#slow burn fiction

[minkdelovely]

love and power

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chapter two

“i come loaded with the

safety switch on.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: blood, sensory overload, vomit, implied cannibalism, descriptions of graphic violence, power dynamics, non-consensual touching, valentino sighting, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 2.5k

author’s note: i just wanted to give a huge shoutout to @hazelfoureyes for being so gracious to let me tag her here as inspo! if you haven’t already, please go check out her work - she’s seriously sooo talented and awoke my need for more interaction between alastor and valentino lol

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight

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Alastor had insisted that you walk back to the hotel, your arm linked under his as he paraded you through the remainder of the city like a proud parent.

You tried to fight feeling grateful for the support since he could have easily teleported you back to the hotel, but you gripped his arm all the same. The adrenaline dump had left you feeling so depleted and all you wanted was to be back in your bed. Snippets of what happened in the alley raced through your mind’s eye, and you shook your head, trying to keep them at bay. Did you really have the capacity to be that enraged? That violent? Apparently you did…

The blood was drying tight on your face, contrasting with the slick, heavy feeling of fabric latching to the skin of your chest. You could feel yourself winding up, overwhelmed and uncomfortable by the mess you were covered in. There wasn’t a part of you that felt clean and you were desperate with the need to remove your dress. Tears blurred the edge of your vision when you fixated on the taste in your mouth, barely managing to pull away from Alastor before you fell to your knees and vomited.

Bile, blood, and… It was the tipping point.

No longer able to hold it back, the sob you released was closer to a scream. What had you done? You couldn’t fight the images flashing in your mind; the sound of screams and flesh tearing, an airway so saturated with blood it bubbled. How it felt when your teeth punctured flesh, no easier than biting into a piece of fruit. Your mouth filling with blood… and swallowing. And that wasn’t all you had swallowed, was it?

It wasn’t until you started frantically tearing at the collar of your dress that Alastor approached from behind you, grabbing your wrists easily in his large hands.

“Now, now, that simply won’t do,” he chided cooly in your ear, radio static gone, his presence large and stable behind you. “I thought a walk might help you to calm down, but at least you managed to save this episode from prying eyes. Be a big girl now and stop crying, we’re nearly home.”

You couldn’t see through the tears as he pulled you up to your feet, his hands releasing you as soon as you were standing. A throb of pain rocked your head and you choked out a final sob, trying to steady your breath as you rubbed your burning, swollen eyes. 

Why was he being so patient with you? He had been in a good mood ever since he found you in the alley, not even bothered by the fact that the clothes you had been sent to pick up were soiled and needed to be returned to the cleaners. And how had he even found you in the first place? Was he following you? 

“Oh, my dear, you look like the stuff of nightmares!” Alastor said in his usual static, not sounding at all sorry for you. Hell, he probably meant it as a compliment. “Remind me to ask what that poor creature did to earn your wrath.”

With that, he hooked your arm again and led you up the hill.

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“What the fuck happened to you?!” Angel shouted from the bar when you entered the lobby. Husk nearly dropped the glass in his hand, but managed to recover, his face pale.

Thankfully, your audience was just the two of them. You wouldn’t have known what to do if everyone had been there to see you in this state. Dread came over you then, thinking of what it will be like to finally stand in front of a mirror. Your empty stomach churned.

“Not to worry, Angel, the blood isn’t hers. Poor thing ran into a bit of trouble running errands, but that’s all been taken care of, hasn’t it?” Alastor cooed, resting his hand on your shoulder as he peered down at you.

“Well don’t just stand there, let her get cleaned up before anyone else sees! Niffty’s gonna have a fucking fit when she finds the mess on that carpet,” Husk said to Alastor, shaking his head in exasperation. 

Alastor’s fingers dug into you at being rebuked, but you were more focused on the muted plop sounds of blood falling to the carpet from the laundry bag. Had it really just been an hour since you had picked it up? You were so tired it was hard to believe that it was still only morning.

“Yeah, don’t worry, toots. We won’t tell no one about your, uh… day out,” Angel said delicately, raising his hand with a suave smile. “Scout’s honor. Though I gotta say, I think you look fuckin’ badass. Whoever it was got what was coming to ’em.”

You huffed out a small laugh, managing to give him a weak smile before Alastor enveloped you both in shadow.

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Angel and Husk watched as you and Alastor disappeared, giving themselves a moment until they felt like it was safe enough for them to talk again.

“So… what the actual fuck, am I right?” Angel half-laughed, taking a swig from his glass. “I think she fuckin’ ate somebody.”

Husk hummed, nodding his head slightly in agreement. “Definitely not impossible. I just hope he didn’t put her up to it.”

“You really think he’d do somethin’ like that, Husk? I mean, sure, he’s been bossin’ her around but… forcin’ her to eat someone? Seems extreme.” 

Husk sighed, giving him a defeated look. Angel shook his head, eyebrow peaked in disbelief. Ignoring the phone buzzing in his pocket, he finished his drink.

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Despite how much you had been looking forward to it, it felt strange to be back in your room. Everything was the same as how you’d left it, but it almost felt like nothing here belonged to you anymore. The room was so still, quiet except for the sounds of Alastor rooting around in your ensuite bathroom. What he could possibly be looking for, you didn’t know, nor did you really care. You were so tempted to just collapse on the bed…

The shower turned on and you sighed, closing your eyes to enjoy the soothing sound it made. It was a peace short-lived, your eyes flying open when you felt fingers at the back of your neck undo the button of your collar, followed quickly by cool air against your spine as Alastor unzipped you. You stiffened and moved away, turning to face him, bringing your arms up to keep the dress from slipping off your shoulders to the floor.

The rebuttal died in your throat when he laughed, stepping towards you in your retreat.

“Testy, aren’t we? I was merely trying to help, and this is the thanks I get?” 

His eyes narrowed when you moved farther away in response. Would he ever stop toying with you? 

“Alastor, please, I’m too tired for this,” you pleaded, glancing at the bathroom behind you as you fought back a fresh wave of tears. You knew he wouldn’t like it if you started crying again. 

“Which is exactly why I’m trying to help! Surely, you aren’t insinuating that my intentions were anything but courteous?” He said it casually enough but you could feel the threat veiled underneath as he continued his way to you. “Seeing how my clothes need laundering again, I figured you’d want me to take the dress as well. It was a gift, after all.”

“I’ll take it myself,” you tried to say evenly, looking away from him. He was hovering over you now, effectively making you feel small. “And I didn’t think you were—”

He tipped your chin to look up at him and licked the pad of his thumb on his free hand. You stood frozen stiff as he used it to wipe your cheek, not daring to upset him more by pulling away. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the truth of how completely in control he was over you sunk in, killing whatever was left of the hope you had of staying under his radar. Silently, you watched as he brought his thumb back to his mouth, but your breath hitched as he sucked off the residue. The look in his eyes made you want to disappear, and you hoped the tear-streaked mess on your face was able to hide the blush now burning your cheeks.

“Sylvie… shouldn’t you be getting in the shower? Or is wasting water another bad habit of yours?” he said, voice low and face smug.

Without thinking, you jerked your face out of his hand and quickly pulled the dress off, shoving it at his chest. Before he could say another word you were in the bathroom, using all the restraint you had left not to slam the door in his face. Leaning against the door, you could hear him laughing as he made his way out of your room. Finally there was silence, and you slid to the floor with your face in your hands, swallowing against the feeling of your heart in your throat. And worse, you weren’t sure if the tightness in your chest was shame… or something else.

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Niffty was already hard at work removing the blood stains in the lobby, mumbling to herself as Alastor passed through to make his way back to Cannibal Town. Making sure to give Husk a knowing, pompous grin, and receiving a scowl in return, he walked out the hotel. Alastor couldn’t recall the last time he had enjoyed himself so much before noon. Whatever else the day had in store he couldn’t know, though it would be tough to beat.

The taste that lingered in his mouth was bordering on cruel, a gamble he wasn’t sure he had properly hedged the bet of. Regret wasn’t something Alastor felt often, if at all, and he would vehemently deny it even if he did. Was it regret he felt at tasting the blood that dried on your face? No. While the blood itself was subpar — it had come from some vile creature, after all — it had been transformed by your skin chemistry and tears, creating a flavor that was robust and surprising. Had it not been for decades of tempering his self-control, Alastor worried briefly in the back of his mind that he might have done something drastic; hence allowing himself just the one taste. And apparently doomed to savor it until opportunity presented itself. 

He couldn’t help passing by the alley as he made his way through the city, unsurprised to see that your victim was still lying there, stripped of clothes and whatever possible valuables he had possessed. It would be at least a week before he recovered from the attack. A thought passed through Alastor’s mind and his antler’s grew in response to the idea, mouth curling up in a fanged, sinister grin. Passersby ran away in horror.

It wasn’t until Alastor walked into the dry cleaners that the armor of his good mood chipped. Of all the fiends in Hell, Valentino was the least of whom he ever expected to run into here. Cannibal Town wasn’t a sanctuary in the true sense, but its culture did manage to deter most of the demons Alastor deemed undesirable. A peace he was not willing to part with. Though clearly someone had tipped Valentino off about how to blend in here, as he was without his gaudy trademark robe, instead donning a shockingly respectable black suit.

Alastor had no grudge with Valentino, he simply just didn’t respect him. Getting sinners to sign themselves over to you in promise of fame was so trite. How Valentino could be proud to call himself an Overlord was a mystery, unless he was truly that shameless. Or more likely, from what Alastor had overheard Angel saying to others in passing, oblivious. Both seemed correct. While Alastor could suffer a fool, anyone who would bend under Vox’s will really wasn’t worthy of his concern or energy. 

Valentino turned at the ringing of the bell over the door, with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin as he took in the sight of The Radio Demon.

“Well fuck me, if it isn’t the big, brave hero! I thought Adam sent you to Super Hell, but I guess you would be too stubborn to die,” Valentino said haughtily, taking a drag off his cigarette. “How’s the wound, flaco?”

Internally Alastor bristled, but he maintained his facade of nonchalance. It wasn’t surprising that the Vees had found out about what happened between him and Adam. Of course it irritated him all the same, considering that the battle between the two of them wasn’t quite public knowledge. For now, all Alastor could do was keep the fact that the Vees knew in his back pocket and work on a plan of action to counteract it, should need arise.

“Wound is a bit strong, Valentino, but as they say: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! You’re too kind, inquiring after my health,” Alastor responded jovially, though the smile on his face was cold and menacing. “I must say, I never thought I’d see you here. I didn’t think Cannibal Town would be an ideal place for you to… scout.”

Valentino scoffed through a strained smile. “No shit. There are a lot of kinks out there, but ‘ragtime cannibal freaks’ isn’t one of them.” He paused to take another drag, continuing as he exhaled red smoke, “But this is the only place that can actually get all the stains out of my shit. Looks like I’m not alone in that department. Busy morning?” He gave a pointed look at the bloody laundry bag hanging off Alastor’s arm.

“You could say that,” Alastor teased, finally making his way up to the counter. The employee took the bag with a smile and removed the suit from its paper covering. Your dress was hanging in an armoire back in Alastor’s suite. He never intended to get it laundered. “Send my regards to Velvette. I haven’t had the chance to tell her how much I enjoyed her input at the last meeting you were apparently too busy to attend.”

Before the moth demon could say anything his cell phone rang, and Valentino answered as he gave Alastor the finger in response, opening the door to leave. “What do you mean, Donny hasn’t fucking showed up yet?!”

And then he was gone, yelling at his phone in the middle of Cannibal Town. Bold.

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When you woke up your room was dark, save for the light of a sconce near your door, the throbbing in your forehead making itself immediately known. The headache wasn’t surprising considering how much you had cried, nor was the pang of hunger you felt. You didn’t feel ready to eat anything yet though, but you definitely needed to get some water in your system.

Slowly, you got yourself out of bed, pausing for a moment to breathe through the stiffness in your body. Even when you had fled from Alastor earlier, your bathroom had never seemed as far away as it did now. It wasn’t until you were practically in front of it that you noticed the red dress hanging from your bathroom door, a note peaking out from the left pocket of the white, ruffled apron attached to its waist. It was a brief message, but impactful all the same. 

I believe red suits you best. - Alastor

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tag list: @fairyv-ice

[theliteraryarchitect]

You can burn your story slower than you think.

There's a lot of noise online about getting your reader's attention immediately, starting in medias res (in the middle of things), and the slippery science of "hooks." But readers are a lot more patient than we give them credit for.

Recently I've been re-reading the Harry Potter books. The Goblet of Fire is 734 pages long. When would you guess that Harry discovers his name has been entered into the goblet, and that he will have to participate in the tri-wizard tournament?

Based on the usual writing advice, I'd guess no more than a few chapters into the book, say, page 100? But Harry doesn't have his name called until page 271. And he doesn't start the first task until page 337. That's halfway through the book!

What happens in the meantime?

First, Rowling works in the background information we'll need to understand the ending. She shows us Wormtail's reunion with Voldemort, introduces Bagman and Crouch, lets us know how a Portkey works, and explains the unforgivable curses.

Second, she introduces a few mysteries--Harry's painful scar, the mystery of who set off the dark mark at the Quidditch World Cup, and, of course, repeated references to an unknown event that will be taking place at Hogwart's this year. These unanswered questions keep the reader curious as she takes her time in the first half of the book.

So she's not leaving us adrift in those first 300 pages. But she's also not hitting us over the head with some incredible event right away. The lesson? If you leave a trail of breadcrumbs, no matter how faint, readers will follow them to the end, and your story can burn delightfully slowly--no forced drama required.

Hope this helps!

[multi-fandomfuckboy]

Stranger Than Fiction

Part 26: Attitude

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Slowburn)

Part 1,... (Masterlist)...Part 26, Part 27 (Coming Soon)...

AN: Wow, twice in one week. Wild. Hope you guys like it!! Let me know what you think! Word Count: 3,090 Warnings: none

You relish the feeling of the asphalt under your shoes. Lengthening your stride, feeling the pull of your muscles, you set a steady pace. You barely notice the cold after a mile. In a way it’s almost comforting, the frozen air pressing around you biting at your exposed skin, almost like a kiss. The night is dark and peaceful, most people are already asleep at this hour. It swallows you whole, hiding all the parts of yourself you’ve been trying to ignore.

You know you should hate it. After seeing all the evil things that can hide in the dark, you should be terrified. But you’re not. A familiar shiver traces down your spine, like the darkness around you recognizes the darkness in you. A part of it will always live inside you, etched into your very skin, down to the bone. You can feel it with you now. The tingling sensation prickling around your scars, twisting down your back, it’s always there, but in the cold night air its caress feels like an old friend. 

You fall into it, the feeling allowing you to drift in and out of thought. The inky blackness pouring into you, filling the space in your mind where confusing and complicated thoughts once dwelled. Thoughts about Billy, about Steve, and Nancy, Jonathan, your mom, Hopper… all those loud thoughts smothered by the blanket of darkness. It’s peaceful here, in this place of no feeling. It would be easy to stay… It always was. 

You don’t know how long you walk, instinctively making your way down the street. Your stride is suddenly interrupted when part of your shoe becomes detached, flopping against your heel as you shuffle to a halt. Shaking yourself out of whatever fog you had fallen into, you lean down to inspect your sneaker. You can see in the dark that the back part of the sole on your right shoe has finally given up. The piece of rubber dangles loosely from the rest of the shoe. Prodding the damage gently you’re hardly surprised when another inch peels away from the main shoe. 

“Fuck.” You mutter under your breath, trying to press the rubber back into place hoping that maybe it will magically adhere long enough for you to make it home. A light flashes from behind you on the road, the sound of an engine disrupting the silence of the night. In the headlights you are able to see just how distressed your shoe is, illuminating the irreparable damage. 

Straightening up, you turn slightly to assess the oncoming car. Its headlights blind you for a moment, you lift your hand to shield your eyes as the car comes closer. You can tell it’s slowing down as it approaches you. Your heart beats a little faster, you try to tell yourself it’s probably nothing, just a concerned Hawkins resident out for a drive… in the middle of the night. You take a step back, off the road, your muscles tensing in preparation, keeping your arm loose at your side, knowing that it will take you 2 seconds to get the knife from your ankle. 

The car comes to a stop beside you, the drivers’ window already lowered. You can’t see into the car, your eyes struggling to readjust.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson last time you almost froze to death?” The driver says. Of course. As your eyes focus you can make out Billy’s sharp features, his white teeth flashing as he grins up at you. You can’t stop the upward tilt of your own lips, your stomach twisting at the familiarity of the situation.

“What can I say? My tutor says I’m a slow learner.” You say with a shrug, crossing your arms over your chest. Billy huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes. 

“Sounds like a smart guy.” He replies with a smirk. Before you can reply he cuts you off. “If you keep standing there giving me attitude your fingers are going to freeze. Get in the car before I have to drag your ass to the hospital.” You open your mouth to refuse but as you shift your feet you feel the sole of your shoe slide, reminding you of your current predicament. Another mile and you’ll be hopping on one foot. 

“Fine.” You agree. If it were another day you would laugh at the surprised look on Billy’s face. In all the times he’s offered to give you a ride, this is one of the first times you’ve actually accepted. “But only because I think my foot would actually get frostbite if I don’t, and I don’t feel like getting a lecture from my mom if I get taken to the hospital.” You explain, walking around the car, limping with the awkward flop of your sole with each step. 

Billy reaches over the seat to unlock your door before you get to it, rolling up his window as you climb in. The heat from inside the car washes over you, drawing your attention to how cold your limbs had grown. You hadn’t even noticed. Sliding into the passenger seat, you close your door and buckle your seatbelt. 

“Why are you limping?” Billy asks, his eyes searching over you in the dim light of the car before reaching above him to flick on the interior lights. He looks you over from head to toe, searching for any sign of injury. You prop your foot up on your knee, allowing the light to shine down on your busted sneaker. 

“Looks like they just finally gave up.” You comment, flicking the dangling piece of rubber. Billy’s expression relaxes slightly, seeing that it’s just your shoe falling apart, not you. 

“What are you doing walking out here anyway?” He asks, flicking off the light. “I thought you left with Harrington.” He says, turning away from you to face the road, putting the car into gear. You can see his shoulders tense, despite how calm his voice sounds, the muscle in his jaw fluttering. 

“I just drove him home.” You tell him, watching his expression carefully from the corner of your eye as you lean forward pretending to look at your shoe. You wonder why he would be so curious. You know he had seen you leave with Steve so why was he… Suddenly something occurs to you.

“What are You doing here?” You ask pointedly. You hear his hands tightening around the wheel, his gaze locked forward, again that muscle in his jaw ticks. 

“I was just in the area.” He says, attempting to keep his tone casual. You know he’s lying. It’s getting too easy to read him these days. 

“I saw you at Tinas’.” You tell him. His eyes flicker to you briefly before returning to the road. 

“I saw you too.” He says, his voice suddenly hard. Your stomach drops uncomfortably and you look back to your foot. You aren’t sure why you feel like you’ve done something wrong. You grit your teeth together in irritation. You did absolutely nothing wrong. You were just hanging out with Steve, Billy was the one with some girl hanging all over him.

“I thought you would have wanted to stay at the party. You looked pretty… occupied.” You try to keep your voice indifferent but a slight bitterness tinges the edges despite your efforts. You hate the jealous feelings swirling in your gut. You have no claim to Billy. The two of you hardly tolerate each other. 

Still, you find it hard to ignore the fact that there is something volatile between you, something wild, almost dangerous. You’ve been trying to stamp out the ember between the two of you since you met, somehow it keeps flickering back to life fanning itself into a flame the closer the two of you get. 

“Yea, if I was desperate and bored enough I might have considered it.” Billy says, immediately catching what you're alluding to. Who you’re alluding to. “Girls like that are only fun for a minute, they tend to get a bit clingy if you give them a taste.” He goes on, shooting you a devilish smirk, explaining it to you like it’s the most simple thing in the world. Your face burns at the implication of his words.

“oh.” Is all you can manage, toying with your shoelace hoping the dim lighting hides your undoubtedly flushed cheeks. Billy chuckles lightly, seemingly amused by your lack of response. You should be used to this, he’s always saying things to fluster you, he must get a kick out of it or something. He clears his throat after a beat, keeping his eyes ahead. 

“I thought you would have wanted to stay at Harringtons’, sure he wouldn’t have minded.” His tone sounds shockingly similar to how yours had, going for casual but a bitter undertone slipping through. The meaning behind his words is not lost on you. 

“We’re friends.” You say, reflexively defensive. Billy scoffs.

“Right.” He says, shaking his head. It’s clear he doesn’t believe you. You cut your eyes to him in a narrowed glare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, letting your irritation bleed through. Billy seems unaffected, his shoulders shaking slightly with a humorless laugh. 

“Come on, Loca. I know you’re crazy but I didn’t know you were blind too.” He says, his smirk taking on the wolfish aspect you associate with his cruelty. “He hangs around you like a love-sick puppy! He can’t go two seconds without touching you. You’re really going to try and tell me you’re ‘just friends’?” He asks, lifting a brow in disbelief. Your face flushes with anger replacing any sort of embarrassment you would feel at Billy’s description of yours and Steves’ relationship. 

“Steve is going through a lot right now.” You respond tensely, meeting his eyes evenly. He turns his eyes back to the road, another dry laugh escaping him, causing you to grit your teeth harder. 

“Oh right! I forgot who I was talking to. The saint of Hawkins High, trying to save poor Stevie boy from his broken heart.” Your anger flares in your chest, pulsing against your ribs. Billy didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. He didn’t know Steve, he didn’t know what the two of you had been through together. How much death and darkness you had helped each other through. You would be DEAD without Steve Harrington. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You hiss, struggling to keep your hands from shaking in anger, curling them into fists in your lap. Billy doesn’t miss this, he keeps pushing. 

“Trust me, the broken heart routine only lasts until he gets what he wants form you loca.” He tells you harshly. You scoff at that.

“Oh and you’re an expert, right? Had a lot of practice?” You spit back. You think you see hurt flash across his face but only for a moment and he’s back to himself. 

“I may not be an expert but I’ve definitely been around the block a few times.” He tells you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as they pull back from his teeth in a knowing grin. “Which is more than you can say if your reaction this afternoon is anything to go off of.” You gap at him, your anger coming to a screeching halt as you try to think of a response.

“I- That- That’s none of your business.” You blurt out. Billy laughs again. 

“Oh don’t be embarrassed loca, we all have to start somewhere.” He coos, giving you a look of fake sympathy. “I’m just surprised you’ve made it this long with how Harrington seems to be pawing at you.” You know he’s trying to hurt you. You’re not sure why, but he couldn’t be further from the truth.

“I told you it’s not like that.” You insist, pressing yourself further into your seat, turning your body away from him to face the window. You watch the dark shapes blur past, melting together. 

“What’s it like then?” He asks. You know he doesn’t expect a response. Anyone else would have nothing to say to that. But there is a small part of you that needs him to understand. You’re not sure why, but you tell him the truth. Or at least part of it.

“Steve was there when I was attacked last year.” You say calmly. It’s like all the air is sucked out of the car. Billy says nothing. You can feel his eyes on the back of your shoulder, where he knows the top of your scars starts. He’s seen them, he knows how the skin is puckered, still angry and raised along the flesh of your back, you know he’s picturing them. “He’s the one who drove me to the hospital, thinking I was dead. He held my hand when I was in a coma, visited me as much as he could when I woke up, brought me homework, kept me company even when I thought I didn’t want it.” You speak without emotion. These are all facts. It’s who Steve was even before he became one of your closest friends. “He’s been a good friend to me. An amazing friend.” You let yourself smile gently at the thought. “I intend to be the same for him.”

The car gently comes to a stop in front of your house. You turn back to Billy. He’s not smiling now, any trace of the cocky Billy that was teasing you moments ago is gone. Instead he keeps his eyes straight ahead, his knuckle white where they grip the wheel. He is eerily still, his tense shoulders barely rising with each breath. There is a beat of silence. It feels like you’re balancing on a tightrope, one wrong move and Billy will snap. 

“Thanks for the ride.” You nearly whisper, unbuckling your seatbelt. You reach to open your door, Billys’ hand on your arm stops you. You turn back to meet his gaze in the dim light of the car, he looks almost angry, his eyes intense as he focuses on your face. You steel your nerves, preparing for whatever hurtful comment he has ready.

“I didn’t know.” He says softly. The contrast between the hard edges of his expression and the gentleness of his tone is extreme. You realize then that the anger in him is for himself. You soften, knowing this is the closest to an apology Billy can give you. 

“It’s okay. You know now.” You tell him. His expression only tightens, his hand gentle on your arm tenses slightly. Leaning back you take his hand from your arm, holding it in your lap as you turn towards him fully. “It’s okay Billy. I didn’t tell you to make you feel bad.” You explain, hoping he can see the honesty in your eyes. He searches your face, his expression loosening a bit. 

“Why did you tell me?” He asks, keeping his voice low. You hesitate. 

Why did you tell him? Your thumb grazes over the knuckles of his hand, feeling the raised bumps of the scars there. Sometimes you forget that he has scars too, each one with their own story.

“Because I wanted you to know.” Is the only explanation you can offer. You’ve felt a connection to Billy from the moment he almost hit you with his car. Somewhere along the way between nearly dying again and living with the mess your life has become, you’ve found yourself drawn closer and closer to this angry boy. You want to tell him the truth, to offer him a part of you so few have access to. There is no explanation for it but you want to know Billy and you want him to know you too. 

It must be enough for him because after searching your face a moment longer, his shoulders relax slightly. You fight the urge to lean closer and use your fingers to smooth out the tension in his jaw.

You know what the stubble would feel like, you felt it against your neck earlier today. Your stomach swirls at the memory. You worry that he can see the thoughts dancing through your mind with how his eyes search yours. His hand gently takes one of yours, his thumb lightly swiping over your palm sending a shiver up your arm. 

“Come over tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 12.” Billy tells you. It’s not so much an invitation as a demand. Very Billy. 

“And if I have plans?” You ask, living your brow in challenge. Billys’ small smirk sends warmth flooding through you. 

“Cancel them.” He tells you simply. Before you can reply, Billy cuts you off by bringing your hand to his lips. His breath ghosts over your knuckles as he presses a gentle kiss to the skin. Your hand reflexively tightens in his, the words catching in your throat. Goosebumps explode across your skin and you’re sure your face is so red it’s probably glowing in the dark. 

Billy’s light chuckle only adds to the heat gathering low in your stomach. 

“So that’s how I get rid of the attitude.” Billy muses, watching you closely. He moves to bring your hand to his lips again, turning it slightly to press another kiss to the inside of your wrist. You can barely hear his words over the sound of blood pounding in your ears. “I would have put my mouth on you a lot sooner if I had known that.” He whispers the words against the sensitive skin of your wrist. Just when you think your heart is going to pound out of your chest, Billys’ teeth gently nip at your arm causing you to let out a small gasp. The sudden noise from you seems to break the spell he must have put on you.

You rip your arm out of his grasp, whipping around in your seat to fumble at the door knob. You nearly fall out of the car when you finally fling the door open, the cold December air sobering you up as you scramble from the vehicle. Billy laughs from the driver’s seat, causing you to glare back at him. 

Your only response is to slam the passenger door and turn, striding up your driveway. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, loca! 12 o’clock!” Billy yells from the window before he revs his engine so loudly you’re sure you will be getting a call from your neighbors. You roll your eyes, not bothering to watch as his taillights disappear into the night.

AN: Let me know what you guys think!

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[lemoncrushh]

Tattooed Heart - Part I

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 4K+

STORY PAGE

You could spot the birthday parties from across the room. Beautiful, rich kids and socialites tend to go all out, with the balloons and banners, ordering bottles or at the very least, top shelf cocktails by the dozens. On occasion, you might get a wealthy middle-aged businessman, or some guy who just made his first half-mil in crypto, ready to live it up for the night, but they usually kept a lower profile, not attracting as much attention to their celebration.

Zelda’s was a swanky, high-dollar lounge for the rich and the wannabes. In your two years as a cocktail waitress there, you’d learned how to spot the difference. Those with money knew how to spend it. Those that were only there for one evening of “let’s pretend” spent frivolously, cashing it in before - or sometimes after - going belly-up.

Tonight seemed to be just like every other weekend evening, the corner booths filled with decorations and Gucci-lipped twenty-somethings taking cell phone pics of each other. You gave your best fake smile, ready to serve anyone willing to blow a few hundred on drinks and hopefully dishing out hefty tips.

“What can I get you, doll?” you asked the blond at the end of the half-circle booth.

She gave you a quizzical look at first, as though you had just interrupted a private conversation. Then with a flip of her hair, she smiled at her group.

“Oh, I think Harry was gonna order for us all,” she said. “It’s his birthday.”

“And which one is Harry?” you grinned at the three young men who shared the booth, all dressed in suit jackets with their shirts unbuttoned past their pecs. Everyone at the table pointed to the dark-haired guy who sat in the center with his hands up.

“That would be me,” he remarked nonchalantly in a syrupy British accent.

“Well, Happy Birthday, Harry,” you raised your voice over the loud music. “What are we having for this celebration?”

“Tequila, the best you’ve got,” he replied, his ringed finger gesturing in a circle. “All around. And a bottle of Cristal.”

Two of the girls at the table cheered, clearly impressed with Harry’s selection.

“Sounds like a good party to me,” you nodded. “Be right back.”

Heading over to the bar, you heard the group cackle behind you. Then one of the girls shouted, “Stop it!” When you reached the edge of the bar, giving John, the bartender your order, you snuck a glance over at the table. The girl sitting next to Harry held her cell phone up to take a photo, the birthday boy with his tongue in her ear. Clearly the group had gotten a head start on drinks before they’d ever arrived.

“Another one of those, huh, Y/N?” scoffed John.

“Same shit, different day,” you commented, shaking your head. “Gimme one of the birthday glasses, will you?”

“Ah, which Paris Hilton wannabe is the birthday girl? Lemme guess…the blonde in the silver bandeau top getting her ear tongue fucked.”

You chuckled. “Try the fucker.”

“Oh yeah?” John raised a brow, placing the bottle of Cristal on your tray. “The himbo, eh? Wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“Why not?”

“Imposter Armani suit? I can spot it a mile away, honey.”

You laughed as he finished pouring the tequila. “Guess he’s out of his element. But he obviously wants to impress on his birthday.”

“From the look of the caliber of girls he’s with, I’d say I don’t blame him.”

You nodded, carefully taking the tray. You knew what John meant. Harry may have not been the typical socialite to walk through Zelda’s doors, but the women in his company obviously were. And they expected to be treated as such.

Returning to the table, you gave your biggest smile as you set out the tequila. You noticed Harry eyeing you as the rest of the group claimed a glass.

“This is your best tequila?” he asked, almost in a huff as though you couldn’t have possibly selected the best.

“Definitely,” you replied. “It’s a Siete Leguas.”

“Hmm.” Lifting his glass, he let the liquid swirl before taking a sniff.

“Smells good to me,” remarked the blond next to him. “But I don’t know much about tequila.”

Harry took a slow sip, his eyes still on you above the rim of his glass.

“What d’ya say, H?” asked one of the other gentlemen.

“It’ll do.”

Trying your best not to react negatively, you chewed your bottom lip. “I can get you something else if you like.”

“I said it’s fine.”

Not bothering to mask your frown, you took a deep breath through your nostrils. This was gonna be a long night.

“Would you like me to pop the champagne now?” you asked.

“Sure, go ahead,” Harry gestured with his hand, taking another sip of his tequila.

Taking the bottle, you opened it with finesse, just the way you’d been taught and had been doing since you’d started working at Zelda’s. The girls all cheered when the cork popped. Harry, however, was not impressed.

Grabbing the special birthday glass, you began to pour.

“What the fuck is that?” spat Harry.

“It’s for you,” you smiled.

“I don’t want that. Gimme one of the regular champagne glasses.”

“I’ll take it!” beamed the blond on the end. “It’s cute!”

Harry rolled his eyes before handing the glass to her with a smirk.

“Here, Tawnie,” he said. “Pretend it’s your birthday.”

“Aw, yay!” she giggled with glee.

Trying to keep your composure, you poured another glass of Cristal, handing it to Harry.

“Shouldn’t ladies go first?” he remarked, scooting the glass to the girl next to him.

“God, I’m gonna be so wasted,” she laughed.

Swallowing hard, you knew where this was headed, so you poured champagne for the other two girls, then passed around the remaining glasses to the guys, leaving the last for Harry.

“Happy Birthday,” you said again, this time with no enthusiasm. “Enjoy.”

Leaving the bottle on the table, you turned away, cursing under your breath before making your way back to the bar.

“Jesus fucking Christ, kill me now,” you whined at John.

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s a petulant, disrespectful asshole!”

“The good looking ones usually are,” John sighed.

“You think he’s good looking?” you twisted slightly to look over at the booth. Harry was laughing at something one of the other guys had said.

“Honey, don’t tell me you didn’t notice!” chuckled John.

“I was too busy wanting to pour tequila over his head,” you grimaced.

“Well, try not to let it get to you, hon. Just be your sweet self, and get that massive tip. The night will be over, and you’ll never have to see him again.”

With a nod and a sigh, you took the refills for the next table, handing them out with a bright smile. The older gentlemen gave you a thanks and a wink, one of them patting your behind as you bent over. You hated being fondled at work, but if you had a choice, you’d take that any day over dealing with jerks like Harry.

“Excuse me!” you heard someone shout as you started to make your way back to the bar. Speak of the devil.

“Yes?” you grinned, stepping over to Harry’s table. “What can I do for you?”

“Can I get a glass of wat-” asked a brunette before Harry rudely interrupted.

“We need water,” he said, accusingly.

“Sure, no problem. All around?”

“Of course,” he rolled his eyes. Apparently this man lived to be constantly perturbed.

“I’ll get those for you right now.”

“That should have been like…a given, right?” he remarked. “What waitress doesn’t automatically bring water?”

With a sigh, you slid your tray under your arm, pressing your hand on your hip.

“If you want water…or anything for that matter…you can ask for it!” you barked. “I’m happy to bring it to you. But you don’t have to treat me like an imbecile!”

“Jeez,” one of the other guys muttered under his breath.

“What?” Harry glared at you, his eyebrows knitted together.

“You heard me, Birthday Boy! I’m just doing my job!”

As you started to turn away, you heard him mutter, “Doesn’t look like it,” followed by the rest of the group either giggling or shouting “Ooooh!”

You decided not to delight him with a response. Instead, you strutted to the bar where your darling pal John was already getting water glasses ready.

“Fuck me sideways, girl, that was rough!” he exclaimed.

“I’m done, John! I can’t deal with these assholes anymore!”

“Uh oh, looks like you may have to,” John averted his eyes to the glasses in front of him. Turning to see what he was talking about, you nearly ran into Mr. Personality.

“You owe me an apology,” he growled.

“Excuse me? I think it’s the other way around!” you yelled.

“I’m out with my friends for my birthday,” he explained, gesturing toward the table, “and I don’t appreciate the way you’re treating me.”

“The way I’m tr-” you turned beet red. “How dare you! You entitled, self-centered prick!”

“Easy, girl!” you heard John shout, but you paid no mind. You were ready to have it out with this guy.

“What did you call me?”

“Y/N!” someone else shouted. Looking up, you noticed your boss, a scowl on his face as the entire lounge had turned their focus on your encounter. “What seems to be the trouble here?”

“Are you the manager?” asked Harry.

“Yes, sir, how can I assist you?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” he began, “but your waitress here seems to have a problem with me. I’m here celebrating my birthday with my mates, and she’s gone out of her way to be rude to me all evening.”

“What?!?!” you shouted incredulously.

“Y/N, did you have a problem with this young man?”

“No, sir,” you shook your head, your arms crossed over your chest. “It’s the other way around. He’s been nothing but rude since-”

“She just called me a prick,” Harry interjected.

“Because you’re being one!” You glared at the asshole, shooting daggers at him. You felt like your insides were on fire as you held your hands in fists at your sides.

“Y/N, if you can’t control your temper, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” said your boss.

“I’m sorry, but he’s so rude, Mr-”

“Y/N,” your boss narrowed his eyes at you, before turning to Harry. “Sir, I do apologize for my employee. We do not condone this kind of behavior at our lounge.”

You watched Harry as his shoulders fell, a breath releasing from his nose. “I should hope not.”

“Now…” your boss added. “What can we do to rectify this situation? Perhaps we can put your tab on the house?”

Harry raised his brows, surprised at the offer. “That would…yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

Your boss nodded, patting Harry on the back. “No problem whatsoever. I hope you’ll come see us again.”

“Not if she’s here,” Harry scowled.

“I assure you, that won’t happen.”

With a gasp, you watched your boss turn around and face you. “Get your things, Y/N,” he said in the most relaxed voice possible, as though you weren’t just getting canned.

“Are you serious?” you cried.

“We don’t talk to our patrons this way,” he explained. “I won’t allow it. Now, put your apron away and clock out.”

Your jaw set, you tried your best not to cry. No, you wouldn’t allow yourself to. Not in front of him.

“Fine,” you said, untying your apron. You slapped it down hard on the bar, then turned for the back room, but not before noticing the sly, satisfied smirk on jerkhead’s face.

Only when you reached the back room did you let the tears fall. Cursing at yourself, at Harry, and your boss, and at the entire situation, you managed to grab your jacket and purse. You almost forgot to clock out, but you figured you might not get paid otherwise. Sitting on the dark green leather sofa, you waited until you thought Harry and his crew might be gone. Then wiping your eyes, you stood up, nearly bumping into John.

“Oh, Y/N, honey I’m so sorry!” he cried, wrapping you in a big hug.

“What the fuck, John? Why does he get to win?”

“I don’t know. The whole ‘the customer is always right’ thing, I guess.”

“That’s a load of bullshit,” you sobbed against his chest..

“Preaching to the choir, sister.”

“Is he gone yet?”

“Mr. Pretentious? Yeah, he left a few minutes ago. Want me to walk you out?”

With a nod, you let John walk you halfway through the lounge until you met up with your boss again who insisted he be the one to see you out. Just in case you were to cause a scene or some shit. As if you would. Not after that whole ordeal. You felt completely defeated…and deflated. You felt the eyes on you as you made it to the front door. Your boss held it open for you as you stepped into the balmy night air. With a sigh you walked to your car, turning once to give Zelda’s the middle finger.

Fuck that Harry guy. Fuck him to hell and back.

“Are you ready?” asked Shae.

With a sigh and a nod, you grabbed your keys. Last month you had promised your roommate that you’d go with her to get a tattoo. While you had been thrilled then about getting some new ink, after getting fired from Zelda’s, the excitement had worn off. In fact, you’d considered canceling all together, seeing as spending dough on a tat now seemed frivolous, and you could certainly use the money in case you couldn’t find another job soon. But in the end, you decided you owed yourself some kindness. And besides, Shae was chomping at the bit to get one, and she wouldn’t let you live until you went with her.

You drove to Fine Line Ink, just a few blocks from your apartment. You’d driven by it several times, but had never gone inside. Shae specifically requested this tattoo shop because apparently it was fairly well-known on social media. At least your roommate had done her research, even though she had no idea what tattoo she wanted to get.

“I’ll know it when I see it,” she’d insisted.

You heard 90s rock music playing when you opened the door, but saw no one standing near the counter, or even in the waiting area. The front room was dark, but with warm lighting, much like at Zelda’s. You could smell incense burning as you gazed around at the walls decorated in various designs. Wandering over to the glass counter, you inspected the display of body jewelry.

“Hi, how can I help you?” you heard a voice say.

Your body instantly felt cold as you stood up straight. You knew that voice. And it was one you’d hoped you would never have to hear again. Turning around, you caught a glimpse of his tall frame, his t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, his biceps peeking out from the sleeves.

Motherfucker.

“Hey,” beamed Shae. “We’re here to get tats.”

Shae gestured toward you, and your body went numb.

“Oh?” Harry raised a brow, then looked at you. The recognition and disdain both happened instantly. “Oh.”

Turning back to Shae, he asked, “Do you know what you want?”

“Not exactly,” she shrugged. “Nothing too big. But not too small either.”

Harry chuckled. “Alright. I have a book right here,” he pointed to one on the counter. “It’s got some ‘not too big, not too small’ ideas in there, if you wanna take a look.”

“Okay, thanks!”

“Take your time,” Harry grinned at her. “I’ll be back.”

He gave Shae a small wave, but you didn’t miss the way his expression changed when he glanced at you before he disappeared to the back.

“So what are you thinking of getting?” your friend asked as she perused the book. She stopped on a page of flowers, but scrunched up her nose. “Nah.”

“Um…let’s go somewhere else,” you told Shae, practically pulling her arm out of the socket.

“What? No! I wanna get a tattoo here!”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Why not? I heard this guy’s the best. Plus…he’s like hella hot!”

“No, he’s not,” you argued.

“Are you fucking blind?” scoffed Shae. Turning the page in the book, she stopped and pointed at a baby lion. “That’s it!”

“I just…” you stammered, “I just don’t think this is a good idea anymore. I changed my mind.”

“Did you find something you like?” Harry asked from the doorway.

“No-”

“Uh huh!” exclaimed Shae. “This baby lion is so cute. It’s so me. I want him right here on my hip.” She jutted out her hip, slapping her hand where she wanted the tattoo to go.

Harry chuckled again, making your insides churn. You wanted to vomit.

“Alright,” he said, handing her a clipboard. “If you’ll just fill this out for me, I’ll go prepare your stencil.”

You weren’t sure what to do. You’d already promised your friend, and she looked so excited. You knew there were dozens of other tattoo shops you could go to, but Shae had picked this one. Why did it have to be this guy’s shop? Of all the fucking…

Taking a deep breath, you lowered yourself slowly in a nearby chair as Shae filled out her paperwork. Signing her name, she turned to you with a smile.

“Isn’t it cute? I’m so excited!”

With a gulp, you were about to respond when Harry returned.

“Let’s go back here,” he gestured once he’d taken the clipboard from Shae.

“Wait, my friend’s getting one too,” she looked at you. “Aren’t you?”

“No.” Although the sound came from your mouth, you could have sworn Harry’s lips moved too.

“Um…” you cleared your throat. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Shae asked, confused.

Although you didn’t want to, you gazed at Harry. His frown was so apparent, it almost looked like his eyebrows were sewn together. Finally, he relaxed his expression, pretending for Shae’s benefit.

“Don’t reckon I have enough time, love. It’s only me here tonight.”

You had to hand it to him. That was a good answer.

“Oh,” Shae pouted. “But I wanted to get tats together.”

“It’s alright,” you assured her. “I need to save my money. And I doubt there’s anything here I’d want anyway.”

You had to hand it to yourself. That was a nice dig.

It wasn’t lost on Harry, either. He scowled at you before turning for the tattoo chair, Shae following behind.

“This your first tattoo?” you heard Harry ask as you remained in the doorway.

“Yes. So please be gentle,” your friend replied, obviously flirting.

You rolled your eyes as Harry chuckled. In any other situation, with any other man, not only would you have encouraged the flirting, you might have even joined in. Both John and Shae were right in saying he was good looking…or hella hot as it were. Even you had to admit that. But you hated to. And you also hated how his laugh rang through the shop, like an invisible tattoo of its own, lacing with the sound of the Foo Fighters song that played.

Crossing your arms, you leaned against the door frame, trying to think of a way to get out of the situation. You thought of faking an illness. You did feel like throwing up. But Shae wasn’t having it.

“Come sit over here, Y/N!”

“I’m fine here.”

“Noooo. Come over here in case I need to hold your hand. What if I pass out or something?”

“Do you pass out easily?” Harry asked as he pulled on his gloves.

“No,” Shae replied. “I’m actually not scared of needles. But you never know.”

You caught the grin on Harry’s face as he turned in his chair. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Y/N!” Shae whined. “Please!”

Rolling your eyes, you surrendered, walking slowly toward Harry’s tattoo station. You noted everything he had set out on the tray beside him. At least he seemed to know what he was doing. But you weren’t about to admit that. Grabbing a nearby chair, you took a seat on Shae’s other side, opposite from Harry.

“So, you want it on your left hip?” Harry confirmed.

“Yep.”

“Alright. So I’m gonna need you to pull down your pants just a bit, past your hip, and turn on your right side facing…um…your friend.”

“Yes, sir,” Shae smiled, happily willing to oblige.

You watched as she unbuttoned her jeans, sliding them down as sensually as she could on the leather chair. You caught a glimmer in Harry’s eyes when he noticed she was wearing a thong.

“Seriously?” you scoffed.

“What?” he frowned, looking up at you.

“Do you have to ogle at her for fuck’s sake? She’s getting a tattoo, not stripping for you.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Believe me, joking is the last thing I’d be doing with you.”

Shae stared at you as she laid on her side. “Y/N, it’s okay! He can ogle at me all he wants!”

“Shae,” you narrowed your eyes.

“I think your friend can speak for herself,” remarked Harry.

Making a face, you sat back, crossing your arms and legs. His expression stoic, Harry pushed his chair closer to Shae, lightly swiping her skin with rubbing alcohol. Then he took a disposable razor to gently shave her hip.

“I promise I just shaved this morning,” giggled Shae.

“I’m sure you did,” Harry smirked. “It’s just procedure. We have to thoroughly prep the area before adding ink.”

Taking the stencil, he placed it on Shae’s hip, directly under her panty line.

“Is this where you want it?”

“Yes, that’s perfect.”

“Good.” Harry ran his fingers slowly and smoothly across the thermal paper, and you just had to say something.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Blowing air between his lips, Harry glared up at you.

“Would you stop? I’m just doing my job.”

“Oh, really? Could have fooled me. Looks like you’re trying to feel her up.”

“Y/N, what the fuck?” cried Shae. “Do you have a problem with this guy?”

“Oh, you noticed?”

Shae sat up, looking at you quizzically. “Do you know him?” Then lowering her voice, she whispered, “Did y’all fuck?”

Hearing the question, Harry snorted.

“Yeah, you wish,” you scoffed, giving him the evil eye.

“In your dreams, babe.”

“That’s it, I’m outta here,” you sprinted out of your chair, heading for the door.

“Y/N!” Shae shouted. “What is going on?”

“I’m sorry, Shae, I tried to keep my cool. But I can’t even stand to be in the same room as him.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” muttered Harry.

“Ugh!” you cringed. “C’mon, Shae, pull your pants up. We’ll find someone more competent to do your tattoo.”

“I believe I’m more than competent,” Harry rolled his eyes.

“I’m so lost here,” Shae whimpered, still in her chair. “How do you know each other?”

When you reached the doorway, you turned to face her, your arms still crossed.

“He’s the asshole who got me fired.”

“What?! Are you serious?!”

Adjusting herself in her chair, she faced Harry, waiting for him to retort. But he remained expressionless, his mouth in a straight line. Giving up on getting any response from him, you sighed and gestured for Shae again. When she slid off the chair, buttoning her pants, Harry finally spoke.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“What?” you glared at him.

“I…I didn’t mean to get you fired.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“I mean it. I was…a complete prick to you…just like you said. And I’m sorry.”

“Pffftt,” you sounded. “It's a little late for that. I lost my job because of you!”

“I know, and I felt bad about it.”

“No, you didn’t!” you spat. “You were ecstatic that you’d gotten your way! You’re an asshole!”

“You’re right,” Harry nodded. “I deserve that. But I hope you know that wasn’t me.”

“Do you have an evil twin?”

“No. I was trying to impress my friends.”

“By being a jerk?” piped Shae.

“Yeah. I know it’s not a good look,” Harry shook his head. He rose from his chair, stepping closer to you. “I was seeing this chick, Nicolette…and she was…used to a certain lifestyle. It felt good to be part of her world for a while.”

“Doesn’t sound like friends to me,” you remarked.

“No. They just wanted to go to Zelda’s and get drunk. I swear, it’s not my scene.”

“You don’t say.”

“Look…” Harry sighed. “I’m not asking for forgiveness because I know you won’t give it to me. I have no real justification for the way I acted. I truly was a prick that night. But I regretted it later. I knew it was wrong of me, and I wanted to apologize but I didn’t even know your name, let alone where to find you. I broke it off with Nicolette, too.”

“Oh, jeez, that makes me feel soooo much better,” you said sarcastically.

Throwing his hands up, Harry turned around and began to gather things from the tray.

“You really have some nerve, you know that?” you added.

Harry spun around, “For what? For apologizing?”

“For everything! For acting like a big shot, especially when you obviously didn’t belong there. For yelling at me in front of the entire bar, including my boss, and for getting me fired. And for being rude to me as soon as I walked in here.”

“Hey, you were rude to me first!”

“I was not!”

“Hey, guys?” Shae interjected. “Maybe we should just drop it. You were right, Y/N. We shouldn’t have come here.”

“I swear, Shae, if I had known he worked here, we wouldn’t have. Let’s go.”

As soon as you pushed the door open, you heard Harry huffing. “Your loss, not mine.”

“Fuck you, dude!” you exclaimed. “And get a life. A real one, not someone else’s.”

FEEDBACK IS LOVE

[drakulana]

the first spark // trafalgar law x reader

content: sfw, fem! reader, female pronouns, sloooow burn w little resolution, long reader backstory, violence

part 2, part 3

word count: 5.5k

notes: this is my first ever fan fic!!! i’m very proud of it, and i worked on it for a few weeks on and off. i hope you enjoy!!

⋆⭒˚‧₊˚°❀⋆₊⊹ ⋆｡𖦹˚. ͟͟͞☆

The Polar Tang had been under the water for about a month now. Never in a million years did (Y/n) think she’d be in the middle of the ocean, let alone underneath the surface in a submarine, 395 meters down. She had joined the Heart Pirates about 6 months ago and was just now getting used to being underwater for such a long amount of time. She had been having continuous headaches she assumed to be due to the pressure of being underwater for such a long time. They would come and go, some days worse than others. Today was one of the worst days. The chores had been done, and all the tasks were complete. Most of the crew decided to lounge around, hanging out with one another. To (Y/n) it seemed as if all corners of the submarine were occupied, and they all had too much noise to focus. Trying to find some peace and quiet, she made her way down to the boiler room, letting the laughter and chatter of her crew fade as she departed. It was not the first time she had done this, in fact this was her little secret. No one liked to come down here unless it was included in the work that they had to do. Pipes lined the walls, and the low hum of engines from a few doors over buzzed through the room. Finally at peace, she took a deep breath and exhaled.

A week ago, (Y/n) had stashed a book and a blanket down here, along with a pillow and a cushion she found in storage. She tucked herself into the corner, and sat down on the box that had placed the cushion on. She pulled out the book she was reading which was just a volume of some medical book Captain Law had in the library. Principles of Neurology. It was not an interesting read in the slightest, but there really was not a wide variety to choose from in the Surgeon of Death’s library.

Her mind started to wander as she flipped page by page trying to follow along the best she could with what she was reading. An entity of “frailty” has been conceived to encompass the sum of breakdown in multiple organ systems… She read the sentence over a few times. She made a mental note to get a book that was relatively interesting on the next island that they stopped on. Letting out a sigh, she continued to try to read but ended up drifting away with her thoughts. She was still relatively new to the crew, she had been with them for 6 months. Long enough to get comfortable with her crewmates, but not so long that they knew everything about her.

(Y/n) joined the Heart Pirates after aiding Law with intel that he needed about someone he was “researching.” During the process of this, she got caught up with the conflicts of whoever Law was looking into, and was taken hostage. While in hostage, the person pressed her for information of who was after them, how she knew all of their info, who was her informant? Despite the pressure, and the fear of looming death, she did not give out any answers. She chose against ratting out the Heart Pirates. At that moment, she was sure she was gonna die either way. If she gave out the information, the Heart Pirates were sure to come after her. If they were to get a hold of her, she’d have to answer to the Surgeon of Death. However, if she didn’t give out the answers, the man who was holding her hostage could kill her. So naturally, she picked the lesser of the two evils. Her mouth was staying shut. Like hell was she going to answer to Trafalgar Law of all people. She sat back and recalled that day.

She was held in a damp, dim, humid room. She wasn’t too sure on how long she had been there, but it was probably half a day. The interrogation started out like all of them did with questions and threats. After the first few hours of not speaking punches began to be thrown, and weapons were soon pulled out. Somebody’s hasty, she thought to herself as the interrogation took turns for the worst faster than she had anticipated. It was clear the man she had sold out was in a hurry. He was scared. How he found out it was her that sold his information, she didn’t know. All she knew was that this guy found out, and now he was mad and had a dagger. He kept questioning, each unanswered question he got a couple cuts in. Midquestion, a commotion outside the door started. Yelling ensued, then things breaking and then a panicked, “Boss, we have visitors.” The man interrogating you paused his mild torture, faltering as he stepped towards the door, like he was weighing his options. Would he stay in this room, or deal with the inevitable of being confronted by the man who seemed out his information, Trafalgar Law. He turned to the girl who was sitting in the chair. Her hands were tied in front of her, and her feet were tied together. “You,” He pointed an accusatory finger, “this is all your fault!” and you know, he was right, it was all her fault. She gave the intel for a very pretty penny, but how was she suppose to know she was going to get kidnapped and interrogated. How did they even know it was her who gave the intel? Questions zoomed through her head as he stormed towards her with the dagger in his hand. He held it to her throat. “I oughta kill you right here, right now. A life for a life.” The cool edge of the shaky blade pressed into her skin, nicking her in the slightest due to his unsteady hands. Then, with a sharp slice, her warm sticky blood poured down her neck. An involuntary gasp ripped from her throat as she felt the blood gather at the neckline of her shirt, soaking it. This is it, she thought, Here’s where I die. But before he could cut any deeper, the door to the room burst open. A warm yellow light illuminated the room from the hall outside. A tall figure stood in the doorway. It stormed over to the man, grabbing him by the back of his collar, turning him around. The warm light from the hallway casted across the face of the figure, it was none other than Trafalgar Law. Law craned down to the man’s height, paying the woman tied to the chair no mind, “I believe you have something I want,” he said in a low gruff voice. The man trembled in his grasp. “Now why don’t we take a little trip to your laboratory,” Trafalgar Law dragged the man out of the room, leaving the woman in there alone. It was a quick few minutes before she realized she was gonna have to free herself, and this was her only chance.

She looked around the room and spotted the dagger that the man had dropped near the doorway. Seeing her chance of escape, she scooted the chair towards the entrance. She grabbed the knife with her feet. Reaching down with her tied hands, she cut the ropes that bound her. Whoever tied her up did a really shitty job. Finally free, she prepared herself to escape. Dagger in hand, the silver of the blade glinting as she gazed upon the object. She couldn’t help but notice the blood on the edge from the man attempting to slit her throat. She tried to pay no mind to the wet sticky pain that was starting to raidiate down her neck and into her collarbones. Pushing the pain aside, she made her way through the place, careful to avoid anyone who might be lurking. Once she made it out, she let out a sigh of relief. Barefoot and bleeding, she decided she should probably take the alleyways home. She would hate to scare oncoming bypassers, or god forbid someone contact the authorities. Slipping into the alley, she started to make her way home before a voice cut through the night, “And where do you think you’re going?” Her head whipped around, gripping the dagger that she held in her hand. That voice was the one of Trafalgar Law. She met the man’s golden eyes. She quickly took in his appearance. When she first gave him the intel she had noticed his height, but she also wasn’t fearing for her life at the time. The weight of impending doom really added a foot or two to his appearance. “I didn’t tell them anything,” she breathed. “I didn’t say a word, I swear.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, and her voice didn’t sound like hers as it bounced off the alleyway walls. He took a step closer to her, “I know, but I still can’t let you go. You’re hurt, let me look at it,” he stepped closer. Her mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton. She took a step back, “I’m fine,” she gritted while taking one more step back, trying to put enough distance between them just so she’d have a chance of running away. She was just interrogated and borderline tortured, if she had known what the intentions were behind the wanted intel, she would’ve denied the offer. Besides, it wasn’t like the intel was collected for malice in the first place. (Y/n) had a goal, and that goal was to collect the most information she could, and write it all down into a book. This extended from histories of islands, pirates, doctors, scientists, government officials. Few people knew about her knowledges of the world and it’s inhabitants. Every now and then she would get someone wanting some information, and if the price was right she’d give it to them. She never thought it would lead to this, cornered in an alleyway by the Surgeon of Death himself. “I’m a doctor,” Law’s voice echoed off the walls as he slowly stepped forward towards her, like he was trying to approach a scared stray, careful not to spook it. His hands were held out in front of him, as if he meant no harm, however the word ‘DEATH’ tattooed across both his hands stated otherwise.

“I know good and well who and what you are.” Unintentional venom laced her words. She knew all about the reputation that seemed to proceed him. She had done her research whenever she came across his wanted poster a year ago. She never thought she would cross paths with him, he was just another name in her book for the longest time.

“Then you know it’s in your best interest if you just come with me.” With that last sentence from him, she falsely dropped her guard, muttering a small okay. She didn’t think this tactic was going to work, but as soon as she saw him relax his stance, she bolted. Running through the alleyway with no shoes seemed to be a difficult task, impeding her usual speed. Trying her best to avoid glass and nails, she darted in between the buildings, and in and out of the alleyways. She had the advantage, she knew this city. The poorly maintained asphalt stung, but she had no other choice but to ignore it if she wanted to get away.

She finally was able to duck behind a building after what felt like an eternity of turning down random streets and alleys. She leaned against the bricks to catch her breath, gripping the dagger in her hand. Her heartbeat was in her ears, she could feel the blood rushing through every vein. She stilled and tried to stay quiet, the only sound leaving her was a shaky exhale. The adrenaline slightly wore off as the silence of the night settled. The events of the night really started to set into her body. Her arms and legs aches, her lungs burned, her throat was on fire. Despite the pain setting in, she thought she had gotten away by some miracle, but a second later the same low voice she was running from bounced around her again. “You really think you could get away from me that easily?” His voice echoed, giving it a more sinister sound than what he had intended. She met his eyes. She didn’t know if it was the adrenaline making her analyze her situation in full detail, or if she was just delusional, but she found herself taking in every detail of his presence. The eyes that held her eye contact were golden. He had a lean figure, and was undoubtedly in shape. The moonlight poured over his figure, casting an intimidating shadow as he now stood in front of her. She noted the yellow button up that was halfway buttoned, showing a glimpse of the tattoo on his chest. He had on jeans that had spots on them, and a white hat that shared those same spots. Draped over his shoulders was a long navy coat. If she wasn’t running from him, she could’ve admitted that he was quite an attractive man, but in her head he was trying to catch her so he could kill her.

Her grip on the handle of the dagger tightened before hurling it in Law’s direction. The blade rotated in the air before hitting Law in the shoulder. The way the dagger was thrown would’ve been deemed as impressive by him if he wasn’t on the receiving end of the throw. He quickly pulled the dagger out of his shoulder, and threw it to the ground before chasing after her, once again. This time she was only able to make it a few blocks before he finally tackled her to the ground against the rough concrete. She felt the skin of her knees and elbows scrape against the asphalt, surely breaking the skin. Heart racing, and body trembling, the woman underneath him had no choice but to accept her fate. “You’ll be coming with me,” he growled at her, bitterness lacing his tone. He pulled her up and off the ground then led her to the dock on the bay. His grip was more than enough of a reminder that there was nowhere she could go.

The walk to the submarine was silent, and the man next to her was not giving off a very welcoming energy considering he was taking her against her will. Blood slightly bled through his shirt where the dagger had hit him. He walked her down the dock, and onto a yellow submarine that had ‘DEATH’ written on the side of it. Well how lovely is that? She thought to herself. His firm grip on her upper arm never faltered as he guided her down the hallways of the submarine. Several of his crew members moved aside to make way for the two of them to walk down the hall. It was like a walk of shame. Once they reached the end of the hall, he opened a door. The sterile smell of rubbing alcohol and latex filled her nose, as the bright white lights poured out of the room. It was an examination room. “Sit,” he pointed to the examination table. Having no other choice, that’s exactly what she did, she sat.

Without another word, he started inspecting her injuries. He lifted her chin to get a better look at her neck. “This will need stitches,” he said flatly. He examined the other scrapes and cuts on her body. The adrenaline wore off long ago, and pain radiated from her toes to her head. He cleaned the area and prepped his needle. The stitching process was painful. She sharply inhaled when he stuck the needle through. “Be still,” he commanded, “It’ll only hurt worse if you move.” She had to force herself not to flinch at the needle stitching up her wound. Finally having her still, and in front of him, Law couldn’t deny that (Y/n) was very attractive. The way her hair framed her face, the way she held herself with such self assurance. Fear still resided in her pretty eyes, as she stayed as still as possible while he stitched. He ended up doing seven stitches, the cut was sure to leave a scar to adorn her pretty neck. He cleaned the other wounds and bandaged them up. It was silent in that exam room, and then finally he broke the silence. “Why did you run away?” He asked her. She looked at him like asked the stupidest question, and in some way he did. Who wouldn’t run away from the Surgeon of Death? His reputation alone was enough to make a grown man fall to his knees, and she had literally just seen a grown man fall to his knees at the hand of him. After weighing her response, she broke the silence, “Dying wasn’t on my agenda once I got out of there,” her voice quiet, but not weak.

“Why would I kill you?” He asked her. Again, another incredulous look was thrown at him. Was he not aware of the grumbling that went along with his name?

“For knowing too much?” She answered, in a duh tone.

“You don’t know anymore than you did whenever I approached you for intel. I had some of my men go through your files, you have some very impressive intel on multiple pirates including the warlords and emperors. Where do you get all that?”

“Verified sources,” she simply answered, not letting onto her process of gathering information. There was another silence before she broke it this time. “Listen, if you’re going to kill me, just go ahead and make it quick. Medical torture really doesn’t sound appealing.”

He chuckled lightly at this, but it was not one of humor, “I’m not gonna kill you, but I’m definitely not letting you go either. I know what you’re working on, and I want your intel. Join my crew.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand, and by the way he was talking to her that was very obvious.

“What’s in it for me?” She inquired like she had a choice.

“You can do some more of your research, and we could use your intel,” He stated like it was obvious. “Everybody wins.” Unfortunately, he was right. Going island to island would be great for her research, and it would give her an opportunity to get first count perspective about the things she was writing about. For a pirate, the information that she held would be very helpful, they would never go into a situation blind. However, being a pirate was not appealing. If she joined the Heart Pirates, she’d surely be wanted, especially with the information that she had collected over the years. She had been able to keep the things that she knew on the low, only occasionally being visited by certain people who wanted intel, but the intel always came at a price. It was a very hush-hush thing. Putting aside the fact that she knew more than most about what was going on in the world, she was just an ordinary woman with no devil fruit, no haki, how was she supposed to be a wanted woman? After mulling over his words, she finally spoke up, “I don’t think you know what I do. I’m gathering information to add to a book. I am not a pirate. I don’t have any fighting techniques, I would die as soon as we hit the battlefield. I will slow you down, no information is worth dying for, or putting your crew in danger for,” she argued, trying to convince herself if she made herself look like a burden, she would be let go.

“Your knowledge outweighs your weaknesses,” he stated. He wasn’t budging on this matter. “Join my crew, and you’ll get to gain more knowledge about the world. Think about the intel you could get if you were traveling the seas?” Once again, he did make a very good point.

“What if I say no?” She asked, wondering if he’d confirm her suspicions. A pregnant silence fell over the room again. She knew she wasn’t getting out of this one, and this just might be the death of her.

“You don’t want to say no.” He left it at that, and finished cleaning her wounds and patching her up.

That was six months ago. Six months of being on this submarine. Six months ago and she still didn’t feel as if she belonged, still felt as if she served no purpose. Sure after the first month, her crew mates started to adore her with her little jokes and random fun facts, but what was she really doing out on the open ocean? She sat there pondering until a voice ripped her out of her head. “You enjoying the Principles of Neurology?” It was her dear captain. She didn’t know he had been standing there, watching her unmovingly stare at the same page. She looked up at him, and then back down at the page she had been staring at for what felt like forever. “Sure, I’m having a blast learning about…The Neurology of Aging,” she read out the chapter name.

“What are you doing down here?” her captain asked her, curiosity lacing his tone.

“This is my secret hiding place, don’t tell the others,” she mused at him. Their relationship was very professional, and in fact for the first month and a half she was on the Polar Tang, she hardly said a word to him outside of him asking for information about various people and places. It’s not like she had a choice or not to be on the damned submarine. It still didn’t feel quite right to be there, but in the past few months she had started to let her guard down. She always addressed her captain with a professional tone, but every now and then she’d throw in a bit of a playful tone, and most times he would entertain her antics. “What are you doing down here?” she asked. She looked at her captain, taking in his appearance. She couldn’t lie, he was a very attractive man. Whenever she would have thoughts like this she would kick herself. She would remind herself who he was. He was her captain, and that’s all that was.

He looked down at her, discreetly looking her up and down, “I was looking for you. I would like to discuss some information about an island we will be arriving to in the next few days. There is an epidemic there and I will need all the information you have on the island, and the citizens so that we can take the proper precautions upon arrival.” His voice echoed off the metal walls.

“Oh okay, let me go up and grab my notes,” She said as she got up from her box, folding the blanket and placing the Neurology book on top.

“Meet me in my office,” he ordered, as he turned to go up the ladder. She made her way into her bunk and pulled out a notebook and a binder filled with stuff about all the islands she knew about. They were organized by North Blue, South Blue, East Blue, West Blue, Grandline, and New World. She gathered all her things and made her way towards Captain Law’s office.

She entered the Captain’s Quarters with a binder that was bursting at the seams, holding all her notes. As she walked in she took in her surroundings. It wasn’t the first time she had been in the Captain’s Quarters, but everytime she had been in there it was only for a brief period, usually dropping off files and papers from her research. Papers were stacked high on his desk, and there were files and books scattered across the room. It was messy, but it was not dirty. The room smelled like paper, ink, and Law.

She made her way over to his desk and started to flip through her binder. The binder was as full as it could be, and while the different places were organized, the contents of the binder within her neatly divided sections were scrawls of writing and small sketches here and there. “So, where we going?” She asked, beaming. She loved talking about all the things she had researched. She loved gathering information and putting it all together. Her goal was to write a full encyclopedia on the world and maybe one day she could write about the One Piece, if it was ever found. Without looking up, Law answered, “Bronze Island.” She was aware of the location, and she was also very aware of the disease that spread through the island, almost 60% of cases were fatal.

She flipped to the section where the island’s information was found, hesitantly inhaling before stating, “Uhh… I don’t think you want to go there.” Law looked up at her for the first time since she had entered his office, feigning annoyance behind his eyes. “I do think I want to go there,” He countered. She didn’t argue with him, he was the captain after all, but this island was being raided by pestilence.

“This disease has a high mortality rate, and it’s more contagious than the common cold. It’s an airborne disease. It spread mostly through bodily fluids,” she spouted off. “The island has poor air quality which just adds to the mix, making the citizens’ immune systems weaker. The island’s government is riddled with corrupt officials. There have been many uprisings staged, but none of them have aided in the ridding of the corrupt officials,” She set the paper in front of her captain. “If you have any questions, let me know. I’ll leave the rest of these pages to you,” she took a stack of papers out of the binder and laid them on his desk. There must have been at least 20 of them. The pages consisted of information about the epidemic, information on the citizens, as well the island officials. Law looked through the papers, before setting them back down. She used that as her cue to leave, and went towards the door, “Just let me know when you’re done with them.”

“Where are you going?” He asked her as if it were normal for her to stay. He never asked her to stay after giving him her research. He usually just looked at them and returned them. They shared eye contact for a split second before he answered her unasked question of why. “I’m going to need your help on this one.” Without replying, she turned back towards him and sat in a chair that was in front of his desk. The chair was hardly broken in, and it was obvious her captain didn’t really enjoy visitors all that much in his study, unless necessary. A dull sense of pride bubbled up inside of her, hearing that he needed her help. For a second she was able to push aside the feeling of not belonging on this ship. Her captain picked up the pages that she had given him and handed them back to her. “Let’s start with the island officials.” (Y/n) flipped through the papers getting to the officials section of her research, and started spouting off the names and the roles they played within the island’s government. She didn’t know what her captain was planning, nor did she think she wanted to know what he was planning. She was still new to this pirate thing, new to the notion that sometimes some people will get hurt in the crossfire. Hell, she was almost one of those people.

Brushing off her thoughts she skimmed across the paper, coming across some grammatical errors. “Captain Law?” A comfortable softness laced her tone as he caught her eyes. He had never heard her voice sound so sweet, so warm. His heart almost melted. “Could I borrow a pencil?” She asked him, holding his gaze with hers. He mumbled a quick of course before holding the object towards her. She reached out to take it, the tips of her fingers brushing his. When they touched, a jolt of electricity shocked them both. His golden eyes met hers once again, but lingered for a second too long this time. Long enough for her eyes to travel down to his lips, and then back up to his eyes. It felt as if time stood still. It felt like it was the first time she had really taken a good look at her captain since that night 3 months ago. She pulled her attention away, muttering a quick thank you as she took the pencil, hoping the lighting in his office didn’t capture the slight pink dusting her cheeks. She internally kicked herself for letting her eyes travel, for letting herself put him on a pedestal in her mind, even if it was only for a split second. It was wrong in so many ways, she couldn’t let herself think about him in that way. She couldn’t let her guard down. Mutually ignoring their little moment, they both resumed to what they were doing.

After about 2 hours of going through the information about the island and it’s government, as well as its citizens, they wrapped up their work. “Would you like me to leave you these papers?” She asked him. Without looking up from all of the notes that he had taken, he let a single, “Yes,” fall from his lips. She nodded, and put the papers on his desk. “If you have any questions, you know where to find me,” As she was about to make her exit, she heard her name being called. She turned her head to look at her captain, unintentionally savoring the way her name rolled off his tongue. “Thank you for the help,” he said smoothly, hesitating before continuing, “And if you ever need a place to hide, don’t hesitate to come in here to read or to finish your research.” She smiled and nodded her head as the feeling of belonging settled in her core for the second time that night. “Thank you, if you ever need anymore help I’m more than happy to do so,” she replied trying to sound as professional as possible in order to combat the warm feeling that was starting to bubble in her stomach. She turned on her heel and made her way back to her bunk.

That night, against her will, her thoughts were consumed by her captain and the moment they had shared. She felt guilty feeling this way, it wasn’t right to feel borderline giddy as she recalled such minor events. Sure, maybe their fingers touched, and maybe he made her feel like she belonged for once, but it was a moral dilemma just waiting to happen. Internally, she berated herself for even thinking about her captain in that way. Despite her self berating, she let her thoughts drift to her captain as she stared at the metal ceiling. There was a comfortable air around him, one she didn’t like to acknowledge that often. He felt safe, but she knew he could be dangerous. He seemed sane, but she knew he wasn’t. She was aware the longer she stayed with the Heart Pirates the more she let her guard down, and that included Law. She surely was trusted if he was offering to share his quiet space. She thought about how he offered it to her, with softer words than his usual tone. No matter how hard she tried to shake the doctor from her thoughts she couldn’t. That night, she went to sleep with Trafalgar Law taking up the space where her dreams usually lay.

Down the hall, in the captain quarters, Law mulled over what he had said to her before she left the room. It wasn’t like him to just offer someone a place in his study like that. Law worked alone. It was his space. That was the one place he was guaranteed to get some peace and quiet. What was even more strange was that he didn’t even regret offering his space to her. In fact, he was hoping that she would take him up on it and spend her time there instead of in the boiler room. He pushed his thoughts away, rationalizing his offer as just an excuse to gather more of the information she held. If she were to come to the office for peace and quiet, it was inevitable for her to work there too. He told himself that was the real reason he had offered it, rather not acknowledging the warmth he felt when he was around her. He pushed his thoughts away and buried himself in his work for the night, every now and then thinking about his crew member. The feeling that was tugging in his chest would have to be for another day.

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@drakulana 2023 // i do not give permission to copy, translate, or repost without my consent

[seraphinitegames]

i put off playing A’s route for the longest time bc the memes made it look so agonizingly angsty but like omg,, how have i not played it sooner the SLOWBURN? THE GENTLE TOUCHES?? THE SMALL SMILES???? THE FIREWORKS SCENE????? IVE DIED AND GONE TO HEAVEN A U SILLY GOOSE IM GONNA MARRY U

A's is the slowest of slow burns I've ever written, as well as the one step forward, two steps forward feel, which is also difficult when you just want to write the progression you know is coming, hehe! :D

I'm so glad you're enjoying it though!

Things are certainly coming to a head in that romance soon...

Thank you so much for the encouraging message! <3

[scrollonso]

First Kiss (Break 1)

A strollonso AU where 18 year old rookie Lance Stroll falls helplessly in love with the notoriously mean world champion. (1.2k words, no warnings) [@v3lnys] {filler chapter? I just felt like Lance and Nando getting closer would make more sense if they spent break together + Mark}

last part - masterlist - next part

They had two weeks off and Lance had absolutely no plans, Nico was on vacation with his family to god knows where, Fernando had probably already arrived in Australia, and Lance didn't have any other friends on the paddock to worry about.

He had thought about going back to Canada but he just ended up back at his house in Switzerland. Spring had started by the time he got home so it wasn't like he could distract himself with snowboarding so he just ended up at home on his couch for the past five days.

Being alone was nice, but a part of him missed Fernando, oddly enough. They'd only ever hung out on the paddock but Lance had grown to look forward to the time they spent together, whether it was actually sitting and talking or just exchanging glances while in the middle of interviews.

As if it was fate, his phone began to rang. It was an unknown number but he figured it might be important, his dad had a history of calling him from random places just to check up on him, as if the 18 year old hadn't been left alone before.

"Hello?" He said, holding his (very small) phone to his ear

"Lancito, I am so glad you answered!" a voice on the other end spoke, a very familiar voice

"Nando?" Lance questioned "How did you get my number?"

"Is not important!" The Spaniard said, brushing off the question "Lancito, are you busy? If you are, cancel, come to Australia."

"No, I'm not busy." Lance responded, wondering if Fernando was really inviting him to Australia, wasn't he with Mark? Wouldn't that be awkward? "Is something important happening in Australia?"

"Si, You are coming, is important."

"Nando, I-" The younger boy laughed, not being able to wipe the smile off his face just from hearing the other mans voice "Sure, I'll come."

"Perfect, I'll send you the information, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay Nando"

"Bye, Lancito! Have a safe flight"

And with that the call ended and Lance wasted no time in buying the tickets to Australia (idk how people bought plane tickets in 2006...)

Lance got off the plane, trying to pat down the hair he could feel sticking up, he always slept on long flights and this one was no acception. It was weird being in Australia a week before he had to but he wasn't going to turn down Fernando is he wanted Lance there so bad, for whatever reason.

It was a Sunday morning and the airport was surprisingly busy, he eventually found his way out and got a taxi headed towards the address Fernando had texted him

"Just landed, headed your way now!!"

Lance stared at the screen before sending the message, just now wondering why exactly he was there, he wasn't blind to the media, especially when he was constantly being interviewed and asked questions fans were dying to know, he had heard the rumours, people saying Fernando was only talking to him to scare him, he was going to embarrass him, he had some ulterior motive, Lance hoped it wasn't true but now that he was blindly following Fernandos orders in another country while he was visiting his friend (who's seat he took) a part of him started to wonder if Fernando was planning something. He hit send.

They'd hadn't texted much, just Fernando sending him the information he needed and Lance thanking him before he got on the plane and turned off his phone, he wasn't too fond of it anyways.

"I am glad you made it"

"Is exciting"

"Tell the driver to go faster"

Lance smiled at his phone, excited to see the Spaniard again, even though he saw him not even a week ago.

"I shouldn't break the law yet"

"I just got here and my dad isn't here to bail me out!"

"I will do it, no worries Lancito"

He shook his head at the text, turning off his phone and waiting to arrive, not too far away from the location

He stepped out of the car, paying the taxi fare then walking up to the house, hesitating to knock. Maybe texting would be better? Or calling? Or anything besides knocking? Before he even had the chance to decide the door opened, revealing a slightly-taller-than-him Mark Webber and Fernando standing by his side, the two closer than he thought they would be

"Lance, welcome, so sorry about making you come so randomly." Mark spoke first, stepping back to invite Lance in

"It's no problem, I wasn't doing anything anyway" Lance smiled as he walked into the house, scanning what he could see

"I told you Lancito didn't mind" Fernando said to Mark, hitting his arm slightly "Is good to make sure you two get along before people start to speculate, ay?" Fernando smiled at Mark then at Lance, reaching up to flatten the hair still sticking up on his head

Lance wasn't sure why he was surprised Fernando was still calling him his nickname, he didn't know why he expected anything to change with Mark around, Fernando seemed the same, if anything he seemed happier around Mark. It made him feel bad, he was the reason Mark lost his seat, the reason Fernando's friend was no longer on the paddock, the reason Fernando had to settle for him instead.

"Well, Lance, I don't mind that you took my seat" Mark laughed, closing the door before putting an arm around Lance's shoulder "I was done with travelling all the time anyway, so don't beat yourself up over what people say"

Lance nodded, Mark was right, and he was pretty old so it made sense for him to be smarter.

"Now, how about we have fun now that we've dragged you to the land down under?" That made Lance smile, he was looking forward to spending the rest of his break actually doing stuff besides binging TV shows.

The next week went by so quick Lance was surprised when he actually had to go to the paddock, almost as surprised as fans when he showed up with both Fernando and Mark.

He hesitated when Fernando suggested all of them going together, worried about what people would say, but the older men made it obvious they couldn't care less so thats how they ended up going together, Mark having plans of doing interviews around the paddock and spending his free time in sither the pink or blue and yellow garage.

Being in Australia a week early was great, they were busy the whole time but Lance enioyed it, loving the time away from his phone and especially away from the media. It made him notice how close Mark and Fernando really were, he felt jealous at times but it was probably just because he was used to having Fernandos attention on him after quali and races, he felt selfish for feeling that way so of course he never addressed it.

"Where are you going first?" Lance asked, looking at Mark, both of them on either side of Fernando

"I was thinking of interviewing people first, it's gonna be weird being the one asking the questions"

"As long as you stay far away from me, we're good"

Fernando shook his head, pulling the taller man closer "We really need to get you used to the media, eh? All you do is complain" He sucked his teeth after he finished teasing Lance, earning nothing but an eyeroll from the teen

"Yeah, yeah." Lance smiled, not able to stop himself when it came to Fernando "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

And with that the race week started.

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter eight

“i want everything i asked for.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: ‘fuck it, do him scared!’ or whatever the saying is, no plot cuz y’all have had enough of that, pheromones are putting in work cuz you have heart eyes, y’all are touch-starved and pent up, half-transformation demon alastor (i hope that makes sense lol), implied demon alastor, little bit of angst or even hurt/comfort at the end? 🥲 smut: clothes ripping, scratching, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, slight degradation & praise kink dynamics, blood play & biting, handjob, orgasm denial, cream pie

word count: 6.6k *maniacal laughter*

author’s note: it wouldn’t be right to start this off without a formal apology for the cliffhanger and then, subsequently, the publishing delay 🥲✨ this ended up being more of a labor of love than i had expected; i just seemed to have such bad luck, this week of all weeks. thank you for your patience, and i hope this makes up for it! @hazelfoureyes one of these days i’ll have some more for you, but until then darling, you ever so kindly ‘asked’ me for smut so… 💅🏻💖

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor meant for it to be chaste, really he did. And while he had desperately hoped for acceptance, the ardor with which you returned the kiss was unexpected. The grip of your hands around his wrists was fierce, pulling him in; fingers like sticky fibers against the patch of bare skin nestled between his gloves and the cuff of his shirt. 

So you were hungry, too… He couldn’t help but smile against your mouth at the thought. 

Finally, his luck was turning around.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

When you offered your help to Alastor, a kiss was the last thing you ever expected. 

Actually, you had been fully prepared for him to hurt you somehow, whether it was his intention or not. He had gotten upset so quickly, you assumed it must have been residual animosity from the meeting with Valentino that he could no longer contain. The more you thought about it, you truly understood how degraded he must have been by the whole affair, filling you with a guilt you worried might never go away. He needed a victory.

So offering your help was the least you could do.

But you never could have imagined the way he took your face in his strong hands, holding you with such care despite the intensity roiling off him in his half-formed demonic state. The strain on his face as he struggled to compose himself, his eyes switching back from black with red dials to that familiar searing red. The storming hunger you saw in them, half-lidded, as he closed the gap between you…

Your mind was practically rendered blank, running on instinct; the warm ache throbbing between your hips quickly taking up any remaining space that was left.

His mouth was softer than you expected but his press against you was firm and wickedly practiced. You felt him smile against you and for a moment you forgot to breathe, the resulting gasp being the perfect opportunity for Alastor’s tongue to snake into your mouth. If your eyes hadn’t already been closed, they would have rolled to the back of your head. His tongue was soft and big and hot, his movements steady and filled with purpose; not a drop of wasted effort. You could only hope to keep up…

It was such arduous work keeping your hands at his wrists, floored by the intense desire you had to reach out and touch him. But you didn’t know your limits here. He was still riled up — if anything, you had heard his antlers grow — and you didn’t want to make any wrong moves.

So you put all your longing into the grip of your fingers and mouth, your mind wandering on the feeling of him. Large, elegant hands cupping your face like glass. His body looming over you, offering shelter you were more than willing to accept. His mouth so hot against yours it would leave you feeling cold once it was gone. And he smelled so good this close, smoky and verdant like a bonfire on a crisp autumn night. 

Your thighs rubbed together from the pulse radiating there, and he let out a small groan against your mouth as your nails absently dug into the skin of his wrists. The sound of him simultaneously made your legs weak and fanned the flame between them. His voice had always been nice — he didn’t build a career for himself on the radio for nothing — but you felt a growing fear at the aspect of never hearing something like that again after he was sated; knowing that no matter what it would haunt you for eternity. 

I really am so fucked…

He was pecking now, his breath and teeth and tongue ghosting over your swollen mouth and face as he feverishly placed multiple at a time. You wanted to reciprocate so badly, whether with your lips or hands, but it was clear he needed to ravish you first so you stayed put in a shocking exhibit of will-power. But when you felt the tug of his teeth against the corner of your jaw you couldn’t stop the shaky moan that escaped you, not even noticing how your hips rolled on nothing but air.

That’s all it took. 

Alastor pulled away and gave a quick kiss to your hands before dropping them to take up the torn fabric of your collar. He gave it a sharp pull, tearing your dress straight through to the waist; the sound ringing out in the quiet of your room with the promise of what’s to come. You were too stunned by the suddenness of the action, but the look on your face must have really been something if the expression you were seeing on his was any indication — ravenous and wild. 

Your chest heaved with quickening breath, heartbeat kicking and head empty as you felt all the blood in your body rushing down. Too overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, you dared to bury your face in his chest, grateful to be just tall enough to reach. Mortifying as it was, it was all you could think to do. 

Though safety wasn’t the only thing you found, pressing in so close to him like this, your throat going dry at the feeling of his arousal against you. No amount of time or experience could have prepared you for this, for him. You were beginning to think that there would be nothing left once he was through with you.

Just need a minute…

Mercifully, he let you. Even going so far as to cradle you against him, cupping the back of your head with his left hand. You relaxed into him, a hot puff of air leaving your mouth to soak into the fabric of his clothes. Alastor’s pleased hum in response vibrated against your face, and you brought your hands up to grip the lapels of his coat for fear of crumbling at his feet.

As you steeled yourself, he didn’t desist from his poking and prodding at your exposed back with his free hand. It disappeared briefly, followed by the faint sound of something falling to the carpet before the air was ripped from your lungs at the touch of his hot, bare skin against yours. You whined into his chest as your back arched against his palm, your fingers nearly ripping through his coat with the force of your grip, earning a gruff and sinister chuckle from him. Being able to bask in the feeling of the rumble in his chest against you was a lovely consolation, though. And just under that… his heartbeat. 

His hand against your back regained your attention then, scratching and massaging at its leisure; nails tracing indistinguishable shapes along your skin. Traveling up and down your spine at first,then your shoulders and, finally, the back of your neck where he paused. 

His message read loud and clear: time was up. 

Alastor pulled you away from him with a gentle firmness, managing to handle you with care despite his clear desire for haste. You could see it burning in his eyes with no intent to extinguish any time soon. He was so mystifying like this, you couldn’t help but drink him in. Stately, powerful… beautiful. It seemed impossible now that you had ever been afraid of him in this state of half-transformation. He didn’t seem to mind the admiration, soft smile and lust-heavy eyes radiating with ego.

His antlers look so handsome when they’re branched out like this…

“Shouldn’t you have offered to take my coat by now? I’m your guest, aren’t I?” he teased as he swiped your dumbstruck mouth with the pad of his thumb. The filter dipped in and out over his quiet, low tone of voice, sending a fresh wave of heat to your core and cheeks as you fought the urge to nuzzle your face against his bare hand. How had he already reduced you to this? “But I suppose I haven’t been well-mannered myself. Just look at what’s become of your dress.”

His face was smug as he played with the decimated fabric, fingers dancing across your exposed neck and shoulders before pulling down the long sleeves. They had been the glue, apparently, your dress falling past your hips with ease and into a heap on the floor in near silence. Goosebumps pricked your skin as you stood before him in your underwear, already feeling naked as he took you in. You noticed him focus in on your shoulder and neck, the draw of his eyebrows confirming your earlier suspicion that he had left a bruise.

“It’s fine, it didn’t hurt,” you lied self-consciously, unable to keep the nerves out of your voice. It sounded like an apology. He hadn’t meant it and in the grand scheme of things was a bruise really so bad? It would be gone before you knew it.

He didn’t seem convinced, a sound of disapproval coming from behind his closed lips before a smile took its place. “Hmm… if you say so. Perhaps a kiss to make it better?”

Alastor wasted no time leaning down to place his mouth there, and you sighed as the heat of his wide, wet tongue swiped over it before he closed his lips with a small smack. As he nuzzled in — kissing, licking, sucking, nipping — your shaky fingers took to the task of unbuttoning his coat as he had suggested. The action earning you a growl and a bite, not yet enough to break the skin but taking your breath away all the same; the fire in your belly now flickering up into your chest.

Once the coat was loose you ran your hands under it, starting near his waist to travel up his chest until you reached his broad shoulders. Was he the one who was so hot, or was it you? It was impossible to tell. You used the top of your hands to start working the coat off of him, and he paused from his effort at your neck to assist with removing his arms from it before tossing it off to the side — his remaining glove along with it. You caught sight of the saliva glistening around his mouth and chin before he resumed his station and didn’t even try to hold back the soft moan that escaped you.

What was the point?

With a snarl — that was the closest thing you could think to call it — his hands hooked behind your knees and hiked you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around him for purchase as you gasped. Alastor’s mouth found yours again and you held his face to keep steady as you hunched over him, tears forming at the corner of your closed eyes from the relief of being able to touch him this time.

This kiss wasn’t as poised as the first had been. It was hurried and open-mouthed, messy and deep. Not enough, not enough, not enough. You broke away this time, seizing your opportunity to explore his face with your lips as he had yours. His claws bit into the flesh of your ass as your mouth latched onto his neck, sucking at the pulse you found there. The resulting buck of your hips from the action and the moan he let out only pulling another from both of you.

You didn’t even notice that he had been walking until you were suddenly tossed onto the bed, his body immediately caging you in beneath him. You hooked your legs around him as he ground into you, your cry of pleasure from the friction echoing off the walls. He did it again and you whined, squirming, his hands on either side of your head as he leered down; red eyes glowing with satisfaction.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor took a moment to take in the sight before him, feeling his eyes glitch as he roamed over your flushed face.

He made quick work of grabbing your face with one hand to pucker your mouth before returning to explore it with his tongue. It surprised him how much he was enjoying this; kissing you with abandon, somehow never scratching the incessant itch despite his efforts. He captured your bottom lip with his teeth, resiliently managing not to bite straight through it as you moaned into his mouth.

“Alastor…!” 

His name was a song on your breath, scorching down from his ears to his cock, all of which reacted with a twitch.

One string loose. 

How many more would he need to cut before you went slack?

Who had bound you up like this in the first place? It certainly hadn’t been him. On the contrary, he was so eager to see you torn open and bare, stripped of all the little secrets tangled like knots on your tether to him. Always keeping your guard up around him wasn’t only irritating… it was selfish. And there was only one of you here allowed that luxury. 

Still, this was quite the consolation prize, seeing you surrender to him so easily. He had barely gotten started and you were already making such a pretty face for him; a new favorite, even. Your little pout that normally inspired vexation looked sweet like this, swollen with his kisses. It was an image he would soon not forget, being so much better than what he had imagined.

Your scent had truly blossomed now, dizzying him with the potency of its floral, nutty musk; just a hint of sweetness underneath. It complimented his own smokey, green, and bitter scent so well. But Alastor was ready to make his next new discovery, his hips finally lifting away from you as he gave you a final peck on the mouth.

“Hmmm, delicious as your mouth is, there’s another place I’m quite eager to kiss.” He could feel the wickedness on his face as he said it, unable to contain the static that flared around him as you breathed out a curse, body trembling.

Alastor made a slow descent, teasing you with licks and bites and kisses to draw out as many moans and whimpers as he could from you. Such music you made for him. Only for him. It was a good thing he had already resolved to avoid sleep as much as he could in the future; he wouldn’t get much anyway with the sounds you made ringing in his head like church bells.

He could see the damp soaked into your underwear before he even touched them, already intoxicated by the smell and heat wafting off your core. He’d have to be careful here… not an easy task, but he’d manage. The self-advised warning did little to stop him from tearing the garment in half with ease, enjoying the wide-eyed look you gave him as you quickly propped up on your elbows from the sound.

“I’d apologize for frightening you, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t mean it,” he said, holding your gaze as he palmed your bare sex, thrilled by how wet you already were. You were having such a hard time keeping your composure, serving only to egg him on. He hummed and continued, almost surprised by the words that came out of his mouth, “You don’t seem to mind, though… how lewd.”

Your head fell back with a loud whine, arms giving out so that you were flat on your back again; face scarlet as his fingers moved against you, collecting your arousal. His dick throbbed against him at the sight, leaking onto his skin and clothes. He couldn’t help the hiss that spilled from between his teeth when he tested you with his middle finger, tight as you were wet.

“Oh my… it’s been a while for you too, hm? I’m honored,” he cooed, relishing the way you whimpered and clenched at his words. “I do worry how you’ll fare… Contrary to the restraint I’ve shown so far, I must warn you… I don’t have the capacity for gentleness today.”

Your eyes shot open with shock, and with that he removed his finger and brought it up, putting the entirety of it in his mouth to suck you off as you watched. His eyes closed in pleasure, groaning as his tongue lapped up every bit of you, savoring every second. Clean and tart… like a ripe summer cherry. He couldn’t stop the bit of drool that escaped the corner of his mouth, the rush of saliva incensed by your taste coming on too quickly to swallow it all.

Alastor was breathing hard through his nose, a fresh wave of hunger — he wasn’t sure what else to call it — trembling through him with a fierce burning need. His smile and voice were sharp, static fraying as he spoke, “Hmmm… My imagination wasn’t even close. Aiming to please, dear?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

His fascination with licking you off him would be your second-death. Not only that, but you hadn’t expected him to say any of the obscene things that were spilling from his mouth, let alone the way you were responding to them. You had been subject to dirty talk before and enjoyed it (if done well), but… there was just something about it all coming from Alastor that set your veins on fire.

“Alastor, please, it’s embarrassing,” you pleaded through gasps, watching through half-open eyes as he licked away at his hand. You felt as if you had a fever, your face was so hot, hair already beginning to stick to your forehead with sweat.

As if falling on deaf ears, he merely proceeded to give a sharp tug to his bowtie, removing it in one go before unbuttoning his shirt. Something about the harsh way he pulled his shirt from the belted waist of his pants made you dizzy, but you felt a scream die in your throat watching the way his shoulders and chest moved as he freed his arms, with just the slightest flex of his abdomen; your eyes unable to resist following the trail of hair below his navel that disappeared under his belt.

You had made peace with your budding attraction to him — it was easier that way, considering your near-constant state of proximity — but this felt like being tossed directly into the fire.

Burning at the stake.

As he towered over you, you took in the large, pink scar lacerated across his chest from left shoulder to the right side of his ribcage. There had been mentions of the battle against Adam and his Exorcists within the group; how terrifying it had been, how brave everyone was. The loss of their friend Sir Pentious, who had died trying to help protect them against Adam. That was when the conversation normally tapered off, the grief still too close at his loss, but also because of what led up to it.

From what you understood, Adam had been Alastor’s appointed target to handle. One he was unmatched against, if the scar was any indication. A killing blow he had managed to survive. You hoped the pity you felt wasn’t making its way into your gaze as you looked at him, knowing he’d dislike it. Still… You sat up with hands stretched out, the instinct to touch and comfort him too strong to fight. But he pushed you back down, a shadow coming over his face as bent over you. 

“Patience, sweetheart. I still owe you a kiss.”

You didn’t have time to process the dismissal before he raked his nails on your skin as he dipped down, your back arching up to meet them as you breathed through the small sting of pain. A splash of sobriety hit you as you felt the heat of his breath hovering over your cunt, your stomach tight as he moved closer, a wanton cry as he finally lapped at you with his tongue; a slow, wide, firm sweep from hole to clit. Sealed with a kiss, as promised.

You shuddered and gripped the duvet as if your life depended on it. The image of him nestled between your legs making your brain short-circuit. His eyes were shrouded with a predation that should have terrified you. So why did it thrill you instead?

 “Oh my god…”

That wicked grin of his…

“Last I checked, Hell is the absence of God. Let’s try again, shall we?” 

He hiked your legs over his shoulders, looped his arms around to grab the top of your thighs, and pulled you to his mouth. You saw white as he wasted no time in setting a voracious pace, his tongue dipped into you — long and thick — as his nose pushed against your clit with every open-and-close of his mouth. His chin providing a pleasant hardness that nearly knocked the wind out of you.

He was incessant. 

Sucking, prodding, licking, and swallowing; a starving man who may never eat or drink again. Your hands found purchase on his antlers, a bit smaller now but still looming, earning a moan of approval into your heat that blossomed in your chest. The room was filled with the sound of wet smacks and a harmony of throaty groans from him; keening, breathy moans from you. Both unabashed.

In between breathing his name, words were tumbling from your mouth that you couldn’t register, too lost in the feeling of him on you. Not just your pussy, but your legs, too. His hands gripping your thighs so fiercely as your hips rolled against his face that you hoped for bruises. A keepsake. It was impossible to know if this would ever happen again.

You hadn’t even realized you were slipping away from yourself until he pulled back with a sharp gasp, finally coming up for air, jerking his antlers from your hands. The lower half of his face shimmered with a blend of your arousal and his spit, the sclera of his eyes gone black, dials taking the shape of his red irises. Again, your arms reached out, shaking from the effort as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Kiss…,” you barely managed to say, dizzied as you were.

Alastor obliged, climbing up to your open hands as you pulled him down to you, unable to find the strength to meet him halfway. He flinched as you ran your tongue over his left cheek, licking up some of the mess there as he wiped at the other side with the back of his hand. The taste of your combined fluids sent a jolt of pleasure through you and you moaned through the sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that followed. The laugh that escaped him was sinister but sent another wave of warmth through you all the same.

He rewarded you with a finger, followed quickly by another. And before you knew it, another. Pumping in and out of you with a delicious stretch and a maddeningly consistent pace before they curled, teasing your spongy core as his thumb circled your clit at the switch; the sudden onset of your orgasm had your body trembling under his touch.

“Ohh… mm, fuck…! Hmmmnn… Ah—! Alasto—ahh!”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” His voice was rough but soothing. A crackle of static melded into your moans and the wet sounds of your cunt, and he gave his head a violent shake as if to clear it. There was nothing but a growling need when he spoke next. “I’ve got you, don’t fight it. Let me see how pretty that sullen face of yours looks when you cum…!”

It was all too much. Just the intensity of his eyes on yours boxed in between your hands holding his face could have sent you over the edge. But his words again, that pet name… 

The tether snapped so viciously you were fairly certain you passed out for a moment, your vision gone black as you screamed. Only to be brought back to consciousness by Alastor’s fingers slowly riding the wave of your orgasm, no longer stroking with purpose — you were clenched around him so tightly his previous pace would have probably injured you both — but with a languid solace. Graciously accepting every roll of your hips into his hand as you moaned his name and gasped for breath.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

God, it was so fucking satisfying to see your face twisted up, eyebrows knit and your pouty lips salaciously framing your open mouth as you cried out for him. Another perfectly shattered expectation, much like the rest of this experience had been. He didn’t even mind that your eyes were shut. The consolation being the glimpse he caught of them rolling to the back of your head before they were out of sight. That, and, this would only be your first. He was determined to get at least one more out of you before this was over, truly unsure how much you could handle.

He was surprising even himself, speaking to you in the manner he was. He enjoyed a good tease, but he couldn’t recall going to this extent before. Perhaps it was a result of the pheromones, but he simply couldn’t seem to help it. The reactions it was pulling from you were too exhilarating to deny himself… and by extension, you.

His static was filling the air, buzzing with the energy of a lightning storm as he sucked you off his fingers once more with a snarl; his free hand sloppily undoing his belt before giving it a freeing tug, desperately hard erection weeping slightly at the bit of alleviation. As the realization that he was preparing to enter you sunk in another ripple of goosebumps pinpricked his skin, causing him to bite down on the inside of his lip from the sensation.

The taste of his own blood came with inspiration.

Alastor tucked back some of your damp hair before bringing his face down to meet yours, swiping at your lips with his blood-coated tongue. Testing the waters. Your eyebrows drew together and you stretched underneath him, as if waking from a night’s sleep, before blinking your eyes open. He watched as your tongue responded with a quick prod of what he had left there, and felt his smile grow when you let out a hum of content.

He would never tire of being right.

“I thought you might like that, my little killer… Have some more,” he whispered against you. Giving your lips another rough lick before taking your mouth again, groaning into each other as your tongue soothed his still-bleeding lip.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Something about this kiss was different.

There was a fierceness this time that hadn’t been there before, no doubt spurred on by the blood pooling in Alastor’s mouth. It had been shocking to taste at first but then… you found that it wasn’t too bad. Diluted with saliva, it was almost sweet, and you relished the way he enjoyed your tasting of it.

Your hands traveled up to the back of his head, gently scratching the prickly velvet of his undercut with one while the other pulled at the hair on his crown. His hiss into your mouth made you moan with another jump of your hips, and you felt him shift over you then; vaguely aware of the sound of him unceremoniously tugging down his pants before he took your hand from his crown and brought it between you.

The gasp that escaped you was sharp, your hand instinctively wrapping around his length as he guided you through stroking him. He was so hard, wet, and heavy, burning to the touch, but distant alarms were ringing about your ability to take him all. It scared you how much you wished to try.

His moan of relief was another keepsake, the sound of it so soft and pleading in your ear that you nearly sobbed from your desire. You couldn’t help but wonder what his face looked like, making a sound like that, and found yourself jealous of the skin of your neck he was hiding in. You stayed like this for a moment, his hand leaving you to work on its own as he cradled the opposite side of your head to lick and kiss your neck between gasps and moans. With a final nip to your skin Alastor pulled back, the mattress dipping as he put all of his weight onto his forearm to the right of your head as he adjusted himself.

“Don’t close your eyes,” was all he said before pressing into you, the tip of his cock already threatening to overwhelm you as it teased your entrance. 

It was not an easy task, your eyebrows drawing together in such a way that it nearly blurred your vision. You whined between closed lips, doing your best to breathe through the sweet stretch of him finally entering you. Despite his direction, he didn’t seem to be doing much better; sweat beading on his forehead over furrowed brows, kiss-swollen mouth open with panting breaths. Flushed cheeks. Even in the state he had reduced you to, you were trying to sear the image of his lust-strained face into your psyche.

He was rocking his hips slowly, allowing you to adjust to him with each little thrust as your arousal coated him, easing his advance; breathy moans collecting between you in puffs of steam, joining the two of you together in all the places you weren’t touching. 

All the while, your eyes were locked on each other. Had anyone else ever seen his the way they were now and found them beautiful instead of horrifying? You moaned as you stared at him; taking in his large, elegant antlers and sweat-damp hair, reminding you of the bedhead you had seen the other morning. His handsome and sinister face. He could easily tear you to shreds — and in a certain way, he was — but you were overwhelmed at the amount of care he had shown you so far, even with his earlier warning. 

His thrusts were building in sharpness, parting you with a tantalizing push-and-pull until he finally bottomed out with a growl. You cried out from the fullness he gave you, already twitching around him despite his stillness as he gave you both a moment to try and catch your breath. 

Alastor peppered your face with kisses and licks as you relaxed into him, testing you with a shallow thrust that had you biting down on your lip. Another. Another. Another. Until your mouth was hanging open, your hands traveling up to hold onto his triceps in your need for stability and to keep him close. Suddenly you felt him leave you completely, not even able to process the emptiness before he slammed back into you with a harsh grunt that made you squeal; writhing as he pressed up into your cervix.

He must have really enjoyed that, because he did it again. And again. And again. Settling into an excruciatingly blissful pace, his hard length massaging knots out of your body you didn’t know where there. Your legs instinctively hooked around him, nails digging into the flesh of his arms as you gasped and whined.

“So — ah..! Good… Alastorrr…!”

“Fuck!” he hissed between gritted teeth as your hips bucked, brows knit tight as he shook his head as if to clear a fog. 

You didn’t know he was actually trying to keep something at bay, the additional inch of growth in his antlers lost on you in your current state.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor’s hips stuttered for a moment before muscle memory guided him back to rhythm, desperate to regain the bliss that was torn from him. It had been a close call, but he managed to keep the switch from happening. Though the monster inside was still there, clawing at him just below the surface. 

He felt as your hands move from their place on his triceps (which he had quite enjoyed) to settle on his chest, your fingers delicately tracing his scar. The line wasn’t steady though, perforated by the impact of his thrusts, which you were handling with a surprising welcomeness. 

It was almost…

There it was again, lying in wait; that ravenous, goading shadow roiling inside of him.

Take the risk…

Could he, though? Composing himself was practically second-nature, after all…

Say it!

Alastor exhaled, somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” He allowed himself to relish the sound of your cry and the blissed out look on your face, which in turn provided a moment to steel himself before continuing, “I didn’t think you’d be this greedy.”

“Fuuuck…! Alast — oh my god…!”

A fresh wave of your arousal flooded over him as you desperately rolled your hips to meet him, but the intention had been to make you climax — and judging by the way you were spasming around him, you were close. Not drive him to his own at the sight of your glowing eyes, just as they had that day in the alley.

He had miscalculated.

With an agonizing force of will he pulled out of you, harsh breaths straining his lungs as he got off the bed to hastily remove his pants and shoes. He groaned through the ripple of adrenaline that was tearing through him, heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum, the feeling of it causing his hair to stand on edge. Fuck. He wouldn’t be able to hold it off… not this time.

“What’s wrong?” Despite the question, your voice was still so thick with lust that it made his back hunch over.

It was taking all he had not to wrap his arms around himself in what he knew would be a useless attempt at containment. Even breathing was painful. The air saturated with the smell of sweat and sex and Valentino’s goddamn pheromones!

I really am going to kill that son of a bitch!

“Alastor…?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Burning at the stake.

It had been a good way to put it.

He had been burning you alive before dousing you with ice.

What had gotten into him? What had gotten into you? No one had ever said something like that to you before and received anything but a slap in the face. Greedy… The word made your heart stutter, some of the blood from the lower half of your body traveling back up to your face. Was it true? 

Embarrassment was beginning to sober you up. Had you gone too far? It seemed strange that you had, considering the words came from his mouth and not yours. Fuck, all of this had started because of him. How else had he wanted you to react? Or was he ashamed of himself? 

Was he regretting this already? 

“What’s wrong?”

You watched as his back arched up like a spooked cat, the force of his breathing revealing the ribs and notches of spine under the skin. He looked like he was in pain… Maybe the scar on his chest wasn’t as healed as it seemed? You climbed off the bed and made a timid approach.

“Alastor…?” 

He flinched at the touch of your hand with a hiss, the shock of his reaction making you trip over yourself and fall back onto the bed. He kept his back to you when he spoke next, the absence of his filter making you shiver in pleasure and worry.

“You remember what I told you earlier, yes?”

I don’t have the capacity for gentleness today.

How could you not remember that? 

“I do,” you answered, just above a whisper.

He straightened himself then, still turned away from you and managing to look regal despite his trembling. “I need you on all fours… and you must promise not to turn around. Do you understand?”

It was a question that didn’t leave room for any response other than yes. So you just positioned yourself on the bed, facing your headboard and gathered the pillows there underneath you for support. You had just finished settling when you felt his weight dip the mattress behind you, heart in your throat as he ran his nails down your spine before slipping his fingers into you.

You both sighed as he pumped you, filling the room with that familiar lewd sound between breaths. Stoking the embers of your stolen orgasm with every drag, until he removed them completely. You whined at his absence, the tightness in your belly teetering somewhere between pleasure and pain as you heard him shudder through stroking himself. His free hand resting now on your hip.

“Don’t get comfortable. If you cum facing away from me I’ll never touch you again.” His voice was tight with effort, the filter over it harsh and pocketed as he adjusted himself behind you, the grip of his hand on your left hip promising to bruise. 

To your shame, the threat alone almost made you, a graceless moan tumbling out from your chest as you barely managed to nod your head in confirmation; your cunt flexing around the words echoing in your mind. The obscene sight of it drew out a sound from Alastor that could only be described as animalistic, earning the plump skin of your hip a few punctures as he thrust into you, bottoming out.

It was a brutal pace, his cock nearly leaving you with every thrust before plunging back in. He still had one hand on your hip while the other grabbed your shoulder, the slapping sound of your skin meeting quickly overpowering the gasps and moans falling from your mouths.

“Haahhh… nnghh…! …fuck!”

“Alastor…”

You felt him twitch inside of you at the sound of this name before he practically shouted, “Again…!”

The blush burned down from your face into your chest, but you complied and whined his name again. And again. Until it seemed to be the only word you knew.

“Ohhh, fuuuck…,” he hissed, followed quickly by a snarl.

You could’ve sworn you heard fabric tearing before a green glow reflected off the lacquered wood of your headboard. Alastor’s huge silhouette taking shape as it intensified; invoking the image of a nightmarish spider more than the deer demon you knew. You closed your eyes and buried your face in the pillows you had gathered, refusing to turn around despite your instinct to do so. And even through the fear, you still felt your orgasm building, the battle to keep it at bay quickly turning against your favor. 

“Alastor… I… I can’t… I—”

The words were stolen as he suddenly bit into your shoulder, his mouth so wide you felt his teeth sink in from shoulder blade to collarbone. You screamed into the pillows as his hips stuttered, until there was a final thrust so deep it would have pained you if it weren’t for your throbbing shoulder. His seed spilled out hot and thick, fueling the aching fullness inside you as he grunted into your flesh; teeth still latched to you as if making a primal claim.

Hot tears fell down your face as he rode out his orgasm behind you, unsure if they were caused by the savage bite to your bruised shoulder or lament over the deprivation of seeing his face. But you had done as you were told, managing not to turn around or climax. The bite he was now nursing with licks and sucks and kisses providing plenty of distraction.

Almost too much…

As he tried to catch his breath, you could feel him shrinking behind you as he pulled out, his slick torso laying flat against your back as he lapped up the blood dribbling from the bite. And in between his kisses that traveled from your shoulder to your tear-stained face, his hands were petting you with such a tenderness it only wrought more tears. 

His soothing whispers of shhh, I know, I’m sorry, I’ve got you, I’m sorry ringing in your ears as he brought you to lie down, cradling you to him as he caressed your face with his hands that inflicted such pain* and comfort… protection.

For what seemed like hours, the two of you laid in silence, looking into each other’s eyes as his thumb stroked your cheek. Until finally you buried your face into his chest, hands over his heart.

And slipped into shadow.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

*to others lol

ps: phew! we fucking made it y’all… i truly hope it was worth the wait. but i do want to announce here that i will be taking a little break. i know this one was already late, but it kinda took a piece of my soul lmao since we only have two more chapters i need to make sure i have all my ducks lined up to wrap this with a pretty little bow. thank you for your patience and love, i really do appreciate you. and i’ll see you on may 5th 💖

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmic-lavender

[loveshotzz]

There’s a place for me

Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Chapter 1/?

Summary: On the run for wrongful murder charges, Eddie finds himself stopping in a sleepy ocean side town far enough from Hawkins where he can lay low for awhile. Running from the people that want him dead, his only hope is that his past doesn’t catch up to him. Especially when he meets the pretty eye’d waitress up the street.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: slow burn, angst (Eddie hates himself for running) eventual smut, strangers to lovers. My blog is 18 plus.

A/N: this concept was sent as a request by my irl friend @elthreetimes and as soon as I read it, there was no way it could just be a one shot. It needed to be a series. I feel so lucky that you trust me to bring this story to life, and I hope you enjoy this. Also I couldn’t have done this without my hellfire crew @myobmaya @boomhauer @subparwritersuperbreblogger @sweetsweetjellybean for bouncing ideas and characterizations with me. I seriously couldn’t have written this with out you guys. This is the most ambitious story I’ve ever tried, so here goes nothing. Also bonus points for anyone who guess’s who which character Ron is based off of.

*comments, likes, and reblogs would mean so much if you enjoy my work 💘

For days it felt like all Eddie did was drive, the passage of state signs was his only measurement of time. The hours blending together like the lines on the highway, tangerine skies bleeding vermillion the colors remind him of Chrissy eyes after they exploded inside her head. The beauty of it all being taken away as the image of her crumpled body replays over and over in his mind. With no destination he was driving on auto pilot, only deciding where he was going the third night in.

Hair dripping from the storm outside, his fingers feel bruised from switching out his plates for the third time. Sitting in the back of his van tucked away on the side of a dirt road somewhere in West Virginia, it was the first time in his life he was thankful his dad had taught him a thing or two about evading the law. Stripping off his wet jacket he knew he needed to find somewhere to go. He couldn’t keep driving aimlessly, he didn’t have the money for that. The only cash he had was whatever he’d gotten from his deals earlier in the week, thankful he didn’t spend it on the re up that was suppose to happen the night before everything changed.

He’d never seen the ocean, an elusive place he could only visit in his dreams. Stopped on the boarder between West Virginia and Pennsylvania he wasn’t that far from the east coast. Using his lighter to illuminate the road map he’d found stashed in a messy wad in his glove box he guessed it was maybe a 10 hour drive from the coast. Throwing the idea of sleep out the window with wet clothes making it impossible for him to get comfortable he decided to do what he’s done this whole time, drive.

Watching the early morning sun slowly seep into through the storm clouds the grey sky fades to a more comforting cerulean. Eddie drove with the kind of determination that he wish he’d used to pass high school. Maybe he wouldn’t even be in this mess if he’d just graduated when he was suppose to. Convincing himself he would have been long gone playing guitar in any city that wasn’t Hawkins, he lets himself wallow in self pity till his tires bring him to the ocean.

——

Finding his way into a nameless town that wasn’t even listed on his map, it made Hawkins look like New York City. A small strip set on top a broken battered road - he swerves to miss the never ending onslaught of pot holes. The few shops they had were attached to a single grocery store, the sides of the buildings eroding away from the misted wind. Snorting to himself - of course this is where he ends up, a beach side ghost town. Eddie catches the Help Wanted sign hanging in the window of the diner that lay nestled at the end. Sticking out from the rest, the way it’s lit almost makes it look like it glowing against it’s drab surroundings. It was also the only place he’d seen with any sign of human life.

The lights of The Sleepy Hill motel greet him like the four seasons, when his tired van pulls into the mostly empty lot. The flashing vacancy sign is a promise of a bed, his bones worn down and sore the weight of everything finally kicking in. When his dirty white Reebok’s hit the ground his arms reach for the sky in a kitten stretch of his whole body, eyes closing he relishes in the pops he feels in his spine.

Inhaling a deep breath the salt in the air stings his nose, the mist off the shore making his bangs stick to his forehead. Pulling a runway strand of hair from his cheek he finally takes everything in. On one side of him there was nothing but an endless expanse of tumultuous waves raging against the shore line. The storm clouds he had out run were making their way back through, the lingering bitterness of winter still hanging thick in the March air. It wasn’t like the kind of warmness he’d seen on the postcards, or the in the stories that Rick told, this wasn’t Venice Beach. The sight of a light house in the distance brings a slight feeling of comfort when he watches the strobes of light break through the purple hues of the darkness starting to set in over the horizon. Eyes lingering he lets himself sit in it for awhile watching the waves crash into the broken brick holding it up from falling into whatever laid in the water beneath it. When he turns his attention back to the town that took him less then a minute to drive through, the red “EAT HERE” sign that spun on top of the diner mocks his stomach when he realizes it had been almost a whole day with out any real food.

Slamming his car door shut, he takes quick strides to the back making a mental note to drive to the next town over at some point tomorrow to switch out his plates again, it was too risky to try to do it with any car in a town like this. Eyes darting nervously he opens his back doors with shudder that rings out over the sound of the waves. Furrowing his brows in concentration he starts digging though the blankets in the back searching for the outfit he’d found balled up a few nights ago. Forgotten about after a sleep over at Gareth’s, the memory of a time where his life wasn’t like this hurts in a way that he can’t explain. Maybe he wasn’t as miserable as he thought he was — all the little things he took for granted now at the forefront of his mind.

He hadn’t let himself think about Wayne. Maybe it was the adrenaline that kept his mind from going there, or that thing he’d heard about when your own mind blacks things out to protect you, but he hadn’t thought about what that must’ve been like for him to come home to that.

A life less mangled girl he didn’t know and a nephew that no one was going to find. Eddie just ran without a single thought as to what that would mean for him. Scowling to himself he blames the Munson blood that runs through his veins. Images of his Uncle slumped over with tired shoulders, shuffling into the trailer in the early morning hours when the sun is just peaking through the trees. Boots heavy from another double at work, walking right into the nightmare that Eddie left him with.

Eye’s burning he holds back his tears grabbing the balled up shirt and jeans giving them a sniff. They didn’t smell clean but they smelt better then what he was wearing now and that was just going to have to do. Fingers crossed the motel clerk would let him rent a room with out an ID, he was desperate for a shower. Shoving the garments into his backpack he takes another deep breath ignoring the sting this time, closing his eyes he fights away all the emotions that are ready to spill out. Clearing his throat he cracks his neck before slamming the metal doors shut.

Half way across the pavement Eddie stops in his tracks when he see’s the guy behind the counter. Not much older then him there was something oddly familiar about him, when he glances up catching Eddie in his line of sight. Shaggy brown hair parted down the middle and big teeth protruding from below his upper lip, his beady eyes squint as he tries to figure out what Eddie was doing. The sound of a distant boat horn is what makes his feet finally move again, the boy behind the counter standing up as Eddie closes the distance.

There’s a small chime when the glass door swings open, the warmth of the lobby heats him in a way he hadn’t realized he missed until its hits his skin. There’s an awkwardness that hangs thick in the air when the door closes behind him. Eddie hadn’t talked to another living soul in days besides mumbling the amount of cash and on what pump at gas stations. The man behind the desk who’s name tag said ‘Ron’ was staring at him like he was trying to pin point something familiar about the metal head, and it was making Eddie’s palms sweat. The anxiety of being caught tightening in his chest. Scratching the back of his neck he clears his throat.

“Hi — hey, man I’m uhh- I’m looking to get a room?” He tries to hide how startled he is at his own voice having not heard it in hours.

Ron’s silence doesn’t break much to his dismay as he takes in Eddie’s appearance. Dark eyes trail over his disheveled form before flicking back towards his van in the parking lot. It wasn’t just his palms that were sweating now.

“What’s your deal? You some kinda rockstar or something?” Ron finally breaks his silence, stunned it takes Eddie a minute to comprehend what exactly he’s being asked. When he finally wraps his head around the question he has to actively stop the snort that threatens to come out.

Looking down at his wrinkled hellfire shirt, the cotton is stained with a mixture of dirt and grime from the nights in his van. The whites of his Reebok’s barely visible under the dried up mud from last nights storm. Having caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the door on his way in, he knew his wild mane looked like a bird had laid nest in it.

“Excuse me, what?”

Ron sucks his teeth shrugging.

“You just look like that Van Halen guy, but there’s no way you’d be here if you were actually him I’d reckon.” He says matter of factly before sitting back down in his desk. “And he wouldn’t look like he just rolled around in a pigs play pin. Or maybe he would? I don’t know the life style of a celebrity.” He adds with a wave of his hand.

Stunned and completely unsure of how to respond to the man in front of him, the conversation was not going a direction Eddie had even seen coming. Opening and closing his mouth a few times, he finally finds his voice again.

“Yeah, not Eddie Van Halen. My name is Eddie though, Eddie umm Henderson.” He winces internally when Dustin’s last name leaves his mouth.

“Eddie Henderson? That’s not very rock and roll.” Ron tuts before looking up at Eddie from his computer.

Feeling his frustration start to reach it’s tipping point, his fists clench at his sides before they release. Running a hand over his face he exhales sharply through his nose mustering up enough self control to answer politely.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Eddie pointedly looks at his name tag before adding with a curt smile. “Ron.”

Arching a brow, the man at the front desk brings his attention back to the computer screen with a hum. The awkwardness from before becomes almost suffocating in the small room. The growing silence between them lasting long enough that Eddie starts to panic.

“Look man, I’m just trying to get a room for a few nights then I’ll be out of your hair okay? I’m not some rockstar who’s gonna trash the place. I’m a nobody.”

Eyes never leaving the screen the sound of the mouse clicking is the only noise filling the space.

“Got an I.D. Eddie Henderson?” Ron’s tone is flat when finally looks up at eddie through the hood of his lashes, his own irritation clear on his blemished face.

The question he knew was coming still stiffens his body when it leaves his mouth, but the thought of another night sprawled out on the damp blankets on the metal floor of his van is enough for the burning sensation of tears to sting his tired eyes again. Shuffling on his feet, he readjusts his backpack.

“I’ve got cash, I can pay for at least two days up front.” Stepping closer to the desk his fingers drum against the counter top nervously, doe eyes pleading to show him a shred of mercy.

“No, I.D. No ro—“

Digging the 200 of the 250 he had left from his pocket, he slaps it on the desk in a crumpled lump. His survival instincts kicking in with a new level of stubbornness he didn’t know he had. He wasn’t leaving until he had keys to a bed and a shower.

“Please, man. I’m begging you.” The tears that had been threatening fall finally breach his strong hold, a single droplet landing onto his bottom lashes. He wipes it away quickly with the back of his hand, sniffing he closes his eyes collecting himself again. “I’ll keep to myself, you won’t even know I’m here.”

Ron’s eyes soften at the desperation is Eddie’s voice, despite policy there was something sincere about the mysterious stranger standing in front of him.

“200 will get you three nights.” Reaching over the counter he grabs the crumbled up bills before standing up, turning to the wall of keys behind him.

Relief floods his body as he watches Ron’s fingers skim over the glistening metal dangling from the dark blue wall. Blinking back tears the tense muscles in his shoulders release some of the stress they’d been carrying for the last 700 miles.

“Room 10, it’s at the very end. No parties rockstar.” Handing over the single key, it hung from a round burgundy keychain, a faded gold 10 stamped onto the plastic. Eddie can’t help but actually laugh this time, his mood lifted for a fleeting moment.

“Seriously, thank you. You won’t regret this I promise.” Snatching the key before he had a chance to change his mind, he clasps both hands together in front of his face bowing slightly in appreciation.

“There’s free coffee in here every morning. If you bring your key to the diner up the road you get a ten percent discount. We don’t have laundry but there’s a laundromat next to the grocery store, it’s open weird hours you’ll have to check the sign.” Ron prattles on, his voice becoming more professional now that Eddie was a paying guest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Walking backwards Eddie kicks the door open, the chill in the air sending a shiver down his spine.

“Nice to meet you Eddie Henderson.”

—

The walls of the motel room match the ones in the front office, the sapphire paint chipping at the edges of the ivory trim. The single bed in the middle was covered in a crimson duvet, two fluffed pillows propped against the black head board tempting him enough that he almost throws the idea of a shower and food out the window. Toeing off his shoes, the socks that should be a crisp white are the color of ash and it reminds him just how dirty he really is. Dropping his bag on the floor he starts peeling off his clothes making his way to wash off the last 72 hours.

A satisfied groan falls from between his chapped lips when the heat of the water hits his skin. Tilting his head back he lets it run through his thick tangled waves, pooling at his feet the water is tinged brown. Turning he faces the stream with closed eyes letting it wash over his face as he tries to find peace in his thoughts. The fear seeing Chrissy suspended in the air every time he closed his eyes was what prevented him from the sleep his strained body needed.

After spending longer then he should wrapped up in the warmth of the shower, he can’t ignore the growling in his stomach, remembering the discount at the diner he forces himself out.

The cheap blow dryer makes his hair frizz with more volume then he was used to, holding it down with both hands on either side of his head he sighs exasperated when he lets it go and it bounces back with more force.

Whatever, he didn’t know anyone here and he wasn’t going to be around long.

Changing into his cleaner clothes, he pats down his jeans feeling something in his back pocket. Reaching behind him his fingers come in contact with the thin plastic foiling of a crumpled half full pack of cigarettes he’d left in a drunk mess one night.

“Fuck. Yes.” He mutters to himself feeling a little more like a person rather then just a passenger in his own body for the first time in the last three days.

Grabbing his jacket off the bed nimble fingers search for his lighter once the leather is wrapped around his shoulders. Smirking when he finds it, he heads for the door grabbing his key off the off the dresser. Turning around before he leaves he takes one good look at his new home for the next few days. It wasn’t much but it was better then hiding off on the side roads begging to get caught.

——

The rocks crunch under his feet as he walks up the wounded asphalt towards the diner, the mist in the air taming the poof in his hair as he struggles to get the cigarette lit. The hint of tobacco on his tongue teasing him as the gust off the shore snuffs out the flame every single time.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” dangling in his lips he stops for a second to switch positions so his back was facing the direction of the wind. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Grumbling he snatches it out of his mouth in a huff before shoving it back in his pocket. Keeping his hands dug in into his jacket his face is set in a hard glare as he hits the parking lot of the diner. The inside gleams brightly and it’s the stark contrast to the dark moody-ness of his thoughts and the outside.

There’s families gathered in the windows laughing in the warmth of the light and he does his best to ignore the pang in his chest. Shoving down the realization of just how alone he really is now, he wasn’t ready to mentally unpack that yet.

Opening the single glass door of the entrance, the sound of the oldies station plays under the low hum of everyone’s chatter. Red vinyl covering the seats, a row of booths line the outside, the white walls barely visible decorated, covering almost every inch in various collectibles. The long bar attached to the kitchen extends down the length of the restaurant lined with stools.

Unlike the booths, the bar was filled with truckers and waderers. Hunched over their food alone in their thoughts. Taking a seat where he belonged the chain of his wallet clinks loudly against the metal of the stool.

The menu was already laid out on the formica counter top, just a page long the corners of the lamination are creased after obvious years of use. His eyes strain to read the red words that pop out against the white of the paper, the sleepless nights slowly catching up to his body. He tries pulling it further from his face to get a better look completely unaware of the pair of eyes watching him.

“Need some help with the menu?” A melodious voice breaks his concentration. Looking for the owner he comes face to face with you.

Almost as if someone knocked the wind out of him the softness of your features stuns him enough that he can’t find his voice. The dress you wear as a uniform wraps tightly around your curves and he fights his eyes from wandering. Hand on the counter in front of him you lean into his space, the smell of maple syrup hits his nose — sickly sweet he wants nothing more then to close his eyes and bask in it. Your warm gaze lands on his face and it feels like he’s looking up at the bright sun on a summer day. You didn’t look like you belonged here.

Realizing he hadn’t answered you, he clears his throat trying to shake his nerves. He was never good at talking to girls, especially not girls that looked like you and definitely not under these circumstances.

“You’re new around here.” You grin eyeing the slightly disheveled boy in front of you.

“Do you have burgers?” Blurting out his question he closes his eyes embarrassed when he realizes he’s ignored your observation too caught up to think straight. “Sorry.”

Laughing sweetly you take the menu from his hands finger tips brushing against his, the connection making his cheeks blossom pink.

“Sure do, how do you want it?” Pulling out your pocket sized note book from your apron, his eyes catch the red of your nail polish and for some reason it makes his cheeks deepen to match.

“Medium is —uh, is fine.” Scratching the back of his neck he watches the way your pen swoops gracefully against the paper.

“Fries okay?” Looking up at him from under your lashes his breath hitches loud enough for you to hear, the reaction making you bite your lip in a smile.

“Yeah, fries are, fries are great.” Exhaling loudly he gives you a tight lipped smile wishing he could bury his head in the sand.

“Anything to drink?” Ripping the page you turn around slipping it through the small window of the kitchen behind you. The line cook grabs it with a curt nod before you bring the full force of your stare back to him.

“Water is fine.” The sentence is short but he gets it out with out a hitch at least. Rubbing his hands nervously on his thighs he catches the mischievous glint dance around your eyes.

A small knowing smirk plays on your lips before walking away to the drink station at the other end of the long bar.

“Real fucking smooth.” Eddie grumbles to himself catching the attention of the trucker seated next to him.

“If that makes you feel any better son, I think she thought it was cute.” The gruffness of his voice reminds him of his Uncle, the few moments with you had made him almost forget about why he was here in the first place. Guilt slowly starting to eat away at him as he tries to re focus his thoughts, the familiar sting coming back to his eyes.

Before Eddie has a chance to respond your sliding the glass in front of him, eyes never leaving his as you pull out a straw from your front pocket. This time he’s strong enough to hold your gaze even if the red on his cheeks spreads to his neck.

“It’ll be like 15 minutes, Freddy’s pretty quick.” Nodding back towards the kitchen, Eddie tries to listen to you but he’s too focused on the sheen of your lip gloss. A sharp elbow to his side snaps him out of his trance, his new friend trying to help him out.

“Oh— okay, thanks.” Dropping his eyes down he brings all of his attention to unwrapping his straw, silently scolding himself for being even less smooth then the first interaction. The only reason he knows you’ve walked away is the loss of sweetness that settles in the air in your presence.

Shoving the straw in his drink, the ice clinks loudly against the glass before taking a big gulp. When the water washes over his tongue in a wave of rejuvenation, he closes his eyes humming in satisfaction sucking more then half the glass down before pushing it away with a wipe of his mouth. He can feel what the needed hydration does for him in his finger tips, his brain function starting to sharpen.

Chocolate eyes finding you again, he watches the way you move around the restaurant with ease. Everything you were doing seemed second nature, bending down to meet the kids at eye level he watched the families stare up at you with the same adoration on their faces. It wasn’t just him you effected like that, it was every one.

Cleaning off one of the booths, he watches you bend over the table — selfishly letting his eyes wander your body in the way he’d fought off before. Expertly stacking the dirty plates in your arms, you shove the cash tip they’d left in your apron. Turning on your heel you catch his stare, stopping for a brief moment before your lips tug up in a way that makes him avert his gaze — but even he knew it was too late. He’d been caught.

Closing his eyes when you walk by he inhales deeply, chasing the comfort your scent brings. You smelt like Sunday mornings with his mom, the only childhood memories he was fond of. He watched as you disappeared through the double doors of the kitchen, loud voices greeting you once you were hidden in the back. It was obvious you’d been here for awhile. The urge to try and piece together your story is a welcoming distraction from his own.

You aren’t back there long before you push back through with a toothy grin, shaking your head in amusement. An irrational hint of jealousy settles deep in his gut at whoever was making you laugh like that. The high pitch ding of the kitchen bell brings his attention back to the small window, a burger and fries so warm he could see the steam coming off the bun sit waiting for you to collect. Brain going empty he can feel himself start to salivate, his hunger taking front and center in his mind now.

Too focused on his food he has better self control of his eyes when you go to grab it. Sliding the plate in front of him Eddie mumbles a thank you before snatching the burger, ignoring the way it heats under his finger tips.

Taking a giant bite he immediately opens his mouth at the shock of the burn, his initial reaction to spit it out is stopped when he looks up to see you watching him with crossed arms as you lean against the back counter.

“I would have told you to give it a minute, but I thought that was obvious.” Teasing him, Eddie fans his open mouth searching for reprieve only swallowing it when the pain subsides. Taste buds inflamed and seared he takes another gulp of water basking in the way it soothes his mouth.

“Sorry, I haven’t really eaten all day.” Grabbing a fry he dunks it into the small ceramic cup filled with ketchup before tossing it into his mouth. Curious eyes land on yours making him wonder what’s keeping your attention as he eats with out manners.

“So, what are you running from?” Choking on his food at your question his eyes go wide, maybe the news had made it’s way over here.

“W-what do you mean?” Swallowing loudly his appetite suddenly disappears.

“I mean, I’ve never seen you before. People either move here to run from something or they’re just passing through.” You shrug as if your question was nonchalant. “So are you a runner or a wanderer?”

“What are you?” Eddie counters back arching a brow before taking another sip of water.

The smirk you give him is almost devilish when you push yourself off the counter invading his space again. The smell he can’t get enough of swirling around him in a dizzying effect.

“I’m a runner.” There’s something hidden behind your eyes that he can’t decipher when you give him your answer unashamed. “I told you mine, it’s your turn now.”

Of course you weren’t from here, how could you be?

“Runner.” He says simply already nervous he shared too much. Averting his eyes he plops another fry in his mouth before he remembers that this 15 dollar meal was gonna put a significant hole in his remaining funds.

Looking back up from his food he sees you’re already half way down the bar walking he hasn’t even asked you about the Now Hiring sign dangling from the window.

“Hey! — I mean wait.” Eddie’s outburst catches you and half the diners attention and despite his embarrassment he doesn’t miss the way your lips curve up when you make your way back to him.

“Yes?” Raising your eyebrows in question you plant both hands on the counter top in front of him leaning forward a stance that keeps his Eddie swimming.

“I saw your help wanted sign in the window.” Clearing his throat for more confidence “How would a runner apply for said job?”

“You haven’t even told me your name, and you don’t even know what we’re hiring for.” All valid points leave your mouth and he nods with a scratch of his head.

“It’s Eddie, Eddie Henderson.” He said it once and now he just has to roll with it, he’ll apologize to Dustin if he ever sees him again. “I’m not picky, I’ll do anything. Just in desperate need for some cash.”

“Well Eddie Henderson, I guess that means you’re planning on staying here long enough to get work huh?” Tongue poking the side of your cheek he can tell there’s ideas bouncing around in your head.

“Yeah, for a little bit.” Eddie didn’t want to tell you that his time here was numbered in the single digits or that he needed the work so he wouldn’t become completely homeless in the next few days while he ran from the law.

Blowing out a loud breath, you drum your hands on the counter before turning around towards the white board behind you with various names and schedules scribbled on it. He wondered which was you. Grabbing an application from the stack that was pinned on the board you turn back around around pulling a pen from your pocket. Clicking it open you set it down for him to fill out.

Eddie wastes no time in scribbling out his fake information, chest swelling with excitement. He didn’t think it would be this easy and despite your stare making him nervous he could feel his own smile pull at his lips just for a moment.

“I’m just gonna need an ID to show my boss.”

The sentence leaves your mouth and Eddie wants to fucking scream, his grip on the pen becoming so hard he was close to snapping it in half. It was an issue at the motel why wouldn’t be an issue here? It’s not like he didn’t have one, it just had all of his real information on it. Information that had the potential to get him caught.

“I- I don’t have one.” It’s quiet when it leaves his mouth voice shaking and defeated. Meeting your eyes again he notices how they soften as if you could read his mind.

“You moved to a new town without any ID?” You question is gentle when it comes out watching the way his shoulders slump. The first smile you’d seen grace his handsome features slowly fading away.

“I’m afraid I can’t give this to him with out some kind of proof as to who you are.” It’s lame when it comes out of your mouth and you wish it could be different when you watch his big doe eyes glass over.

“It’s fine, I’ll figure something out. I appreciate the help none the less.” Eddie gives slight nod pushing the application away, his brain already starting to reel with no back up plan lined up. He feels fucking stupid.

Unsure how to comfort the cute mysterious stranger you shove your pen back in your pocket giving him your most apologetic look. The air shifting into something that felt like you should give him privacy— you walk away as he digs for his wallet.

Throwing a twenty on the table, he’s too embarrassed to even ask for the discount. He takes one last big bite of his burger before goes to stand up, the sudden urge to sleep becoming over powering with the hope a better idea would come to him tomorrow.

“Hey, actually.” Your honeyed voice drips through his very obvious despair.

Stopping him before he had a chance to leave, Eddie’s chestnut eyes meet yours in question.

Biting at your bottom lip, he can tell your nervous to ask him whatever was bouncing around in your head.

“Do you know anything about cars?” The thought of your late grandmothers car sitting motionless in your drive way comes to mind and how desperate you were for a pair of working wheels.

“I mean I’m no mechanic, but I can do the basics.” He offers back with a shrug.

“Good enough for me, I live by the beach not far from the motel down the road, it’s a shitty yellow house you can’t miss it. I’ve got a car you can come look at tomorrow, if you think you can fix it I’ll hire you myself.” Eddie doesn’t know why you’re being so nice to him but he’s not going to turn you down the offer. Even if he can’t fix it, he sure as shit was going to figure out how.

“Alright, sure yeah, I’ll come by.” Trying to contain his excitement the smile you’d already missed comes creeping back to his face.

“Perfect, I’ll see you around 10? I’ve gotta work at 4 so that should be plenty of time for you to come take a look yeah?” Not wanting to tease that six hours is plenty of time to do a normal check up on a car he just nods instead.

“I’ll be there at 10.” With a nod of his head and the first genuine smile on his face in days, he pushes back out into the developing storm.

——

Head swirling with the events of the day the cheap motel bed moans under his weight as he stares up at the water marks on the ceiling tile. The feathers of the pillows underneath him bring back the heaviness of his eyelids as all the muscles in his body finally relax. The fear of sleep slowly slipping to the back of his mind when the softness of your smile replays on a loop behind closed eyes.

——-

Taglist: @newlips @bimbobaggins69 @munsonology @triplethreat77 @edsforehead @manda-panda-monium @emotionaldreamer @eddiesprincess86 @micheledawn1975 @lil-graveling @b-irock @munsonmunster

If I missed anyone please let me know!

[ashtronomyys]

Our Future Days

Cover Art by @tamdrry

A John "Soap" MacTavish / Simon "Ghost Riley TheLastofUsAu

// General Warnings for Graphic Depictions of Violence, Zombies, Apocalypse Setting, Nightmares, Side Character Death, Family Member Death, Grief, and Body Horror(There's a Happy Ending I swear lol)

With so little knowledge to go on, he could really be riding into anything, a pack of runners, clickers, refugees seeking shelter, or a band of marauders ready to kill all that stand in their way. A bit of wishful thinking tells him that it really could just be nothing, and that this surveying of the area is all for naught. The practical side of his brain screams at him that this is a bad idea, screams that the scars lining his body ought to serve as a reminder for him of the dangers lingering out there, waiting for him… Simon shudders. Whatever it is that he'll be rushing into, he'll need to remain vigilant, keep an eye on his surroundings and stay light on his feet. There’s no telling what sort of monsters he could be coming up against. ************ “Hmm... Got any fours?" Alex clicks his tongue, giving him a look of pity. "Afraid not my friend. Go fish.” “Ahh, come ON! Yer kidding me!? Agaain?!”

-Explicit

-Longfic, Slowburn, Angst w/ a happy ending, It gets real dark before it gets real better

(Very) Sporadic Updates coming to Tumblr, Twitter, and eventually Ao3!

OFD Masterlist:

Ao3 link here (To be added later)

Chapters - Section by Section

Chapter 1 - When Hurricanes and Cyclones Raged 

Chapter 2 - TBA

[wandashousewife]

“Dear Child.” (Chapter Five)

Pairing — Wanda x Reader

Synopsis — Your father was notorious for going on failed tinder dates for years after your mother had left for her own reasons which she never told you. You never actually thought your father had a chance in the vast sea of relationships until you found out that one of his friends knew a European woman a couple years older than you who wanted to marry him. Strange.

Warnings — Failure dad, absent mother

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Wanda responds with an attempt at indifference, yet her subtle tells—the bouncing leg, the fidgeting hands—betray an undercurrent of nervous energy that lingers just beneath the surface. As you change the channel on the TV, a scene unfolds featuring a young couple, capturing Wanda's attention for a brief yet contemplative moment.

Her gaze remains fixed on the screen, the flickering images seemingly sparking a cascade of thoughts within her. The quiet ambiance of the room provides a canvas for unspoken sentiments, leaving you to ponder the complexities that lay hidden beneath the veneer of nonchalance. In the gentle ebb and flow of the scene, you sense a subtle shift in the atmosphere—a quiet dance of emotions that adds a layer of depth to the shared experience of watching TV together.

As the scenes unfolded on the television screen, a delicate dance of emotions played out before you, each moment imbued with its own unique blend of tenderness and vulnerability. Amidst the flickering images, you couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in Wanda's demeanor—the way her hand would reach out, seeking solace and connection in the warmth of your touch whenever certain scenes would appear. She didn’t even realize she was doing it. Her fingertips lightly brushed against yours in the most subtle way possible. But each time it happened, she’d pull away quickly as if she had been burned by a hot flame.

She shifted slightly in her seat and cleared her throat, turning her attention back towards the screen. It seemed like she was trying to distract herself from those little instances of closeness.

“Why doesn’t he just propose right then and there? If I were him I’d be on my knees begging.”

She chuckles at this comment and leans back in her seat, her hands playing with her lap. "Because some people like to save the surprise for later." She shrugs and turns her eyes back towards the TV screen. "And other people like dragging things on unnecessarily."

The sound of heavy footsteps reverberated through the house, signaling your father's descent from the upper floors. The faint aroma of beer hung in the air like a lingering specter, a silent testament to the tumultuous undercurrents that simmered beneath the surface of familial dynamics. As he entered the room, his gaze lingered briefly on Wanda, his smile devoid of warmth and laden with undertones of malice—a stark contrast to the indifference he directed towards you.

In the wake of Wanda's arrival, a palpable distance had emerged between you and your father, an unspoken acknowledgment of the shifting dynamics that had reshaped the contours of your relationship. Though the estrangement weighed heavy at times, the absence of closeness between you was hardly a newfound revelation, merely a continuation of the prevailing detachment that had characterized your interactions in the past.

Wanda looked up when she heard your dad arrive downstairs. She tried to act aloof and unbothered by his presence, but there seemed to be a sudden tightness to her lips as she stares at him with tense eyes. She lets out a small sigh, feeling her pulse quicken with the thought of an inevitable confrontation with him. As your father silently beckoned Wanda to join him, a heavy sense of discomfort settled over the room like a suffocating blanket. With a begrudging reluctance, Wanda rose from her seat, her steps faltering slightly as she made her way towards him. The air crackled with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between them.

As they converged, your father enveloped Wanda in a sloppy, awkward embrace, the gesture dripping with an unsettling mixture of familiarity and indifference. The forced intimacy of the moment left a bitter taste in your mouth, a stark reminder of the superficiality that often masked the complexities of human relationships.

In the aftermath of the awkward exchange, a palpable sense of unease lingered in the air, casting shadows of doubt and disillusionment over the fragile facade of familial harmony. In that moment, the gulf between you and your father widened, a silent testament to the irreconcilable differences that underscored the ever-shifting landscape of family dynamics.

Wanda looked visibly uncomfortable, her hands curling into fists as she was pulled into another of his strange kisses. Yet again, she tried to suppress her feelings, trying not to let her emotions take over. But even she couldn't explain why just being close to him made her so uncomfortable.

There was a slight twitch to her jaw and she bit the inside of her lips but she couldn't really do anything to avoid him when he was this close. The smell of beer and cigarette smoke made her want to retch.

Your father then looked towards you, a scowl appearing. “Have you applied to any universities?” Was his only question.

"No dad," you answer him bluntly, looking him directly in the eyes. "Not yet. I'm still thinking about it." You try to stay calm, but his sudden scowl had annoyed you a bit. You could already tell that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.

“You better, because you’re not staying here unless you actually do something with your life.”

"I'm well aware of that," you snap, your anger boiling over your voice. "Don't worry about me. I'll get it done." Your words seem sharp and your voice had a coldness to it, but you couldn't really do much to suppress the rage you felt after having this same argument with him so many times.

He only grumbled and walked back up to his room, seemingly not caring about anything else other than his own pleasure, which would be whatever disgusting television show would show on Adult Swim. As soon as he got upstairs, a moment of silence followed as you and Wanda seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. She rubs her forehead and lets out a long sigh.

"He always has to make it a problem with everything," she grumbles, trying to make light of the situation as she sits back in her spot. "Don't worry about him. Just finish your high school stuff and go off to college. It's not like you've been lazing around or what not. He's just being an ass."

“Do you ever wish you weren’t married to him?”

Wanda paused and considered your question for a few seconds. She frowned slightly, her eyes looking away for a few seconds.

"I mean, sure. There are definitely times when I wish I wasn't. That he was someone else entirely…. But I'm happy with the life I have now." She shrugs and looks back towards you. "Even if it means putting up with his bullshit."

“Oh, okay.”

[youngeditor1999]

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and the Witch ~ Dean Winchester x fem! reader

Description: Dean asks Y/N to help him find his Dad who mysteriously went missing. The two along with Deans brother, Sam, go to investigate John, the dad’s, last hunt the one in which he’d gone missing from.

Warnings: cannon violence, mentions of su!cide, arguing,witch craft, arguing, curse words, everything written is fiction and should not be taken seriously

word count: 6,103

The Woman In White

(Masterlist/ Next chapter)

Present day…

A knock at the door halted my movements, I wasn’t expecting anyone.

I placed the book I was reading on my coffee table, jumping up to see who was at my front door. Suspicion and anticipation flooded my veins as I peeked through the peephole seeing a familiar deep brown leather jacket, not needing anymore confirmation I opened the door swiftly.

“Y/N.” Dean spoke, a mix of relief and worry laced within his voice.

“Dean” I responded with a smile making its way on my face. I practically jump on him my arms around his neck, the last time I saw him was a month ago when he came up to Maine to hang out with me. We were sitting on the hood of the impala just taking in the view when he said he needed to tell me something, he had this look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite place and just as he was about to ask his phone rang and he had to leave. Since then I hadn’t heard anything from him, no calls or texts.

I let those thoughts pass through me as his initial shock wears off, wrapping his arms around my waist squeezing tightly.

I end our hug, remembering the worry in his voice as he said my name, motioning for him to come in leading him to my living room.

“You cut your hair” He acknowledged, sitting down.

“Felt like it needed a change” I say shrugging.

I had so much I wanted to ask him, but even before that I wanted to hug him again. I didn’t move to do either not wanting to scare him off.

“You sound worried, Dean, is everything okay?” I can’t help but ask, my eyebrows scrunching with worry.

“I'm okay sweetheart, but I do need your help. Dads been missing for a couple of days.” He explained the worry in his voice returning.

“You really think he’s in danger? I mean this has happened before and he always comes back fine” I rationalize.

“Not for this long.” he answered simply.

“Okay” I breathed out already knowing my answer the moment he said he needed my help, “Okay, just give me a couple of minutes to pack.” I repeated as I stood up, that charming smile landed on his face as he stood up with me. I took this as my opportunity to wrap my arms around him, this time around his torso, giving him another hug, if missing someone was illegal then lock me up. His arms wrapped around my waist and I felt the tension I hadn't realized was there, washing off my body.

I broke away first, immediately regretting it, pointing upstairs as a sign for me to start packing.

After traveling many days from Maine to LA we had finally made it to Sam’s place, who Dean naturally also wanted on board to find their dad.

Dean had parked the Impala in a parking lot close by, the darkness of the night cloaking us as Dean found a way in.

I whispered, warning Dean, “He’s already gonna be grumpy about you showing up here let alone breaking in!!”

But he dismissed me with a wave of his hand as he carefully opened up a window, sneaking in before turning back around and offering me a hand. I give him a look that says ‘really we’re doing this’ as I accept his offer and enter the house.

I follow after Dean as he enters a hallway, when suddenly a tall man lunges forward and grabs Dean's shoulder.

I figure it’s most likely Sammy and decide that I can stay back as the brothers have their quarrel.

Dean knocks Sam's arm away and aims a strike at him, missing as Sam ducks. Their fight continues until Dean finally knocks Sam down and pins him to the floor.

“Easy tiger” Dean huffs.

“Dean?” Sam asks, getting a laugh in response.

“You scared the crap out of me!” Sam complains

“That's ‘cause you're out of practice” Dean responds before Sam manages to knock Dean to the floor.

“Or not” Dean mumbles, face full of floor.

They finally get off of each other, as Sam asks “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Well, I was looking for a beer” Dean replies, getting a response from me this time

“Dude, really?”

“Y/N? You're here too?!”

“Hi Sam!” I respond, smiling brightly.

Dean pats Sam on the shoulder, in the weird way guys do to greet another guy, “We gotta talk” Dean explains.

“Uh, the phone?” Sam reasons

“If I'd called, would you have picked up?” Dean counters, getting a low stretched out “yikes” from me as I add in very helpful commentary earning two hard glares from both boys.

Then the light suddenly turns on revealing a curly haired blonde woman wearing short shorts and a cropped Smurfs shirt, very fashionable. I already like her even though I don’t know who she is.

“Sam?” the woman asks, tiredness lacing her voice.

“Jess. Hey. Dean. Y/N, this is my girlfriend, Jessica.” Sam introduces

I smile wildly waving at her, excited to finally meet the woman i’ve heard lots about, while Dean checks her out earning a slap on the back of his head from me

“Wait, your brother Dean? And your friend Y/N?” Jessica asks as Dean turns his head to me annoyed.

Sam nods and Dean moves closer to her ignoring my warning via head smack.

“Oh, I love the Smurfs. You know, I gotta tell you. You are completely out of my brother's league” Dean grins.

“Really, Dean” I deadpan, getting an appreciative half smile from Sam while Dean ignores me.

“Just let me put something on” Jessica says, turning to go before being stopped by another sly comment from Dean “No, no, no, I wouldn't dream of it. Seriously.”

I move forward hitting Dean on the back of the head once more, this time harder, he turns around to me “Really?”

“Yes.” I repond simply.

Dean turns back to Jessica, “Uh anyway, I gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business” He explains before turning to Sam throwing a “But, uh, nice meeting you.”

“No,” Sam replies, going over to Jessica and putting an arm around her.

“Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her” he goes on.

Dean turns to look at them both head on, “Okay, Dad hasn't been home in a few days.”

“So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He'll stumble back sooner or later” Sam reasons.

Dean huffs, clarifying, “Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days.”

Sam's expression doesn't change as Jessica glances up at him.

“Jess, excuse us. We have to go outside.”

Dean heads downstairs, Sam follows after him once he changed into jeans and a hoodie, knowing they would be having an argument. I walked behind Sam making sure I was going slow.

Sam states the obvious, “I mean, come on. You can't just break in, middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you.”

I hold back my ‘I told you so’ comment.

“You're not hearing me, Sammy. Dad's missing. I need you to help me find him” Dean counters.

“You remember the poltergeist in Amherst? Or the Devil's Gates in Clifton? He was missing then, too. He's always missing, and he's always fine” Sam reasons, pointing out the same thing I did only a couple days ago.

Dean stops and turns around, Sam stopping too.

“Not for this long. Now are you gonna come with me or not?” Dean asks

“I'm not” Sam replies simply prompting a “Why not?” from Dean.

“I swore I was done hunting. For good” Sam clarifies

“Come on. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad.” Dean try’s reason.

Even though he said it I know we were all thinking it is that bad, it’s always a dangerous game.

Dean starts walking again, Sam and, subsequently, me following.

“Yeah? When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45” Sam recalls

Dean stops at the door to the outside, “Well, what was he supposed to do?”

“I was nine years old! He was supposed to say, don't be afraid of the dark.”

“I’m sorry Dean but Sam’s right about that” I chime in.

“Don't be afraid of the dark? Are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark. You know what's out there” Dean explains, looking at the both of us like we’re crazy.

“Yeah, I know, but still. The way we grew up, after Mom was killed, and Dad's obsession to find the thing that killed her. Yet we still haven't found the damn thing. So we kill everything we can find” Sam rationalizes.

“We save a lot of people doing it, too.”

There was a pause where no one said anything before Sam asked, “You think Mom would have wanted this for us?”

I tense knowing that was a sensitive topic, as Dean throws open the door clearly pissed at the mere mention.

“The weapon training, and melting the silver into bullets? Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors” Sam, sadly, points out as we cross and enter the parking lot to the Impala.

“So what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?” Dean argues.

“No. Not normal. Safe” Sam clarifies before adding,

“And that's why you ran away.”

“I was just going to college. It was Dad who said if I was gonna go I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing.”

“Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now. If he's not dead already. I can feel it.”

“A-And what about you Y/N? Last time we talked you were saying how you were really happy with your job. Did you just throw that all away to help Dean? No offense Y/N but you really don’t owe him, let alone our Dad, anything.”

I breathe in sharply not expecting him to throw me into this conversation. He was right though, I really did love my job, I was a journalist for a crime website/paper. It paid well and was a way for me to signal to any hunters around if there was something supernatural about the case.

But even so I countered, “I do love my job and just because I agreed to come with doesn't mean I stopped doing it, I was able to make a deal to do it on the road and I’ll do it as long as I’m able to. And trust me I know I don’t owe anyone anything, but you guys are my best friends so you say you need help and I will gladly come, no questions asked.”

Sam looks down, sighing, “You’re too nice for your own good.”

Dean pipes up, “I can't do this without you, Sammy.”

“Yes you can.”

“Yeah, well, I don't want to” Dean clarifies with a sadness in his voice that if you hadn’t known him well you probably wouldn’t have heard.

Sam sighs, “What was he hunting?”

Dean opens the trunk of the car, then the spare-tire compartment that he uses as an arsenal. He props the compartment open with a shotgun so that he can dig through the clutter.

“So when Dad left, why didn't you go with him?”

“Well, first I was hangin with Y/N here for a while before I started working my own gig. This, uh, voodoo thing, down in New Orleans” Dean answers.

Even though it was hardly a sentiment, the mention of us hanging out those weeks brought a smile to my face.

“Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?” Sam questioned.

“I'm twenty-six, dude” Dean spoke as he pulled out papers from a folder, the ones he showed me at the first motel we slept at on our long journey to LA.

“All right, here we go. So Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy.”

Dean hands one of the paper articles to Sam, adding on “They found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA.”

“So maybe he was kidnapped” Sam reasons.

I answer this time, reciting what I remembered reading as Dean handed Sammy more articles, “Well there was another in April, then in December of oh-four, oh-three, ninety-eight, ninety-two and some more for a grand total of ten over the last twenty years.”

Dean puts the papers away pulling out a bag and then a tape recorder as he continues the info dump,

“All men, all the same five-mile stretch of road. It started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough. Then I got this voicemail yesterday on our drive to you.”

He presses play, the familiar voice of John, their dad, and static playing, having heard it multiple times, “Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger.”

He stops the recording.

“You know there's EVP on that, right?” Sam mentions.

Dean smiles, “Not bad, Sammy. Kinda like riding a bike, isn't it?

All right. I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got.”

He presses play again, “I can never go home…”

“Never go home” Sam repeats as Dean puts everything back where it belongs to shut the trunk.

“Fun, right?” I comment sarcastically.

Sam sighs, “All right. I'll go. I'll help you find him. But I have to get back first thing Monday. Just wait here.”

Sam turns to go back to the apartment but turns back when Dean says, “What's first thing Monday?”

“I have this...I have an interview.”

“What, a job interview? Skip it.”

“It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate.”

Dean smirks, “Law school?”

“So we got a deal or not?”

Dean says nothing so I do, “Yes, we do” I confirm.

We arrive at the highway where all the men have gone missing just as Sam hangs up the phone, “All right. So, there's no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue. So that's something, I guess.”

“That’s good!” I add.

Dean then slows the car as we near on a bridge, police cars and men all around, he pulls over fully leaning over to open the glove box, exposing the many fake ids he and his dad had, one’s like FBI and such.

Sam glares at while I say, “Love a good ol’ fraud”

We exit the car heading towards the deputy.

Dean starts, “You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?”

The deputy looks up at us asking, “And who are you?”

Dean flashes his badge, clarifying, “Federal marshals.”

“You three are a little young for marshals, aren't you?” The man asks.

But Dean just laughs, “Thanks, that's awfully kind of you.”

Truthfully he has absolutely no reason to be that smooth.

Dean goes over to the car, the one that belongs to the guy who went missing aka Troy, “You did have another one just like this, correct?”

Jaffe, the deputy who’s name tag I was finally able to read,responds “Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that.”

“So, this victim, you knew him?” Sam chimes in, asking

“Town like this, everybody knows everybody.”

Then I ask, “Besides them being all men have you found any other correlation?”

“No. Not so far as we can tell.” He responds truthfully.

“So what's the theory?” Sam asks

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?”

So nothing. Great.

Just before I could ask another question Dean comments, “Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys.”

Sam stomps on Dean's foot, clearing up his comment by saying “Thank you for your time. Gentlemen”

We walk away, with nothing, no helpful information, no nothing.

We make it into town, luckily finding who we assume to be the girlfriend of Troy.

Somehow Dean managed to convince the girl, Amy, that we were Troy's Uncles and Aunt who were also looking for our missing nephew.

Even more surprising we were able to get her to come to a Diner with us to talk, her friend Rachel joining us.

Rachel and Amy sat across from us in a booth, me being squished in by the wall as Dean sat next to me with an arm on the back of my seat and Sam sitting next to him.

Amy begins to explains the last time she saw Troy, “I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did.”

Sam asks, “He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?”

Amy shakes her head, “No. Nothing I can remember.”

“I like your necklace, it’s really nice” I say, noticing the pentagram she was wearing.

“Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents—with all that devil stuff.” Amy says, laughs at the memory.

“I don’t know if you believe in that kind of thing but pentagrams are actually a good tool, it protects you against evil. Your boyfriend has good taste, even if his intentions were different” I smile, careful to not use past tense to not give her the wrong impression.

Dean takes his arm off the back of my seat to lean in “Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything…” going the complete opposite direction I was aiming for aka nice and sympathetic.

But it seems to work as the girls look at each other debating whether whatever they had was worth sharing.

Rachel speaks this time, “Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.”

Dean and Sam ask at the same time, “What do they talk about?”

Neither boy called jinx, missed opportunity.

“It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered on Centennial, like decades ago.Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

After heading to the library we found out about our murderous spirit, a twenty-four year old Constance Welch who committed suicide in 1981 after her two kids died in the bathtub when she walked away for a moment.

She commited on the very bridge that Troy, and many others went missing.

So that very night, we walked along the bridge, stopping to lean on the railing. “So this is where Constance took the swan dive.” Dean said, looking over the railing.

“What a respectful way to put it, Dean” I say to him sarcastically.

“So you think Dad would have been here?” Sam asks Dean.

“Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him.” Dean spoke, I knew this would turn into another argument between them so I walked in front of them to give them room.

Their conversation became murmurs as I kept ahead, minutes going by before I turned around to wait for them to catch up.

“Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—“ Sam said frustrated before being cut off by Dean

“Monday. Right. The interview.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?” Dean asked.

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam answered back

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?” Dean argues.

“No, and she's not ever going to know.” Sam responds.

“Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean turns around and keeps walking, Sam following, caught up to me at this point.

“And who's that?” Sam questions.

“You're one of us.” Dean motions to me and him.

Sam hurries to get in front of us, “No. I’m not like you. This is not going to be my life…no offense Y/N”

“It’s okay Sam no offense taken, this job isn’t so dreamy” I respond.

“You're on his side?!” Dean yells, turning towards me.

“I-I mean do you blame me? It’s his life! And if he wants to settle down and try to forget the things that go bump in the night then that’s his decision to make. Don’t you wish things could be different?” I argue back, dying down with my question.

“He has a responsibility to—“ Dean gets cut off by Sam now, “To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.”

My heart aches for him, I understand what it’s like to lose a mother but at least I had time with her.

Then Dean grabs Sam by the collar and shoves him up against the railing of the bridge. “Don't talk about her like that.”

“Dean!” I shout out.

He releases Sam with a huff and walks away.

“Are you okay, Sam?” I ask

He nods but by the look on his face I can tell he’s frustrated.

“Y/N.Sam.” Dean alerted us, we moved to stand next to him seeing a pretty pale women in white with dark brown hair, Constance. She was on the edge of the bridge, and with one final look back at us she stepped off.

We run to the railing but see nothing.

“Where’d she go?” Dean asks no one in particular. “I don’t know” Sam responds while I add on “Freaky.”

The sudden roaring of an engine forces our attention behind us once more revealing it to be the Impala with its headlights also on. I whip my head towards Dean, double checking that he isn’t the one in the car.

“What the—“Dean starts

“Who's driving your car?”

Dean pulls the keys out of his pocket and jingles them. Sam glances down at them. The car suddenly jerks into motion, heading straight for us.

With no other speaking necessary, we turn and run.

“Go! Go!” I yell, panic running through me. But the car was moving faster than we were and it was all too close far too quickly.

Dean grabs hold of my wrist forcing us both on and over the railing of the bridge into the ice cold river, knowing I would never do such a thing willingly (even with the circumstances). Sam jumped over, right after us.

The river was, truthfully, more mud than water or at least that’s how it felt. I choke as I breach the surface, Dean’s firm grip on my wrist remaining making it easier to locate him as he pulls us both out and onto the riverbend.

“Dean? Y/N” Sam calls out, his voice coming from above meaning he hadn’t fallen into the river and wasn’t suffering like us, lucky bastard.

It’s only when we’re both standing, out of the river, do I realize just how bad we are. Mud cakes to every inch of my skin, forcing the clothes I was wearing to stick to me, and I knew that my hair would be a catastrophe to deal with.

I want to start crying, seriously.

“What?” Dean calls back

“Hey! Are you all right?” Sam asks the both of us. I watch Dean through an ‘ok’ hand sign along with an “I’m super” just as I hang my head down.

Sam laughs and I suddenly feel very compelled to go up there and throw him in the river so that he could suffer too.

Dean still kept a hand on my wrist all the way up until we were back to the Impala, immediately he went to check if Baby was okay.

He shuts the hood of the car and leans on it.

“Your car all right?” Sam asks him.

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!” Dean complains.

“Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure. So where's the job go from here, genius?” Sam asked as he settled on the hood next to Dean while I prompted to stand knowing that if I sat I'd just feel the mud even more.

Dean throws up his arms in frustration, flicking mud off his hands.

Sam sniffs, then looks at Dean and I. “You guys smell like a toilet.”

“Alright I can't take this” I complained, moving to stand right in front of Dean. I slap a hand near his shoulder and begin a cleansing spell. The latin slips off my tongue as I catch my reflection on the car seeing my irises glowing purple, like they always do when I use my powers.

The mud, the icky-ness, and the smell vanish from the both of us as I finish the short spell. It’s definitely a weird feeling but far better than the feeling of mud being everywhere.

A sigh of relief comes from Dean as he covers my hand on his shoulder with his own, giving it a squeeze. “Thanks sweetheart”

“You’re welcome! Consider it a thanks for pulling me out of that mud-river.” I respond back cheerfully, eyes focused on Dean as I smile.

I feel Sam’s eyes going from me to Dean in an almost freaked out way.

“I didn’t know you could do that” He breathed

“If I sat here and listed everything I could do we’d be here for a hot minute” I smirked just a little pridefully.

“Two rooms, please.” Dean asks the motel clerk. By the time we got to a motel it was already morning so it was safe to say we all wanted a little break.

The Clerk picks up the card and looks at it. “Are you guys having a reunion or something?”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks as I look between both boys, also confused.

“I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought a room for the whole month.” The Clerk explains, and the realization hits us all.

John.

The motel door swings open, Sam having just picked the lock to John's room. Sam and I enter, complementing his criminal skills while Dean is just outside, playing lookout until I grab hold of his upper arm and pull him inside. Sam closing the door behind us.

Every surface has papers pinned to it like maps, newspaper clippings, pictures and notes. There’s books on the desk and assorted mess on the floor and bed. There’s a line of salt on the floor and half eaten food on the desk.

“I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least.” Dean informs sniffing a half eaten burger.

“Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in.” Sam noted.

Dean looks at the papers covering one wall.

“What have you got here?” I ask, half looking at the junk on the bed.

“Centennial Highway victims.” He replies

The paper showed some of the victims including Mark somebody, William Durrell, Scott Nifong who disappeared in 1987 at age 25, and somebody Parks. Judging by the photos Mark, Durrell, and Nifong were all white males.

“I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs—ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?” Dean asks to no one in particular

“Well it’s not always about the outward stuff could be something more personal in their life, maybe a sequence of events or just something as simple as an action” I inform.

“Dad figured it out” Sam detects, me and Dean turning to see him in front of papers on another wall. Something about Witches, demons, devils, and so on along with an article about the “Woman in White.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks him

Sam clarifies, “He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's a woman in white.”

“You sly dogs…All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it.” Dean comments looking closer at the pictures of her victims while I get more distracted on the clippings about the witches, yes it hadn’t a thing to do with this hunt but I mean come on.

“She might have another weakness.” Sam suggests

“Well, Dad would want to make sure. He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?” Dean counters.

“No, not that I can tell. If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband.”

“If he’s even alive, and he’d be sixty-two by now” I murmur, chiming in.

“All right. Why don't you guys, uh, see if you can find an address, I'm gonna go take a piss” Dean informs.

I scrunch my eyebrows as I say, “Have fun!”

Dean starts to walk away but he stops when Sam starts speaking, “Hey, Dean?…What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry.”

Dean holds up a hand, “No chick-flick moments.”

Sam laughs and nods, “All right. Jerk.” It’s then that I knew that everything between them would be okay.

“Bitch” Dean calls back as he disappears into the bathroom.

I keep looking at the articles on the wall, reading more on Constance victims, but in the corner of my eye I see Sam smiling sadly at a photo he picked up from a mirror frame in the room.

A minute or so later Sam begins to pace the room before opting for sitting on the bed, with his phone to his ear

Dean exits the bathroom half shrugging on his jacket as he says, “Hey, man. I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. Do either of you want anything?”

“No.” Sam answers plainly.

“Oooh! Can you get me some fries?” I ask, getting all excited for some food as I pull out my laptop from my messenger bag ready to find that address.

“Sure thing, baby.” He says throwing me that charming smile and a wink that causes my cheeks to flush. “You sure Sammy, Aframian's buying.”

But Sam shakes his head printing Dean to head out.

I’m just about to start searching on google when Sam stands up suddenly with panicked eyes.

“We have to go, now.”

Sam filled me in on the ride to Joseph Welch’s house, we had to keep going even with Dean arrested.

“Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?” Sam asks the older man

“Yeah.”

Sam had given him a photo, the one he got from the hotel mirror, as we followed Joseph down his cluttered driveway.

“Yeah, he was older, but that's him.” Joseph says, referring to John, handing the photo back.

“He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter.”

“That's right. We're working on a story together.” Sam explains.

“Well, I don't know what the hell kinda story you're working on. The questions he asked me?”

“It’s an article about the understanding of young women committing suicide as a result of grief. We wanted to get all the details and even include a case that was more than 20 years old” I said cutting in, my experience as a journalist coming in handy.

“He asked me where she was buried” he deadpanned.

“I’m sorry Sir if our partner came off gruff and unsympathetic, and truly I hate to have to ask you again I mean I know this must still be difficult but where was she buried? It’d be helpful to know it again as a fact check because, as you can tell, our partner isn’t the best with people” I explain trying to come off the exact opposite way that John had.

“In a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge.” He answered simply, only seeming a little bothered.

“And why did you move?” I ask.

“I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died,” he replied, I nodded at what he said.

Sam stops walking so I stop not knowing what he was getting at, Joseph then stops too.

“Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?” Sam pipes up.

“No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known.” John reminisced.

“So you had a happy marriage?”

But Joseph hesitates for a beat then says, “Definitely”.

How convincing.

“Well, I think we got what we needed. Thank you, Mr.Welch, for your time and sorry again.” I concluded.

Sam and I turn to walk back to the Impala, but he pauses turning back towards Joseph who began to walk away.

“Mr. Welch, did you ever hear of a woman in white?”

Joseph pauses, turning around “A what?”

“A woman in white. Or sometimes weeping woman?” Sam clarifies.

But John doesn't respond.

“It's a ghost story. Well, it's more of a phenomenon, really. Um, they're spirits—“

“Sam, What are-“ but my point goes on deaf ears as Sam stalks towards Joseph.

“They've been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places, in Hawaii, Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women. But all share the same story.”

“Boy, I don't care much for nonsense.” Joseph says walking away but Sam remains insistent as he follows

“See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them. And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children.Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again.” Sam goes on stopping Joseph in his tracks, getting his attention once more.

“You think...you think that has something to do with...Constance? You smartass!” He lectures Sam.

“You tell me.” Sam says, calmly.

“I mean, maybe...maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her own children. Now, you get the hell out of here! And you don't come back!”Joseph yells one final time, shaking with anger or maybe grief.

Sam turns walking back towards me.

“That was good Sammy, seriously” I admire his blunt choice patting him on the back.

Sam’s driving when his phone rings, handing it to me to pick up. I put it on speaker phone as a familiar voice rings out.

“Fake 911 phone call? Sammy, I don't know, that's pretty illegal.” Dean laughs proudly.

“It was actually Y/N’s idea” Sam clears up.

“Eh what’s one more crime to the endless list?” I say smiling pridefully.

Dean laughs and it bubbles something inside me, something that’s been there for a long time.

But his laugh dies down and he goes serious,

“Listen, we gotta talk.”

“Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop.” Sam informs Dean, catching him up.

“Sammy, would you shut up for a second?” Dean warns.

But Sam continues on, “I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet.”

“Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho.” Dean spoke.

“What? How do you know?” I ask, beating Sam to the question I know he was about to ask.

“I've got his journal” Dean announces

“He doesn't go anywhere without that thing.” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah, well, he did this time.”

“What's it say?”

“Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going” Dean informs.

“Coordinates. Where to?” Sam questions

“I'm not sure yet.”

“I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going on?” Sam slams the brake causing the phone to fall out of my hand, I whip my head to Sam and then back to the road seeing Constance standing ahead of us, the car doesn't slow quick enough as we halt right as we go through her.

All of a sudden Constance is in the back seat saying “Take me home”

I yelp, having not expected her to just be in the back seat. Next to me Sam is breathing hard, looking at the ghostly women in the rear view mirror.

“Sam? Y/N? Y/N!

[carionto]

So uhh... we found something really, REALLY strange

As the tectonic activity continues to shift ever more chaotically across the globe, randomly elevating or crumbling parts of mountains, opening up fissures and expanding fault lines, not to mention all the volcanic eruptions, to say it is important to monitor the inner workings of Earth would be a criminal understatement.

On the remains of what used to be Hawaii, now a singular landmass, lies a monitoring station closest to the epicenter of the Fusion Detonation Event, some 400km away. Seismographer and tectonics expert Joannie du'Preeste was finalizing this months deep level mapping of the area of detonation and directly below to give the algorithm-driven disaster prediction model at least an above 50% accuracy rate for this month.

Typical readings, increase in magma outflow, collapses of internal caverns, formation of new ones, and irregular shifts from the various efforts to stymie and direct the disastrous plate movements. Now that Humanity and Earth were properly back in dimensional space instead of in-between, some additional hectic activity in the form of directional nuclear detonation had been performed for the upcoming plan of "plug the hole with a large piece of another planet or moon".

They've selected Sycorax by the way, just waiting for it to get further away from Uranus in its irregular orbit, hook it up to several Dreadnoughts and haul it over to Earth and gently plop it in the hole. It is about the right size and nobody will miss it if it doesn't work.

Anyway, as she pondered the likely inevitable yet another calamitous event we'll be willingly conducting, the mapper finished its work.

At first, more of the same chaos as usual, but something at the back of her mind said to glance closer at the density readings from the deepest level measurements. With not much else to do today before the work day ends, she highlighted the appropriate levels, and as she started to remove clutter data, a shape began to emerge.

A tendril.

While scans and maps often show things that our minds interpret as something already familiar to us, once you look at each individual part, you see that it is just a coincidence. The brain wants to see what it knows to make sense of the unknown, life would be too complicated and overstimulating otherwise.

No mistake, however. As she removed more of the clutter and focused in on the object, there was no mistaking its resemblance to a biological structure. Hints of veins, pores, hairs, scales, needles, eyes... seemingly everything you could find on the surface layer of a creature was there, or parts of it anyway. Composition-wise it was more of the same silicates and such compounds found within the mantle. But... denser, more concentrated, almost deliberately shaped.

She quickly loaded up older data and after a bit of filtering and comparing, sure enough, the same tendril-like structure is there, just a little closer to the regular density levels of the surrounding. Even years old data provided similar results, though you could only find the shape if you already knew it was there.

Loading up the oldest records she had access to from around 300 years ago revealed the same, just even less distinguishable from the surrounding materials.

The scans don't go deep enough to show what the tendril leads to, if anything, but what is it? How did it get there? Why is something clearly biological in structure within the mantle layer? And if it does continue, how far? Does the core of the planet itself house some impossible creature? If so... what does that mean? For Earth? For Humanity? For the Universe? This is way above Joannie's pay grade and expertise, way past her regular waking hours as well at this point, and way too big to know how or if to reveal any information to the public. Some higher ups can have a headache instead.

Maybe the Coalition aliens know something similar.

Maybe this is all a big load of nothing and she just imagined it all.

Yeah.

That'd be nice.

Wouldn't it be nice if Cthulu wasn't potentially real?