts his head to one side like a curious bird. "Why?"

"Because you give me thrice the amount of heartache that he does, if not more," his stepfather says drily. "I never had to fear for my nephew's life until the night I was captured, when I saw your father's men fighting their way towards Jing'er on the battlefield. Before that, he was so well-protected by my brother and Nie-zongzhu that he rarely suffered so much as a nosebleed in my presence. To know that you will be going to war—a child like you—"

His voice stutters.

"Father managed to get permission for me to go as a medic." Sizhui says quickly. "If General Dai agrees with Wen-zongzhu, I can stay behind the front lines and keep away from the fighting altogether."

"En. Good," Hanguang-jun nods.

He turns away and wheels himself towards the chest of drawers on the other side of the room; and once there, he opens the bottom drawer to reveal the sandalwood box Diedie gifted to him that New Year's.

"Come here," he says quietly. "Hold out your arm."

Hanguang-jun reaches into the box and withdraws something long and shining from its depths. At first glance, it seems to be a skein of silken thread: but when Wen Sizhui looks closer, he realizes that the object is a fine lock of his stepfather's hair, braided into a smooth, dark rope and reinforced with eight minute silver clasps.

"What is it?" he asks, as Hanguang-jun pulls him closer and loops the lock of hair thrice about his wrist. "Did my Fuqin..."

"Your father had nothing to do with this," Hanguang-jun replies at once, as if he were afraid of being overheard. "The hair is mine, and I have strengthened it with my spiritual energy, so that it will not break or fray—and the silver clasps were made from the cloud ornament on my mo'e.

"This will keep you from coming to harm at the hand of any soldier trained in the Lan school of cultivation, but it is not infallible. No spiritual blade forged in the Cloud Recesses will be able to touch you while the bracelet is on your wrist, but it will have no effect if you are attacked by a Nie cultivator, or a Lan whose cultivation is too poor for anything but a common sword."

He grasps Sizhui's hands and looks up into his eyes: and suddenly, Sizhui remembers the steady gaze of his late grandmother, who passed away just after Father was last elevated in Wen-zongzhu's service.

"Go to Wei Ying," Hanguang-jun says roughly, nearly five minutes later. "You and he will be parted in the morning, and you have not yet said farewell to your yima and Yu Zhenhong."

Wen Sizhui nods and makes his way to the door. He pauses on the threshold and turns back to look at Hanguang-jun, who is still staring bitterly at the spot of red carpet Sizhui was standing two minutes ago.

"I'll be all right," he says, trying to smile. "After all, yifu—even your Jing'er made it back from Hejian, didn't he?"

At the mention of Lan Jingyi, Hanguang-jun looks positively wretched.

"He had his father with him. I was there, too," he murmurs. "And if that arrow had not touched Wei Ying, you would have never had to ride to war without your father at your side."

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #lan wangji #lan sizhui #wrh raises wwx au #my fic

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tgmsunmontue · 2 months

Text

More than movie magic... 4/?

Hangster AU. Explicit (eventually). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries.

ONE TWO THREE

FOUR

It’s an old mini-documentary, not one that was super popular but it’s centered around the working stunt artists of Hollywood and there’s Bradley Bradshaw looking about ten years younger and almost hotter, except Jake thinks he likes his laugh lines and more mature body. He realizes the fact that he’s familiar with Bradley Bradshaw’s body enough from sight alone to identify a possible time lapse confirms that he definitely has a problem. He knew that already, but he’d still sort of hoped it had maybe gone away.

No such luck

“What got you into doing stunt work?”

“My dad was a stuntman, he was a bit of a daredevil and specialized in car racing and tricks. He was good.”

“Ah, yes. He died during filming didn’t he?”

“Yeah, about twenty years ago now. Car accident on set when the brakes failed.”

Jake does a mental calculation, that would make it over thirty years ago now, so sometime in the mid to late 1980s and he wonders if he can find out more details of if he’s starting to maybe become a little too much like one of those obsessed fans who can’t identify reality from fantasy.

“You were a child actor too…”

“Oh god, please don’t tell me you have footage of that.”

“We do, but it’s not exactly relevant to the subject were interviewing you about.”

“Thank goodness for small mercies!” Bradley laughs, and it’s a little tinny through the speakers but it’s still gorgeous, Jake would love to have Bradley laugh with him like that. Fuck.

“Well, how about you show us some of the work you’ve been doing recently? I’ve heard you’ve become something of a rock climbing expert?”

“I don’t know if I’d use expert, but I’m okay.”

Of course he’s modest about his skill, and Jake watches as Bradley climbs the wall, racing up so fast it might as well be a fucking horizontal surface. He repels down effortlessly and Jake wonders just what Bradley’s workout regime entails to stay flexible and as strong as he needs to be for the activities that he’s seen him partake in.

“So if people wanted to get into stunt work where would they go?”

“There are schools for it, and workshops and plenty of training opportunities. Staying fit, strong and flexible is all important, but you also need to know choreography and rolls and falls, and then there’s the camera angles. It’s quite involved at the end of the day, but it’s a job I love.”

The interviewer is then talking to someone else and he shut the window and despite it being against his better judgement he searches out Bradley Bradshaw’s father’s death and winces at the fact that he was only three when he died. Married to Carole Clarke and holy shit, Oscar award winner and silver-screen beauty and also somehow Bradley Bradshaw’s parent, although she died much too young… God. If he’d lost both his parents before he even turned ten he doesn’t know if he’d have survived to adulthood.

Then he finds it, where Pete Mitchell fits in, best friends with Nick Bradshaw. He’s obviously been around Bradley Bradshaw as he grew up. Potentially even raised him if there was no other family, and he wonders if that is the case just how Pete Mitchell balanced raising a kid while also travelling the world directing films. Unless Bradley simply travelled with him of course, which is entirely plausible.

He wants to see him again.

It make no sense but it also doesn’t change the fact.

He messages his agent and asks him to get Bradley Bradshaw’s number. Doesn’t specify why, doesn’t need to.

The number sits in his phone unused.

… … …

Bradley reads through the contract, and he can’t help but frown, because there are clauses in here that are usually removed. His staff know that there are non-negotiables and the fact that they haven’t been removed could be simply human error, or it could be because they believe they don’t need to be removed. He doesn’t let people do their own stunt work unless they’re low risk, have sufficient training or experience in the activity. He rings Brigham in the office first, his skill at ability assessment the most crucial when drafting the contract.

“Hey man, what’s up with the contract you just sent me?”

“Ha! Knew you’d call me. I win the bet! Not even three hours!”

“Brigham! Focus!”

“Sorry. Just, this cowboy film, did you read who they’ve got starring in it?”

Bradley ignores the little flip his stomach does and quickly flicks to the part which details the names of the actors and of course, of course, Jake Seresin’s name is there, staring at him in black and white and oh…

“Jake Seresin, Javy Machado and Callie Bassett.”

“Oh.”

“Oh is right. So, no, we won’t need a stunt double for Seresin. He used to compete and is probably better than any of us. He knows what he’s doing around horses.”

Oh boy does Bradley know what Jake can do around horses. He’s not worried about that at all. Brigham is still talking though and he forces himself to concentrate.

“Though Machado and Bassett need doubles. Was thinking Rueben and Natasha, they’ve both worked with horses before.”

“Yeah, they’d work. You’ve already gotten the backgrounds?”

“Yep. Large working ranch, going to be a bit of legwork to get around it and scope it out, but they’re making every accommodation possible, definitely the easiest contract negotiations I’ve had in a while.”

Huh.

Interesting.

“Seresin was always pushing for a more active role in the last film I worked on him with. Was there any push back about me having veto power?”

“Nope, none at all. Don’t know why you’d use it though. He’s well suited to it, even sent a recent video of him riding and roping and doing fancy looking shit. However the other two are nowhere near as confident, in fact they’ve never even ridden a horse. So we’ve got that challenge ahead of us…”

“Okay… well, you’re in charge of scheduling. Tell me when and where.”

“You ever been to Texas?”

FIVE

#Hangster #Sereshaw #more than movie magic #Top Gun Maverick

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thinkofmehoney · 2 months

Text

“The city of my heart”

Chapter 2

<- previous chapter

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Suguru Geto

Chapter summary: On the first school day for Mimiko and Nanako, Suguru's joy is clouded by his unresolved tension with Satoru. So then, after some advice from his friend Shoko, Suguru decided to confront Satoru, leading to a charged conversation about their past.

(Click for the Ao3 version!)

Warnings: none

content: Non-sorcerer AU, single dad Satoru x single dad Suguru

notes: I forgot to mention that Satoru comes from a wealthy family, but it’s kind of implied so

The first day of school of Mimiko and Nanako was finally over, the girls had fun with their new classmates and liked the way the school was so big and had beautiful green areas, they loved their new school and Suguru was more than happy about it. But he just couldn’t get what happened earlier out of his mind, his past just kept haunting him mercilessly.

The girls sat down on the couch and he covered them with a blanket, they wanted to watch a new movie with their dad and eat popcorn, they loved having movie nights in family. But Geto needed to make a phone call before he could sit still for an hour to watch a movie.

"Okay girls," He handed over the bowl of freshly made pop corn to Nanako "While you watch the movie I have to make a quick phone call and then I'll join you." The twins immediately protested.

"But you will miss the beginning! That's the important part! or you won’t understand the movie!" Nanako fussed.

"Then we can put it again later or you can tell me what happened." He smiled and headed to the kitchen "I'll be right back, tell me if you need anything!"

The kitchen was far enough from the living room for his conversation to not be heard. He sat on the window frame with a cigarette between his lips, trembling breath sucking in the smoke while he searched for the contact on his phone.

"I guess I was expecting for this call-" The voice said on the other line with a playful tone.

"Shoko why the fuck didn't you tell me that Satoru was going to be at my daughters' school? Or why didn't you tell me that he also has a daughter!" He yelled quietly, trying to not raise his voice but he felt so frustrated he just wanted to scream from the top of his lungs.

"Well he has two kids actually, the other one is a boy." The girl paused for a second, she was smoking too, Suguru was simply speechless. "I was just doing what you asked me to, every time I tried to tell you something about Gojo you always told me you didn't want to know." He couldn't blame her really, because it was true, he didn't want to know about what was going on in Satoru's life, it would have make it harder for him to forget about Satoru and move on.

Well, it didn't really mattered anymore, he couldn't escape him.

"I don't know what to do, I guess sooner or later we'll have to interact." His voice sounded too worried, but Shoko didn’t thought it would be something that complicated really. He took his cigarette out of his mouth, then two fingers pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Okay but, would it be the end of the world if you two just talk?"

"Yes." He said dryly and Shoko rolled her eyes.

"It would be the end of the world for your ego." She exhaled the smoke. "And your pride."

"It's not ego! It's just-" A frustrated sigh came out of his lips. "You know it's difficult Shoko... we had a fight and it's been like that ever since. I bet he doesn’t even want to see me anyway." Shoko was the one that sighed now.

"Suguru, listen, you can't just let your past dictate your life! You still care about Gojo and I think this is the perfect chance to regain the friendship you two had." He hates to admit it, but Shoko was right. "So maybe, the next time you see him you should reach out and apologize-"

"Huh? He should be the one apologizing to me." She rolled her eyes, her friend still behaved like a teenager.

"Well, I think you both should apologize to each other, don't pretend you’re a saint." Shoko held the phone between her face and her shoulder, opening the car door to go back home from the hospital. "You can't control his actions, but you can take responsibility for yours, and if you ask me, you said pretty hurtful things to him too, so you can start there." A silence followed by a resigned snort was all the answer she needed to hear.

"I guess I'll think about it." She smiled victoriously.

"Good, now if you excuse me, my shift is over and I have to get home to my beautiful girlfriend." He laughed endearingly, at least she could keep her high school sweetheart.

"Alright, thank you Shoko, tell Utahime I said hi."

𓈒 ݁ ₊

It's been days since Satoru saw him and, weirdly enough, they haven't crossed paths when dropping their kids at school yet, which had Satoru at the edge of the seat, because the possibility of running into him was really high, it could happen any time and to be honest, he wouldn't know how to react.

Satoru got out of his car and walked to the school entrance, Tsumiki told him that she needed help to bring some cardboard crafts to the car. The bell would rang soon so the kids were gathering their stuff and would come outside at any minute, any second... why was it taking so long-

"Yo, Satoru."

That voice... How long has he waited to hear that voice again? It sounded so familiar, so soft, like if he had never stopped hearing it.

The kids didn't arrive in time to save him. Satoru felt the cold sweat in the back of his neck, that voice had such an impact on him, and it wasn't for less, it was his voice. Still breathless, he turned around to face him, the ghost of his past that still haunted him after so many years, was right behind him.

"Suguru... hi." Indeed, Satoru looked like he just saw a ghost.

The words hung in the air, heavy with a sense of unresolved tension. Satoru hesitated, his mind racing with the memories of their past argument and the hurtful words they exchanged.

Suguru doubted his decision for a moment, maybe this was too impulsive, but it was too late to take a step back now. They were silent, Suguru just looked around trying to think what to do next, thankfully Satoru was too shocked now to feel nervous.

"Book day is coming, did you know?" Suguru is thanking his daughters on his mind, since all they talked about was the preparations for Book day at school.

Satoru came out of his trance, well... kinda, the shock was too much that he just went numb, he could hold the conversation now, but when he gets home he's planning to stare at the ceiling for a long time while thinking about this.

"Yeah, my daughter is pretty excited about it." Oh? his daughter was also obsessed with book day... Suguru didn’t expect to get sentimental about it.

"Oh, really?" A subtle but nostalgic smile decorated his lips, "That's really sweet, do you have her costume yet?"

Slowly, Satoru was feeling at ease. This was Suguru after all, his best friend who he could talk to about anything, this small talk felt just natural, "She won't be on the play, she's making the decorations and scenography, but my son will be that blueish smiling cat, what about you?"

"Same thing, one will be on the play and the other will be the narrator. I'll go buy her costume next Tuesday near here."

A silence fell on them, and they just stood there, looking at the school front doors waiting for the kids to come out, it was the calm before the storm.

Suguru continued to talk, hands in his pocked followed by a sigh "We need to talk, don't you think?"

Satoru tensed at his words, a mix of surprise and uncertainty on his face "Talk? About what?"

Their eyes found each other, filled with longing, yearning, and even remorse dyed with stubbornness, "About everything, about us."

Satoru's gaze slipped away from him, they were so close and yet so far, "Now?"

"Well, we can't keep running from this... it's been too long already." A whole decade, it's been a whole decade and Satoru dares to ask him if they needed to talk right now.

Satoru crossed his arms and looked down, trying to hide how hurt he still was. This topic still felt like a fresh wound for both of them. Suguru was the first to talk.

"I don't think we should let this tension exist between us Satoru, because it's a fact that we will see each other almost everyday here, and-" Suguru felt a knot tightening his throat, it was difficult talking about them, and even more if he was talking directly to him. "and also because we used to be so close until-"

"Until we weren't," Satoru finished, bitterness creeping into his voice. "You left, Suguru. You simply ran away from everything, from me..."

His words felt like daggers... It wasn't like that...

His heart ached, it's been aching for a while, "I'm sorry for that, okay? But you have to understand that it wasn't about you, I needed to do it for me, for my own struggles..."

Satoru's eyes narrowed slightly, "Your struggles? What struggles, Suguru? You could just figure out your things without leaving, it wasn't that much of a deal." He spitted, and Suguru felt like he was downplaying his pain.

Suguru hesitated, his words sting like blood and lemon, but his voice remained calmed nonetheless "Life hasn't been easy for me, Satoru. I had to figure things out on my own. I didn't have the privileges you did."

Satoru's anger flared. "Privileges? Yes, I may had privileges like money and shit, but you think I had it easy? On top of that you left me alone, you abandoned our friendship, you didn't want to share your struggles with me."

Suguru's jaw tightened. "It's not that simple, Satoru. I needed space, I needed to get out of that damn city."

Satoru scoffed "That's what you always do, huh? Running away from your problems instead of facing them?"

The tension escalated, each word cutting deeper. Suguru's resolve wavered, and he took a step back, Satoru's eyes softened at this, guilt starting to overflow his irises and features.

"Listen Satoru, I didn't come here to fight with you. I did run, yes, but I'm here now, and i'm trying to make things right this time." His voice was now gentle, sincere and harmless. And Satoru feels like a complete asshole.

Satoru sighed, his fingers pressing the bridge of his nose "This is just... too much for me right now, I... I need to think about this."

Suguru saw his two girls walking through the hallway, getting closer to the front doors of the school. Breathing in and out, he was ready to finish their conversation for today, he didn't want his daughters to see him so distressed.

Once again, their eyes found each other, something so new but so familiar they could draw the patterns of their irises from memory, "When you feel ready to talk about this... Reach out to me, let's not waste this second chance we have."

As soon as he finished his sentence, Suguru looked to the hallway with the sweetest smile, a distinct contrast from just instants ago. He greeted his daughters with a tight hug and Satoru's heart melted, who would've thought he could get to see this in his lifetime?

It tasted bittersweet to Satoru, he lost so many years, so many important things on Suguru's life, but at least he was lucky enough to see with his own eyes how his life changed for the better in the end, he was certainly happier than the last time he saw him, and with two beautiful girls that resembled him so much…

𓈒 ݁ ₊

Satoru and his kids were already back home. Their house was peacefully quiet, Tsumiki was watching a movie in the living room while Megumi was doing god knows what in his room. It was moments like this where he could somewhat relax and find the peace he didn't have during the day. So he grabbed some ice cream from the freezer and laid down on the woven sofa outside the big window where you could see the garden, he needed some peace to find clarity about the situation.

Satoru often thought on how meeting Suguru during high school marked a significant turning point in his life.

Before Suguru came into the picture, Satoru was, by his own admission, a bit of a brat. The privileges that came with being part of the affluent Gojo family had perhaps made him a bit entitled. It wasn't until Suguru entered his life that Satoru began to experience a shift in perspective.

Suguru had a unique way of humbling Satoru, and it wasn't always through words. The first punch he received after being repeatedly disrespectful towards their teachers was a wake-up call. It was a physical reminder that not everyone would tolerate his prepotence. That punch grounded him, making him realize that he wasn't just Satoru Gojo from the prestigious Gojo family; he was simply Satoru, a spirited kid with white hair, a sweet tooth, and a newfound appreciation for humility. Suguru, in his own way, became the catalyst for Satoru's journey towards self-discovery and personal growth.

Suguru was such a significant person in his life, and he missed him so, so much.

He missed when Suguru rode his bike and he sat behind because he didn't know how to do it, or when they stayed up all night playing video games and talking about their lives or gossiping, he even misses when Suguru scolded him for being arrogant.

It was so clear to him, he wanted Suguru back, he wants to reclaim their friendship and get to know the man he has become over the years. But there was one thing stopping him, and it was the fears that flooded his mind.

What if he leaves again?

He was lucky to have his kids, they made him stronger by having someone who depended on him, because if he was on his own, he wouldn't know what to do if he's left alone again after letting Suguru back into his life.

Suguru leaving him again sounded awful, but then he thought: Suguru was already out of his life for the past decade, if they started talking again and then he left, he just would be where he is right now. Yes, it would leave him feeling like shit, but he was stronger than he was twelve years ago, he could get through it.

From this perspective, he had nothing to lose, he missed his one and only best friend and they deserved another chance. If he leaves him, too bad, he would have to just grow a pair and get over it. But if he stayed, then he wanted to see where it would take them.

𓈒 ݁ ₊

"Tsumiki, do you have dad's credit card information?" Megumi asked Tsumiki with his phone on his hands, ready to put Satoru's card numbers on some app.

His older sister answered him while she watched Twilight on the living room TV, "No, I forgot to take a picture, but why don't you ask him for his wallet?" Still looking at the TV, she pointed to the big sliding glass door, on the other side Satoru was sitting on their woven chairs.

Megumi squinted his eyes, "Is he reading?" Tsumiki now turned to look at him now that the movie just ended.

She shook her head, denying, "He's been staring at the wall since the movie started." Her brother looked surprised.

"What? What if he died or something? Maybe he had a heart attack from all the sugar..."

They both looked at each other worried, immediately walking towards him and making him jump when the sliding door hit its ending. Both of the kids sighed in relief.

"You guys scared me! I almost had a heart attack!" They tensed up at the joke, and Satoru was still worried, "What happened Tsumi? Why did you slide the door open like that?"

"We thought you were dead!" She answered just as panicked as her dad.

"What?!"

Megumi added "Yeah we thought you had a heart attack because of all the sugar you eat."

"Oh, no no!" Satoru opened his arms, and his babies got closer to receive his hug. "I don't have health issues, kids. Nothing's gonna happen to me." He chuckled at the end of the sentence now that he calmed down, "I was just thinking about something, that's why I didn't move I guess."

Now that they knew that Satoru was alive, they could relax. Their dad smiled at them and asked "Are you guys hungry? because I am." Megumi nodded.

"About that... Can I borrow your wallet? I wanted to order carbonara for dinner." Satoru's eyes widened.

"Carbonara? Wow I raised some bougie kids, huh? When I was your age I would just order a KFC bucket or a burger." Satoru's stomach growled, now that Megumi mentioned carbonara, it didn't sound bad at all. He grabbed his wallet and gave it to him. "Well, if you insist."

The boy grabbed it and started typing the info, and ended up ordering ¥9400 worth of food and drinks. Satoru choked when he heard the amount. "You kids will end up spending my family's generational wealth if I keep giving you my card, you are lucky I don't like them that much."

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#fanfic #the city of my heart #jujutsu kaisen #satosugu #gojo satoru x geto suguru #satoru x suguru #satosugu fic #satosugu fanfic #geto suguru #suguru geto #gego #mimiko and nanako #mimiko hasaba #nanako hasaba

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