#when john got busy with a hunt and disappeared for a week or two he would leave sam and dean with bobby

[yousavorthis]

weekends at bobby's

[blu3-ja3]

Chapter 4: Blood Rush

Chapter 1

Chapter 5

Simon Riley has always run from his problems, he has since he was a child. It's the main reason he joined the military so young, to run from his family, their expectations, and the constant demands. And now he's running from his feelings towards John MacTavish. It's a little difficult to do when you're living with the man but Simon is good about avoiding people.

He knows Johnny has been trying to talk to him, trying to catch him. But Simon has done this his whole life... It's been about a week of Simon waking up before the sun and darting out of the building and into the busy streets near Piccadilly Square, he's found a little garden tucked away in a hidden spot to spend most of his time before he has to go to work.

Everyone has picked up on the odd tension coming from Johnny, the man's usually so chipper and happy. But the sadness turned to anger, quick clipped words and rude responses. Finally O'Connor stepped in, found Simon one morning before he disappeared before work.

"Whatever is going on between you two lads, you better fix it soon before Tavish flips his can on a customer." Simon just nods before heading out. He never did... So O'Connor forced him too. Simon and Johnny shared a shift in the nightclub and took a break at the same time.

Usually Johnny works the upstairs bar and Gary downstairs, on occasion the two will switch but it's never written onto the schedule. No this was O'Connors doing and so was Simon's and Johnny's breaks being at the same time.

Simon immediately began to formulate a plan on how the hell to get out of dodge before Johnny came to hunt him down. Usually Graves or Alex works the door outside but all Simon has to do is ask if they'd like to switch for the night. Alex was working at the door tonight and he was more than happy to switch with Simon.

Simon didn't even enter the building again, just clocked in and walked to the neon lit doorway and began to work. That is until it started to rain and O'Connor pulled him inside to check IDs.

He could feel the heat of Johnny's eyes on him, it felt like he was standing too close to a fire. That almost blistering heat that's right at the cusp of hurting but still pleasant. It made Simon both nervous and excited at the same time.

Simon was silently counting down the minutes before he could slip away into some random shadow and disappear. Simon got distracted in his work for a bit but he knew he still had thirty minutes before he could disappear and continue avoiding Johnny.

"Simon"

"Johnny" Simon turned to his right to see Johnny full uniform with no pocket square.

"Let's go we're on break." Simon could hear the bite of anger in his tone. He doesn't know why but it makes his heart race, it fluttered in his chest like a bird in a cage. But it also made his palms sweat and his back tense, winding tighter with anxiety.

"I've still got 30 Johnny, sorry" Simon shrugged his shoulders as he stayed where he was. He could see from the corner of his eye Johnny balling his fist next to him.

"No you don't... Let's. Go." Simon resigned himself to a very awkward conversation as he followed MacTavish further into the building. As they pass the bar O'Connor gives Simon a look of 'I told you'. Simon follows Johnny up to their apartment. As soon as the door closes the shorter man spins around glaring at Simon.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Johnny pins Simon in place with his glare, face contoured in anger and hurt. A part of Simon wanted desperately to rid his face of the hurt.

"I'm sorry, what?" Simon has a few problems at the moment and all of them stem from the crush he has on the man before him.

"You! I have been trying to talk to you, tell you I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable. But instead you disappeared everyday for a week!" Johnny is gesturing wildly as he steps away, pacing in the little entryway.

"Why are you sorry?" Johnny stops and whirls towards Simon as though he'd just asked the dumbest question.

"Because I misread everything, I thought you were interested in me. Clearly you're not and I'm sorry for making a move. But instead of talking like adults you keep running off and disappearing!" The anger is slipping further away and all that's left is hurt and now sadness on Johnny's face. Everything in Simon screams for him to fix it, he doesn't know how but he has to somehow.

"You haven't misread anything." Simon's mouth moved before his brain could process what just tumbled out.

"What?" Johnny looked even more hurt and confused, Simon decides he was done running just this once and he'd actually face this. Uncomfortable emotions and all.

"You didn't misread anything, I am attracted to you... More than anyone I've ever met. It scares me... I'm not good Johnny, with emotions or people or in general take your pick." Simon looks away from Johnny, anywhere but Johnny.

"So I ran, like I've always done because I'm not just attracted to you and that scares me. I like you Johnny... Fuck" Simon whispers the last word as he processes what just came out of his mouth.

"You're an absolute numpty Simon." Simon finally meets those ocean blue eyes and he can't help the little gasp that escapes his lips. Johnny steps towards Simon, getting as close as he did the night Johnny was drunk. Simon feels hand on his cheeks, cupping around the facemask he's still wearing.

"You still owe me a birthday present Si." There's a softness on Johnny's face, like he's giving Simon a chance to run again as Johnny begins slowly removing Simon's mask.

But Simon doesn't run this time, instead he places his hands on Johnny's hips gently pulling him forwards. Simon dips his head down slightly before pausing, his lips hovering just over Johnny's.

"Can I kiss you?" Simon just barely whispers, eyes meets Johnny's.

Johnny surges upwards and their lips meet. It's tender and soft, their lips slotting together perfectly. Sparks danced behind Simon's eyes as they closed and he leans more into the kiss. Simon shifts both of them, pinning Johnny to the wall. Simon nips at Johnny's bottom lip, causing him to gasp.

Not one to miss such a wonderful opportunity Simon tentatively slips his tongue across Johnny's lips. The man is very quick to part his own lips and letting his tongue peak out. The two explore, soft and slow together. Mapping out as much as they can before their lungs burn and they pull away from each other only slightly. Both gasping softly staring at each other.

Simon tries desperately to etch the image before him permanently into his mind. Johnny's pupils are blown wide, pink dusting his cheeks and creeping further. His lips are slightly swollen and pink as he's panting softly.

"Bloody Hell..."

[pogueszn]

no because you guys know that trend on tiktok right now with ceilings by lizzy mcalpine where they clip dramatic running scenes from movies or tv shows? imagine that with you and jj

wc: 700+

jj and his friends have been missing for a month. he had swung by your place before he had disappeared, it was only after he was gone did you realize the undertones in your last conversation. he didn’t say anything that was cause for concern in the moment but things made sense now, the dots had lined up.

he had stood you up on every plan in the past few weeks, every rain check of a plan the two of you had to partake in whatever crazy shit he and the pogues got up to.

he told you he was sorry, cupped your cheeks and kissed you. told you he couldn’t explain right now but he would when he got back. when he got back he’d tell you everything. and then he left.

it was hard. you struggled with it. you wondered if you had said or done anything different if he would have stayed. if things would be different, maybe if you had your boyfriend and his friends who’ve you come to adore over the time you’ve spent with jj wouldn't be missing.

the authorities have no leads on where they might be. you don’t even know if they’re actually looking or if they share scripts of what to say to concerned family members and civilians to get them to go home and leave them alone so they can get 'their real work done'.

Keep reading

you and your parents have taken a trip to the mainland to visit your family  for a couple of days to get you off the island, away from the constant reminder that you don’t know if jj is alive or not

and when the pogues return to kildare the first place he goes is to your house. he bounds up your porch, taking two steps at a time, and slams his closed fist on your front door. he’s consumed by the thought of seeing you again that he didn't notice the family car isn’t in the driveway. he doesn’t have a phone, he imagines it’s somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, there’s no way for him to tell you that he’s back and that he’s okay. so he’s forced to wait and hope he can see you before this treasure hunting business takes him away from you again

picture it — you’re driving back home, your parents are talking in the front seat but you can’t bring yourself to pay attention to what they’re saying. you’re nearly zoned out, you’re barely comprehending what you’re seeing out the window until you see the twinkie.

john b’s old beat up van parked on the side of the road, the last you heard it was sitting in the police compound. your body immediately reacts, your spine straightens and you twist to look out the window.

the words fall out of your mouth so fast it doesn’t register to your parents the first time you say it.

“i'm sorry, say that again? i didn't hear you.”

“stop the car!”

the car rolls to a stop and you're out before the headlights fade off. they're too far to hear what they're talking about but it's them. there's no doubt about it.

jj is locked onto his conversation with john b, his hands wave dramatically in the air. his skin looks tanner, his blond locks of hair seem lighter than the last time you seen him. your eyes well up and your heart squeezes in your chest.

you call out his name and he stills. and all it takes is one look and your feet start to move. your pace is slow at first, your body is still reacting by the time you call out to him again.

you're a football field away from each other and even though jj is walking towards you, his stride matching your own, there's too much space between you. you break out into a full run and he does the same. you collide somewhere in the middle, his arms wrap around your torso and yours snare around his shoulders. you trip over your own feet and jj is stumbling backwards from the impact, you're clinging to each other like a lifeline, like if you let your grip loosen he'll slip from your hands like sand.  one of his hand slips up to cup the back of your neck while the other slips under the back of your shirt.

you don't need to know what he's done, you don't need to know where he's been. you just need to be able to hold him like this for as long as you need to. forever if you have to.

you don't need to know what he's done, you don't need to know where he's been. you just need to be able to hold him like this for as long as you need to. forever if you have to.

[blessyourhondahurley]

A Moment on the Lips, Forever on the Hips

Flufftober prompt: Cooking lessons Suptober prompt: Leather & Lace Random word: silence 

(Read on AO3)

He's not joining Weight Watchers. He's not counting calories or starting Jenny Craig or going paleo or any of that bullshit. He just...

The last hunt went way long. They were out of the Bunker for almost three weeks.  And Dean does not watch what he eats when he's on a hunt. When he's on a hunt he eats greasy road food and plenty of it, grateful for the burst of energy and the comfort of a full belly it provides. So they make it back home, finally, and none of Dean's fucking pants fit. Even his ratty stretched-out sweatpants are uncomfortably tight around his gut.

No big deal, right? It's not the first time he's put on a little around the middle. Cut out the beer for a couple days, go easy on the snacks, he'll be back down to fighting weight by the end of the week.

Except a week later, the weight's still there. Apparently once you're on the downslide to forty, the pounds don't melt off so easy any more.

So he cuts out meat. And cheese. And eggs, and basically, if it tastes good? He's not eating it. He's still making it, of course, because he has to feed his family. So the good stuff all goes to them, and he nibbles at the scraps.

It's not like he hasn't spent years of his life eating like this. He just pretends John dumped him and his brother in a motel somewhere with $20 that's supposed to last them a week. The way that goes is: Sammy gets three squares a day, Dean gets what's left, if there's anything left. The only difference is now he's got four Sammys to feed instead of one.

So his family gets spaghetti and meatballs with extra cheese and garlic bread, and he has a small bowl of plain noodles. His family gets triple-decker club sandwiches with homemade potato chips on the side, he has a couple pieces of dry toast. He begs off of their usual sit-down dinners together, claims pressing business in his room or under his car. He says he filled up tasting the food while he was cooking it. He fixes everyone's plates and then just fucking dips, driving out to Lawrence to complete a list of errands that are in no way as urgent as he makes them sound.

If Sam was paying attention, he'd have called his big brother on his bullshit by now. But he's caught up in his honeymoon phase with Eileen. Dean could paint himself pink and walk around naked whistling “Camptown Races” and those two wouldn't notice, too busy making googly eyes at each other and disappearing to their room for hours at a time, bless 'em both.

Jack (nephilim; sort-of-God; four year old in a twenty-something's body; son of two angels, three hunters, and a presidential aide) still lacks a clear idea of what normal human behavior looks like, for some reason. So there's no way he's going to take note of Dean's eating (or, rather, the lack thereof). At every meal, he smiles and cleans his plate and chirps “Thanks, Dean!” Then he wanders off to his room to get back on MyTikTakTweetCraft or whatever incomprehensible thing he's into this week.

Dean's not in the clear, though, because there's one more member of their little Bunker brood. Someone who can sit for hours in silence, doing nothing more than observing the world around him. Someone who sees Dean in a way that no one else ever has. Someone named–

“Cas!” Dean turns the corner into the library and Cas is rightfuckingthere, so close they almost collide. Startled, he hollers and drops his armful of books. “Jesus, buddy! You scared the shit out of me! Why are you spending your day lurking in dark corners like a creeper?”

The angel stares at him, unbothered, unblinking. “I was waiting for you. We need to talk.”

“You breakin' up with me, man? Because you'd need to ask me out first for that to work.” It's a lame joke, born of a desperation to distract, to defuse the tension between them, and it falls completely flat. Cas bats it aside like so much warm air.

“I know what you're doing, Dean. You're hurting yourself.”

“Huh?”

“You're skipping meals. When you do eat, you take in only a few hundred calories a day. It's self-harm.”

The hunter scoffs. “Self-harm? I'm just tryin' to lose some flab, dude. Got a little spare tire action goin' on.” He grabs his belly, jiggles it a bit.

“Setting aside the question of whether you need to lose weight or not for later discussion, there are healthy ways to do that. What you are doing is actively detrimental to your goals and it's self-destructive as well.” Cas was close to begin with; he'd never taken the step back that normal human etiquette would prescribe after their near-collision. But as he speaks, he looms over Dean, eyes flaring with holy fire. “You are damaging your body through starvation, and restricting your intake so severely has slowed your metabolism, which actually makes it more difficult for you to lose weight. Don't you see, you are–” The anger that had been fueling him seems to dissipate in a rush, and his shoulders slump. His voice turns hoarse and quiet. “Dean, you are precious to me. Every bit of you, body and soul.”

He takes that step back now, and another one, then bends to pick up the dropped books and place them on a nearby table. He seems to have run out of steam, perhaps vaguely embarrassed by the strength of his outburst. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and continues.

“There are simple changes you could apply to your recipes that would make them healthier for all of us. I can show you. You can eat well and still lose weight, if that's what you want. Really, though, Dean, you don't need to change anything about your body. I think the slight softness you've acquired recently is... Quite fetching.”

He's gotten closer again, Dean realizes. A lot closer. He can feel the warmth of Cas's breath on his face when he continues.

“On the subject of weight control and healthy living, the other piece of the puzzle is regular exercise,” he murmurs, gaze downcast. “I've been thinking recently of some ways I could help you to burn some calories, get your heart rate up... We could incorporate those items you've got stored in the back of your sock drawer...” As his words trail off, he flicks his eyes up to meet Dean's and the moment stretches like taffy.

“Y-you mean the... The ones with the l-leather?” Dean stammers.

“And the ones with the lace, yes. I apologize for snooping, but I found them when I was helping with the laundry last week, and I haven't been able to stop wondering about them. I would very much like to see how they look on your beautiful body. Would you let me see you like that, Dean? I think it would be very good exercise for us both.”

��Well, you know me, I'm a huge proponent of healthy exercise,” Dean blurts, grabbing Cas's hand and dragging him down the hall to his room.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

72 Hours In Montreal [Part I]

A/N: Many moons ago, the incomparably lovely @im-an-adult-ish​ pitched a Montreal concert fic idea (jokingly, I think), and quite a few of my followers fell in love with it. They were even kind enough to vote on which Queen member should be the love interest, and there was a clear winner: John! 

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and at last, here is the first of three chapters of this new mini-fic. I’m going to tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 💜

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. Y/N is a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. They’ll only ever have three short days in Montreal together...or will they??

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (not graphic). 

Word Count: 6.8k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @escabell​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​ @deacyblues​ @tensecondvacation​ @brianssixpence​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @youngpastafanmug​ @simonedk​ @rhapsodyrecs​ ​​​ @joemazzmatazz​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​ @namelesslosers​​ @inthegardensofourminds​​ @sleepretreat​​ @hardyshoe​​​ @sevenseasofcats​​ @jennyggggrrr​​ @madeinheavxn​​ @whatgoeson-itslate​​​ @herewegoagainniall​​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​​ @pomjompish​​ @allauraleigh​​  @bluutac​​ @johndeaconshands​​ 

The obnoxious British men are still laughing. The one with the mustache, suspenders, and illogically tight red leather pants is standing on the tiptoes of his equally red Adidas shoes to paw candles off the top shelf so he can sniff them. The blond one has no less than eight jars balanced precariously in his wiry arms. Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing is billowing through the shop speakers.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna break something,” you moan in a whisper, covering your eyes but peeking through your fingers. Your apron is suddenly too tight around your waist; your cheeks are roaring with blood as you envision the inevitable confrontation: Sir, unfortunately you ruined some of our giant tacky overpriced candles and so now you have to pay for them. So sorry. Paper or plastic? We take Mastercard.

“Who?” Kevin asks. He’s holding a broom in one pudgy, pinkish hand and a dustpan in the other. He has surrendered.

“That one. Suspenders and moustache guy. Red shoes guy. Dorothy without Toto.”

Kevin cracks a smile. “That is frighteningly accurate. He is rather whimsical, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll click his heels and disappear back to London or wherever.”

“We aren’t in Kansas anymore,” you mutter in commiseration. Actually, to be perfectly literal, you’ve never been to Kansas in your life.

“Wait, I think I might have met that guy before somewhere.” Kevin squints with great concentration. “He looks oddly familiar…”

“Hm.” You check your eyeliner wings in your reflection in the cash register screen. From what you can tell, they’re every bit as tragically asymmetrical as you remembered. Spectacular.

“Staring won’t make it better,” Kevin notes, very unhelpfully.

“I know,” you reply, miserable, toying with your bangs so you can hide behind them.

“How does that even happen? The right one is practically a 90-degree angle. The left one looks like you drew it on with a Sharpie.”

You groan. “I’ll try to scrub them off during my break.”

“If you’re not too busy helping me sweep glass off the floor, sure,” Kevin says. “I told you, I took an electrical engineering class as an elective once. I could totally take a look at your bathroom.”

“I thought you said you failed that class.”

“No, I said I got a D in that class. Ds aren’t failing.”

“Well now you’ve convinced me.” You scrutinize your reflection again, frowning. You rent a rather dilapidated one-bedroom apartment above a bakery just a few blocks from the Yankee Candle shop. The apartment always smells like powdered sugar and baking bread, which you like. What you don’t like is everything else about it: the peeling paint, the low water pressure, the windows that you can’t wrestle open, the occasional mice, the shoddy electrical wiring. On any given day, there’s an approximately 27% chance that the bathroom light won’t turn on when you flip the switch. This morning you had been on the losing side of those odds, and with the only mirror in the apartment being the one mounted over the sink—and the overcast November skies outside offering painfully little natural light—you had haphazardly guesstimated your way through your makeup routine before dashing off to work. Your guesstimation skills, apparently, are not all that great.

“If he’s The Wizard of Oz...” Kevin points his broom handle from the snickering moustached man to the gangly, poodle-haired one who has been trying to decide between two candles—Christmas Cookie and Cinnamon Stick—for twelve uninterrupted minutes. He’s wearing a parka spotted with patches: a NASA emblem, a soaring rocket, a smiling green extraterrestrial face, Saturn and its rings. “That guy’s gotta be Star Wars.”

“Or Alien,” you suggest, clutching your chest and pretending to die melodramatically.

Kevin laughs. “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“Close Encounters of The Third Kind.”

“What about that one?” Kevin nods to the guy who has large blue eyes and bleach-blond, fried tufts of hair sticking out in every direction and a grin that is simultaneously childish and foxlike. Under Pressure comes on the shop speakers, and the British men all start cheering and high-fiving each other, leaving their candles momentarily tucked under their arms or quivering precariously on the edges of wooden display tables. You are entirely mystified. “God, he’s gorgeous.”

“Bye Bye Birdie,” you decide. “Beautiful. Charming. Beloved by all. Perhaps a little dangerous. I can picture teenage girls sobbing themselves to sleep as he gallantly marches off to war.”

“You think he’s gay?” Kevin asks hopefully.

“I don’t think he’s dressed well enough for that.” The blond man is wearing a shapeless, polka-dotted sweater that has ‘NIVEA’ spelled across the front, for reasons that are difficult to fathom.

Kevin sighs, crestfallen. He suffered a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Patrick two weeks ago, and is enthusiastically on the hunt for a rebound to distract him. “You’re probably right. Okay, last but not least.” Kevin aims his broom handle at the fourth and final British stranger. “What shall we call him?”

You consider the man who has wandered away from the others. He’s wearing Levi’s, a black bomber jacket, aviator sunglasses, a mop of unwrangled auburn hair, thoughtful lines that break around the corners of his hidden eyes. He is browsing unhurriedly, perhaps even distractedly, through the fruit-scented candles. He picks up a jar of Macintosh Apple, sniffs a few times, then sets it back down precisely where he found it. He even spins the jar so it’s label-side-facing-outwards again. You warm to him immediately.  

“One of the James Bond movies?” Kevin offers. “He seems…enigmatic somehow. Esoteric. Yet still clearly leading man material.”

“Casablanca,” you say, not tearing your gaze from the stranger. “I can imagine him waving off some old flame on a foggy, night-draped airport runway, breaking hearts with sparse words of wisdom. Can’t you?”

“Oh, that’s exactly right!” Kevin sighs again, dreamily, yearningly. And whether he’s yearning for his ex-boyfriend Patrick or Bye Bye Birdie a.k.a. NIVEA-sweater man or passion or sex or love or maybe just the ineffable high that accompanies the beginnings of things, you couldn’t say.

You peer at your reflection in the cash register screen once again, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “Maybe if I—”

“Freddie!” Star Wars cries, and you whirl just in time to see The Wizard of Oz, whizzing around and giggling and preoccupied with teasing NIVEA-sweater man, stumble into the six-foot-tall tower of Christmas Tree-scented candles and send countless jars crashing to the tile floor.

“I knew it!” you unleash in a rush of misery and exasperation, the biting threat of tears in your eyes and the back of your throat. And of course, it isn’t just about the mess on the floor, it isn’t just about having to tell your manager and hoping to God he doesn’t fire you. It’s about your derelict apartment, it’s about your fucked up eyeliner, it’s about everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months; it’s about the never-ending feelings of helplessness and inertia and predestined ruin, it’s about not being able to get fifteen meters down the street before life throws up another red light, another jagged sinkhole gaping like ravenous jaws. And none of that is these ridiculous British men’s fault; yet still, in that moment the fury you feel towards them is overwhelming.

“Jesus christ,” Kevin mumbles, stepping out from behind the counter to survey the damage, his hands still clutching the broom and dustbin.

“You couldn’t just mosey around and ask which candles are on sale and maybe sniff one or two like a normal person?!” you explode. “You had to come in here acting like goddamn animals and destroy like a third of our inventory?!”

“I’m so sorry,” The Wizard of Oz sputters, looking at you and Kevin with wide, profusely apologetic dark eyes. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man are helping him to his feet, albeit with very spirited chidings. Kevin is grudgingly asking if he’s alright. Casablanca is already trying to sort through which candles are broken and putting those that survived aside. And when he casts furtive glances from behind his aviator sunglasses, they’re directed not at Kevin or The Wizard of Oz but at you.

“Freddie, bloody hell,” NIVEA-sweater man laments.

“I’ll pay for them all,” The Wizard of Oz tells you. “I’m so, so, so terribly sorry, you’re absolutely right to be cross with me, and I’ll pay for everything. Here, let me get my wallet…” He digs around in the pockets of his preposterously tight red leather pants.

“Uh…sir…” Kevin begins uncertainly, not wanting to break the bad news.

“It’s going to be hundreds of dollars,” you inform The Wizard of Oz. “Maybe over a thousand. You’re really going to pay that? Or are you just going to wait until we start sweeping up and then sprint out the front door the first chance you get?”

“Hey,” Kevin warns you quietly. He wants you to keep this job probably even more than you do. You are, by his own admission, far and away his favorite coworker.

“No, no, darling, please, let her scold me, I deserve it.” The Wizard of Oz at last locates his wallet. He sashays to the counter, brushing nuggets of glittering glass off his clothes, and counts out two thousand Canadian dollars in hundreds. “Will that do? You can keep the change as compensation for the inconvenience. And we’ll help clean up as well, has anyone got an extra broom?”

As you stare down at the money, shocked into speechlessness, three hulking men dressed in black come barreling into the shop.

“Lord in heaven, Freddie, what happened?!” one asks. He has a thick beard and an Irish accent and closely resembles a grizzly bear.

“I made a complete ass out of myself and am now trying to win the affections of this marvelous creature,” The Wizard of Oz replies, flourishing a hand towards you. “Is it working, dear?”

“Kind of,” you admit, still stunned.

“Oh my god.” The broom tumbles out of Kevin’s grasp and clatters on the floor. He points at The Wizard of Oz. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You…you…you’re Freddie Mercury, right?”

In reply, The Wizard of Oz only flashes an enormous, toothy, dazzling grin.

“Oh my god,” Kevin says again, a starry, awed smile rippling across his round face.

“Please don’t make his ego any bigger,” Star Wars pleads.

“And you’re Brian May!” Kevin replies. “And you’re…” He turns to NIVEA-sweater man, snapping his fingers, trying to remember. “Robbie…no, Ronnie…uh…Ricky…?”

“Roger Taylor.” But it comes out like ‘Rogah Taylah.’ NIVEA-sweater man extends a hand for Kevin to shake, not the least bit offended. “It’s a pleasure. Sorry about the candles.”

“No problem, sir!” Kevin squeaks as he takes Roger’s hand, beaming. The men in black—the band’s security, you’ve gathered—have descended upon the crime scene, confiscated Kevin’s broom and dustbin, and are rapidly clearing glass and chunks of candlewax from the floor and discarding the mess in a trash bin that usually collects only chewed gum and unwanted receipts.

“So I guess I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you tell Freddie Mercury guiltily, all the venom in your voice evaporated. You’re no Queen superfan, true, but everyone knows the words to Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. And Another One Bites The Dust. And Killer Queen. And Crazy Little Thing Called Love. And Somebody To Love. Your thoughts are suddenly a racing, indecipherable blur. Your knees are boneless. You’ve never met a celebrity before. Well, not unless you count professional hockey players, which you definitely don’t.

“No, you absolutely should have,” Freddie retorts. “I was dreadfully discourteous. I’m positively mortified about it. I should be punished severely. Have you got anything behind the counter to whip me with? A riding crop, perhaps?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not that I know of. I’m sorry I called you an animal.”

“I’m sorry about the candles. There, now we’re even. Wait, not quite yet.” He calls over to Kevin: “Darling, how would you and your friend like front row seats at our show tonight?”

The squeal that bursts out of Kevin is not human.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie Mercury says, very pleased.

“This is really too generous of you,” you protest, although your heart isn’t in it; Kevin might legitimately strangle you if you screw this up, and you’re finding that you want to see Queen in concert too. It’s something to interrupt the powerless, unrelenting monotony; it’s like something that might happen in a movie or a dream.

“Nonsense!” Freddie announces cheerfully. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man—or, rather, Brian and Roger—are chatting with the security guys and nodding along as the bearlike Irishman reviews the day’s itinerary.

You peer over at Casablanca. Now that the floor is mostly clear, he’s migrating towards you and Freddie. You glance apprehensively down at your reflection. “Goddammit,” you mutter, manipulating your bangs again, wishing you could disappear. “I meet a rock star for the first time ever and I look like this.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kevin says, obviously lying.

“I like it,” Freddie tells you, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his knuckles. “It’s very goth raccoon chic.”

“My bathroom light wouldn’t turn on this morning and I was late for work and I guesstimated and that was clearly a poor decision.” Poor decisions are my expertise, you think instinctively, and feel a tug of something you don’t quite have the words for. Shame, grief, disappointment, a raw sting like a flame beneath your palm, a dread like a child who’s lost their mother’s hand.  

“I’ve offered to take a look at the wiring!” Kevin exclaims. “I told you, a D is passing!”

“Kev, babe,” you reply. “I really, truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably just make it worse. And then my landlord will hate me and keep my security deposit and write me awful references and I’ll have to live in an endless string of ancient, hideous apartments until I die.”

“It’s an electrical problem?” Casablanca asks, pushing his aviator sunglasses up into his unruly hair. His unveiled eyes are a blueish grey—they remind you of one of the candles, maybe Beach Walk or Bahama Breeze—and very direct. He stares at you and you stare back, and at some point you realize that everyone is waiting for you to answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sometimes nothing happens when I flip the switch. That’s the extent of my handyman knowledge, unfortunately.”

Casablanca nods. “I could take a look, if you like.”

Not Beach Walk. Not Bahama Breeze. Warm Luxe Cashmere, maybe. “Now that really is too generous. I couldn’t possibly put a rock star to work on my terrible apartment.”

“John’s got a degree in electrical engineering, that’s right in his wheelhouse,” Brian counters.

“Yes,” Roger says, grinning, teasing in a way that has absolutely no malice in it. “He’s more of an engineer than a rock star anyway, isn’t he?”

“Seriously?” Casablanca—John, you mentally correct yourself—doesn’t seem much like an electrical engineer. But Roger’s right: he doesn’t really seem like a rock star, either. What John seems like is steady and abiding and perceptive, attentive, unflinching. He studies you like some people study paintings, like you once studied paintings; not in a passing-by-in-a-crowded-hallway type way but in a patient way, a methodical way, with the quiet that comes from knowing that vision in the frame is older than you will ever be and will still be hanging on that wall when you’re bones in a box somewhere.

Freddie lights a cigarette and puffs on it decadently. Smoking definitely isn’t allowed inside the Yankee Candle shop, but you aren’t about to snap at Freddie Mercury for the second time today. “Oh, let him tinker around in your flat, darling. It’ll make his day.”

“Is it far?” John asks you.

“No, really, Casa…uh, I mean, John, I appreciate the offer more than I could possibly express but I—”

“It’s just a few blocks north,” Kevin says, and tosses you a wily smile.

“How convenient!” Freddie trills. “When does your shift end, dear?”

“Not until 5:30.”

“She can take a long lunch break.” Another smile from Kevin. “Honestly, there’s not much to do around here now that the Great Candle Massacre of 1981 has been remediated.”

“Splendid!” Freddie says, radiant.

You shake your head, very slowly. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Then you clearly haven’t lived enough,” Freddie quips.

“Fred!” Roger presses. “Are we going to the bookstore down the street or not? That was the whole deal, we suffer through your candles, you suffer through our books.”

“You didn’t seem to be suffering,” Brian says.

“Of course I’m suffering. That cashier over there almost murdered me,” Roger slings back.  

Freddie sighs and rolls his large, dark, expressive eyes. “Yes, darling, of course, don’t give yourself an aneurism. We’ll go to the bookstore, John can rendezvous with us later.” Now he turns to you. “We’ll send a car to your flat at 7 to pick you and Kevin up for the show tonight. Don’t let John leave without knowing your address. Wear something deliciously opulent. Lots of sparkle. Maybe furs.”

“I make eight dollars an hour,” you tell him.  

“Or you could just wear nothing.”

“Sparkle and furs it is.”

Freddie chuckles and turns to the men in black. “Chubby, my dear?”

The towering bearlike Irishman replies: “Yeah, I’ll go with John. Don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone. Don’t get yourselves deported before the show. EMI will have your heads on spikes.”

Freddie pretends to be scandalized. “Causing destruction? We would never.” He saunters towards the shop door, jingling the bells as he swings it open, and waves like royalty. “See you tonight, darlings!”

“Bye!” Kevin shouts after him. And then, after Freddie, Roger, Brian, and the two non-bearlike men in black have departed: “Oh my god I just met Freddie Mercury and he’s amazing and he knows I exist and he spoke to me and tonight he’s sending a car to take me to a concert and I’m going to have front row seats and what if he invites me to have a drink afterwards oh my god.”

John, evidently unaffected, prompts you: “So your place is just a few blocks away?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my coat…”

The man in black—Chubby, as Freddie had introduced him—fetches your coat off the rack by the door and holds it up so you can slip inside it. No one has ever done that for you before.

“…Thanks…?” You button your coat, feeling a little like royalty yourself at the moment.

John pulls open the door, the tiny metal bells jangling, and gestures out into the streets of downtown Montreal. He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses again; the November wind gusts through his hair. You catch threadbare ghosts of cigarette smoke and cologne that the breeze lifts from his skin like pages of a book. And he smiles, just barely. “After you.”

You walk north together along the path of the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, your breath fog in the cold, weaving through the bustling crowds of tourists and holiday shoppers, Chubby trailing not far behind and displaying his talent for keeping watch while not letting on that he is. To even your own horror, you can’t seem to shut up.

“John, this is so kind of you, this is completely unnecessary, you really shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything because Freddie already paid for the candles twice over and I was totally unprofessional for yelling at customers, even annoying customers, and Kevin and I are already getting a free concert tonight and so—”

“Okay,” John says firmly. “You have to talk about something else now.”

“I can’t talk about anything else. All I can think about is how ridiculous this is.”

“Have you lived in Montreal long?” he asks, very casually, as if you’re strangers in line next to each other at Starbucks.

“My whole life.” Minus a little over three years, but you don’t need to get into that. “My parents live over in Verdun, right on the St. Lawrence River.

“Sounds scenic.”

“It certainly is.” You’re trying not to look at John, because every time you do it’s hard to stop. You look at the cars rolling by instead. “This is super embarrassing, and I don’t mean to offend you, but what exactly do you do in Queen?”

He’s not offended; he thinks it’s hilarious. “I’m the bassist.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, bassists are quiet and reliable or whatever. Bassists don’t terrorize Yankee Candle employees.”

“You’re not a Queen fan?”

“I’m a casual and appreciative listener, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I couldn’t pick any of you out of a lineup, clearly. Roger is the drummer, right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Drummers are feral, almost universally. Which means Brian must be lead guitar.”

“And what do you think of lead guitarists?”

“Word on the street is that they are brilliant yet micromanaging egomaniacs, but I don’t want to bash your friend or anything.”

John chuckles, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on yet. “No, please, bash away. So you prefer bassists.”

And finally you do look at him, and you regret it immediately; because now you’re caught in the thoughtful crinkles around his eyes and the barely-there stubble of his cheeks and the playful curve of his lips and how the wind ruffles his auburn hair the same way it steals leaves off of slumbering trees. You almost walk right past the bakery. “Oh, wait, we’re here.”

You lead John and Chubby upstairs to your chronically irritating apartment. John removes his sunglasses, inspects your bathroom light switch, then asks if you have a specific kind of screwdriver. You bring him the toolkit that has lived beneath the kitchen sink since before you moved in and he roots around, finds what he’s searching for, and unfastens the light switch plate from the wall.

“Please don’t electrocute yourself,” you fret, as Chubby meanders around in the living room and tries not to intrude. “If you die your groupies will never forgive me.”

“Who says I’ve got groupies?” John replies, amused.

“I just assumed all rock stars do.” Your eyes flick down to his hands as he fidgets with the wiring; and you notice randomly—or, maybe, not all that randomly—that he’s not wearing a ring. You’re still ruminating over that when he returns the light switch plate to the wall, secures each of the four screws with a few deft twists of his wrist, and performs a test flip. The light turns on immediately.

“Mission accomplished,” John says mildly.

“What?! No, no way, no freaking way.” You flip the switch again. The light turns off and on obediently. You try it at least five more times. Perfection. “…How?!”

“Just a few loose wires. No great hardship.” He tucks the screwdriver back into the toolkit.  

You gape at him. “That took you…like…two minutes.”

“Aren’t you glad my band wandered into your candle shop and almost demolished the place today?” He rests his hands on his waist; his sturdy, skillful, ringless hands. “Anything else I can fix for you?”

“Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He stares at you. You stare back.

“Stop looking at my fucked up eyeliner.”

John laughs. It’s a delightfully clear, disarming sound. “That’s not what I was doing.”  

“I should fix my makeup and go back to work now. And you should probably go help your friends burn down the bookstore or blow up a Starbucks or do whatever else is on your agenda for today.”

“Soundcheck and dinner, actually,” John says. He slides the toolkit back beneath your kitchen sink, meets Chubby by the front door, and pauses there to give you one last lingering, laden gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“In my best furs,” you purr in your most convincing Freddie Mercury impression.

“Or nothing at all,” John suggests levelly. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out better than you thought it would. Your tan, knee-high suede boots are celebratory without being too uncomfortable. Kevin brings you a faux fur jacket that he stole from Patrick during the breakup. You find a glittery black dress in the back of your closet that you once loved, then couldn’t stand to look at, then forgot existed entirely; but tonight it’s like you’re seeing it with brand new eyes. It fits even better than you remember. In the mirror, you look like a stranger and a hauntingly familiar acquaintance and yourself all at once.

Chubby arrives in a black limousine at precisely 7pm, parks along the curb next to the bakery, and honks the horn twice. You and Kevin dash down the narrow steps and climb into the backseat, finding complimentary cigarettes and bottled water and chilled champagne. As the limo rolls though Montreal under changing traffic lights, Kevin prattles on about the band, their history, their albums, their tours…and John in particular. He tries to tempt you. You resist valiantly…for the first fifteen minutes, anyway.

Finally, you sigh in capitulation. “Okay. Fine. I get it. What do you know about him?”

“I know he’s divorced,” Kevin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I saw it on the cover of a tabloid a while back. Very contentious, spicy stuff. He’s got like eight kids.”

“He does not have eight kids!”

“Okay, maybe not eight. But he has a lot,” Kevin insists.

You rearrange your hair with deliberate flippantness. “What do I care if he’s divorced?”

Kevin grins. “You know why you care.”

“Stop,” you plead.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he definitely likes you. And you like him. And I haven’t seen you like anybody, ever, in the…wait, let me count…the nine whole months that I’ve known you. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid? Oh my god, it hasn’t been nine months, has it?! That’s way too long to go without sex. No wonder you’re so serious all the time. It all makes sense now. You poor thing. You’re in dick withdrawal.”

“Assuming that’s my problem—which it isn’t, by the way—if I wanted to get laid there are far easier ways to accomplish that.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. “But you don’t want just any dick. You want British bassist dick. John Deacon dick. Casablanca dick.”

“This friendship is terminated.”

Kevin cackles, pouring himself a glass of champagne that bubbles over the top and spills onto the limo floor. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we can do this together.”

You fill a champagne flute with bottled water and clink your glass against his, smiling. The limo is turning into the parking lot of the Montreal Forum. “Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The backstage room that Chubby escorts you and Kevin to after the show is full of chatter and heavy smoke and roadies and fans and musicians and journalists, trays of hors d'oeuvres, wine and Stella Artois and vodka and tequila and rum, the electric promise of things that will go unmentioned in the morning. There are stacks of stereo speakers in the corner rumbling out Another One Bites The Dust. You and Kevin camp out on a green velvet couch—making small talk with each other to avoid making it with anyone else—until the band arrives.

John is still wearing his concert outfit: blue pants, blue shirt, a black leather jacket that gives him an edge like a knife. He passes out a few polite nods; but Freddie and Roger are undeniably the suns in this room, and the guests their planets. Freddie is soon surrounded by a constellation of followers and whisks Kevin away with him. John, meanwhile, comes straight to where you’re sitting on the couch and stands in front of you with his messy hair and his veil of cologne and his mystery-candle-blue eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks in that calm, measured way that you’ve learned he has. “Rum and Coke? Moscow Mule? Hurricane? I’ve been on a mojito kick recently.”

“I don’t drink.” And you wait for the inevitable awkwardness that usually follows that sentence, when he says why? or seriously? or maybe just oh in wilted disappointment.

Instead, what John says is this: “No problem. Rum minus the Coke?”

You smile up at him. You can’t help yourself. “That would be perfect.”

There are innumerable drinks already poured on a table, dark carbonated liquid trembling in red plastic cups as the bass from the stereo speakers quakes through the crowded, droning, smoke-hazed room. John moves from cup to cup, taking tentative sips before shaking his head and putting them back down on the table. After each attempt, he casts you a rueful smirk before continuing on to the next cup. At last, he finds two unadulterated Cokes and brings them to the couch: one for you, and one for him. He sits beside you with one of his legs crossed over the other, a lit cigarette in his right hand, a red plastic cup of Coke in his left, and his eyes on you in a way that isn’t hungry or arrogant or restless but merely, benignly contemplative. You find yourself thinking of paintings in museums again, you even start to feel a little like one; and you wonder what colors he sees in you, what types of brushstrokes, what signatures scribbled in the corners of the canvas, what shadows painstakingly penciled in to mimic the angles of the sun.

You tell John about growing up in Montreal, about autumn strolls along the St. Lawrence River, about snowfalls and Mont-Royal and Chinatown and the Notre-Dame Basilica, about the exhilarating turmoil of the Summer Olympics in 1976. You tell him about how Kevin is in his last year at Concordia University and works part-time at the Yankee Candle shop for money to invest in his hair gel and travel fund. You tell him so many things he doesn’t notice all the parts you leave out. In return, John tells you about himself; not about John Deacon the bassist of Queen, but about the understated man who likes cars and electronics and the Beatles and tea in the evenings beside a roaring fireplace. And when his arm comes to rest on the back of the green velvet couch, and then across your shoulders, and then around your waist, it doesn’t feel strange at all. You lean into him as you exchange stories and clandestine giggles until you’re nearly in his lap, and that doesn’t feel strange either. And you haven’t had a drop of alcohol—you haven’t in almost a full year, in fact—but you feel a little drunk tonight, because your cheeks are hot and the room is blurry and the world is brimming with a pure, rose-gold, uncomplicated happiness.

The other band members periodically stop by to say hello, clutching their drinks and making stilted pleasantries as you and John smile drowsily up at them, looking nothing like the soberest people in the room. Chubby and the rest of the men in black are simultaneously omnipresent and scarce, which you are beginning to think is a requirement inked into their job description. Kevin, having been fully absorbed into Freddie’s entourage, is beaming and flushed and extremely, blissfully tipsy. And they all watch you and John not with scandalized sideways glances but with warm approval swimming in their gleaming eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you yet,” you tell John when you are alone again. “For improving my dreadful apartment. So thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I hate that I marred your time in Montreal with unpaid labor.”

He shrugs it off. “I like fixing things. It’s what I’m best at.”

“Besides being an internationally acclaimed rock star, you mean.”

“I’m honestly not so sure I’m cut out for the rock star life.”

“You are, though. I saw you. I watched you all night.”

John just stares at you, and then he leans in even closer, inhaling deeply. You can feel the heat of his breath on your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck; goosebumps spring up across your skin like stars at twilight. “What the hell is that? Perfume? Lotion? Shampoo?”

“It’s probably sugar and baking bread, because I live on top of a bakery.”

“Does Yankee Candle make anything that smells like you?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “They definitely do not.”

“They should,” John murmurs. And with the rough whirlpools of his fingertips he turns your face to his so he can kiss you.

It should be kind of humiliating, right? Making out with some guy you just met on a green couch in front of thirty strangers, your hands getting tangled in each other’s hair, your lips meeting again and again, taunting darts of the tongue and quick painless bites and stifled moans and grasping tugs at clothes that you’re starting to wish weren’t there at all. It should feel embarrassing, you should feel overexposed, here in this land of unfamiliar expectations and accents and faces. But no one seems to be watching too closely. This must be so tame in the world of rock stars, it occurs to you; almost wholesome. And you can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“There’s a pool table in the next room,” someone says, startling you, and you break away from John to discover Roger perched on the arm of the couch, grinning coyly as he sips his emerald glass bottle of Stella Artois. “I mean…you know. If you’re into that. John’s got all sorts of moves, we played for days at a time at Ridge Farm. You could challenge him to a round or two. Place bets. But be warned…he’s a total pool shark.”

“Is he?” you ask mischievously, clasping the lapel of John’s leather jacket. Even if you freed him, he shows no indication of retreating. He’s raking his knuckles back and forth along the length of your thigh that your little black dress leaves exposed, never venturing above the hem.  

Roger winks. “Just thought you might want to know.” Then he hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd again.

John is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours, and no lower. He’s trying to not be even vanishingly forceful. He’s trying not to sway you. But you know exactly what he wants. “Do you…?”

“Show me how to play pool,” you whisper. And you lead him through the shuffling bodies and boisterous, increasingly intoxicated laughter and cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke to the door on the other side of the room.

Beyond the threshold you find a pool table and not much else. It’s terribly unceremonious; it’s absolutely perfect. You can hear Blondie’s Call Me playing back in the packed room where the rest of the band is still reveling, the bass crawling through the walls to radiate in your eardrums, your bones. You lock the door and reach out to flick off the harsh florescent lights, but John stops you. You don’t have to ask him why. He wants to be able to see you. He asks if this is okay—again, wordlessly, with the forthright blue of his eyes—and you nod. And then he kisses you as you drag him in, breathing in his cologne and nicotine, tasting the virgin Coke on his lips that he drank just for you.

John tears off his leather jacket. You toss the faux fur that Kevin lent you to the floor. You climb up onto the pool table, and John follows you. You yank off his shirt, link your suede boots around him as he positions himself between your naked, down-soft thighs. And then John stops.

“Look, I have to be honest,” he says. His hands tremble as they cradle the small of your back, just barely. “I’m newly divorced, and I’m really out of practice, I mean really out of practice, and this is not at all my usual way of doing things, and if I’m total rubbish or only last like thirty seconds or something I just want to apologize in advance and swear that I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this worth it for you. Because I like you. I really, really like you.”

“I’m a little rusty too,” you confess with a small, sheepish smile. But he doesn’t need to know exactly how rusty you are, or in how many ways, all those layers of blood-hued ruin that spin webs from the skin down to the marrow.

John seems relieved. “Then maybe we’re even.”

You’re not even, you’re nowhere close; but it’s comforting that he thinks you could be.

John kisses you again. His hands find the zipper on the back of your dress, and then the tiny metal clasp of your bra, and then the black lace of your panties…and then everything else as well.

~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you return together to the green velvet couch in the next room, not with bashful swiftness but with your hands entwined, your eyes satiated and calm, your clothes unapologetically rumpled. The partying is winding down. The song pouring through the stereo speakers is In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. And now you and John don’t talk very much at all; you just sit there with fresh cups of Coke, your head resting against his chest, his left arm draped around you, watching the rest of the universe spin on like a carousel as your feet stay rooted to the earth.

“So you’re the smart one,” you say eventually. “You must be, with an electrical engineering degree.”

“You’d be surprised. We’re rather erudite, as far as rock stars go.” He smiles drowsily down at you. “Freddie’s got a degree in graphic art and design. Roger has one in biology. Brian has the better part of a PhD in astrophysics. He might even go back to finish it one day. He probably will, just to be able to lord it over us.”

“Wow,” you reply, distantly, suddenly feeling very small.

“What did you study?” he asks you.

In truth, you never finished college; but you aren’t going to tell John that. “Something useless.”

John is intrigued, and perhaps a little concerned as well. His brow furrows with grooves like lines of fortune in an open palm.

“I wanted to be a painter,” you explain, smirking at the absurdity. “But the world doesn’t need painters anymore. They have pictures and videos that are just as clear as real life. They don’t need my fantasies or interpretations. They have reality.”

“I think we still need painters,” John disagrees, his calloused fingertips tracing lazy circles around your bare shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah. For when reality requires improving.”

You let a few moments of silence tick by. And then you put on your faux fur jacket, finish the last of your Coke, stand and find your balance on the low heels of your boots with exhausted, shaky calves.

John jolts upright, somewhat alarmed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“This was great, John. This was the best night I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. But I have to go home now.”

“Okay.” He studies you, processing. “Okay, okay. I’ll have Chubby drive you.”

“That’s really not necessary, I can get a cab…”

But John has already waved Chubby over, and the massive man appears serendipitously with an impossible degree of stealth. Kevin finds you, staggering, babbling breathlessly about all of his adventures, showing you where Freddie and Roger and Brian signed his chest with a black Sharpie, repeating the same stories on an identical loop every few minutes. As you leave, you offer John a brief parting wave; and he returns it, like a reflection in a mirror, but he’s wearing a pensive frown and eyes dark with thought. Then again, maybe you are too.

Chubby leads you and Kevin outside to the waiting limousine. You slip into the backseat, ply Kevin with bottled water, open the sunroof so moonlight and cold, reviving November air can flood in like a river.

Kevin is coming down now from the high of the champagne and the concert and the carousing with Freddie Mercury. He blinks, soaking you in, really seeing you for the first time in hours. “Wow, you had a good night with Casablanca. You had a really good night.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, resting your head against the window and watching the stars and streetlights pass by above like seasons. “And it will never happen again.”

[fictionalabyss]

Protector : Back to therapy.

Pairing : Dean x Reader, Sam, Alex (OC), Abby (OC)

Word count :  1,545

Warnings : Panic/fear,  stalking/following, pissed Dean, prison life : threat of solitary confinement. Series TW : Domestic Abuse is a constant topic- be it mentioned, or actually happening.

Continuation of this series was commissioned by : @iflostreturntosteverogers

Part 18 of Protector.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

“Mommy?”

You heard whispering as you started to wake up, eyes gently fluttering open just to close again a moment later. Opening them once more, you blinked a few times to get your vision straight. Down by the door you saw a familiar too tall figure with your young daughter in his arms. “Hey, baby.” you smiled. “Did you have fun with Uncle Sammy today?” She chatted away and you looked to Sam with a smile and a stretch. But as you started sitting up, you noticed you hadn’t seen your son. “Where’s Alex?” Sam didn’t answer. “Sam? Where’s my son.”

Sam put Abby down, letting her run off to play with some toys that were still scattered around the living room from earlier that morning.

“Where the fuck is my son, Sam?”  Panic and fury were taking over.

He opened his mouth to answer, but from outside you heard a bike pull in. Shooting up from the couch you rushed to the front door and pulled it open. He was killing the engine as you stepped down that first step. He stepped off the bike and looked up before pulling off his helmet. “Hey, mom.”

You rushed for him, wrapping your arms around him as tight as you could and held on to him like he’d get pulled away if you let up in the slightest.

“Mom?”

“You’re grounded.” you told him, letting the fear that had gripped you a moment ago leak into your voice. “You understand me? A week, Alex. You're at school or at home, no garage, John can find someone else.”

He didn’t fight you, didn’t argue. “Okay, mom.”

You pulled away, wiping at your face with your sleeve. “Go to your room.” Alex just nodded before heading inside, but you couldn’t follow him, not yet.

Sam stood in the open doorway behind you, watching you. “He left when you did.”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you call me?” you turned, snapping at him.

“You needed to relax.”

“I need to know my fucking son is okay. I trusted that he was with you! I trusted you to bring him home!”

“He went to Dean.”

“He- Are you sure?”

Sam nodded. “Dean called me. Only reason I came home without hunting his ass down, Dean told me he’d been there and Dean had talked some sense into him, got him to agree to stick with school. I knew he was on his way back home.”

“I didn’t want him to go.”

“That’s probably exactly why he went.” Sam pointed out.

“I didn’t want him to see Dean like that.”

“He’s seen Dean like that before..” You shook your head. “Dean’s been shot since you two have-”

“It was summer, Sam. Alex spent a week camping with his friend. Alex has never seen Dean bloody. Never seen him that broken.” you looked up meeting his eyes. “Dean is- he’s our protector. Alex’s dad, he was… nothing was worse than that to Alex. Nothing. And Dean.. Dean got rid of the big bad evil in our lives. He’s up on a pedestal, invincible almost, to Alex. He needed that to be true to get through it all, he needed to think that nothing could hurt Dean in order to feel like he was finally safe. So we never let him see it. He’s seen the scars and such, once they’ve healed but you know Dean, it's a story. He laughs and talks about how worse off the other guy is like it’s no big deal. He’s never seen Dean broken.”

Sam glanced back into the house quickly, seeing Abby still playing quietly with her toys on the floor, he stepped out and towards you, cupping your face in his hands and making you look up at him. There was so much pain and guilt in your eyes that it hurt him. “It’ll be okay.”

“Will it? He barely sleeps, I know the nightmares are back. He won’t say anything but I know they are. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to make it easier on him-”

“I’ll be taking him to therapy,” he promised. “I’ll drive him and walk him in there to make sure he goes. Once a week, right?” You gave Sam a nod. “You’re not alone, it’s not just you. I’m here.” You gave him another nod, trying to blink away the tears. “Right now, I’m going to head home. Gonna grab my shit, and Brutus and I are moving in.”

“Dean told you.”

“Yeah. Honestly, though, if you would have just asked I would have sooner. So, get ready for someone who drools on everything you love.” Sam gave you a half smile. “And Brutus.” His smile widened when he saw the light smile grace your lips despite your sadness.

“I’m used to the drool.”

“Yeah, I forgot Dean drools in his sleep.” Sam chuckled.

“I meant Abby.”  you rolled your eyes. “But yeah, he does, doesn’t he.”

“You good?” You gave Sam a nod. “Alright, I won’t be long. And don’t worry about dinner either, I’ll bring something in. It’s been a long day for everyone.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Anytime.” He gave you a chaste kiss on the forehead before he pulled away and headed for the car he’d driven Abby home in.

You watched Sam pull out of the driveway and start down the street. He gave you a smile and a wave as he went past, and you returned the smile before it fell from your lips again. Sighing, you were turning back towards your house when the car parked across the street caught your attention. The driver seemed to be looking down at his phone, his car still running like he was waiting for someone. Ignoring it, you turned and headed inside.

You were passing the living room window as the car pulled away and disappeared down the street.

“Alex!” Sam called out as he put the pizza box on the table. Abby was squealing from her chair at Brutus who was sniffing happily at her feet. You were bringing plates over to the table, smiling at Abby when Sam called out a second time. “Alex, come on, supper time.”

“Mom?” You turned, and Alex stood just inside the kitchen. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took off on Sam without telling anyone I just-”

“I know.” You opened your arms and Alex stepped into the hug. “I was so scared when I woke up and you weren’t with Sam. Please, please don’t do that to me again.”

Alex nodded as he hugged you tight. “I’m sorry.”

“Sit and eat, both of you.” Sam motioned to the table as he sat. Alex pulled away and sat in his usual spot next to his baby sister. “No more shit, Alex.” Sam tried to sound like a stern Dean.

“I know. I’ll be in school tomorrow, no more skipping, I promise. I’m even working on catching up on my work.”

“Dean gave you an earful, huh?” you asked. Alex nodded, taking a slice of pizza and putting it onto his plate.

“I’m not just talking about school, Alex. You’re going back to therapy.” Alex looked to Sam. “Your mom already made the appointment. We’re going every Thursday.”

“We?” he looked from Sam to you.

“I’m going to take you.” Sam took a slice of pizza of his own.

“I can go on my own, I promise I won’t take off.”

“It’s not just that, Alex. I know Dean being gone is hard for you guys so I’m going to do what I can to show that I’m here for you. So Thursdays, I’ll drive you, I’ll wait for you, then we’ll stop somewhere after and have dinner. Sound good?” Alex nodded. “Good.”

“Dean gave you an earful too, huh?” Alex teased, making Sam smile.

“Something like that, yeah.” Sam chuckled. “But you two.. You really need to learn to ask for help when you need it. Or you’ll be getting and earful about that, too.” Sam smiled, glancing from Alex to you while bringing the pizza slice up to his mouth and taking a bite.

It was three days after seeing you that Dean got a letter in the mail call. The return address was nothing more than a PObox, no name. He wasn’t surprised to find it had been opened, of course they’d go through his mail, they went through everyone's mail.

Opening it up, he saw it was just pictures. No letter, no hint as to who sent it. Just pictures. Tossing the envelope onto his bed, he turned the pictures over and his face paled. That was his house. His family.

They were pictures of you and Sam standing out in the front yard. Your face in Sam’s hands as you looked up at him. He flipped to the next one and it was much the same. Your face in Sam's hands as he stood close to you. The third and final one, was Sam pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean growled, throwing the pictures and turning to pace the room.

A bang sounded on his cell door. “Winchester! Calm down!”

“Fuck you!” Dean spat back at the guard.

“You want to go back to solitary, asshole?”

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[apocalypseornaw]

Always be Yours- 7

Word Count: 8,000

Story Summary: Inspired by the 2 part I did of the same title. Follows Dean and Reader through season 9 into season 10

Chapter Summary: An old friend of Dean's calls needing help

Warnings: the usual. Cursing, fights and NSFW warning. Some steamy stuff happens

The little talk with Dean or more so the way he worded what he said helped you to push the feelings you thought you’d been developing for him to the side. You decided to blame it on the fact that for weeks you’d only been in close quarters with him, Sam and Kevin. Maybe you just needed to hit a bar and get some tension out of your system. You knew it wouldn’t change how you felt but hoped it may take some of the sting out.

You were curled up on a chair in the corner of the library leafing through one of the lore books on enochian spells hoping maybe just maybe the passage Crowley had translated was wrong. Cas had so much hope in him still that there was a way to help the angels that you refused to give up simply because of him.

You glanced up when Sam called out Dean’s name but knew you were tucked in a far enough corner the only way you’d be spotted was if you let your presence be known. It’d only taken you a week in the bunker to figure out what spots you could actually have a few moments to yourself in and Dorothy letting you all know about the garage only added to that, the night before you hadn’t been able to sleep so you ended up detailing half the classic cars just for something to keep your hands busy.

When he called Kevin then your name you let out a low whistle and saw him jump “Y/N?” you laughed before laying the book down in your chair and stepping around a corner “Looking for me Sammy?” he looked over your shoulder then back at you “Where were you at?” you grinned “Oh that’s for me to know and for you to never find out” he let out a short laugh “Ok then. You seen Dean?” you nodded towards one of the tables “He came in a little while ago and plugged his phone in. He didn’t see me either” the moment you were through speaking the phone started ringing. Sam looked at you so you shrugged “Your brother’s phone, you answer it”

You followed Sam over to the table and he picked up the phone “Hello?” After a moment he said “I’m sorry there’s no dee-dawg here” you looked up when Dean came around the corner saying “I got it, I got it” and grabbed the phone out of Sam’s hand “Sonny, hey so what’s up?” you looked towards Sam for an explanation of who Sonny was but he looked as clueless as you were.

Sam sat on the edge of the table so you leaned across his shoulders while Dean finished talking to whoever Sonny was “All right. Yeah just sit tight, I’ll be there as soon as I can” Once he hung up Sam asked “So what was that all about Dee-Dawg?” Dean took a breath and his eyes flicked towards you before he turned his attention to Sam “Remember when we were kids that spring in upstate New York?” Sam looked a little lost so Dean continued “Dad was on a rugaru hunt, we uh crashed at the bungalow colony with the ping-pong table” Sam nodded “Yeah, uh you disappeared. Dad came back and you were gone” that set off a red flag in your head as to where this story was going because Dean disappearing on Sam? No something unsavory had to have happened. Dean nodded then Sam added “He shipped me off to Bobby’s for a couple months that’s when I first met Y/N because her aunt had dropped her off at Bobby’s for a week. Then dad went off and found you, said you were lost on a hunt or something” hunt? You didn’t think Dean had started solo hunts until he was eighteen or older. 

Your suspicions were confirmed when Dean said “That’s what we told you. Right” you pushed off Sam’s shoulder and tracked Dean’s movements with your eyes “What you told Sam?” Dean shrugged and looked between you both before saying “Truth is, I lost the food money that dad left us in a card game. I knew you’d get hungry so I tried the five finger discount at the local market and got busted. I wasn’t on a hunt they sent me to a boy’s home” “A boy’s home? Like a reform school?” Sam asked. Dean nodded “More or less. It was a farm and the guy who ran it, Sonny..he uh looked after me” 

“Does Sonny know what you do?” you questioned and Dean nodded again “Yeah. he’s good people. I gave him the number to the bat phone and it sounds like he’s got something in our wheelhouse. So” Dean turned to walk out then stopped and looked back at Sam “You gonna be cool to do this or are you too tired?” Sam was mid yawn but said “Yeah, I’m just I’ll be fine” Dean looked over Sam at you so you nodded that you thought Sam was ok then inwardly groaned when Dean asked “So everybody is ok with heading out to the catskills?” 

Sam looked back at you “I think he’s talking to you” you smiled “Yeah, I’m good Dean” and hoped he got the point when you shot him a look when Sam turned back around. “All right, grab your stuff then we’ll all head out” before Dean could walk out Sam asked him “Why not just tell me you were sent to a boy’s home” Dean shrugged “It was dad’s idea then the story became the story. I was sixteen” then walked out to grab his gear. Sam looked back at you for help so you said “I don’t know either Sam. We were twelve at the time. Aunt Lena always said John could’ve done better by you two even with him choosing to be a hunter and I more than agree” Sam nodded then stood up “Well let’s grab our stuff so we can head out”

------

You sat in the backseat of the impala quiet for most of the drive only arguing with Dean over the radio a couple times. When he pulled onto the gravel road that had a farmhouse at the end and a sign that read “Sonny’s home for boys” you sat up straighter and grabbed your jacket to pull on. You were about to see a part of Dean’s past even Sam hadn’t been privy to before that moment.

You walked around the back of baby looking around at the property while Sam told Dean “You were here for two months and dad couldn’t find you?” You turned to look at them when Dean said “Oh, no. He found me. He found me quick. But he left me here cause I lost our money” “You were sixteen! You made a mistake” you quickly argued refusing to let Dean’s self deprecating nature win out yet again. 

“Yeah, I made the mistake. Look I know how you two think. None of this was dad’s fault” Sam rolled his eyes and looked at you so you took the opening to say “Just as quickly as he dumped Sam off at Bobby’s for the couple months he could’ve left you both there to go after the rugaru” then walked towards the house leaving both of them to have to catch up with you.

------

You knocked before Dean even made it to be standing next to you. He looked your way but you simply met his gaze refusing to give on what you’d said. A woman answered and crossed her arms looking between the three of you “What can I do for you?” Dean smiled “I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam and this is our friend Y/N. We’re old buddies of Sonny’s” “You boys prison buddies?” she asked and you stifled a laugh considering Dean had once been on the FBI’s most wanted list. Dean shook his head “No, uh you mind telling him we’re here?” She nodded “I’ll go get him”

She opened the door then looked down at the fact that all three of you were wearing boots. “I just mopped this floor so off with the roach stompers” you bent to pull your boots off while she walked away to find Sonny. “So Sonny’s an ex con huh?” Sam asked and Dean scoffed “What? Like we’re such angels?” you raised an eyebrow at Sam “Lena spent two years when she was in her early twenties Sammy. Someone’s past doesn’t define them”

Dean tilted his head at you and added “Trust me, like Lena he’s more than made up for it” You followed Dean into the house with Sam right behind you.

------

You were standing between the two of them when who you were guessing was Sonny walked around the corner with a smile “Dee-Dawg” Dean smiled before the two of them hugged and Dean said “Sonny, good to see you man” “You too brother” Sonny replied. When they pulled apart Sonny looked at Sam first “You must be Sam” 

Sam offered his hand and the two of them shook “Good to meet you” “Back at you brother” then Sonny looked at you “And this must be Y/N” you smiled and shook Sonny’s hand “Nice to meet you” he smiled “You too ma’am”

“Farm looks nice” Dean said and Sonny scoffed “Please man, it’s barely standing. Only got a handful of kids working around here now” “Why’s that?” Dean asked and Sonny shook his head “Cause these days the system would rather incarcerate a boy then redeem him” Sam looked off and you followed his sight to see the lady that had let all of you in but you weren’t sure if something was wrong until he said “Hey Sonny, um you mind if we talk alone?” 

Sonny got the message so he looked back at the lady “Hey Ruth, would you please go check on the boys? Make sure their morning chores are getting done?” When she walked away Dean asked “So, what’s happening?” Sonny took a breath then said “You remember Jack don’t you?” Dean nodded “Yeah the tough old leatherneck” “Well somehow that ancient,rusty broken-down tractor just roared to life and ran him over the other night” “Maybe it slipped out of park?” Sam offered but Sonny shook his head “Couldn’t have. You know I never believed any of this mumbo-jumbo stuff you all are into, but something ain’t right”

“What do you mean?” you questioned and Sonny explained “Well just things started happening. You know, flickering lights on and off, strange scratching coming from inside the walls. Window and doors slamming” you nodded “Yeah sounds like an us thing” “Think you can round up the boys while we take a look around?” Dean asked and Sonny nodded “Shouldn’t be a problem, most are home on breaks. Well, except for the ones with no home worth going to” you didn’t miss the way he looked at Dean when he said that last part. 

Sonny left to round up the boys so Dean turned back to you and Sam “Sam, why don’t you take the house? Me and Y/N will take the barn” “Yeah” Sam replied meeting your eyes before you turned to follow Dean out the door. You both stopped long enough to slip your boots back on then you followed him down the steps.

------

“So what was it like?” you asked walking into the barn behind him. He shrugged without turning around “Ok, I guess” you felt like there was a lot he wasn’t saying but you knew Dean well enough to know forcing him to talk simply wasn’t an option. 

You stopped when you saw the tractor in question and grimaced at the dark stains that you knew were blood. You saw Dean pull the emf detector out of his jacket pocket and watched it once he fired it up to see if it gave any reaction. The moment he turned it on it started going insane. He looked towards you then said “All right Casper, where are you at?”  

You walked next to him further in the barn then heard a little kid laughing, both of you following the sound. Dean knew the layout of the barn better than you so for once you had no complaints about having to let him take the lead. He slid open another door and waited for you to follow him through. “Hello?” you called out once both of you were into the other part of the barn. There was no response so Dean tried “Anybody here?”

You pointed behind Dean and he spun around to see the kid that had seemingly popped up out of nowhere behind him “Hey kid, what are you doing in here by yourself?” Dean asked him and his response? “Fighting monsters” ok point for the kid considering that’s what you and Dean were currently doing. “What kind of monsters sweetie?” you asked and he smiled and showed you the action figure in his hand “All sorts with Bruce the monster smasher” 

The little action figure was complete with cape and all. You weren't going to say anything but leave it to Dean to point out “Is that a cape? Little impractical for smashing monsters huh?” “Yeah flannel doesn’t sell as well” you muttered and Dean gave you a small shrug “Just saying”

The little boy hit the button on Bruce and it said “I clobber evil” Dean chuckled lightly “I bet you do” then held his hand out “I’m Dean and this beautiful lady with me is Y/N” you rolled your eyes at Dean but smiled when the little boy said “I’m Timmy” “Nice to meet you Timmy” you told him but when he shook Dean’s hand he barely gripped his fingers so Dean tilted his head then squatted down “Let’s try that again. If you’re gonna be a man you gotta learn to shake like one” He offered his hand to Timmy again “Give me your best kung fu grip” Timmy did what he said and Dean nodded “Good. Now look me straight in the eye. Let me know that you mean business and shake as hard as you can” you tried to look anywhere in the barn but at Dean being downright fatherly but good lord you were only human. 

Timmy’s smile got even bigger so Dean asked “Timmy, did you know Jack who worked here?” When he said that Timmy’s smile dropped “Uh huh” so you squatted down next to Dean “What can you tell us about him?” “He yelled a lot. He was yelling when he had his accident”

“How do you know that?” Dean questioned and Timmy replied “Because me and the other boys were playing here when it happened” “Did you see anything?” you asked but Timmy shook his head so you added “Is there anything about that night that you can remember? Anything at all” 

You could see the kid thinking hard about his answer before he finally spoke “It suddenly got really cold..Can I go? I’ve got to finish my chores before Ms Ruth gets mad?” Dean chuckled softly “Man that Ruth she runs a tight ship right? Yeah you better roll” Timmy ran out so you stood up and looked around the barn “Have there been any deaths here before Jack?” Dean shook his head “None that Sonny knows about anyways” you let out a breath “Well looks like we’ve got to figure out just who is haunting this place before we can figure out the why”

Dean nodded so you bumped him lightly with your shoulder and nodded towards where Timmy had left “You were good with him Dean” He scoffed “Please, he was probably just focusing on you the entire time he was talking to me” “No that was all you Winchester” you replied with a smile as the two of you headed back towards the house.

------

Ms Ruth had told Sam about the previous owners of the farm Howard and Doreen Wasserlauf and the fact that when Jack worked as a farm hand for the couple Howard got it into his head that Jack and Doreen were having an affair. He tried to kill them both but Jack got away, Doreen wasn’t so lucky. Howard had died in prison the year before and had always sworn he’d get his revenge on Jack so that led all three of you to Howard’s final resting place.

You sat on the edge of the grave watching as the boys shoveled dirt out. All three of you couldn’t fit and there was no part of you that wanted to get stuck between two guys their sizes. “Why don’t one of you take a break and let me shovel for a bit?” you offered so Sam held his shovel out “Have at it” you hopped down in the hole next to Dean and Sam pulled himself up to stand next to the headstone.

You felt your back bump into Dean’s but there was more room with the two of you digging than with him and Sam. Sam was quiet for a few moments the only noise the sound of the two of you shoveling dirt until he finally spoke to Dean “So, dad didn’t want you to tell me. How come? Was this place really that bad” Dean shrugged cutting his eyes towards you before he said “I don't know. I don't really remember. Look, nobody bad touched me. Nobody burned me with their smokes or beat me with a metal hanger. I call that a win” you stopped shoveling long enough to say “Fuck your standards are low arent they?”  Your shovel hit the casket so you reached for Sam’s hand and he helped you up out the hole then hopped back in next to Dean.

You handed Dean the salt and Sam the lighter fluid out of your bag. After they’d salted and soaked the corpse they both climbed out to stand next to you so you lit the match and flicked it in “Bye Howard” 

------

Dean decided that you and Sam had to try the banana pancakes at Cus’s place. While you and Sam were looking at the menu you glanced up and saw that Dean was looking at the woman working the counter and felt your heart fall. Fuck you had to find someway to get over whatever feelings you’d developed for him with a friendship still intact for Sam’s sake if nothing else.

You dropped your eyes down and pulled your phone out with the excuse of checking your emails. Maybe Garth or the Banes twins needed some assistance with a hunt. That would give you an excuse to hit the road without the boys freaking because you’re hunting alone amidst everything with the angels and Abaddon.

The woman in question walked over and you glanced up long enough to see her name was Robin. “Welcome to Cus’s what can I get you three today?” Dean had that patent smile in place so you rolled your eyes at him but refused to be rude to her. “Bet you never thought you’d see me here huh?” Dean asked her but you’d turned your attention to Sam where the two of you were debating splitting a breakfast plate since neither of you were exactly starving.

She brushed him off “Look, I’m a little bit slammed right now. Do you want to hear the specials?” you cut your eyes at Sam who was just as intrigued by whatever you and him were missing between Dean and Robin as you were. “Robin.. Dean Winchester? I used to live at Sonny’s?” “Oh, look sorry there’s just so many boys that pass through there it’s hard to remember every name and face” she looked towards you and Sam so you nodded “Oh I get it believe me”

You almost felt bad when Dean looked embarrassed “No, it’s fine. I remember you coming with your mom up there when she’d give guitar lessons. It was a long time ago” Robin smiled and you had to admit she was really pretty “Yeah mom loved helping out the boys. I guess that;s why I kept giving lessons after she passed” a woman from the back called Robin so she excused herself by saying “I’ll be right back”

“Dude!” Sam started but Dean cut him off “Let’s go” before you or Sam could react Dean was grabbing his jacket and walking out so you rushed to follow Sam behind him.

------

Once all of you were outside Sam asked “Dude, what was that?” you were just as curious but Dean said “Nothing” and his phone ringing saved a lot more awkwardness even though Sam being the perpetual little brother was asking you who you thought the waitress was. Dean shook his head and answered his phone “Sonny?” you and Sam both dropped any teasing when he said “What?”

------

Ms Ruth had drowned in the bathtub and according to Sonny he tried to get in to save her but the door wouldn’t open. When Sam questioned if it could’ve been locked Sonny shook his head and explained that there were no locks on the farm. “That means our little field trip to the cemetery was a bust” you uttered feeling like you always did when someone was lost on a hunt. You hated losing people.

Dean nodded “Sonny, is there anything else weird you can remember?” “What, cause we’re not chest deep in weird already?” you smoothed a hand through your hair “I know but Dean means anything like at all that you’d consider weird or out of the ordinary?” Sonny glanced away but you could see when a thought occurred to him “There was one thing. Ruth always had her rosary beads with her but now I can’t find them anywhere” “All right um let’s start with the vics ok?” Sam offered so you nodded “Both lived in the house, worked closely with the boys”

Dean agreed and said “Well let’s have a chat with the rugrats Y/N. See what’s up” You and him left Sonny and Sam in the yard and headed up the hill towards the house. 

------

You could hear the boys taunting Timmy before you ever saw them. Calling him a weirdo and asking if he was going to cry. You saw when it hit Dean that big brother instinct kicking in to the fullest. When you walked around the corner two bigger boys had Timmy shoved against the house so Dean hollered “Hey, hey. Hey!”

He pushed one back and snatched the other away from Timmy “What are you doing? Come here” You stood back choosing to let Dean handle the situation. He looked back towards Timmy and asked what was going on. Timmy didn’t respond so Dean turned to the older boys “All right you two where were you this morning when Ruth had her accident?” They looked at him then shook their head “Unless you’re a cop, We don’t need to tell you anything” You happened to have your badge in your jacket pocket so you flipped it out and whistled to get their attention “He’s my partner boys so speak”

Dean smiled smugly as the bigger of the two said “We weren’t even here this morning. Sonny sent us into town to get chicken feed. We swear” They seemed genuine enough but you still asked “What about Ruth? What can you tell us about her?” the boy who hadn’t spoken yet said “We used to call her the warden. She was a real bible thumping hard ass” way to speak about the dead before she was even cold but you let it go. “Obviously, what else. Anything different or weird?” “You mean besides Timmy?” The bigger boy joked and you narrowed your eyes at him before Dean said “Either of you touch him ever again. I’m gonna go all guantanamo on you and I’m the good cop here. Understand me?” they looked back at you so you smiled sweetly to push Dean’s point. “Now get the hell out of here you little rats”

They ran off so you and Dean checked on Timmy. He said he was ok so you headed inside to find Sam.

------

You were helping Sam go through records when a scream ripped out so Dean and Sonny ran outside to check on the boys. Robin hadn't long showed up to start her weekly guitar lessons. “You know Dean was Sullivan county’s one hundred and thirty five pound wrestling champion when he was here?” you looked up from the file in your hand “Really? You know I’m thinking he remembers more here than he’s letting on and I’m betting his time here was good”

Time passed and Dean walked back in the door “Kids good, gonna need about eight thousand stitches” “That kid was bullying Timmy before the accident right?” Sam asked and you knew where he was headed because he’d already bounced the idea off of you. You held out the file Sam had shown you “Timmy was found in an abandoned building a year ago by himself. No one was sure how long he’d been there” “What about his parents?” he asked handing the file to Sam “Well, they posted a picture on the internet but no one ever showed up”

The working idea was ghost possession which meant shoving salt down the kids throat for a forced ejection. Dean sent you back to the barn with Sam while he looked through the house.

------

Inside the barn you found a little hideout in the loft of it. In that hideout you found drawings which basically told you Timmy’s entire story, showing a wreck and how he’d come to be alone.

“We need to tell Dean” you said and Sam nodded in agreement.

------

The moment you and Sam were walking into the backdoor Dean and Robin were running towards you “Go!” you reached for the door but it was locked. “Damn it” Dean hollered so you ran to the cabinet and grabbed the salt then threw it at Sam “Circle!” so he set about making a circle around Robin.

“Dean, what just happened in there?” Robin asked. You shook your head “Robin just whatever happens don’t leave this circle” she looked at Dean then back at you and nodded.

Timmy walked into the entryway “I can’t control her” “Who?” Dean asked but you knew the answer “Your mom right?” Dean looked at you for an explanation when Sam asked Timmy to tell you both about the fire. Him recounting what happened broke your heart for the kid but the fact remained his mom was the ghost killing people and from what he told Dean his action figure was the anchor so Dean turned the oven on and threw the action figure into the flame as you pushed Timmy to Robin inside the circle.

Turned out it was in fact not the action figure but Timmy himself working as the anchor. Dean managed to get through to Timmy so he could break the anchor and let his mom go. You ran to check on both boys once she let them go. “I’m good” Dean grunted and Sam nodded.

You watched as Timmy’s mom finally got to move on with a small smile then he ran to you and Dean and threw his arms around you both.

------

You tried not to watch Dean and Robin but failed. Sam put his arm around your shoulders where you both stood next to baby “You good?” “Peachy”

All of you said your goodbyes to Sonny then hit the road.

------

You were sitting quietly in the backseat until Dean cleared his throat “Anybody up to stop for the night?” you still had a few states to go so you said “Why not?”

He pulled off at the next exit and stopped at the first motel which was the bluebird inn. He glanced your way in the mirror “What’d you think?” you shrugged “Dean you and Sam have slept in baby and I’ve slept in my jeep. This is a five star resort simply because if we have to sleep in here I’m taking the whole backseat and you two can fight over the front” He grinned “Here it is then”

You helped Sam gather the bags while Dean got a room then you both followed him. He unlocked it and you started to simply collapse onto one of the beds but the shower was calling your name. “First shower!” you announced running to the door before Dean and playfully stuck your tongue out at him when you got there first.

--------

While you were in the shower Sam went on a food run,him and Dean were eating when you stepped out the bathroom. “Who wants it next?” Sam had less food than Dean so he closed his plate “I’m next”

You sat across from Dean at the small table and picked at your food. “Something wrong sweetheart? I’ve seen you order orange chicken every time we get chinese” you shook your head “Guess I’m more tired than hungry, which Winchester do I get the pleasure of listening to snore tonight?”

"I can take the couch” he offered and you rolled your eyes “Just for that now you must share a bed with me” he grinned “Is that so?” “Yes it is” you teased and by the time Sam got out of the shower you were already curling up under the blanket on the bed nearest the bathroom. “Night Sammy” “Night Y/N”

-----

You were half asleep when Dean climbed into the bed behind you “Y/N, it’s a little cold but I don’t want to get punched here” he whispered so you lifted the blanket and felt his feet bump the back of your legs so you rolled over to look at him “I can sleep however which position do you prefer?” he smiled at you “There are so many ways I could answer that but I’m taking the win that you’re finally in a bed with bed” you rolled your eyes and said “Goodnight Dean” “Night sweetheart”

You closed your eyes and felt him trying to get comfortable without invading your side of the bed so you opened one eye and threatened “If you do not go to sleep I will sleep on you dammit” “I’m in the room!” Sam groaned and you laughed realizing what you’d said “Sorry Sam but your brother is a fucking wiggle worm over here. Not like I’m the first woman that’s been in bed with him”  “First one I know will kick my ass if my hand slips” Dean muttered and you looked up at him. He was so damn close and you could smell that scent of leather and gunpowder that always seemed to cling to him and it took everything in you to not close the space between your lips.

"Y/N about what Charlie said.." You closed your eyes at the wave of embarrassment that came along with those words. Christ he knew, he knew and had flirted or tried to flirt with Robin in front of you. How much of a sign did you need that he'd never feel the same about you, you'd always be his little brother's best friend to him. "Can we just go to sleep?" You begged quietly both of you trying to keep your voices down as to not disturb Sam again.

You felt his fingers lightly brush across your cheek "If you open your eyes for me and just listen I'll gladly go to sleep after I say what I want to" you slowly opened your eyes and took a deep breath before meeting those green eyes you loved so much. "Dean I'm not some kid you can just say you don't feel the same ok?"

"What if I do though?" Your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears you weren't sure if you'd heard him right so you asked "What?"

"It's took me a little while to figure it out but sweetheart living in close quarters with you, hunting with you... I've got to see another part of you. I've always known you were smart and a damn good hunter but you're also the type of woman to make everyone dance in the kitchen first thing in the morning. You can make Sam laugh at any given moment and you make me talk about things going on inside my head when anyone would else would give up at it. You can comfort someone one moment and scare the fucking hell out of a demon the next. You're beautiful when you first wake up and a knockout when you go undercover and I really want to kiss you right now but.." You cut him off by pressing your lips against his.

The momentary surprise of you kissing him wore off quickly. You felt when he shifted slipping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. His lips moved against you gently, savoring the feeling.

A noise from Sam's bed made you pull apart quickly and you both looked over to see he was actually fast asleep and had just knocked a pillow off the bed. Dean let out a low laugh leaning his forehead over onto your chest "Guess that's our cue to get some sleep?" He asked leaving a light kiss on your throat before looking back up at your face.

You nodded trying to get your voice to work correctly "Um how do you want to sleep?" He settled onto his back and pulled you over to be laying on his chest. Your hand smoothed across the black t-shirt he was wearing trying to slow your brain down a bit to process what had just happened. "Already regretting wanting me?" He asked with the hint of a smirk but you could hear the actual hesitation under the sarcasm. You shook your head and laughed "Was just thinking Sam's reaction if he'd woke up to us kissing in the bed across from him" "He would've thrown something at us both" he joked then lightly kissed your forehead "Get some sleep. If you still want this come morning then we'll tell Sammy"

You fell asleep from the feeling of his fingers gently moving through your hair. 

-------

Sam whispering "So are you two finally together now or what?" to Dean was the first thing you heard when you started to wake up the next morning. You almost had the urge to remain quiet to see what Dean would say but instead you spoke as you stretched "Unless he's already changed his mind" making both of them look your way with a guilty expression. 

Dean was standing at the foot of Sam's bed repacking his bag and winked at you "Oh no Sweetheart. I'm a lot harder to get rid of than that" you smiled sleepily then cut your eyes at Sam "Unless you want to see me kiss your brother I suggest you make the coffee run" Sam laughed and grabbed the keys to baby "I'll grab breakfast too while I'm out" 

Dean watched him walk out then turned around and looked at you "So I got offered a kiss?" "Come get it" you replied and he grinned walking over to the bed. He slowly climbed onto the bed bracing his weight on his arms as he hovered over you "Good morning" he said before ducking his head down to catch your lips in a tentative kiss. 

You slid your arms up around his shoulders to pull him closer as he deepened the kiss. When you pulled away to catch your breath he moved down to your neck nudging at it until you moved enough to give him complete access. He kissed across it licking then nipping at the places that pulled a response out of you. When he bit down gently on your pulse point you let out a low moan "Fuck, do that again" he growled against your skin biting down just a little harder. You bucked your hips up against his letting out a light gasp when he ground down into you "Dean, christ either we've got to stop or this is going to go further than a few kisses" 

He made his way back up to your face and this time when he kissed you it was more possessive but just as gentle "I don't want you thinking that's all I'm after here" he whispered against your lips letting one hand trail down your side smiling at the little shiver you gave when his fingertips slid under your shirt and brushed across the bare skin. "And I'm happy about that Dean, really I am but waiting is easier said than done when you're touching me" he chuckled darkly then looked up at your face "Well what do you want to do here sweetheart? Because I'm yours no matter if we have sex or if we wait. You're stuck with me now"  

You took a few deep breaths then nodded "As much as I'd love to, I kind of don't like the idea of Sam waiting outside in the car for us to finish?" He smiled and kissed you once more "Fine by me. I'll let you get dressed and be a gentleman about it" he climbed off the bed and you saw him readjust himself in his jeans and had to stifle a laugh. He cut his eyes back at you "Laugh now sweetheart but the moment you tell me you want to, I'm going to do my best to make it hard on you to walk for a few days" you bit your lip at the promise and right before he walked outside you said "Well we are headed back to the bunker where we have two different bedrooms we can break in"  he winked at you then stepped out the door shutting it behind himself.

------

The ride back to the bunker you rode in the backseat as usual despite Sam's offer to switch seats. You didn't plan for that much to change about the dynamic you'd built with the boys. Just because you were now with Dean didn't change anything, did it?

You must have fell asleep at some point because the next thing you knew Dean was gently shaking your shoulder "Come on sleeping beauty, we're home"

You rolled your eyes then sat up straighter "Sam already head inside?" He nodded "We stopped to grab some food so he went to round Kevin up" You climbed out and reached back in for your bag but Dean beat you to it. You eyed the bag and he shrugged “Oh come on Y/N. You can let me shove my tongue down your throat but you wanna argue about me carrying your bag?” “Fair enough” you replied and was rewarded with one of those smiles that always made your heart flip. He held his hand out so you took it and let him lead the way inside.

-------

The moment the two of you made it into the interior door you heard Kevin say “I honestly thought they were already sleeping together” You stopped dead in your tracks and cleared your throat “Excuse me?” Kevin glanced up to see you and Dean standing at the head of the stairs and the guilt was clear on his face. He grinned then gathered his food “As I was telling Sam I am mid marathon on Netflix so I am going back to my room” you watched him scamper away and couldn’t help but laugh. Times like that you were reminded just how young he still was and it hurt your head to think about everything the kid had been through.

You followed Dean down the stairs and took your bag from him “I’m going to go put my stuff away, you two leave me some food” 

------

Dean watched you walk down the hall then looked back to see Sam was watching him. “What Sammy?” “Nothing, just you two are good together. I’ve seen it for a while” Sam answered with a shrug then grabbed his own bag and food “I’m going to go put my stuff away and grab a shower” “You headed to bed this early?” Dean questioned but Sam shrugged once again “Heading to bed, making sure I don’t stumble upon my brother and best friend in a compromising position however you want to put it”

------

You stepped out of your room and headed back towards the kitchen expecting to find Sam at the table but Dean was sitting alone and glanced up when you walked in. “I know Kevin retreated but where’d Sam get off to?” “Something about not wanting to catch us in a compromising position” he replied, taking a sip of the beer in his hand. 

Since Dean had already voiced the fact that he was concerned if the two of you slept together this soon you’d think he was only after sex you tried to act as if you’d thought about anything else besides how his lips felt on your skin. You walked to the fridge trying to ignore the way his eyes tracked your movement as you grabbed a beer out then walked back over to the table. “So what he thinks now we won’t be able to be around each other without you trying to throw me down on the nearest flat surface?”  Dean’s eyes skimmed up your body, biting his lip before he finally said “Something like that”

You took a sip of the beer and tried to look anywhere but at Dean as you said “So if I suggested we go to your room?” He was on his feet and to your side before you got the question out completely “I mean if you want” you took another swig of the beer then sat it down on the counter “Let me rephrase myself. Dean, can we go to your room now?” He smirked then pulled you into his arms capturing your lips in a lingering kiss full of unspoken promises. When he broke away from your lips leaving you a bit breathless he said “Lead the way sweetheart”

------

You stumbled into Dean’s door both of you working to kick your shoes off without breaking the kiss. Once you were inside he shut the door then pushed you back against it. He pulled back from you, both of your chests heaving slightly “Are you sure about this Y/N? About me?” “Just shut up and kiss me Dean” you replied with a slight laugh.

His hands went to the hem of your shirt and he hesitated for a moment before pulling it over your head letting it drop out of his hands once he had you bared. He started at your neck kissing down your jaw then across your collarbone savoring every sound he was able to pull from your lips. When he closed his mouth over your clothed breast you let out a low moan “Dean, bed please” he smiled against your skin and you felt his hands slide across your ass before he gripped your thighs to pull you up into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist capturing his lips in a messy kiss.

He walked the few steps to the bed then lowered you down onto it before pulling back long enough to pull his own shirt off then he climbed back onto the bed hovering over you. “I’ve wanted this for a while” he confessed, leaning his head down to kiss across your chest. “So have I” you whispered not trusting your voice to speak much louder. He chuckled then you felt his hands slide around you so you lifted up far enough he could unsnap your bra then he threw it somewhere behind him.

“Look at you, so damn beautiful” he murmured rolling your left nipple into his mouth teasing it with his tongue and teeth. “Oh fuck, Dean” you moaned tangling your fingers into his hair. He switched sides giving the right breast the same attention. You bucked your hips up against his and could feel how hard he already was through your jeans. “Use your words princess” he teased as he moved to leave a trail of open mouthed kisses across your stomach stopping just shy of the top of your jeans. “I need you” you whimpered not caring how desperate you sounded in that moment. Dean kissed your hip then moved to unsnap your jeans “Lift your hips for me baby” you did as he asked and felt the cool air hit your skin as he pulled the jeans off your legs and dropped them to the floor. A small part of you registered the fact that you were left completely bared to him but the rest of you could only concentrate on how Dean looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid his eyes on. “If I do anything you don’t like, tell me ok?” he asked and you nodded. He winked at you before lowering his head down to lick into you. Your hips arched off the bed at the feeling but one of his arms snaked across your waist to hold you in place “Lay back and enjoy it sweetheart” he cooed before flicking his tongue across your clit and you felt the pressure in your stomach start to build. He slid one finger into you followed by another curling them up until they found that spot inside of you that made your eyes roll back. He kept pace with his tongue and fingers working you over that edge. When you came with a moan of his name on your lips he greedily lapped up your juices letting out a groan that vibrated through your core. 

When you became too sensitive you pushed his head away so he kissed his way back up your body until he got to your lips, kissing you sloppily and allowing you to taste yourself on him. “Please let me fuck you baby” he begged and christ hearing Dean Winchester sound like that was nearly enough to push you over that edge again   “Take your jeans off” you spoke and he quickly stood up long enough to push his jeans down off his hips then he climbed back onto the bed keeping his weight on his arms. You looked between you and felt your eyes widen slightly at his girth. He pressed his lips against yours in a gentle kiss “One more time, you’re sure?” you nodded “Yes Dean” He lined himself up with your entrance and you both let out a moan at the feeling of him slowly pushing into you.

Once he was completely sheathed inside of you he stilled letting you adjust to his size while he kissed down your neck. Once the sting of him stretching you gave way to the pleasurable fullness of him you moved your hips against his “Move baby” he started slowly rolling his hips into yours making your back arch off the bed at the feeling. “Dean, oh god” you moaned and that spurred his movements on. He snapped his hips forward into yours ripping a scream of pleasure from your lips. “Fuck you feel fucking amazing Y/N. God damn why didn’t we do this sooner” he groaned changing his angle just enough so that every thrust of his hips rubbed across that spot inside of you. “Right there Dean..oh fuck please don’t stop” you begged as your nails dug into his back. “Wasn’t planning on it” he grunted, keeping his pace the same as he slammed into you. You could feel that pressure building again and you must have clenched around him because he kissed your neck and said “Go ahead and come for me again baby. I won’t be far behind” his fingers came down to rub tight circles onto your clit and that was all it took to push you over the edge.

Your vision went soft around the edges as your second orgasm washed over you. You felt Dean’s hips falter as his thrusts started to become more frantic chasing the release. “Do I need to pull out?” he asked between gritted teeth. “No, I’m covered” you breathed, feeling yourself getting close to a third orgasm. He buried himself deep inside of you with one final thrust and the feeling of him coming coating inside of you pushed you over that edge again. “Holy hell Y/N” he spoke leaning his forehead over onto your chest while both of you worked to get your breathing back to normal. “Right back at you” you said then grimaced when you noticed the angry red claw marks littering his back “Shit, I marked the hell out of you Dean” He raised his head to glance over his shoulder at the marks and a grin slipped onto his face “Good, like I said I’m yours Y/N. Might as well mark your territory” you shook your head with a laugh that turned into a gasp when he pulled out of you. He reached down and found his shirt to use as a means of cleaning you both up. Once you were both as good as you could get he laid down next to you and pulled you into his arms “So, did I disappoint?” he asked and you cut your eyes up at him “Remind me to kick your ass for that question when the feeling comes back fully in my legs” he chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips “Sure thing baby”

Tags: @facadeformyrealblog @akshi8278

[bluesteelchester]

Race to Center - Chapter One

Summary: Nightmares have invaded your dreams, just as midterms crank up the heat on your semester. Things get even more stressful when two FBI agents come to ask you some questions.

Series Masterlist

Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, OC (Angels), Reader Pairings: None yet in this chapter Word Count: 1,362 Warnings: Angst, Language, Canonical Violence A/N: It’s been a long time off. I apologize for a long wait. (Good thing I kept notes hm?) Hope you enjoy the first chapter. Feedback is always greatly appreciated.

Your eyes stung, as the sky grew painfully bright. You couldn’t believe what was happening. It was as if the sun itself was crashing to Earth. Thousands of brilliantly streaking comets were falling from above. 

The earth was trembling beneath you, splitting into wide canyons. The stench of brimstone burning your lungs and bringing you to your knees coughing. High-pitched shrieks were bursting forth from below, as bony and battered hands tore at you. Fear was quickly overtaking you. It didn’t matter how hard you tried, escaping their grasp was impossible, as the creatures drew themselves up from the earth. Their hollow and tormented eyes met yours.  You screamed. Tears were falling down your cheeks as you attempted to wrench yourself free. Their grip was only growing tighter, your struggling growing frantic with each breath…  

- Your alarm blared loudly next to your ear, as you struggled to pull an arm free from the sheets tightly entangling about you. Smacking the snooze button, you groaned and sat up. It was the third time this week that you’d had this dream. Including the times from last week, would make it five. Stretching, you reached back and wiped the sweat from your neck. Your pillow and sheets were drenched. Again? None of this made any sense.

At first you thought this was all just a result of the stress from your midterms. After all, you were taking an extra course to get ahead this semester… but you rarely ever had the same dream twice. And these were just so vivid… and so violent. They’d wake you up in the middle of the night screaming. At times shaking so violently that it would take you hours to fall back asleep. Something was wrong, and you were beginning to wonder if you needed help.

“So lemme get this straight… he’s already here?” Dean asked between bites of eggs and bacon.

“Correct. The brands only appear once Michael’s lieutenant has taken up their vessel.”

Taking a sip of coffee, Sam looked around the café. “But you don’t have any clue who it is?”

Castiel shook his head curtly, “No. Michael had very few confidants, and not many of those survived the fall from Heaven… but there are rumors one may have survived. Other angels have noticed the change and are looking for him as well…”

“Great! Nothing like hunting for a douchebag with nothing to go on…” Wiping his hands, Dean stood. “—let’s get started.”

Finishing the last of his gluten-free toast, Sam joined his brother. “Hey Cas, Dean and I are heading to the police department to see what we can dig up… see what you can find on your end?” 

The angel nodded and disappeared.

______________________________________________________________________

Lazily, you tapped your foot along to the beat from your earbuds as you waited on the light to turn. It was barely quarter to five and you were on your second large cup of coffee for the day. The familiar, paced beep of the crossing light sounded and you stepped from the curb. Maybe it was because you were so exhausted but you never even saw it.

The car horn blasted, your coffee flying from your grip, as you were violently jerked out of the way. Falling back to the curb, your heart was thundering. You looked around bewildered. There was your drink, spilled on the street… but the person you were certain had pulled you from harm’s way? Nowhere.  It was certain. The stress was getting to you. You were beginning to crack. 

Dusting yourself off, you took one last look around for your hero. 

“Get it together…” you reasoned, pulling your scarf tight.

You had too much to do before the night was over to be losing your mind.

 ______________________________________________________________________

“Well that was a complete waste of time…” Dean huffed, taking a long drag of coffee from his styrofoam cup. 

The sun was setting, and they were no better off than when they had started that morning. Security footage from all of the vandalized funeral homes had shown no signs of any break ins. Not a soul or even a ‘staticky’ disturbance on the screen. No one had been there.

Sam slumped against the impala, crossing his arms. “You suppose Cas has found anything…?”

As if on cue, a gravelly voice announced his arrival. “- Dean.”

“Whaddya got Cas?”

“I have as they say, the good and the bad news…” He shrugged.

Rubbing his forehead, Dean could just feel a headache starting in. “Well, it couldn’t just be a milk run, now could it…?  Start with the bad first.”

Dipping his head, Cas began, “I have discovered which lieutenant of Michael’s is the Trumpeter…”

Dean frowned. “But…”

The angel’s expression became somber. “John. However… John perished during the fall from Heaven… ” 

Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Cas, how is it possible for this to be happening if John isn’t in his vessel? Is another angel doing this?” 

Dean nodded in agreement.

Cas held up his hands in pause. “I do not have reason to believe that another angel could use John’s vessel… at least not to its true potential as he would have. It seems that somehow, even in his absence the vessel has become active without the need of its host.”

The three exchanged  worried looks.

“So you’re telling me there’s an unmanned nuke walking around town….?” Dean opened the trunk of the impala, his eyes wandering over the tools at his disposal. “How do we even find, let alone stop something like that?” He briefly ran his fingers longingly over the grenade launcher, with a small smile.

“Is this where you tell us some good news Cas?” Sam prompted.

“Yes.” He replied. “I have discovered some information that could help us narrow down the area where this individual may reside… ”

Pulling a map of the town from his trench coat, he smoothed it out across the hood of the car. 

“These circles are the funeral homes where the deceased were branded…” he gestured with a broad stroke of his hand.

Looking over his shoulder, Sam pointed at an empty space on the map. “Cas, what about this empty space in the middle of them all?”

Cas provided a light sigh, “I was getting to that… That I believe is where the vessel resides, as all the affected funeral homes are within equal distance of this area.”

“- It doesn’t look like that big of an area. What’s the catch?” Sam continued, tracing the area with his fingers.

Dean peered over at the legend, and read aloud. “UNIVERSITY OF MASSACHUSETTS  - AMHERST… Great.”

Cas shrugged, folding the map back up. “We will have to discover who the vessel is quickly. As their power increases they will become more easily perceptible to other angels, as you and Sam once were as vessels.”

Dean instinctively winced, grasping his ribs. “Dickbags. What’re we waiting for? Let’s get over there before those vultures can… ”

______________________________________________________________________

Wearily, you looked up at your fifth-floor bedroom window and smiled. Maybe tonight you’d finally get some sleep? You definitely earned it after two long exams, and a lecture from a professor without an off-switch. You dragged each foot up the set of steps to the front door of your apartment complex. Fumbling with your keys, you stopped.

“Excuse us… - Miss. We know it’s very late, but we were wondering if you could answer a few questions for us?”

You turned slightly on your heel. It was late. Two men in suits and ties were approaching you. Why?

You cautiously slid your keys between your knuckles. “Help with what…? It’s very late. I’d like to go to bed.”

Coming to rest just short of you, the two men each reached into their jacket pockets, and in sync flipped open a pair of FBI badges.

“Again we’re very sorry Miss… but this is urgent business. It can’t wait.” The taller one spoke softly, offering an apologetic smile.

“I’m Agent Hall. This is my partner, Agent Oates. As we mentioned, we need to ask you a few questions...” The shorter man interjected, pocketing his credentials. 

What were a pair of FBI agents doing on your doorstep at 11 o’clock on a Tuesday night?

_____________________________________________________________________

TAGS: @its-not-show-its-a-lifestyle @whimsicalrobots @eurusholmmes

[ms-rampage]

New Dawn: New Horizons Chapter 3 - With A Little Help From The Devil

Warnings: Language, and slight angst.

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Lucifer confronts Gabriel seeking his help to find the other angels that were cast out of Heaven.

Guest OCs: The usuals

Guest Characters: Lucifer (Supernatural), John and Jacob Seed (mentioned), Wheaty (mentioned).

Written by @athenalillystar and myself. Hope ya'll enjoy!! 💗💗

Taglist: @wargames94 @rabbitsoldier @vicki-the-sinner @mrsladydiana

Note: This is a Far Cry New Dawn and Supernatural crossover with my OCs

*********

Lucifer has his hand over Cristina’s mouth to muffle her screams, stopping her from alerting the family. 

He clicks his tongue a few times, and says. “I thought we came to an understanding. I told you, you’ll see me again. Guess I should’ve been more specific”.

“What do you want?!” she asks, her voice muffled by his hand. 

“You promise not to scream?” he asks, his voice deepens, almost in a whisper.

She nods her head in response. He moves his hand away from her mouth. 

“What do I want?!” he asks, his index finger on his chin, walking towards her bedroom window. 

“Well first off, I would like to know what is so special about your cousin?!. The small one with the cotton candy hair”.

“Daenerys?” she asks, in slight confusion. 

“Yeah, for some reason she happens to be the most important thing in the world to Gabriel” he says, bitterness in his voice. 

“That’s his daughter, that's why she’s so important to him” she responds, in a somewhat sarcastic tone. 

He chuckles, “Ehh not quiet”.

She looks at him in confusion, furrowed her eyebrows at him. “What is that supposed to mean?!” she asks, getting slightly irritated. 

“Well you see. Gabriel is no-”.

He gets cut off when her bedroom door opens, and Gabriel appears in the doorway. 

“Uncle Gabe I-” she says before getting cut off, and going unconscious by Lucifer snapping his fingers. 

Gabriel steps into the room, closing the door behind him, “I told you to leave them alone” he tells him, his voice deep, and angry. 

Lucifer shrugs, “You know I never listen”.

“What do you want?!” he asks.

“You know what I want” Lucifer tells him, “I want you to come with me, and we can find all the others that fell.”

“But why do you care if the others fell?. No one did when you fell” Gabe asks.

Lucifer rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I know. That’s why I want to rub it in dad’s face when we confront him”.

“Do you even know where the others fell??!” he asks, crossing his arms.

“Samandriel, Uriel, Castiel, Michael, Gadreel, Raphael and you are the only ones that I know of that fell. I'm not sure where, but they're most likely scattered".

Gabriel goes silent for a moment, looking down at the floor.

“Okay. I’ll go with you” he says. 

A smile appears on Lucifer’s face, “Good, we should get-”. He gets cut off by his younger brother “But, it’ll have to wait until the morning”.

Lucifer rolls eyes, throwing his head back in annoyance, “Are you serious?!”. 

He nods his head, “Yes, I want to give them an explanation. I’ll tell Daenerys that I’m gonna go help out some survivors with the Highwaymen, or something like that”.

Lucifer shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, and says.

“So you’re gonna keep lying to your “daughter” huh?!”.

Gabriel sighs, “As much as I don’t want to. I have to. How long will this search be?”.

“A week, maybe 2. See you tomorrow little bro”. 

Lucifer disappears from the room, and Cristina is still unconscious.

With the very little powers he has, Gabriel wipes her memory from the last 2-5 minutes.

He goes back to his and Kate’s room, laying next to her in bed. 

********

The next morning at around 7:30am, Gabriel is packing some of his gear that he’ll most likely not need, but has to make it look like he’s going out on a week-long hunting trip, or at least a few days. 

“So how long are you gonna be gone?!” Daenerys asks, sitting at the kitchen table, looking up at him.

He sighs, “A week. Maybe 2. Depending on how long they're gonna need me”.

Kate leans against the doorway of the kitchen, who knows the real reason why he’s leaving.

“So who is that you’re gonna be searching for?!” she asks, playing along with this situation. 

He looks up at her, “It’s a group of hunters that were ambushed by the Highwaymen. Mickey and Lou wanted them captured, and they escaped. Fled into the nearby forests, not far from the radiation zone in the Henbane”. 

He finishes packing up, and he heads outside to his truck.

All of the adults Paige, Kenneth, Mandy, Barbara, Adrian, Mark, Nate, Cody, and Martin all know the real reason why Gabriel is leaving. Trying to keep the kids from knowing the real truth. To help out Lucifer and find the angels that were cast out of Heaven, and were now wandering the Earth, either human, or half human, with little to no powers, or angelic grace. 

The kids don’t know the real reason why he’s leaving. He hugs every single one of them, he holds Kate and Daenerys longer, placing a kiss on Daenerys head. 

“Please come back whole” she says, hugging him tighter. 

He laughs softly, “I will”. Placing another kiss on her head.

He kisses Kate goodbye, gets into a truck, and leaves the property. Meeting Lucifer at the meeting point. 

They all go inside, back to what they were doing, letting Gabe go to find these “hunters”. 

*******

After a half an hour drive later, Gabriel arrives at the meeting point Lucifer had sent him via angel radio. Surprised he was able to get through, even with the very little powers he has. 

A few miles away from the radiation zone of what was once the Henbane River.

“Great. You showed up!” Lucifer says, enthusiastically. 

“Okay. So where are we going?!” Gabriel asks. 

“That way” Lucifer says, pointing into the direction of the radiated part of the Henbane. 

“Into the radiation zone?!?” he asks, eyes wide. Not sure if he’ll actually survive going into that death zone, even with the amount of powers he has. He’s pretty much a human at this point. 

“Yeah. So lets goooo” he says singfully. Walking towards the dead zone.

“I don't even know if I can go through there!” the half angel protests.

Lucifer stops walking, “You’ll be fine. I went through there, and I’m still alive”.

Gabe rolls his eyes, groaning “Yeah because you still have your powers. I don’t. I barely have my powers”.

Lucifer groans back, “Okay. You’ll be fine. Raphael, Uriel, Gadreel and all the others are there, and they most likely don’t have any of their powers. They’re basically human with very little angel powers. So let's go!!” he says singfully again, and walks towards the radiated part of Hope County. 

The youngest Archangel groans, and follows his older brother into the radiation zone. As much as he doesn’t want to, he still does. 

****

Back in Holland Valley, everyone is working, doing their own thing around the compound. 

Jeffrey and Thomas are helping the guys, and a few others put up guard towers around the wall. 

The whole thing is basically a second Prosperity. Open to those seeking shelter from the Highwaymen. 

Paige, Kate and their mother Mandy are supplying guns to some of the residents and all those living on the compound. The three teenage girls are putting up cameras, and motion sensor spotlights with the help of a few others from Prosperity. Even from 40 feet away, and with her back to her. Kate can detect that Daenerys is worried about her father. 

“I can tell she’s worried” Kate mutters to her mother and sister. 

“Wouldn’t you?” Paige responds. Kate looks over at her, and nods her head. 

Paige sighs softly, “I get that you never really got to know dad, but still. I still worried whenever he left. I was just a child. I was afraid of everything”.

Sighing, “Yeah, I know but this is different. I just don’t want her, or anyone to know that we have an Archangel living with us” Kate tells her. 

Mandy doesn’t speak up in this conversation, or put in her two cents, she just listens in on their conversation. 

“Or that you’re married to an Archangel” Paige adds, “What about John?!”. 

Kate scoffs in annoyance, “What about him? He's dead”. She never thought about John Seed in several years, she kept his name and the thought of his existence out of her mind. 

“Yeah, I know. You and Wheaty killed him, or maybe it was Nick Rye. I don't know, I was too busy killing Jacob Seed” Paige tells her. 

“Yeah” Kate whispers remembering all the great times she had with Wheaty, “I don’t want her to know about John. Bad enough she has his eyes. It's a constant reminder that she’s his kid”.

“She also has his small hands. Have you noticed that?!” Paige tells her, while doing jazz hands like movement with her hands. 

Kate laughs softly, and says “Yeah. I could’ve saved him”. Paige looks over at her, “Who?. John?”. 

She scoffs, and shakes her head, “No Wheaty. I could’ve saved him. I’d rather have him be Daenerys’ father than John. I can’t imagine how she would’ve turned out if John were to live. A sadistic little shit. Yelling out “Say yes!. The Power of Yes!. Confess your sins sinners!”.

Paige laughs at this, “I would’ve had Cristina, or Bianca beat her up”.

Kate takes a deep breath, trying to hold back her tears, “I could’ve saved him, I could've gone back, and got him. I still think about it every night” she tells her, voice trembling, "I miss that Native guy so much". Light tears start to run down her cheeks. 

Trying to reassure her younger sister, “You gotta stop beating yourself up about that. I understand you, and Wheaty had something special. I definitely prefer you and him, over you and John, but I’m sure he would’ve wanted you to move on. I know if I would've let you gone back, and get him. You would've died as well". 

Kate nods, agreeing with her “Yeah I know, I know. I thought I would’ve ended up being a single parent. I still remember the day after we killed John and Jacob. Wheaty said to me that he wouldn’t mind being a stepfather to our child, then hopefully had kids of our own".

She stops for a moment, and Paige continues to reassure her sister.

"We lost a lot of people that day. A lot of friends Eli, Tammy, Wheaty, Jess, Mary, Pratt, Hudson and Whitehorse. Do you know if Morgan, Ryan, Sarah and all the others made it? ". 

Kate nods, and continues, "Yeah, we did but then Gabriel came into the picture. Him, and I grew closer, he helped me raise Daenerys, he took care of me throughout my pregnancy. I know he’s not used to the human lifestyle, and it was all new to him. But he adjusted very well, and I’m glad he’s here. I don’t know if they made it, I haven’t seen, or heard from them, but I’m sure they’re all dead”.

********

Lucifer and Gabriel walk through the Henbane River, and to Gabriel’s surprise he’s not coughing up his lungs, and dropping dead. 

“Eessh this is depressing” Lucifer mumbles, clenching his teeth.

“How much further?!” Gabriel asks, getting tired of walking. Lucifer looks around the dry, dead and gray scenery “It’s not far”. He’s not even sure if they’re going the right way, it’s all a dead zone. 

"What are we even looking for?!. How are we even gonna find the others?!" he asks. 

"Static. From angel radio" he mumbles, still unsure where to go. 

They continue walking through the radiation zone. After a few minutes Lucifer senses something, he stops dead in his tracks as does Gabe.

“What is it?!” he asks. He shushes him, and listens closely. “This way!" he tells him. 

He follows him further into the dead region. 

“What is it?!?” Gabriel asks, annoyed that his brother isn't answering him. 

“It’s one of them” he answers. “Raphael?!?” he adds before walking towards the sound that only he can hear. Gabriel follows behind him. 

******

Back at the compound, Cristina, Bianca and Daenerys are setting the motion sensor lights.

The youngest of the Winchester kids, Daenerys can’t concentrate due her father not being around. 

“He’ll be back Dae” Cristina comforts her younger cousin.

“Yeah I know. I just worry whenever he’s not here” she tells them, “Especially with those douchebags running around and capturing people”.  

“He’ll be back. He said he will, and he’s gone to help others several times before” Bianca tells her. 

She tries to keep her mind away from her dad, reassuring herself that he’ll be home within a week or 2, or even a couple of days. Cristina’s mind keeps wandering as well, remembering what her mom, and aunt had said to her the night before. 

She wants to tell Daenerys and Bianca but promised her mom and aunt that she wouldn't. 

Lucifer keeps coming to mind, and that scares her. She had a dream that he appeared in her room, and he was about to say something about her uncle Gabriel and Daenerys but was woken up by her alarm. 

After a couple of hours they finished setting up the lights and cameras.

The guard towers are all complete, the Winchester-Smith compound is complete. 

They have all of their workshops setup. The training yard, infirmary, cartography, garage and the garden are all set. 

Their bunker had been made into an infirmary, storage facility and an armory. As an underground shooting range. 

Later that night at dinner. Everyone that is living at the compound is seated at the main dining room in the main house.

Mark, Nate, their wives and kids. Martin, his wife, and kids. Adrian, his wife and kids. Cody and his wife. Kenny, Kate, Daenerys, Bianca, Jeffrey, Thomas, Barbara, Cristina, Mandy and Paige.

Paige stands up, clears her throat and gives a speech. 

“Okay, everyone if I can have your attention. First off I just wanna say thank you to all of you for your help. I know it’s been a huge adjustment. With the Highwaymen running around Hope County, it’s not really easy. We just need to stick together, and fight against them. I know Gabriel will be back within a week or two with those missing hunters maybe sooner, and we can recruit them to fight against the Twins and their followers. We have everything we need. We just have to keep on our feet. Watch over, and protect our home. Don’t let our guard down because we don’t know when they’ll strike. But if we fight, and push back, they’ll get the message that we’re not to be fucked with. So with that being said. Thank you, and I know we can win this fight”. 

Everyone applauds Paige’s speech, and they all eat their dinner. 

[untaemedqueen]

The Bird Cage

Mafia!Jimin x Reader

Chapter 12.

Warnings: (In This Chapter) Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Death, Defiling of Dead Bodies

 Eventual Smut, Blood, Guns, Knives, Smoking (Cigarettes)

Tag-List: @imaforeigner​, @q1st1na​, @gensneverland​, @autumnnflowers​, @toddsgirl27​, @yaniposts22​, @babyboytae1​, @dearlydreadful​, @vivpurple7, @kthfeed​

"I was born in Busan. Do you know where that is Y/N?" Jimin taps his fingers on the arm of his chair. You sit up straighter and nod. 

"I was born and bred in Busan. Was born to a family that lived simply. I had a brother, I had a mother and I had a father. We had a dog, named Money. We lived in a two bedroom apartment. We lived by the ocean, I would go swim in the sea and dig my toes into the sand. Simple." Jimin stares into his whisky glass before clearing his throat. 

"I went to school, I was good in school. Did my homework, did extra studying like they say to do to be sure to get into college. But then one day, I came home and my father wasn't there. And he was always home before me, he was a watchmaker. He made fucking watches so he was always home before seven. He was a good person." Jimin's voice begins to get strained and he takes a sip of whisky. You don't dare utter even a sigh, Jimin seems as if he's devolving into some sort of animal. 

"One day, he wasn't home. So I asked my mom, 'Where's Dad?' And she told me he was gone. He left. He had business to take care of in Seoul. And I thought to myself, what kind of business would a watchmaker have in Seoul? Hours away from his own home. A week passed, two weeks passed. He didn't come back. I had assumed he had gone on the class bread run, y'know? Like in the movies, he had just abandoned us. So I stopped going to extra studying after class. Stopped meeting with friends from school, on weekends I would take the train into Seoul to try and find my dad but I could never find him. People at school would make fun of me, always used to tell me my dad wasn't coming home because his watch broke and he was stuck in time. Used to bully my little brother, too. They beat him over the head with rocks and threw him in puddles and fountains because without my dad we were poor and we couldn't even after good clean clothes." Your chest tightens as you see his rage build, his eyes darting back and forth between his whisky glass and the knocked over king piece. 

"I met Jeongguk, he helped my brother out when he was bullied so I liked him. I started to hang out with him, forgetting that my father even existed and if someone brought him up. A fire would ignite inside me, burn through my veins like butane. And I would beat them, beat them until their eyes were swollen and they couldn't see. Beat them till their lips were split open, scalps cracked nice and bloody. It felt good, I would make them eat their words. So me and Jeongguk decided that we would become a brotherhood. People around me started to call me a lion. Because I roared as fierce as one and I would hunt you down and make you bloody." Jimin scoffs before sipping his whisky, his hand shaking as he sets the glass down on the table. 

"But, once I beat up a kid named Kim Youngju. And his dad was a mafia boss. Nobody touched Youngju until I came along and heard him muttering under his breath about my dad. So I beat him till he was in a coma. He was on a feeding tube, couldn't breath on his own, they told me. So his dad, Kim Shin-" You take a deep inhale putting your hand over your mouth, "-told me I was something special. Something like a caged bird, I needed to open the cage door and fly free."

"So I started working for Kim Shin. I brought Jeongguk with me, Shin gave me money and guns and knives and names. And then those names wouldn't exist anymore. They would disappear. I got an apartment, just me and Guk in Daegu. Just the two of us, like a little sinners den we were living out our days drunk and killing people. Murdering them how we saw fit, didn't even need names anymore. You looked at me the wrong way you were gone." Jimin runs his hands through his hair before looking at you.

"Then I get a phone call. From my little brother, my dad came back. After six years the watchmaker came back. My brother, he tells me that dad came back. And, he was rich! And I said to my brother, 'How? How is dad rich? He's a watchmaker.' And my little brother over the phone goes, 'He said a lion brought him some money.'' You close your eyes as you hear Jimin rabble off his story. 

"So my dad was Kim Shin's watch maker. He made him beautiful little watches that could rival a Rolex. And Kim Shin told him that if he was to leave me, he would turn me into an exemplary case of poor to rich. So me and Jeongguk got on a train home to Busan, but not before meeting Taehyung and Yoongi. Two other fucking delinquents that had sob stories like mine, I told them I would protect them. I would make sure they exact their revenge against whoever fucked their brains up. Because that's what I was, fucked up in the brain. So I get on a train, take my sorry ass back to Busan. And I see my father after six years. He was wearing an Italian suit, nice haircut, beautiful leather shoes and I was going to fucking murder him. Hmm? Murder him for leaving me, letting me turn into some mongrel, for money no less."

"But, then I saw my mother. She was wearing a Chanel dress, had a nice haircut too. Pretty Louboutin heels. And, I couldn't kill him. Because he gave my mother pretty things, she was the only woman in the world that I have ever loved. Until my last breath I will love my mother. My dad gave my brother nice clothes, too. Wanted to send him off to a good school. So I told my parents we would move. Go to the countryside, I would stop all this killing, all the blood and murder on my hands. I would wash it away like I was John the Baptist in the river." You take a sip of your whisky, your heart beating in your ears. Jimin stands up quickly.

"Excuse me, I don't do this very often." He says before opening up his bureau drawer and taking out a pack of cigarettes. He pulls out a cigarette before grabbing a lighter out of the same drawer. You couldn't say anything, this story is a big deal for him. He also pulls a file out of his drawer before throwing it on to the chair opposite him as he sits back down. He pulls from the cigarette, his eyebrows furrowing before he continues on with his story. 

"So we moved here, hmm? We moved to this beautiful house. I saved up money when Guk and I were living in our little den so I could buy a maid for my mother. So she didn't have to do anything ever again. I got rid of everything from Busan, bought new stuff. I tried to get rid of the evil in this house but there were two evils. Me and my father." 

"I was out with Jeongguk one day. Seven years ago, we were shopping for a dress for Guk's girlfriend. Her name was Lee. Just Lee. Lee Lee. Isn't that funny?" Jimin snorts before pulling from his cigarette, "We get home, silence. Mirae doesn't meet us at the door, I call out to my parents. Silence." You begin to shiver, wrapping the comforter around your body tighter. The moon began to illuminate on Jimin's face, the moon was going down. The sun would soon rise. 

"So I run upstairs with Guk, he's calling Lee. I'm calling out for my parents. Nothing. And then I get up to the third floor and I see little drops of blood all over the floor." 

"Jesus." You whisper bowing your head. 

"No, Jesus was not with me that day. So I'm panicking calling out for my fucking parents because now something is wrong, right? There's blood on the fucking floor. I get to my parents bedroom. I open the door, and..." Jimin stops his eyes wide as he stares at his bedroom door. 

"And my parents are dead. Just fucking dismembered, all of their body parts laying in their bed. I remember the first thing I did was I threw up. Just fucking vomited all over the goddamn floor. I cried, and then I saw a note on the bedside table. Hmm?" Jimin stands up opening the folder he pulled out before walking over and handing you the laminated note.

You don't get to leave when there is work to be done. This is a reminder that Lions do not out run Cheetahs. - KS

You feel queasy, your stomach rolling and your palms get sweat as you throw the laminated paper down before wiping your hands on the bed sheets. 

"Then Gukkie screams, hysterically. And I know they killed Lee. There was cum all over my parents bodies. They fucking jacked off over my parents fucking limbs. Then I ran to my brother's room. And he’s fucking nailed to the wall like Jesus Christ himself. They cut his eyes out and put them in his mouth." Jimin takes a pause before watching the cigarette smoke roll out of his mouth. 

"Now, I didn't see what they did to Lee, Jeongguk wouldn't let me see but she was pretty so I'm sure it was fucking disgraceful. So I got mad, I got furious. I became a monster. I didn't laugh, or smile. I made deals with men that would shake your little soul to the ground. I fucked women for good standing so they would give me their men to help me. Because Kim Shin was not going to fuck me over. I got my other brothers, my Jin, my Namjoon, my fucking Hoseok. I made Taehyung and Yoongi move in here. Because a lion does not back down from a hunt. I started fucking an older woman named Jaeyun. Not for fun, but for resources, she was a nasty bitch that liked to leave me tied up for 6 hours all for the price of one gun. By the end of that I had hundreds of guns. Because, you can't start business without a fucking sacrifice and if I had to sacrifice my body like my parents did, then so be it. It took me a long time, a long time to build up my business. So, after a while, I made my business and I was going to parley with Kim Shin. You know what parley is, Kitten?" You shake your head at him as he sits back down away from you. 

"It's a business meeting. I sat down, at a business meeting with fucking Kim Shin. Because, he was not going to fucking walk all over me. It took such strength to sit there across the table from that blue eyed fucker. To sit there and parley without shooting that fuck in between the eyes and watching his blood traipse down his skin. Y'know fucking blur his eyes and taste his own iron, it was difficult to not do that. So, we sat down. Talked business, talked whores all that shit." Jimin spits on the floor angrily before inhaling more smoke. 

"With Jeongguk there, with me there we made a pact with Kim Shin, that he would not give loans or promises of money to ANYONE after what he did to our families. He respected my opinion because I built myself up. He knew how vicious I am, he knew I would do anything to get my way so he took the deal. He spit in his hand and I spit in mine and we fucking shook on it. We went our separate ways, I made more money. Brought my business to what it is now, killed many men to make my own way. Then last week, I saw you and I got this." Jimin holds up the folder from the chair. 

"What is it?" You find yourself asking as Jimin stands up. He burns his cigarette out in the vase of roses on his bureau before walking over to you and handing you the file. 

"That's you. Everything about you, where you were born, why you're in Korea, who your parents are, everything." You open up the folder peaking through the pictures of you from when you were little, your school report cards and even your family's finances. 

"You did a background check on me?" The question drifts off into the air as Jimin sips his whisky before nodding. 

"Of course I did, you think I would just let anyone in my house?" You begin to feel small as you find pictures of your first boyfriend, your first vacation as an adult. You throw the folder aside before folding your arms. 

"Yeah, okay. So, you saw my folder and?" Jimin runs his fingers through his hair before putting his head back. 

"In that folder is the contract between Kim Shin and your parents for the loan. A blood contract. But, what did I just say not to long ago, Kitten?" Jimin looks at you widening his eyes. You clear your throat before sipping your whisky. 

"That Kim Shin shook on never giving loans again." Jimin points at you before smiling.

"Bingo, baby. So now, he's going to fucking die. You don't fuck over a lion. Especially when I shake on it." You both go silent for a little while. The both of you staring at each other in the large bedroom. 

"Kim Shin doesn't know what's coming for him. Lions hunt their prey in silence, and then they spring on them and rip their carotid artery out. We're going to do that to him." You hum in agreement before picking up your folder again. 

"So he betrayed me, and he preyed on your family. Now that you're mine, it only makes the pay back more enjoyable. I tried so hard to make my pain from my family go away but it still eats at my brain. I've pushed it back countless times in order for business to carry on. But, not anymore. Now, Kim Shin is getting war." Jimin looks off into the distance, his eyes glazing over as he sighs. You look through your folder once more before scoffing. 

"Really? My clothes sizes? My fucking ob/gyn check up?" You hold up the papers, Jimin doesn't answer you as he finishes his whisky. 

"You heard my story, will you come with me to the ball or not?" The sun begins to rise, a dark night's sky beginning to turn salmon and orange. You shake the papers.

"My ob/gyn fucking check ups Jimin!" He leans forward in his chair. 

"I wanted to know if you were fertile. You might just carry my fucking legacy one day, alright? I fucking care about you. So yes, I got your fucking doctors records." You roll your eyes before putting the papers back in the folder and standing up. Jimin watches how your night gown ripples down to the floor. Your bare feet padding towards him quietly as you hand him back the folder. 

"Why would you think I wouldn't go with you if you told me your story?" You sit down across from him as he places the folder in his lap. 

"Because I'm a monster, Y/N. And you haven't even seen it yet. I can tell you I murder people and I run guns but you haven't SEEN it yet. That changes a person, seeing someone drop. When you kill someone, you open up a door in your mind and all the demons come in." You hum at his poetic speech.

"I stabbed a man not to long ago, and I told you how good it felt." 

"But, then you stayed awake all night thinking about it, you couldn't sleep. And, when you did you talked in your sleep. Begging for forgiveness." You begin to blush, you weren't aware that you spoke while sleeping. You sit up straighter before putting your hand on Jimin's knee. His eyes looking straight at you as he cracks his neck. 

"I said I'm not going anywhere, and I meant it. I keep promises." Jimin closes his eyes before grabbing your hand. 

"I hope that's true, baby. Because, when you see me turn into a lion, you'll be very disappointed you chose me." Jimin stands up as you click your teeth with an eye roll. He picks you up bridal style before walking over to the bed and laying you down. He props himself in between your legs before bending down and kissing you. His hand caressing your cheek as he puts his forehead to yours. "Will you come with me tomorrow?" 

"Yes."

[exquisitley-obsessed]

I’m (right) here

This is technically a part two: you can read part one HERE

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Arthur lost sight of y/n on a hunting trip and it turns out the Pinkertons have hold of her and are doing everything they can to beat information about Dutch out of her. Arthur’s only goal is to get her back but he’s beginning to realise that if he does, nothing will be the same.

Word Count: 5568

Pairings: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Warnings: Torture, murder, bruises, scars, cuts!!

A/N: Currently playing RDR2 so please no spoilers <3 Literally took five minutes for me to fall in love with this damn fool and so felt like I needed to write something angsty for him. 

REQUESTS OPEN <3

MASTERLIST

That had to be a broken rib.

Y/n gasped as she tried to roll away from the steel capped boot that had just gutted her; the chubby, squat old man at the other end of the boot was the more aggressive of her two captures - Steven was his name, or something like that. 

It was his plump, well-rounded face that she had woken up to sometime ago, sneering down at her with this sickening gleeful look. It was understandable, by his terms he had struck gold by capturing y/n l/n, proud member of the Van Der Linde gang.

“You still don’t want to talk?” He husked out, hands on his portly hips. Y/n simply spat in response, a mixture of saliva and blood. Days had passed. Weeks maybe, it was difficult to tell when stuffed in a cage in a windowless room.

They came and they went, her captures. Steven and Tony were their names, or at least, that’s what they called each other. So far all they had revealed was that they were Pinkertons, and desperate for information on Dutch Van Der Linde. The beatings were consistent, another day without information, another beating – more painful than the last.

But y/n already knew that nothing could break her vow of silence. She had been dragged into this cage loyal to Dutch and she sure as hell would find a way out of it still being loyal – they’d have to kill her otherwise. It appeared that would be the direction of things anyway.

They were getting tiresome, annoyed, frustrated. Constantly checking their watches and disappearing for long lengths of time, leaving her aching and alone on the concrete floor watching the free flies mock her as they crawled the walls before flying away. It was easiest when she was asleep, it didn’t hurt so much then, like small shelter in a hurricane.

They’re coming. She had rhythmically repeated the mantra to herself a thousand times by now, a prayer. Dutch and Arthur, those she who she was currently dying to protect – they would come. They had to.

 ***

“We’ll find her Arthur.” Dutch said for what felt like the thousandth time. Arthur was sitting glumly inside his camp, ignoring his company as his eyes bore into his map, spotted with pins and small notes.

“I know.” He huffed back without much thought, his mind somewhere else. It felt like so much time had already been wasted, and Arthur has resorted to spending every waking moment tracking y/n, at least it kept his mind occupied.

Pinkertons weren’t necessarily nasty men, he’d sure as hell met worse, but they were by no means men to be trusted. Honour among thieves didn’t apply to them.

Sighing heavily his eyes drifted from the map above his bed to his collection of photos pinned nearby; him, Hosea and Dutch, his mother, an old newspaper clipping and the most recent edition was the printed photo of y/n that he had taken on a hunting trip.

He put it up there after getting it printed, a few days after her disappearance. Somewhere in his mind he validated the action through it only being a reminder of his task. 

He liked the photo. She looked the same as ever, same braid, same work pants, John’s old shirt – her eyes were crinkled slightly as she smiled at the camera her jaw slack as if she were about to start laughing. Actually, she wasn’t looking at the camera, she was looking behind it – at Arthur.

It was strange to see the way someone looked at you, those moments which you normally don’t get to see at all, and yet he had it captured in time and hanging above his bed. Something about this whole situation had awoken something he thought he had buried a long time ago, but that’s always the way with old feelings, they don’t really go away you just start convincing yourself that they’re not there anymore as you suddenly become busy with someone else. But now he had no distraction, and with all this time, this torturous time without her – he was remembering.

“God’s sake,” He muttered under his breath, collapsing in his chair and flicking through his journal for the hundredth time. It was escapism really, reading old passages and admiring old drawings from a few weeks ago; pretending as if he were back then with nothing to fear.

He hadn’t realised how much he drew her. It seemed obvious now, flicking through the creased papers where loose sketches of y/n seemed to dot every other page. He had never questioned it before, just always thought that he could remember her figure a lot easier than others – the shape she took when she was hunched on her horse, how she always sat in the same crumpled poor-excuse of a chair every morning when he brought her a coffee. When the gang had had a small party, out of everyone it was her he remembered when sitting around the fireplace, lips parted slightly as she half-sang.

Everything was different now, even he couldn’t deny it. But God, he hated it.

What would this mean? When they got her back, if they got her back, what would happen then? Another cycle of burying his feelings, he could see himself already back at Mary’s beck-and-call, desperate for a distraction. Maybe there was a part of himself that didn’t want to see her again, that just wanted to see her safe and then disappear – could he seriously continue to live an elaborate lie he had formulated years ago, when he was only a boy? Who was that fair to?

He cussed again low under his breath. The past few days all he’s wanted to do is escape his mind, calm his rushing thoughts, tame them into something he could tolerate. Hazily, he noticed somewhat raised panicked voices out in the main camp. He could do this; he had done it before, burying feelings. The voices sounded excited. Maybe he was simply destined to live a life of half-loves. Footsteps were now moving toward his tent.

“Arthur!” But he had already picked up his gun and was headed through the folds of his camp. He had survived his feelings for y/n once before, of course he could again.

***

“Your own family left, y/n…” She cringed at how sympathetic Tony’s voice was, as if he were on her side. “They’re gone…there’s been no sign of them for weeks now. They’re not coming.”

This was apparently their plan for the time being. Whispering false truths to her about Dutch, how he was spotted on the other side of West Elizabeth, three days ride from, well wherever the hell she was.

“No,” Y/n gasped, her ribs grinding against the ground, bone and concrete. The lashes on her back felt like they were writhing as the leather whip in Steven’s hand dripped her slick blood.

“Stop!” Steven exploded, y/n was hazily aware of the whip being catapulted across the room, “Stop protecting them y/n! We’re here to help you, for God sake they-”

“Help me?” She hissed. He didn’t hear.

“don’t care about you! Look-” Steven grunted, hauling a chair from the desk to the front of her cell and throwing himself in it, “Life has been nothing but unkind to you y/n, we can see that,” Y/n squeezed her eyes shut as another dull, aching throb radiated from her back, “We’re at a point now where we can forgive you for all of your past crimes…you could walk away from this a free woman…marry a good man, whatever the hell you want…we just need something in return.”

She couldn’t meet his eye. Couldn’t begin to accept what he was telling her about her family but, the reality was, where were they? Weeks he said, weeks waiting in agony for the moment they’d come for her only to be left day in, day out, entirely and utterly alone. 

Y/n felt herself being lulled in to a numb state, all she could pitifully think of was that she wanted to go home: she wanted fresh clean clothes, Pearson’s warm soup, a story from Hosea, a hug from Dutch – when was the last time someone had touched her in an affectionate way?

“Please…” She wheezed through her shattered lungs as her eyes rolled, “Just leave me alone.”

This apparently wasn’t the right answer. Steven, in one fluid motion, swung the chair out from underneath him, hurling it at the cell. Colliding against the steel bars, the wood promptly splintered like fragile bones.

“You stupid bitch!” He exploded, “You can’t see help when it’s fucking standing in front of you! You refuse it like a fucking idiot!” He was gasping for breath as he bellowed, his podgy skin flushing scarlet, “No wonder you’ve ended up like this...all alone…” He was spitting at her, stalking across the front of her bars like a predator homing in on its prey. Y/n felt dull tears dribble down her cheeks as she began to drown in how utterly helpless she was. Crumpled on the floor, unable to move, unable to breathe. “This...” He stopped stalking, his pulsating eyes glaring down at her over his rounded cheeks, “This…” He repeated, lowering himself to her level, “is why deep down…you’ll always be an orphan.”

Y/n watched him curiously, he hadn’t acted like this before. He had always had control. She then focused on Tony behind him whose eyes were avidly watching a pocket watch as his flicked it back and forth between his fingers nimbly.

“We best get going.” Tony finally spoke into the silence, swinging his coat on before checking the bullets in his pistol.

“Not yet,” Y/n’s heart dropped as Steven turned back to her, “They aint getting you back.” He spat at her, his voice low, almost as if he was laughing at her. Y/n watched in silent trepidation as he pushed his key into her cell door and slung it open, “At least…” Y/n moved her eyes back to Tony, pleading for him to do something, “They aint getting you back alive.”

Lying there, face down, unable to move, y/n found herself desperately coming to terms with her own mortality as she heard the click of the gun; summoning all her strength she tried to raise her head to look at him but his steel capped boot struck her clean across the cheek. Choking out a feeble cry she then tried to use the momentum of the kick to roll away from him, but it was futile. With her body broken beneath her there was nothing she could do, and all too soon she felt the cold, lifeless tip of the gun’s barrel pushed against the back of her head. This was it. Her pathetic, ruthless, pain-filled life – this was the climax, the pièce de résistance. The final click sounded followed by a short explosion before finally, darkness.

****

“I told you to only blow the god-damn doors off!” Arthur hollered at Sean who merely gave him a meek look and a shrug of the shoulder. Irish idiot, Arthur thought. The explosion was only supposed to take out the chains and bolts encasing the front doors, but the underestimation of the TNT had caused a shudder through house’s frame, resulting in the roof crumbling in on itself.

“Okay boys!” Dutch commanded, getting off from his horse and assessing the damage, “They know we’re here now which is fine…there’s more of us than ‘em I can promise you that.” He turned back to the gang, patrolling across the front of them like an army captain, “One objective: get in there and find y/n…you see any Pinkertons…gun ‘em down. They messed with us…with our family.” Slowly and in unison, the Van der Linde gang pulled on their masks. “Aint nobody messes with the our family and survives…nobody.” They moved in.

Arthur turned left with Charles, moving swiftly through the large, white manor house they had tracked the Pinkertons to – and God what a job that was. Weeks had passed of tracking and losing sight of the Pinkertons, putting everyone’s necks on the line trying to find the whereabouts of y/n. At first, they had been so sure she was in this old, abandoned farmhouse. They planned meticulously their attack for a week before attempting, only to discover it was some O’Discrolls cooped up in there – y/n nowhere in sight. 

Realising how much time had been wasted, they quickly went back to work, until Micah’s loudmouth made things blow up in the local town. Time and effort were then directed to moving camp somewhere safe, no one allowed to go after y/n during that time – it was also during this time that Dutch and Arthur had a rather explosive argument. 

But they were finally here, finally had tracked her to this bulky manor house out west, and if she weren’t here… well, Arthur couldn’t think about that.

“In here,” Charles’ voice rumbled as they moved past some double doors. Sharing a quick glance with Charles, Arthur jolted forward, the doors snapping back out of his way as he moved into the room. Looking around, he noticed how it looked like it was crumpled in on itself, planks of wood, an old piano, a large cabinet that had been picked clean years ago. All signs of life felt distant and foreign, as if someone hadn’t lived there for years – still, Arthur couldn’t lose hope. He turned back to Charles shook his head and they moved on.

****

Y/n blinked for what felt like forever, her heart racing as a high-pitched whine completely dominated her hearing. She hadn’t expected to still be conscious so it took her a minute to gather her bearings. Slowly, fuzzy outlines hardened into shapes and then, objects. Something had exploded, something was happening. Y/n moved and her whole body burned but it didn’t matter anymore – something was happening.

Fumbling for a second, she dragged herself up, her legs threatening to give way underneath her as she clung onto a fallen beam for support. Looking around she saw Steven rolling around near her, his face contorted into that of agony as one of his legs sat stuck under a pile of rubble and brick, a low gurgling, gasping noise whining from his throat. Sweeping low, y/n swiftly plucked up his gun and felt adrenaline start to pump through her – she had the power now.

“I can help,” Her ears still ringing as she coyly smiled at the chubby, little man at her feet. “Make the pain stop…I mean…”

Y/n, without thinking, raised the gun to his head and shot. Blood splattered across the room. Letting out a long deep sigh, y/n felt herself snapping back into her body, her arms and legs now feeling a little more like her own. Looking over she saw Tony collapsed; maybe passed out, maybe dead. It didn’t matter.

Panic rose quickly inside her, she needed to get out. She didn’t know what was happening or what had sparked the explosion, but this could be her only chance to escape - she needed to get out now. Swinging herself clumsily around the corner she opened the door and peered out, her eyes greedily racing across all the new sights and imagery. She tried to move as light as she could across the creaking floor tiles, her legs limping and stumbling over one another beneath her. Maybe there were other people in the house, maybe she was just being overcautious. She didn’t much care. She just needed to get out.

Successfully reaching a flight of stairs, she began to pick her way down, half hanging over the barista, the world spinning around her. Then, she heard a noise, heavy thumps and distant voices – she wasn’t alone. Panic rose like bile and suddenly, she was racing down the stairs, another flight followed by the next – out, out, out. The next flight, almost there, keep the gun in hand. God it’s so heavy. The world spinning around her, the adrenaline not slowing down until she scrambled down that last flight of stairs until there in front of her were the doors, opening out in a grassy barren knoll ahead.

She didn’t care about the pain anymore, or the fact that all this movement had cracked open all her cuts and lashings – she ran. She ran faster than it felt like she had ever run before, racing forth into the greenery and the open night sky. The stars gleaming down on her as she sprinted through the tall grass, feeling the wind move through her, an explosion of smells - the world alive around her. Then, a figure arose from her right. Instinctively, she stumbled down into a crouch, hiding herself in the shrubbery.

“Any sign of her?” Someone called out, fear latched onto her heart, she already knew she was the ‘her’. She tried to make out the voice, but it felt like the whole world was swimming in her head.

“No…I think John found some dead bodies in the attic. He said they were real fresh though.” Another voice, a different accent. Why wouldn’t her head unscramble itself? She felt her stomach lurch at the name – she knew a John.

“But I thought…” She heard her own voice softly choke out as she rose to her knees, swaying back and forth as the Earth moved underneath her.

“So…she aint here?”

“Doesn’t look like it…there are signs she might’ve been…they’re going to burn down the house down though.”

Looking up over the spikey tops of the greenery, y/n tried to make out the dark silhouettes barely visible against the inky night sky.

“What the hell are we going to do?”

“They won’t give up…not when it comes to her…”

“Not when it comes to anyone, Javier. We’re family. No one gets left behind.” Y/n felt a sob explode out of her – it was them. Hosea and Javier, talking about her, looking for her – saving her. In the same second another explosion erupted, this time, it was to begin the fire. Bright and beautiful, greedily eating up the dry wood of the abandoned home and exploding light into the universe. The bright and beautiful universe in which her family were here, her family that had come for her.

“Hosea!” She tried to shout but it came out as a wheeze, her voice stuck somewhere in her broken throat as she dragged herself to her feet, stumbling forward towards the figures. “Javier!” She tried again, but no noise. Nothing. Something desperate arose in her, what if they couldn’t see her? What if they left her without realising they had found her, she was here, and she was safe now. She went to shout again, her feet stumbling beneath her.

Her hair was completely loose, her clothes torn, her body broken. The heat of the fire warming her skin and yet, her skin wasn’t warm, it was burning. Fresh blood dribbling down her body as her wounds split. She wanted to scream again but something stopped her.

“Y/n…” All he said was her name. Looking up all she could see was Arthur. He was walking between Hosea and Javier, away from the house, looking at her. He could see her.

“Arthur-” She tried to say his name, but a sob shattered her lungs. She silently begged him to come to her, to touch her as she began to crumble. And, almost as if he heard her, he jolted forwards, his face enigmatic as he reached out for her but just as he was about to reach out for her – she jumped back, as if he had shocked her.

She had this God-awful look in her eyes then, all glossy and confused, like she didn’t quite recognise him. Like she was questioning him, staring at him as if she couldn’t quite make her mind up about something.

“How long’s it been.” God her voice was quiet, barely audible over the sound of the fire, the shouts of Hosea and Javier as they called for the others.

“Since what?” Arthur heard his own voice softly rumble, all he wanted was to soothe her, touch her, keep her safe.

“Since I went missing Arthur?” She looked numb; her were eyes wide, her mouth half open, a salty mixture of tears, dirt and blood dribbling down her cheeks. Arthur had not realised a single question could make him feel so guilty.

“Um…maybe a few weeks…”

“Maybe?” She let out a shaky breath. He felt like a small stone settle at the bottom of his gut – guilt.

“Four weeks yesterday…that’s when you went missing.”

And there it was. Y/n’s mind felt like it was crumpling in on itself, beginning to choke on the feeling of betrayal. Four weeks. Four weeks they had left her there, maybe searching, maybe not. She had lay in that poor excuse for a jailcell for a month, she had been dragged past her breaking point, she had faced pain like she could never had imagined waiting every second, every minute for her family to do what a family does, to protect her and yet, where were they?

“Y/n, girl, there you-” Dutch’s gruff voice swam into her mind as she twisted away from Arthur. The blazing red of the fire and the inky blue of the night sky, all of it blurring into a complete and utter mess.

“Four weeks….” She was surprised at how meek her own voice sounded, she hated it venomously. How was it that she had become so weak? How had she gotten here, to this moment? “Where were you?” She turned back to where Arthur stood, his head bowed like a scolded runt and Dutch, his hand half outstretched towards her, his euphoric face crumbling. “How could you let…”

“Y/n we were looking for you…I promise we were looking…” Dutch began, already stumbling into his defensive tone. Y/n wanted to believe him, but then she blinked and suddenly she was back in her cell, the ominous faces of men she was savagely scared of hovering above her, sneering at her as they told her how her family had disappeared, left her behind, just like her parents did. She blinked once more, and they were gone.

“You were supposed to protect me-” Suddenly, she exploded, “We’re family! What kind of a family does that to one another…you left me there…you left me there with those men…”

“I know baby-” Dutch began again.

“No!” She was gasping now, unable to breathe – the smoke and the sobbing choking her, “You don’t know…if only you did…if only you knew what they did to me Dutch….” Her cheeks throbbed as she tried to resist a guttural sob, “I thought I was your daughter.”

“You are-”

“No…I aint.” Her legs were shaking now, the fire and sky crashing together once again, “You don’t do that to your daughter, you left me…you left me behind.” Suddenly the grass felt so soft, “You left me...” The grass was so gentle compared to the concrete of her cell, the soil softened, responded to her touch, moved with her – earth and flesh, “You left me just like they did…”

Resting back, she dug her fingers deep into the earth and looked up. The sky was hot, the soil cold. Her world being torn open around her, exploding and rearranging into something new.

Nothing would be the same.

*****

“Oh…you scared me.” Arthur murmured, his eyes flickering up to the ghostly figure at the mouth of his tent.

“Sorry I-” Y/n stood awkwardly between the folds of cloth, dressed in only her night things with her hair loose down her back. She looked young, a little like how she did when they had first met. Arthur also noticed then how delicate she looked; it had been like that for a few weeks now.

Dutch had basically carried her back to camp, leaving her with Ms Grimshaw so her wounds could be tended to. Arthur had checked in on her regularly during the first few days, he liked it most when she was asleep, it gave him time to watch over her without feeling as though he was intruding.

“No, it’s okay,” A sloping grin melted into his cheeks, “Stay...please…I got, uh, oatcakes and beer.”

“Wow…my lucky treat,” Arthur watched with concealed warmth as a smile pattered across her cheeks. It had felt like forever since he had seen her smile. “Sorry for intruding, guess I just wanted to be close to someone for a ‘lil bit. Can’t sleep, y’know,” Moving into his camp, she curled herself up on Arthur’s fur rug, resting her back against his side table; it was her position, whenever she had snuck into his tent she had always somehow folded herself into that specific corner and he had never dared question it for she would always aggressively insist she was comfortable.

“Yeah, I understand. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel like that most of the time.”

“To be honest, it wasn’t made very clear when I signed up to this gang…” Y/n grinned at him, “Maybe then I would’ve rethought my application.” Arthur chuckled.

“True…they don’t exactly give you a run down before you start living a life of crime.” Moments like these were more regular the past few days. Moments where he found himself relaxing into the familiar rhythmic conversations with y/n that he had always had, it was comforting, a reminder that the pain was temporary. “How you holding up?”

“Fine,” She smiled at him, a real smile, “Ms Grimshaw works a miracle.”

“That she does,” He shuffled slightly to rest his back against the wagon next to his bed.

“Nothing really bad happened to me physically…I mean, nothing I can’t recover from.”

“And you will, with time, you always do.” She smiled at him again, but this time her eyes lowered after meeting his – was she nervous?

“I guess the only problem is…Dutch aint shifting outta protective mode any time soon.”

“He’ll get over it…” Arthur chuckled, “I think he’s just mad at himself y’know. You know how much you mean to him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” She nodded sleepily. “I know Morgan.” God, it killed him when she called him that. Suddenly, y/n’s face twisted up in a grimace and she jolted up, her hands stretching toward her back.

“Y’okay?” He asked nervously after a moment.

“Fine…fine…” She winced, rubbing at her shoulders, “Just not quite 100% yet, y’know.” He eyed her for a moment as she pushed her hair out of her face, trying to massage the spot in her shoulder that was causing her pain.

“Here,” He surprised himself by saying, “Let me do your hair.” She eyed him; an eyebrow half raised her lips slightly parted. It seems neither of them had expected him to raise that offer. “Oh c’mon, remember how I used to braid your hair before shooting lessons with Dutch?”

“Feels like a lifetime ago…” She murmured; a faint smile painted on her lips as her eyes clouded with a distant memory

“I ain’t forgotten how to,” He smiled at her and she smiled back, shyly. A pause. “Please y/n. I know I can’t do much to help you right now…I’m no good doctor, I’m a god damn idiot when it comes to words and, y’know, comforting people. So, please…let me do this.” He watched as her lips parted slightly into a distant smile, her eyes lighting up.

“Okay Morgan…if you really want to braid my hair I guess I’ll have to allow it. Just do a good job of it okay.”

“Who you trying to look good for?”

“Oh, you know me Morgan…everybody and nobody.” Arthur chuckled to himself. She plodded herself down on the floor next to his cot and, shifting over, he planted his legs like trunks either side of her, creating a small cove in which she could tuck herself.

He went to move her hair to the back when he noticed his hands shaking ever so slightly, his heart rate jumping too. Arthur tried to calm himself then and there but couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the feeling of her, the warmth along the inside of his claves as she curled into him, resting her head lightly against his right knee. Desperately trying not to hurt her, he scooped up her hair and used his fingers to softly comb behind her ears and down her neck, ensuring he had caught every soft wisp.

Silently, he cursed his fingers for being so calloused, spitefully thinking of how his fingers might be grazing her soft skin. Sweeping all her hair to the back, he watched as it loosely tumbled down before softly combing his fingers through it. He promptly forgot about how much he hated his hands, forgot his hatred of how he had always been so large and gruff, unsubtle and mean. Instead his mind became full of thoughts of her.

How different her hair colour looked in the orange candlelight compared to daylight. How long her hair tumbled down her back when loose and how he hadn’t noticed considering she always had it tied back. How he could see the skin of her neck peeking at him as her hair began to sway when he braided it. How that skin sloped down into the loose collar of her night shirt. The way her shoulders and back moved with her steady breath and, if he listened carefully, how he could hear it. Steady, strong, safe. It seemed all too quickly the braid twisted to a finish in his fingers.

“You got a tie?”

“Course,” She sleepily murmured. God that killed him. The way her eyes drooped, the way she moved without being conscious of what she was doing to him. She placed the tie in his outstretched palm and seemed to not realise that her delicate hands had brushed so softly against his rough ones.

“I’m scared,” She piped up as his fingers returned to her hair, her voice ever so slightly dreamy.

“That they’ll come take you again?” Now done, Arthur relaxed back into his cot a little but refused to move his legs, desperate to not disturb her.

“No…well yes but…” She melted deeper into the cove of his legs without thinking, “I’m scared that what they did to me, what happened in those weeks…I’m scared it’s going to be with me for the rest of my life, affect me for the rest of my life, I mean.”

“But-”

“Sorry, I know it sounds silly-”

“No…it doesn’t,” Arthur leaned forward, catching her eye, “There aint anything silly about what you went through, but…I know for a fact that it won’t affect you forever.” A beat.

“How?”

“Because you’re so much more than what happened to you in those four weeks. You’ve lived through hell; we all know it, and yet at the end the day – you’re more than any of the people who have hurt you.” He watched her looking at him, trying to figure out the enigmatic feeling written on her face, but the conversation moved swiftly on.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened in those weeks?” She whispered, not blinking, “Where you all were?”

“We were looking for you y/n, and that’s the God honest truth,”

“But-”

“But nothing y/n. For a while uh…things got complicated. We lost track for a bit and you paid for it, I’m sorry.” He looked down, wondering how far he could take this, “Y’know, I thought that you were dead, just for a moment…I was destroyed.” Her face remained enigmatic, “Now I’m scared to turn away from you for one second, I’m afraid I’ll lose you again.” It felt like he was crossing into unmarked territory.

“You’ll never lose me,” She breathed, “Not really.” A knot tied itself into existence in his gut.

Their eye contact never broke. It felt like it never would. Looking at her then, he felt like there were a million things he wanted to say to her, like there was so much of himself he had yet to reveal to her. The parts of himself which, in all honesty, cared for her more than he ever realised. Sitting there, with her tucked against his right knee, he couldn’t help himself.

Almost as if he were in a trance, he began to trace his fingers along the hair behind her left ear before scooping up her braid and shifting it to the side, how comforting it was to know that she was right there, under his fingertips. His left hand moved to her shoulder were he gently shifted the white cotton of her dress so that it slipped down, exposing her black and beaten shoulder. Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, he brought his lips down and pressed them against her colourful skin. She shivered into his touch as his beard grazed her bare flesh, but she never looked away. He kissed her again, moving up closer to her neck, his eyes fluttering shut. He was so close that she could feel his breath fluttering across her exposed neck. She relaxed into him, almost daring him to go further until she noticed something – he was crying.

Soft beads rolled down his cheeks as he kissed her again, and again, and again. Softly, y/n started to hear his whispers warm into the silence.

“I’m sorry…”

“I can protect you…”

“They won’t ever hurt you again…”

“I’m here now…”

“I’m sorry…”

“I’m here…”

 Maybe y/n was right, maybe nothing would be the same. But change didn’t seem so scary anymore.

requests open <3

Tags:

@uniqueclodzinevoid​

@rollyjogerjones​

[irishmacguirefucker]

Meeting Tilly Jackson

A.N: (So originally this was going to be for my au but I realized that if I wanna write Tilly in my AU i need to properly understand her background. We don't have a lot of specific details in the game, so i wrote this. Essentially its how Dutch found Tilly and took her in. She’s 14 in this. I will probably have a part 2 soon. Its a little dialogue heavy)

(TW: Sexual Assault of a minor is mentioned but nothing happens, blood)

Wordcount:  3110

-

Tilly Jackson has a family. They may be a little odd, different than what everyone else might consider a family, but a family nonetheless. Dutch and Hosea her father figures, Susan Grimshaw a motherly presence. Sisters in Karen, Mary-Beth and the other women of the camp, brothers in Arthur and John and most of the other men. The titles don't matter so much as the feeling of safety and comfort and appreciation among them. She missed her late mother of course, but she hoped on some level her mother would be happy with how things turned out for the girl in the end. Being kidnapped at the age of 12 was nothing short of traumatizing, and for a long while, things only got worse. The Foreman gang was the opposite of a family. They were nothing to her but the people who stole her away from her mother claimed to own her. The ones who tried to take advantage of her. The night that Malcolm Foreman tried to make advances on her and she killed him was the night she would consider herself grown. 

She's not sure exactly how long she was alone, it must have been under a year. She went to find her mother only to hear of her death, and with nowhere else to go she just kept running. The further she made it the less likely that Anthony Foreman would find her and pay her back for what she did to his cousin. She knows that it was early spring when she left. The snow had barely been off the ground, she supposed that no longer being wrapped in a ratty cloak and scarf was the reason that gang member thought to make his move. 

Dutch found her just when it was beginning to get cold again. 

Despite considering herself grown, her body disagreed. The shoes she ran away in were already ill-fitted, and by that autumn they were practically falling apart. Her toes stuck out the front. She had done her best to steal clothing off people’s clotheslines, but they rarely fit.

Dutch caught her doing just that. He had been watching the property of some well off folks, planning on casing it with Arthur later that week. He watched as a girl no older than 14, snuck out from the tree line in a torn-up blouse and a too-long skirt.

She was clearly not experienced in stealing as she tripped over her skirts up the property, but she made it to the side of the house mostly successfully. She quickly tore down a long dress and an undershirt and quickly started back to the tree line. She stared wistfully at the property's large orchard and nearly turned her course towards it before hearing the owner of the house open his front door and stealing away into the forest. Even from a distance, Dutch knew what that hesitation meant. She was hungry.

Dutch was hardly one to let a promising little thief like her starve in the forest, so with a passing glance at the house he stood from his hiding spot up the hill and mounted the Count.

Tracking was never one of Dutch’s strongest abilities but she made it rather easy, with footprints in the mud, a scrap of fabric where her clothing caught a branch, etc. Eventually, he reached a spot where she seemed to trip and fall, and then there were a few drops of blood here and there as he followed. He knew he was getting closer, the blood wasn’t dry. He dismounted his horse and began leading him forward when suddenly she jumped out from behind a tree wielding a large rusted hunting knife. 

“Don’t come any closer! You can take your clothes back, here.” She kicked over the items he had just watched her steal. “Don’t tell the law, and I’ll disappear. I don’t have anything more to offer you.”

Dutch grinned, she was strong-willed. But he also observed that her cheeks were sunken in, and her skin was dull. She was visibly malnourished, and there was blood dripping from one of her small hands. He hoped it was a branch she cut herself on and not that dirty knife of hers.

He put his hands up in a friendly gesture.

“I’m not the man you robbed earlier, don’t you worry. I watched you steal that dress, you’re quite the little thief.” 

She was doing a damn good job of hiding her fear, but Dutch was experienced in seeing past such facades. She didn’t seem scared of the weapon she was holding, as the young and inexperienced often were when they wielded such an item. She just seemed scared of him. 

“Why did you follow me, it ain’t your things I stole. I have nothing to give you, so you best just leave me be.” She didn’t stutter, her high pitched voice remained unwavering and strong. Dutch tried his best to look unthreatening, something he didn’t find himself having to do often. 

“Well, I myself was planning on robbing that house myself later with a few of my friends, perhaps I just wanted to see if you had any advice for me as a seasoned visitor of that property.”

She didn’t believe him and didn’t lower her knife, but she didn’t run either. Good. “Now if I reach for something in my saddle bag here are you gonna come at me with that big old knife?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Dutch smiled. “Well if you and I are gonna talk business I thought that maybe I could pay you for your time, little lady.”

She finally lowered the knife a little, seeming less afraid but very suspicious. “You wanna pay me for information on that house?”

“I do. Information is worth a lot to us outlaws, you should know that well Darlin’” He slowly turned to the horse. Even if she did attempt to stab him, she wouldn’t get to him before he could turn around, so he wasn’t worried. As he was digging through the saddlebag she spoke up behind him.

“Don’t call me Darlin.” 

He smiled at her bravado but kept looking through the bag. “Well, you’ve yet to give me something else to call you Miss. Ah! Here it is!” He turned back to her holding a small stack of cash and a wrapped parcel. 

“Yeah, well neither have you!” There’s that reminder that he’s talking to a child. They’re always so petulant. John had been just the same, though a little more rabid. “Well, I’m Dutch, Dutch Van der Linde.”

He studied her face for any sign of recognition, but there was none. Good, less reason for her to be afraid of him. She didn’t give her name just yet. 

“Are you with the Foreman brothers?” She asked boldly. “I won’t let you take me back, I’ll kill you before you get me back there.” That would explain her fear, she wasn’t just a thief. She was a runaway from another gang.

“Now I’ll tell you right now Miss, I’m not with Anthony Forman or his little gang. The only gang I’m with is the Van der Linde gang, and I promise me and mine won’t bring you any harm.”

“You...You lead a gang?” She was shaking, it was starting to get colder as the sun was setting. 

“I am, but we aren’t like those bastards you knew. We’re just good people, looking to live free.”

Then he did something bold, a gesture to help her feel safer in the presence of a gang leader. Hopefully, she would be a little more at ease. “Do you mind if I sit down Miss-” 

“Jackson. Tilly Jackson.”

He smiled. “Miss Jackson. Do you mind if I sit while we talk? Tracking you was quite a little adventure.” 

“Go ahead, I guess.” 

“Thank you, Tilly.” He sat down on a log just to the side, and she lowered her weapon fully but gripped it tight. “Now, go ahead and take this.” He took a couple of bills and tucked them into the string around the parcel. She stared at it suspiciously.

 “I didn’t tell you nothing yet and I ain’t stupid mister Van der Linde, why are you giving me this.” 

He smiled and leaned forward to place the parcel on the ground in front of him, between them. 

“As I said, you’re quite the thief and I think you could help me out. Doesn't hurt to butter up the informant. There's some food in the package, I thought you looked a little hungry.”

She seemed to stare at the parcel longingly and something clenched in Dutch’s cold heart. The poor girl must be starving.

 “I…I don’t have no info for you, Mister Van der Linde. I just needed the clothes.” She seemed disappointed to be saying it, but she didn't lie to him like he thought she might.

“Well...maybe you could just keep me company then Milady. Good company is hard to find among us outlaws, as I’m sure you know.”

In a flash, she was back two steps and her knife was raised once more.

“I ain’t that kind of girl. you can keep your fucking money and go pay a real whore for your damned “company’”

This was the opposite of the outcome he was looking for, and entirely at the fault of his own poor word choice. He should have known better, there are only a few things that can happen to a young girl in this country to put her on the run and make her fear good company. 

“Now listen here, Miss Jackson. I am not that kind of man, I wouldn’t take advantage of you like I’m sure the bastards in Foreman’s gang tried. It’s like I said it, my gang is just good men looking for freedom and money. You can leave right now if you want and I won’t stop you, or you can stay and eat some, and I promise I won’t even look at you funny.”

She stood frozen, knife gripped tight. She seemed to be weighing her options. Dutch had yet to pose a threat to her, his weapons remained holstered. He hadn’t even tried to come close to her. She steeled her nerves and spoke again. 

“Then...Give me one of your guns. If you really ain’t gonna try nothing then give me one of your pistols and if you try and do anything bad I’ll shoot you.”

In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have even considered it. But this wasn’t some criminal who he was wringing for information. This was a terrified little girl who was too afraid of the man in front of her to even eat food when she was starving. He slowly reached for his left holster and pulled out the pistol. He made a big show of flipping it in his hand so that his finger stayed away from the trigger as not to scare her, and he placed it beside the parcel. Gently he pushed them both over with his foot and sat back on the log with his hands beside him. 

She stared at him, and quick as lightning she grabbed the items from the ground. She backed up to her spot and slowly sat on the ground. The pistol was too big for her hand, and her other hand was getting blood on the side of the wrapped meat. Slowly she unwrapped the piece of dried venison, not breaking eye contact with the man sitting before her. “Why are you being so kind to me, I ain’t never heard of a ‘Good’ outlaw, we’re all just killers and thieves.”

He took note of the word ‘we’ before killers and thieves. Perhaps there was a reason she was so steady holding that knife. “I suppose no truer words have been spoken Miss Tilly, but I was never the type to watch a young lady suffer…You know, I found my son Arthur when he was about your age. The boy was just starving in the streets, stealing what he could. Quite like you are now.”

She didn’t respond, just stared at him a moment longer before taking a large bite of the meat. He hadn’t seen someone eat so ravenously since he fed John for the first time.

It took a lot of talking to get her to let her guard down. She didn’t reveal much about herself, other than that her mother died and she wasn’t part of the foreman gang, she was just there. Though the tension in her shoulders slowly sapped away as she filled her stomach and let herself calm down. They spoke for a few hours and he tried his best not to treat her like a child, god knows they hate when you do that. He couldn’t help but notice that she just seemed so sad. Once all that fear subsided and she spoke more freely, it was clear that she was lost. She mentioned her mother’s death with deep sorrow, her eyes going glassy before she seemed to catch herself and move on. 

Eventually, her hand stopped bleeding, and he tried to catch a look at it as she gestured. The sun was nearly set and he would have to get back to camp before they went looking for him.

He told her as much and he watched that deep-set sadness seep back to her features. 

“Oh… well. It was nice to meet you Dutch.” She used his first name for the first time. He stood up and she did as well, wincing as she used her injured hand to push off the ground.

“You know... you could come back with me and let our doctor take a look at that hand. Well...she ain’t exactly a doctor, but she can fix it. We wouldn’t want that getting infected, it’s far easier to be an outlaw with both hands.”

She wanted to go with him, he could see it in her eyes. Good friends are hard to come by when you’re a child with no home. 

“And perhaps, you could stay awhile. Learn how to be a real outlaw instead of a dress thief.” She seemed offended at the comment, a funny little scowl crossing her features. She was thinking about the offer, and he hoped it sounded at least a little better than sleeping alone in the forest. 

“If I come to your camp….nobody's gonna try and touch me?”

 “Absolutely not my dear, if they try I’ll cut off their hand myself.” She seemed to giggle a little at the notion, a sound he would take pride in. She sobered up and asked; 

“And I can leave whenever I want? I ain’t gonna let anyone try and say they own me ever again.”

“If you come to camp, Tilly Jackson will remain a free woman, but you’ll have a home to come back to if that’s what you would like.”

He watched her hesitate a little longer. Some coyotes barked in the distance and she shivered.  “Maybe just for a little while. Just to try it.” 

“And you can leave whenever you want.” he reassured.

“And I can leave whenever I want.” She repeated it back like she was convincing herself. He turned his back to adjust the Count’s saddle and give him a sugar cube, and he heard small footsteps come closer to him.

“Um. Can I give him one? He’s real pretty.” Dutch turned and she was at his side, staring at the large animal. She was even smaller up close, and he could see that her bones stood up against her dark skin.

“You know, I think he would like that. Now here, take just one of these and put it in your hand flat. Don’t worry, he won’t bite you.” She went to take it from his hand before realizing her hands were full with the knife and Dutch’s gun. 

“Oh. Here you go, Mister Dutch.” She tried to hand him back the gun. Bravely he thought, to give up her best defense, but he didn’t take it.

“I’ll tell you what my lady, It’s gonna be a bit of a ride to get back to camp and I don’t want you feeling like you can’t hold your own. You hold on to that one just until we get back, alright? We can put your knife in the bag safe and sound.” She obliged, putting the hunting knife gently in the saddlebag and holding on to the pistol. Then Dutch gave her the sugar cube and she held it out to the horse gingerly. The Count had no such hesitation and stole the treat from her hand quickly, the softness of his nose near her fingers making her giggle.

“Now, I think we might just be ready to move! Can I help you up milady?” He said, with a ring clad hand extended like a butler. The gesture made her giggle more and Dutch was happy to see the sadness put aside for a little while. She took his hand in her much smaller one and let him lead her to the side of the saddle.

“Now, can I lift you or do you want to go stand on the log over there?” She could read the underlying notion. The hidden meaning of ‘Do you want me to touch you’, ‘is it okay if I lift you’, etc. He was being more considerate than anyone she had ever met. She took a deep breath and put a little trust in him.

“You can lift me if that’s okay.”

“It would be my honor milady.” He lifted her onto the horse’s rump and tried not to think about how light she was. How he could feel her bones through the layers of her shirt. Once she was settled, he climbed up himself. Before they got going he pulled out his canteen and an apple from the bag. 

“Here. Dinner will be done by the time we get to camp and there’s no reason you should go hungry back there, that just wouldn’t befit such a distinguished young lady.” She accepted the food, and he set the Count into a walk to get them out of the underbrush. Once they were on the path he pushed into a more brisk pace, but he wouldn’t risk trotting with her back there, the count’s trot could be rather rough and she’s so thin she would just be thrown off.

It would be a long ride back to camp at this pace, but it just gave him more time to get to know her and tell her about camp. 

[behappyitsemmalie]

Sweet Child of Mine - John B x Reader

Requested: YES! ‘Would you mind writing a pregnancy scare with John B?’

@massholeabroad - this is for you boo! Hope I did your prompt justice! Sorry this took 700 years to write lol

I am nothing if not a slut for pregnancy fics😏 This is also my first John B fic so yay! And we all know John B would be the sweetest little bean during a pregnancy scare. 

A/N: This takes place in a universe where Big John still went missing but the gold hunt never happened and DCS didn't know John B was living alone! 

You were nervous. Your leg was bouncing uncontrollably as you sat in the front seat of your car, hands anxiously clutching the steering wheel. The car was parked in front of the Chateau, early morning sun beaming in through the trees. You weren't exactly sure how long you had been sitting outside at this point, instead of going inside the house and talking to your boyfriend like you came here to do. There wasn't much time. The rest of the Pogues were supposed to come over to take the boat out later and you knew it wouldn't be unlike them to show up early, particularly JJ. So finally, with one last deep breath, you got out of the car and made your way across the yard and up the front porch steps. 

As soon as you stepped into the house, you saw him. John B, your boyfriend of over a year and friend of nearly 10 years, standing there in the living room. There was a beer in his hand, despite it being only 11AM, and he was shirtless as he liked to be. He looked up as he heard the rickety front door open and shut and grinned at you, not yet noticing the nervous smile you wore on your face. 

“Hey babe, what are you doing here? I thought you were coming later with everyone else?” he asked, coming over to you and pressing a kiss to your lips. He was a good boyfriend, the best actually. And due to being friends for the majority of your lives, he knew you inside and out. So it didn't take him more than a few seconds to realize you weren't your normal, cheerful self. You were tangling your fingers around each other aimlessly, a nervous tick of yours. And your smile had all but disappeared entirely, now replaced with nervous furrowed brows and pursed lips. “What’s wrong?” he asked, placing his beer down on the tiny end table next to the couch and letting his hands grasp lightly at your shoulders. 

“I just- um, I have to talk to you about something. Something that’s- its, um- important,” you stuttered. 

John B was a bit taken back at how nervous you seemed. The two of you had been dating too long, friends too long to be nervous around each other. It wasn't like you to be nervous at all, especially with John B. 

“Is it serious?” he asked. 

Your mind was racing. 

‘If you count the fact that there may be a tiny human growing inside of me right now as serious, then yeah it’s very serious.’ 

“Whatever it is, you know you can tell me,” he continued. 

‘I may be fucking pregnant with your kid.’ 

“You just have to tell me what it is.” 

You studied John B’s caring face, seeing nothing but the genuine kindness that always seemed to live in his eyes. He was gentle and attentive and loving. You didn't think it was going to be this hard to tell him that you were late on your period and you weren't sure what that meant. You had thought about just taking a test by yourself and only telling him if the test was positive. No need to worry him over nothing right? But you felt sick to your stomach thinking about taking the test by yourself. You needed John B. 

But you truly didn't think it would be this hard to just tell him. 

You broke out of his gentle hands holding onto your shoulders and slumped down on the couch. He followed you, taking a careful seat next to you. He started talking, rambling like he does when he’s anxious. You tuned him out, closing your eyes and gathering up every inch of strength you had inside of you to just say the damn words. Once the words came out, this whole thing could just move faster. 

You knew John B was in the middle of saying something, but you didn't care. “I’m pregnant,” you blurted out without thinking. The words came out like vomit, no prior planning seemed to be put into them at all. You looked up at your boyfriend who looked like he could fall out of his seat any second. 

“What?” 

“I’m sorry I don't know why I said that,” you sighed, burying you face in your hands. “I might be pregnant. Might! I just- I've been sick lately and I was supposed to start my period last week and I haven't yet. And you know we’re not always the best with condoms!” 

John B knew he didn't have any space to argue on that last point. You guys weren't the best at it. Especially after a boneyard party when you two were drunk and horny and were so painfully aware of how in love you two were. It wasn't rare for you two to forget (or just ignore) a condom. And he knew you hadn't been feeling great lately, actually seeing you throw up stomach contents a couple days ago. So unfortunately, it did all kind of add up. 

The boy seemed stuck, like someone pressed pause on his life. His eyes were trained on you, probably waiting for you to tell him it was all a joke. But he could tell by your expression that you weren't kidding. 

“Ok. Ok... ok,” he kept repeating. You swore if he said that word one more time, you would hit him. “What do we do?” 

It actually comforted you to see him be as clueless about all of this as you were. It gave you some peace of mind that you weren't just dumb or naive. This was a scary, baffling situation that you weren't really supposed to know how to navigate at 16 years old. 

“I have to take a test,” you answered. 

“You haven't taken a test yet?” he asked, his tone more hopeful rather than angry. 

“I didn't want to take it alone.” Your voice was lower than you had ever heard it. It sounded too small for someone who might be a mother soon. John B reached his hand up and cupped your cheek, letting his fingers tangle in your hair. You leaned into it, craving that kind warmth more than anything. 

“You’re not taking it alone,” he grinned. 

He got up off the couch, extending his hand out for you to grab it. With no hesitation you grabbed it, weaving your fingers in with his. You made a move towards the front door, eager to get this over with, particularly before your nosy friends came over. John B tugged on your hand, pulling you back in front of him. His face looked so soft, you didn't even know how to interpret it. He pushed a strand of rogue hair behind your ear and smiled. 

“Everything’s going to be ok. You know that right?” he told you. You were almost inclined to believe him. He seemed so damn sure. But you knew he had no way of knowing how everything would turn out. No one did. Not until you found out if you were actually pregnant. 

“Let’s just take the test,” you smiled. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before telling you to grab the van keys from the kitchen while he throws on his shoes and a shirt. 

Part of you wanted to ask if you two could jump on a ferry and head to the mainland to get a test. Outer Banks was small. Most people knew each other. Anyone who knew you and John B could be at the tiny convenience store on the Cut. They could easily see what you were buying and make any number of assumptions, and before you knew it the whole island would know your business. But you knew there was no time to go all the way there and back. 

Because John B is John B and he could easily see how nervous you were as he pulled the van up in of the store, he offered to go in while you wait in the car. With a kiss to your temple, he got out of the van, jogging up to the store and disappearing inside. You sat in the car, the radio playing a soft song you didn't know but liked. You couldn't be a mom. You had no idea how. It’s not like you had a great example. Your mom wasn't much older than you when she got pregnant. She had spent the whole summer with some tourist visiting the island with his family. By the time she found out she was pregnant, he was gone. So it had always just been you and her. She wasn't exactly shy about letting you know that if she never had you, she could've gone to college and gotten out of the Outer Banks and made something of herself. Living your whole life knowing your own mother resented you for something you had zero control over, pretty much just being born, was not the life you wanted for yourself or your child. 

You were the middle of being completely disappointed in yourself for somehow following in your mother’s footsteps when you saw John B exit the store. You had John B, not some idiot touron from the mainland. So maybe you weren't in her exact footsteps. 

Your boyfriend climbed into the van, handing you the bag he was holding. 

“Did you know there are like 10 different brands of pregnancy tests?” he laughed. The laugh was strained, like he didn't really think it was funny but he didn't quite know what emotion to tie to all of this. 

You smiled back at him as he started the car. “Thank you. For going in,” you grinned, reaching over to grab his hand. As he pulled your clasped hands up to his lips to press a kiss to yours, you weren’t really sure how you got so lucky. 

The ride back to the Chateau was just as quiet as the ride to the store was. You leaned your head back against the seat. It was a warm day. You enjoyed the cool breeze that ran threw your hair as it came in through the van’s open windows. John B was still holding onto your hand, his thumb rubbing against the back of your hand to calm you. That always worked before, so why not now? You hadn't even realized you had arrived at the familiar house until you felt John B’s hand leave yours so he could take the car keys out of the ignition. The bag in your lap felt heavy, like it held your future in it. It kind of did in a way. Your entire future from this moment forward was going to be decided by the tiny stick in this bag. 

“You ready?” John B asked. You just nodded, opened the door and stepped out of the van, clutching that stupid brown bag in your hands. 

Once in the house, you threw your backpack onto the couch and discarded your shoes, wanting any excuse to stall. John B grabbed your hand and led you to the bathroom. You took the taunting box out of the bag and set it on the counter. You just stared at it. You were quiet. So was John B. Everything in this moment seemed to stand still. 

“I’m going to wait right outside, ok? Just take it when you’re ready,” John B said, kissing your head and backing out the room. The two of you made eye contact in the mirror as he was closing the door, the grin on his face enough to make you smile back. 

Somehow he was so calm. It was a little unlike him. He could be anxious, get flustered under pressure. You couldn't think of anything that would be more pressure than your girlfriend maybe being pregnant with your kid while you’re both still in high school. It concerned you a bit how level-headed he seemed today. But you wouldn't question it too much. You need this strong reassurance that he was giving you. It was the only thing making it possible for you to break open the test box and spill its contents out onto the bathroom counter. You must have read the instructions over 20 times before sitting on the toilet and actually doing it. 

When you were done, you set the test on the counter and washed your hands. Your reflection in the mirror seemed to tease you, looking nothing like a mom. But then again, how did you even know what a mom looked like? A good mom at least. Kie had a good mom. Pope did too. But you weren't like them. John B would probably be a good dad, you thought to yourself. Suddenly remembering John B was outside waiting for you, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and set the timer to 3 minutes, just like the instructions said to do. You opened the door and saw your boyfriend sitting down leaning against the wall next to the bathroom, running a hand through his floppy hair. 

He looked up at you, eyes wide and curious. “So? What happened?” he asked.

“We have to wait 3 minutes,” you answered simply, showing him your phone as the timer ticked down. You sunk down to the floor to sit next to John B and quickly felt his arm be thrown around your shoulders, pulling you in close to him. Your head dropped to his shoulder. “What are we going to do? If it’s positive?”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he answered, no hesitation in his voice. There was a pause, you not sure what else to say and John B focused on twisting the ends of your hair in his fingers. “You know I was thinking,” he started speaking, now with a slightly nervous twist in his voice, “we could put the baby in my dad’s old room. We could clean it out and everything.” You looked up at your boyfriend. He never even discussed cleaning out his dad’s room, even though the man had been missing for almost 6 months now. But now he sounded so nonchalant about it, like putting a baby in there was the obvious choice. 

“Really?” you asked carefully. 

“Yeah. Me and the guys could build a crib and we could put it right in the middle of the room. I'm sure Kie could paint some stuff for the wall. Make it look nice. And I could build a book shelf that can hold 100 books! And then the baby can grow up and be as smart as Pope,” he grinned. You giggled a bit, admiring the way he seemed to put so much thought into this. 

It suddenly became so clear to you that you were not alone in this. If the test was positive, if there was a human life inside of you at this moment, you didn't have to raise him or her all by yourself. John B was here, grinning like a dope while describing how great a Chateau nursery could be. The pogues would help. Surely they would want to have a hand in raising the next generation of pogues. 

Pope could teach the kid all kinds of facts and all kinds of marvelous things you didn't even know about. Kie could teach them all about the planet and they could help sea turtles hatch on the beach together. JJ would surely teach them how to surf so they could learn from the best there is. 

“You don't think JJ would throw a fit not having that room to bring his hookups into anymore?” you asked, joking of course. 

“I think Uncle JJ will get over it,” John B laughed. 

“Uncle JJ!” you repeated, laughing along with your boyfriend. The laughter died down after a minute and you leaned deeper into your boyfriend. There was no way in hell you could have done this alone. John B lifted his head, kissing the top of your hair and letting his lips rest there as you two sunk into a comfortable silence. 

Soon your phone went off. Three minutes had come and gone. The test would be ready and you would know once and for all if you were going to be a mom. 

“Hey,” John B whispered, getting your attention. “I’m not going anywhere you know. If the test is positive, then I'm not going anywhere. I love you. And that’s our baby. Ok?” 

You didn't really have words that you felt would describe how grateful you were to have him in your life or how much it meant to you that he was so calm and helpful today because you were scared shitless. No words seemed good enough because you were so damn thankful you had him. So you just nodded, leaned forward, and kissed him. It was soft and sweet and quick. But it was all you could muster up. 

The two of you got up from your spot on the floor and stepped gingerly into the bathroom. Neither of you made a move to grab the test as it sat on the counter. You didn't know if you could wait too long after the 3 minutes. Maybe the results would fade away and your would have to take it all over again. The thought of doing all of this again made you want to vomit, so you quickly reached for the test, eyes trained on the little digital results screen. There was one line. One little pink line across the screen and you had no idea what that meant. All the time spent reading the directions paper over and over seemed to be a waste at this moment. Without letting your eyes drift from the screen, your hand repeatedly smacked John B’s shoulder. 

“There’s one line. What does one line mean?” you asked in a frantic voice. 

“Uh, how do I know?” he asked in an equally frantic voice. It was the voice you expected him to be speaking in all day. Finally it came out at the finish line here. 

“Check the box!” 

John B rushed around you, picking up the box and the instruction paper you had discarded across the counter earlier. His eyes shifted between the two objects looking for an answer to the life changing question. Surely he couldn't be reading anything properly like that. Impatient, you grabbed the instruction paper out of his hand, still holding the stick firmly in your right hand. John B was left with the empty box, his eyes scanning it wildly. 

“Oh! Hey ok, two lines is-” John B started, his voice more frantic than you had ever heard it. 

“It’s one line!” you interrupted, not caring at all what two lines meant. 

There was a pause as it seemed like John B was trying to focus on the box, making sure he wasn't imagining things. 

“Negative,” he whispered almost too low for you to hear. 

“Negative? I'm not pregnant?” you asked. John B shook his head. Both of your faces suddenly grew smiles a mile long, now knowing you were not about to be teen parents with no fucking idea what you were doing. “I’m not pregnant!” 

Both of you threw the objects in your hands on the counter and you threw your arms around John B’s neck. He lifted you up, hugging you tight around the torso as you wrapped your legs around him. Your lips met with a crazed passion that can only come with realizing you dodged a bullet. John B shifted, placing you up on top of the bathroom counter, moving to stand in between your legs. The kiss continued for a minute, threatening to deepen, which seemed counterproductive to the achievement you were celebrating. You pulled apart, your smile quaint but with your face sunken a bit. 

“What?” John B asked, noticing your smile not as bright as it was when you read the results of the test. 

“Nothing,” you lied. Well, not lied, but it was a stupid thing to have disappointment pinging in your chest in a moment like this. “I mean, don't get me wrong I’m not exactly disappointed I don't get to be a 16 year old mother. But, I don't know, it was all kind of nice to think about. You and me and a baby. And it’s own little room here and all the pogues helping out. It was nice,” you admitted. 

“I know it was,” John B cooed. He could admit, he felt the same weird ping of disappointment rattling around inside of him. There was no way he was ready to be a dad. He could barely take care of himself. But his mind had already started piecing together all the ways they could make it work. And now it felt like his heart was taking a bit of a hit, knowing there wouldn't be a little baby around that had your eyes and your smile and your laugh. “But one day. One day we’ll have that.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. When you birth all of my children,” he claimed, with that cheeky grin twisting his lips up. 

“Oh? I’m birthing all your children? Really?” you laughed. 

“Oh yeah. No doubt about it.” 

You cupped his cheeks and smiled into another kiss. You loved him. You loved each other. And today wasn't the day for you two to have a baby and thank god for that because as much as it was a cute thought, you knew having a baby right now would be a total shit show. But at some point, there would be a hand built crib in the room across the way from John B’s and there would be a baby. A pogue baby with John B’s freckles and the same floppy, golden hair. 

“One day?” John B asked as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer. 

“Ok. Deal.” 

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Reader finally breaks down and says this out loud, “ It’s lonely here without you. ” Arthur has finally return from being stranded in Garuma and surprises her.

This one ended up being so fluffy! Enjoy, Anon! 

Read all my requests on AO3! 

You stand on the edge of the swamp in this miserable place named Lakay. You hate it here, even more than Shady Belle. Sure, that place had been in the swamp surrounded by gators and infested with mosquitos. The walls always emitted a moldy stink, but at least there’d been room for everyone. 

Lakay is even worse. It’s tiny, the few structures sit right on top of the swamp itself. Not only that, but there’s heavy evidence that this place had been recently occupied by the Night Folk. The skulls of their victims sit on spikes on the single path leading into Lakay. 

Beyond the physical ugliness of it is the general mood of the camp. Everyone is anxious, scared and distraught. When Charles had returned to Shady Belle the evening of the highly anticipated bank heist, he hadn’t hesitated to tell everyone what had happened. Hosea and Lenny were dead, John was in prison and all the others were on a boat headed to God knows where. 

When you and Sadie heard the news, you both jumped into action to get everyone to safety. Grimshaw and Pearson, who would have normally been the ones to get things moving, were in too much shock to do so. There were high fears that the Pinkertons, who had cornered Dutch and the others in Saint Denis, would be able to find the hideout, so it was clear that the gang had to be moved. You and Sadie barked out orders, urging everyone to get packing and to leave. 

While everyone got packing, you and Sadie discussed where to go. You couldn’t go back west and there was nowhere in the east or south. That was when Strauss told you about Lakay and how he’d heard rumor that the locals were terrified of it. Sadie told you to manage things and she took Charles up to it to clear it of the Night Folk. 

While they were gone, you and Grimshaw got things packed up. Abigail was a problem as she was worried about John. She wanted to bust him out of prison, but right now the gang couldn’t sacrifice the people to go rescue him and things were far too hot to risk it. Besides, there was no word on if he was going to be executed or not. Most likely, the prison would hold onto him until a trial could be held. 

Finally, in the morning after the bank heist, you, Grimshaw and Pearson got the gang moved. It had been Pearson’s idea to leave a coded message in the manor in case Dutch, Arthur or the others came back looking. Hopes were not high that any of them would return however. It didn’t improve your mood. 

You’re worried about all of those that disappeared on the boat, but the one you’re most worried about is Arthur. You’ve been in a relationship with him for the past nine months and things were starting to get serious when he’d gone with the others to rob the bank. Your relationship had been to the point where you’d started thinking you might spend the rest of your life with him. Now he’s gone, lost at sea or stuck on an island or perhaps even another continent entirely. No one knows where he and the others are. 

As the gang tried to settle around Lakay, unpacking and arranging as much as they could in the tiny town, you tried keeping morale up. Working on unpacking and arranging made it easy for you to bury your fears, worries and pain, but when it was done, they were the only things you had left to occupy yourself. 

That first night in Lakay was extremely difficult. You set up yours and Arthur’s spot at the back of the largest building, though it still felt like you were on top of the other girls and Jack. You weren’t used to having a sleeping spot alone, having shared one with Arthur for months. It was an alien feeling and you spent several hours lying awake, listening to the groans of alligators and the singing of frogs. 

It’s been nearly a month since the bank heist and there’s still no word of Dutch, Arthur or the others. Sadie and Mary-Beth did some investigating in the area and found out the boat they’d snuck on had been headed south to the Caribbean, but there’d been no word on if the boat ever arrived at its destination. Of course, communication with ships was spotty at best, so if there’d been any problems with it during its voyage, there wouldn’t be word for another few weeks. 

You’ve spent nearly every day the same way. In the morning, you help Pearson set out coffee and a simple breakfast, usually consisting of bird or alligator eggs, then you spend the remainder of the morning doing chores and trying to keep spirits up, but it’s hard when yours are so low. By early afternoon, you’re able to slip away from camp in order to go hunting. You often bring back eggs and sometimes even crawfish. 

You hate hunting in the swamps. It’s not only because you know you’re not the top of the foodchain out here. The swamps hold a certain ugliness you can’t get past. Everything seems to hold a layer of slime on it, and the smell of stagnant water permeates into the air. You miss the rich green forests in the west, the blue mountains, the yellow plains and orange deserts. Sure, out there you’re just as likely to be hunted by bears, wolves or mountain lions, but they’re the devils you know. Alligators are a whole new beast. 

When you’re in camp, you try to appear busy and determined, but inside all you want to do is crawl into your bedroll and sink into the floor. You were devastated by the news of Hosea and Lenny, both shot down by Pinkertons. Charles told you how Arthur stayed with Lenny until he was dead, but how Hosea had been shot in the street in front of everyone. He was like a father to you. He was the one who saw your potential first all those years ago and convinced Dutch to keep you, teach you how to be an outlaw. 

The deaths aren’t the only things making you miserable. You’re scared for Arthur, terrified that he might very well be dead. You hate not knowing what’s happened to him. You’d rather know he was dead than to be left guessing because then you’d at least know what to do. 

You miss the way he held you at night, his voice, his body. The way you two synchronize during a hunt, bringing down the best and largest prey. Camp never wanted for meat when you two worked together. You miss the nights under the stars, swimming with him in the lake. The things you’d talk about. Arthur was the only one you could tell anything to without fear of judgement, knowing he’d want to hear whatever you had to say. It was the same for him. You loved the days he’d come, shaken up by a shootout or when Sean died and he’d laid his head on your shoulder and cried. You’ve never trusted or loved anyone as much as you do with Arthur. 

You sit now at the edge of the swamp. It’s morning, and you wish you could see the sky. Even though it’s a clear day, you can never seem to see the blue of it in the swamp. It’s always so muggy. Normally you’d be in camp, helping get the chores started and talking to the other girls, but you just can’t do it this morning. There have been days since the bank heist that you just miss Arthur more than the others and today seems to be one of them. You also just can no longer bear hiding the fact that you’re heartbroken. It seems that the only thing you see in camp is everyone’s worried eyes and they all beg for answers which you can’t provide. You just can’t do it anymore. 

The rock which you’re sitting on at the base of a slimy tree is starting to hurt beneath you, but you ignore it. You stare off into the shallow, mucky lake, aware that a gator could be inches from the shore, perfectly hidden by the murky water. You don’t really care though. Right now, it seems like nothing will ever get better. 

Things wouldn’t be so hard for you, you feel, if someone, anyone, would ask how you’re coping with all this. It wasn’t like your relationship with Arthur was a secret. Hell, he danced with you in the open when Jack was brought back, pulled you into his lap multiple nights when he played poker. Even kissed you in sight of the others. They all know you two were involved. You just feel like it would be a relief if someone asked you how you’re doing instead of you always making sure they were doing fine. You feel like because everyone’s depending on you and Sadie to keep things together, you can’t show even a moment of weakness. 

As you sit near the lake, you feel a sudden surge of anger. You’re angry at the Pinkertons, who destroyed everything and chased your family into the sea. You’re angry at the gang, they seem to need to be told what to do by you and Sadie. It puts a lot of pressure on your shoulders. You’re angry with the Night Folk, for leaving such an ugly place for you to live in, angry with the gators, the mosquitos. Everything. 

You pick up a rock and throw it as hard as you can, watching as it splashes into the lake several yards away. Nothing comes of the movement, not even a gator to inspect the splash. You feel like it’s a perfect example of your life. Even if you went into camp and screamed yourself hoarse about how mad you are, nothing would change. They’d all still expect you to bring back meat, to keep them functioning. No one would offer or even care to help you out. 

You know you should go back soon. You’ve got a basket full of crawfish that Pearson would absolutely love and a sack of berries. You just can’t do it though. Not today. You’re so tired. Besides, you wouldn’t have any improvements on company there. There’s just as many gators there as there are here. At least you can’t hear any arguing out here. 

A tear slips down your cheek. Things have never seemed so low before. You clasp your hands together and put them to your lips, staring off across the water. A ball forms in your throat and your chest tightens. All you can think about is Arthur and how he’d have ideas, how he’d be able to help lift this weight from your shoulders. You wouldn’t want him to take all of it, of course. He does that enough already. But he would help. Not only that, he’s been your center for so long, and now he’s gone. 

“It’s lonely here without you,” you say aloud, wishing that somehow, someway, he could hear you. If he’s alive, you’ve no doubt he misses you too. 

Something rustles in a bush behind your tree, but you ignore it. It’s probably just a bird or a wild pig. Then you hear footsteps. Your stomach drops further, knowing it’s someone coming to try and convince you to come back to camp and pretend to be fine. You drop your head to your knees, you just can’t take it today. Then you hear a voice you’ve been desperate to hear again. 

“I’ve been lonely too, darlin’.” 

You look up, your cheeks wet, and your eyes land on Arthur. Your breath leaves your body in a harsh burst. It feels like you’ve been holding your breath ever since you found out he was missing. 

“Arthur!” you say in a rough whisper. He smiles at you behind his thick beard, his face is heavily sunburnt and his shirt is semi-transparent from the sweat, rubbed with dirt and torn in a few places. He looks like he’s been through hell. 

You stand up and run the few feet over to him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. He grips you tight and buries his face into your hair as you sob into his chest. All the emotions you’ve been bottling up over the past weeks come rushing out, ripping through your chest and throat. You look up and gently cup his cheek, trying not to irritate his burnt skin. He smiles and leans down to kiss you. 

“God, darlin’, I can’t tell ya how much I’ve missed you.” 

You press your forehead to his. “Me too. But thank God you’re alive! I thought you might be…” 

He slides a hand gently around your neck, his thumb tracing your jawline. “I’m okay, sweetheart. A little rougher for wear, but I’m a’right.” 

He tells you that he’s just returned and how he looked for you in camp. When he couldn’t find you, he was worried that perhaps you’d done something drastic in the light of the failed bank robbery and gotten yourself killed or arrested. He was relieved when Grimshaw said you were out hunting in the swamps and he’d come to find you. 

You don’t know how long you both stand there, just holding each other. You’re reluctant to leave his grasp. He’s your pillar to lean on once more. You nuzzle into his chest, his heart pumping in your ears and his lungs sounding strong. You place a soft kiss over his heart and he tightens his arms. 

In Arthur’s mind, there isn’t a better way you could have welcomed him home. When the boat sank, he’d been terrified and the last thing he saw was your eyes. Then he woke up on Guarma and suffered through the horrors on the island, and he missed you more than he thought possible. Several nights, he felt like you were there, holding him tight. It had been a wonderful comfort to him. On the way back home, he knew he never wanted to lose you again, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. Even now as he holds you, he thinks of how to ask you to be with him forever. He’d ask right now, but it isn’t the time. He can tell you’ve had difficulties too. Grimshaw even admitted to him that she’s let you take on far too much, even though Sadie’s been doing just as much. 

He slides a finger under your chin and lifts your face to look up at him. He smiles and kisses you again, feeling your watery eyelashes brush his cheeks. Even in this smelly swamp, you still smell like you, like home. You feel familiar and steady in his arms, he never wants to let you go. But let you go he must. He unwraps his arms from around you, but takes your hand in his. 

“Come on, darlin’. We gotta go back. I imagine the others will be back any moment.” 

As you walk back to Lakay with him, you think that at least things are unlikely to get worse from here. You just hope that you’ve hit the bottom and that the only way to go is up from here.

[soaronmywings]

John Doe (Herman Kozik x Reader)

OR=Operating Room EMT=Emergency Medical Technician John Doe= Someone whose name is not known GSW= Gun Shot Wound

Warnings: Kozik being called Herman repeatedly, medical talk, mentions of blood, flirting, minor swearing

“What do we got?” You ask as you tie the top of the disposable, yellow trauma gown. “Three GSW’s to the chest.” Hunt announced as he helped you by tying the bottom of your gown. The helicopter was just landing and your hair was flying around your face at the strong gust of wind that came your way. You and Hunt walk over to the helicopter just leaving enough room for the EMT to jump out and help his coworker carry the gurney out. “Caucasian male. Three GSW’s to the chest. In and out of consciousness.” The female EMT yelled over the loud helicopter as the four of you ran towards the elevator. You held down pressure on one of the bullet wounds the best you could. “We need to get him to the O.R now Hunt.” The tone in your voice made him know you were serious. Blood was gushing through your fingers and this damn elevator wouldn't move fast enough. “As soon as this elevator opens we move!” Owen shouts, and right after he did there was a final ding and the doors opened. Rushing through the hallways and all eyes were on you. The Chief raised his eyebrow at you two. “We need an O.R.” Hunt told him when they finally slowed down right in front of all of the OR’s. “Uh- O.R 4 is open.” He said and with that you sent the John Doe into the O.R to be prepped for surgery. The EMT’s disappeared as you and Hunt went into the surgical suite to prep for his surgery. With your scrub cap on along with your face mask you begin to scrub your hands and arms clean of any germs or whatever else could be on them. “This could be a long one.” You mumbled to Hunt before walking through the automatic door to save a John Doe. ** Five hours later and you're finally closing him up- well letting the Intern on your watch close him up. “You think you can handle the Intern Hunt? I'm gonna go see if there's family waiting out there.” You asked him as you began to walk away. “Yeah it's no problem Y/N. Good work.” He flashed you a smiled that you could only see in his eyes. With a nod you ripped off your mask and surgical gown before exiting the O.R, grabbing the leather the John Doe was wearing just in case. Walking down to the waiting room you see a group of bikers making themselves at home. You noticed their leathers and it was the same one that you had in your hand. You walk up to them with a smile. You place the leather down on the table in front of them. “I believe this belongs to one of your guys? He came in as a John Doe.” You straightened your posture as you talked. A bearded, blonde who wore the President patch spoke up. “Yeah, his name is Herman Kozik.” He told you with a charming smile. “Well, Herman survived and is now being stitched up. The gunshots to the chest, two caused complications but we fixed them. One made its way through the small intestine and the other pierced his lung. He's going to be in a lot of pain but he'll live.” You explained everything that just went on in the past five hours for you, to them. “Thank you.” A different man with a low, raspy voice said. You looked over at the heavily tattooed man who juggled a toothpick around in his mouth. “Just doing my job sweetheart.” And with that you turned and walked away, heading back over to the O.R’s to see how your Intern’s sutures were holding up. You were pleasantly surprised to see Owen and your Intern out of the O.R sitting on the bench talking. “All done?” You asked. Your Intern nodded standing up at your presence. “Alright, go be with your friends.” You shooed him off so you could talk to Hunt. “He's a biker. He's got a whole gang in the waiting room.” You snickered as you told Hunt. He furrowed his brows as he looked at you. “And his name is Herman by the way.” You continued laughing as you got up to go find Christina so the two of you could go on your lunch break. Most people would be throwing up after what you just saw, but it didn't phase you. When you're eyes connected with hers she instantly put her charts away so the two of you could clock out for lunch. “How was your surgery?” Christina interlocked her arm with yours as the two of you set off for the lunch room. “It went good, it was long but it felt nice. Haven't been in the O.R in awhile.” You explained as you walked. Christina and yourself continued walking until you caught the eyes of Meredith Grey, who wrapped her stethoscope around her neck before joining you two, grabbing your other arm just like Christina. “Did you hear that there's a group of bikers in the waiting room?” Meredith asks the two of you. ** An Hour Later “So wait. Your guy is a biker and those are his hot buddies?” Christina laughed as she stuffs her face full of salad. You smiled before doing the same. “Well, I need to go check on my patient. Catch you around.” You sent them a wink and grabbed your lunch tray walking over to the trash can throwing out your trash. As you're walking out of the lunch room you accidentally bump into a tall man. You look up and notice it's one of the bikers, with the whole group behind him. “Oh, sorry.” You apologize before looking back to see Christina and Meredith laughing their asses off. You walk out of the room so you can go check on Herman. ** Walking up to his room you peer in to see if Herman is awake just yet, and he is. He lays in the hospital bed with an arm draped over his stomach, looking up at the TV that's mounted on the wall on the other side of the room, his blonde hair a mess on top of his head. Knocking on the door quietly, you slowly step in not wanting to disrupt him too much since that's probably all he's been getting the past hour. His head looks over your way and a smile grows on his face. “Hello. I'm Doctor Y/N. Y/L/N, I'll be your Attending Doctor during your recovery.” You repeat the same lines that you say to every patient. His blue eyes, now dilated from the pain killers that are going through his veins, look over your body. “Do whatever you want Y/N.” He winked at you before returning your attention to the tv. ‘Great a flirt’ you thought to yourself as you wrote down his vitals. Before you go to walk out of the room you turn back around to face him. “Are you up to visitors? You have a lovely group of guys waiting for you downstairs.” You tell him giving him a smile. “I'm always up for an audience.” He grinned and winked at you again. You can't help but roll your eyes, walking out of the room. You see your Intern standing at the end of the nurses station talking to one of his friends. You walk up to them and break up their conversation right there. “Deluca, I need you to tell the bikers that their buddy is all good for visitors. And be sure to let them know the visiting hours for the ICU.” You smile before walking off to go down to the E.R to find yourself another case. You hear the rushing of feet, you always put fear in that boy. ** One Week Later “Good morning Herman.” You beamed as you opened the curtains letting the bright Seattle sun fill the room. He lets out a groan and covers his eyes with his hand. “How can such a pretty girl be so torturous.” He whined before covering his head with a pillow. You let out a chuckle before walking over to his bed. “We want you to start standing up and walking today Herman.” You explained before taking the pillow from his face. “Why don't you just join me in bed instead?” That damn smile made your knees weak, but you kept your defenses up. “And it's Kozik babe.” He winked. You smiled at him before taking down his vitals. “Well, you're going to eat breakfast and then my Intern will come back with a rehab specialist  and get you moving.” You gave him a rundown of today's plans and he nodded, not paying any attention. “Did you hear anything I just said?” You asked him laughing. He shook his head. “Too busy admiring what a lovely lady I got takin’ care of me.” He told you smiling. You shook your head. “The nurse will come by with today's breakfast and then we're going to get you walking.” You repeated making direct eye contact to make sure he heard your words. He replied with a nod. “If I agree will you let me take you out on a date?” He asked you grinning. You shook your head, writing down Herman’s vitals. “Like I said yesterday and the day before that. I don't go out with my patients.” You smile as you spoke, walking out of the room before he could come up with another comeback. ** “How'd it go?” You stepped into Herman’s room as you asked him about his first day of rehabilitation. He looked up at you as he sat on the edge of the hospital bed, sweating profusely from the hard work and pain that just went on. “Not too shabby sweetheart. Here to give me my sponge bath?” He smiled from ear to ear as he winked at you. You had to admit, you were slowly breaking under his words. And his smile put a dent in your armour. “Sorry to say that I'm not.” You laughed as you leaned against the glass door. There was something about Y/N’s laugh that made his heart skip a beat. And her smile could stop a train. She were the most beautiful doctor that he's ever seen. Shit, the most beautiful women he's ever seen. The moment Y/N walked into his room and told him her name he was head over heels for her. ** Three Weeks Later “It's your lucky day Herman. You're getting discharged.” You announced as you walked into his room. He groaned at the use of his first name. You knew it got under his skin, which is why you continued to use it. “Thanks babe.” He sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. “You sure I can't get you to go out with me?” He asked you for the thousandth time over the course of the month stay he had. You looked down at your feet with a smile on your face. “I'm technically not a patient anymore, so that rule can go out the window.” When you looked up, and you met his eyes that's when you knew you couldn't say no. That damn smile broke you down. “I guess it couldn't hurt.” You mumbled your defeat. He tossed his arms up in celebration. “Yes!” He yelled. You laughed at his reaction. “Alright, alright. Calm down. You have discharge papers to sign.”

[fictionalabyss]

The Welcome Hunt.

Pairings : Dean x Reader, Alpha!John, Sam, Ketch

Word count : 1,695

Written for : @spnabobingo

Square : Animal forms

Warning : Pack style, surprise animal form, joining a new pack, fight training/minor violence, mention of blood, talk of being hunted, scars.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

SPN A/B/O Bingo Round 5 Masterlist.

The brothers stood together, arms crossed over their chest as they watched over the early morning training. Their attention, more often than not though, on you. You were new to the pack, only having been brought in about a month and a half ago. For the most part, you kept to yourself. You were polite, you spoke when spoken to, but when questions were asked, you got quiet. No one knew a thing about you, about where you came from, just that you asked to join after you were granted shelter, and then 3 weeks ago, you showed up on the training field and blew them all away.

“She’s good.” Dean mused, much like he did every time he got to see you fight.

“It’s weird though, right?” Sam mumbled next to him. “I mean, she’s weird. She smells weird.” Sam scrunched his nose.

“Are you going to tell her she smells weird?” Sam looked to his oldest brother questioningly. “Because if you are, let me know, I’ll go grab the camera. I’d fucking love to get her kicking your ass on film.” Dean smiled.

“Fuck you.” Sam spat, but Dean just chuckled. “We don’t know shit about her.”

“Dad’s letting her in. She’s in. You really going to turn that down?” Dean motioned to where you stood, fists up, but it wasn’t your fist that struck. Dean’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline as you kicked, your heel catching one of their best trackers in the nose. The brothers could hear the bone breaking from where they stood and Dean winced. “Damn, that’s flexible.” Dean licked his lips with interest.

“What the bloody hell!” they heard Ketch scream, hand clutching at his nose as blood poured through his fingers. He’d be healed and fine in a few hours, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. “This bitch broke my nose!”

“You're a tracker.” Dean called out as he started making his way closer, his eyes locked on you. “She fucks up your nose, you can’t track her by smell anymore. Smart.”

“I’m not tracking shit though! We’re training!”

“Then start training to block your damn nose.” Dean answered, eyes still on you. “Head for the doctor, he’s expecting you.”

A snarl was sent your way as he left you with Dean who was quietly watching you. “Are you my next opponent?”

Dean smirked. “I don’t think you can take me.”

“Try me.”

“Dean!” Sam called.

Dean looked back at Sam, the look Sam was giving him had Dean rolling his eyes before looking to you. “The run with the pack, it’s tomorrow night. If you want in, you run.” He saw the way your demeanor shifted, a flicker of your eyes, what looked like fear beyond them before it was wiped away. “You in?”

“I’ll be there.” you squared your shoulders.

“Can’t fucking wait to see your wolf.” Dean grinned. “I bet it’s beautiful.”

Dean’s smile only widened as you scoffed at him and turned away, headed off away from the training grounds and back towards the pack house. He frowned as he noticed the scars on the back of your shoulders that disappeared under the sweat soaked tank you’d been training in.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Sam asked, stepping up to him.

“Did you know she had scars on her back?”

“I know she’s got a few on her arms.” Sam mused. “I’ve never seen her back.”

“Me either. I’ve never been this close to her dressed like that, either. She’s always wearing layers when she’s close to people.”

“She’s got some on her legs, too.” Charlie came and stood next to Dean. “Caught her going for a midnight swim two nights ago. I was coming back from a run and surprised her. Your dad says she’s back there most nights when everyone else is sleeping.”

“For how long?” Dean asked curiously.

Charlie shrugged. “Since she got here, I guess. She had asked if she could use the pool, your father told her any time and she took advantage as soon as she had a swimsuit. At least that’s what he told me when I mentioned it.”

“Dads keeping an eye on her?” Sam asked, surprised. As far as he could tell, you had free reign of everything.

“Ketch is.” Charlie smiled. “It’s why he keeps pairing with her. I think she knows, pretty sure that’s why she broke our trackers nose. So she could finally get some peace.”

“She’s so badass.”

“I think Deans in love, Sammy.”

“Judging by the way you were watching her, so are you.” Sam teased.

“She’s mysterious and hot, Sam. I’d be a fool to not be interested.” Charlie started off, following the same path you had taken.

“Tomorrow night we get some answers.” Dean pointed out to his little brother. “One way or another. She’ll be one of us.”

“Still not thrilled about it.” Sam mumbled, turning back to the training grounds and noticed everyone had stopped when Ketch’s nose got broken and rather than continue sparring, everyone was taking a break. “Back to work!” he yelled out, and people jumped to obey.

“I can’t fucking wait.” Dean mumbled.

The ‘welcome to the pack’ ceremony had been quick. A blood oath was sworn, and then you had a few minutes to adjust to hearing everyone in your head as they all mind linked a welcome that thundered loud, giving you a mild headache. But now, half the pack was already shifted and getting ready to run. While you stood off to the side, chewing on your bottom lip as you considered what was about to happen.

“Hey, you coming?” You glanced up to see Dean making his way towards you as he pulled off his shirt.

“Yeah, I uh.. I-I like a little privacy. I’m going to go to the back yard, if that’s okay..”

Dean couldn’t help the way his eyes glanced to your shoulder, even though you were currently wearing layers and he couldn’t see anything. “Yeah, yeah that’s fine..” his eyes went back to meeting yours. You started away, but he reached out, hand gently falling to your shoulder for a moment, and you turned, glancing up at him over your shoulder. “We all have scars.”

“Yeah.” you answered in a whisper before turning and walking away.

Dean watched you until you went around a corner and out of sight, then he headed over to his brother who’d been watching, and pack members. Everyone but Dean and his brother were now in wolf form. “She’s coming.” Dean reassured. “A little shy about the scars.” Sam nodded, and both brothers finished shedding their clothes before shifting.

John, at the front of the pack, let out a loud howl. Everyone responded, and as the howls died down, John took off, his whole pack following behind.

They ran through the woods, leaping over roots, rocks and fallen trees. Legs pumping hard and fast as they made their way towards the cliff where they meet and howl once more with their new pack mate before breaking apart to hunt. It was tradition.

Dean kept glancing around as he ran, looking, hoping for a glimpse at the new wolf, excited to see what you looked like, but he was starting to get worried. They were almost at the cliff and he hadn’t seen or smelt you.

‘Smell that?’ Sam mind linked his brother.

It was faint at first, he knew that scent. It was getting stronger, coming on fast. A massive gust of air hit them from behind as something blocked out the glow of the moon, and when he looked up, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

A massive beast was flying past them, the wingspan something like he’d never seen before.

‘Dragon!’ came the panicked voices of pack members in his head, and he knew his brother and father were hearing them too. John howled again, doubling his efforts as he followed the dragon.

Dean was surprised when they found themselves on the cliff, a massive dragon waiting for them on the edge. It looked almost regal in how it sat, looking up at the moon above them. But once the pack stumbled out of the tree line, the dragon looked to the pack. Everyone stood frozen, watching, waiting to see what the dragon would do.

It lowered it’s head, neck craning towards him, and Dean found himself stepping forward, sniffing at it. The smell was so familiar. His nose touched on the dragons and Dean felt a jolt of electricity that made his eyes go wide.

Then he heard bones break as they shifted and the dragon changed before his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” you whispered, standing there before him, naked. “I’m not a wolf, I should have told you. I’m sorry.” You looked to John’s massive wolf, scared. “If this changes things, I understand.”

Dean was quick to shift back to his human form, taking hold of your chin and making you look up at him. He felt that electric charge again, this time running through his fingers. “The scars?”

“Hunters.” you whispered. “I’m the last of my kind. It’s why I came to your pack. I needed safety. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I can leave, I-”

“You’re staying.” Dean was firm in his statement. “I’m not letting a hunter near my mate. Not when I finally found her.”

“Guess a dragon is our future Luna.” John mumbled, and when Dean turned, he saw his father standing tall, a half smile on his face. “I guess a hunt with us will be a little difficult..” John mused. “But I have a feeling Dean will figure out a way to make it work.”

“I scout, you kill?” you looked up at Dean.

Dean smiled. “Deal.”

Without another word, Dean shifted, and you followed suit, your dragon form towering above him. Dean let out a howl, and you threw your head back and responded with a mighty roar that shook the very ground they stood on.

John smiled before shifting himself and letting out a howl to signal the beginning of the hunt. As wolves began to scatter, you spread your wings and took flight.

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Tagging :  Dean - @akshi8278  @adoptdontshoppets   @evyiione @karikatz12481 @idksupernatural  @deandreamernp​

SPN -  @sandlee44  @just-another-busy-fangirl  @mrswhozeewhatsis​   @deanandsamsbitch  @deans-baby-momma  @thebescht​ @67-chevy-baby​ @supraveng​   @musiclovinchic93​ @holyfuckloueh​  @ksgeekgirl​   @hobby27​ @maddiepants​  @roxyspearing​ @onethirstyunicorn​    @fandom-princess-forevermore​     @kalesrebellion​   @deanwanddamons​   @thoughts-and-funnies​

All tags - @sorenmarie87​ @artemisthebadger​ @winchesterprincessbride​ @iflostreturntosteverogers​ @akfonkin​ @rebelminxy​ @foxyjwls007​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @shaelyn102​ @supernaturalenchanted​  @kazkingdom​   @babypink224221​  @emoryhemsworth​    @ilovefanfic86​  @pie-with-hunters​   @anaelsbrunette​   @feelmyroarrrr​  @letsdisneythings​   @cdwmtjb8​   @notyourtypicalrose​ @xostephanie​ @ilovedeanspie​ @defenderrosetyler​ @amandamdiehl​