summary: after a series of terrorist attacks in new york, an article you wrote calling out the cowardice of the organization's leader causes you to become a target, and frank castle is assigned to be your bodyguard. the resurgence of former flames and shocking sinister revelations will test just how far frank is willing to go to protect you. divulgences of his mysterious and convoluted past will make you question just how much you can actually trust him. will frank be your savior? or the reason for your demise?
a/n: a HUGE thank you to my love @thyme-in-a-bubble for that incredibly breathtaking header. this series was inspired by the absolutely lovely @lowkeythor's genius request for a bodyguard!frank x reader fic. it is a slow burn-so get comfy. this is a punisher series friends, so there will be mentions of violence and gore, as well as other mature themes. (there will eventually be spiciness bc i can't resist) if you'd like to be added to the tag list for updates, please let me know!
»— anything marked with an astrik contains explicit content. minors dni.
»— all work is my own. please do not repost anywhere else without my consent.
summary: due to your reputation as a renowned criminal psychiatrist, you're assigned to a difficult patient at riker's island. during a session, he makes an offer that tempts the boundaries of your professional curiosity.
a/n: I can't say enough how blown away I am that y'all loved the offer so much. it was just meant to be a slutty lil one off for kinktober, a way for me to play around with an idea that had been lingering in the back of my head for awhile, and a chance for me to try my hand at writing for dex. your excitement made me so excited, and i've been having so much fun with this. thank you thank you thank you again. 🖤
if you'd like to be notified for updates, feel free to join the taglist here!
»— anything marked with an astrik contains explicit content. minors dni.
»— all work is my own. please do not repost anywhere else without my consent.
summary: Polaris explores the fragile line between comfort and control—between being seen and being kept.
At its core, the story follows two people shaped by instability, drawn together not by something healthy, but by something familiar. In a situation where escape is blurred and dependence becomes inevitable, attachment begins to form—quietly, persistently, dangerously.
When love is built on fear, need, and recognition… is it still love—or just survival dressed as something softer?
C.W: kidnapping, captivity, stockholm syndrome themes, toxic dynamics, unhealthy attachment, psychological dependency, mental health themes, trauma, emotional manipulation, morally gray characters, violence, blood, power imbalance, obsession, coercive intimacy, slow burn, dark romance elements, potential smut, canon divergence
Warnings/tags: 18+; domestic abuse, violence, set during DDBA, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, angst, stalker/suicidal ideation!Dex, dark themes, dead dove do not eat
All Dex needed was one good deed, something to tip the scales of his life and balance everything out a little. Crying, injured, and terrified as you wandered the streets of Hell’s Kitchen late at night, you seemed to check all the boxes of someone in need. But as Dex gets to know you, he realizes he miscalculated what his one good deed would be, and now he's not quite done with you.
Installment List
1:| Killer, Killer, Killer
2:| You Consume Everything
3:| Yours for All the Wrong Reasons
4:| It's Starting to Cave
Summary: The Cody's come back from the job, only to find out you're gone.
Words: 3833
Warnings: Age Gap (mid 20s / early 40s), mentions murder, blood, injury, swearing, sexual tension
Authors Note: Fun fact the title came from the song Love You Anyway by The Marias lol. This ones a little dash of somethin somethin 🥴 Enjoy - Ryn
NOW: TOGETHER
“There.”
Andrew lets the words fall out on a breath as he drops the duffel bag. Heavy with cash and whatever else they managed to grab straight onto the ground of the warehouse. Deran, Craig, and J follow in quick succession.
One by one, their bags hit the ground with dull, exhausted thuds.
For a moment, nobody moves. They’re all spent. Rain clings to their clothes, mixing with sweat and the grime of the job. Gashes and bruises mark what the rain can’t wash away. Nothing serious, but enough to sting now that the adrenaline is finally bleeding off.
They stand there, chests rising and falling hard. Near the end, it had gotten close. They almost didn’t make it out, just barely.
Now it’s over.
Deluca crouches down already opening the bags one after another. Wet zippers strain, fabric darkened by rain as he digs through what they risked everything for.
Stacks. Bundles. Enough to make his shoulders loosen. He lets out a low, satisfied chuckle as he stands again.
“Knew you guys would pull through,” he says.
But Andrew isn’t listening.
“Where’s Angel?” His voice is immediate. Sharp. Like everything else drops away the second your nickname leaves his mouth. That’s all he cares about right now was you.
Deluca pauses. Then, casually, almost too casually
“Not here.”
The words don’t land right. They hang.
The Cody's heads turn at once, exhaustion replaced instantly by something harder. Alert. Tense.
“What?” Andrew steps forward a fraction. “What do you mean she’s not here?”
Deluca exhales, like this is an inconvenience more than anything else. “She could be dead. She could be alive… I don’t know.”
“What the fuck are you saying?!” Deran snaps, already moving in closer. “You said we pulled this off—she’d be safe!”
“Well—” He doesn’t get to finish.
Andrew snaps.
He lunges forward, driving Deluca to the ground hard enough to rattle the air out of him. The impact echoes, chairs scraping as everything explodes into motion.
“Where is she?!” Andrew demands, fist bunching in Deluca’s shirt, dragging him up just to slam him back down.
Guns are drawn in an instant. Craig, Deran, and J move fast, weapons up and steady, matched just as quickly by Deluca’s friends.
The room locks into a standoff.
Andrew keeps Deluca pinned, fist still twisted in his shirt, the other hand braced hard against his chest. His knuckles are white, jaw locked so tight it looks like it might crack.
“Call them off,” Deran says, “Now.”
"Stand down!"
One by one, the barrels dip.
Not lowered completely just enough to show restraint. Enough to keep this from turning into a bloodbath.
The room exhales.
Andrew doesn’t.
“You better fucking start talking,” Andrew growls, voice low and shaking with something barely contained.
“She’s at an abandoned house,” he mutters, the words dragged out through clenched teeth. “218 Carpenter Ave.”
Andrew stills for just a fraction of a second. Everything inside him seems to lock up like his body doesn’t know how to process it.
An abandoned house. His mind moves faster than he can stop it. His grip falters just slightly.
You might be dead.
The thought hits hard. Immediate. Unforgiving. Something shifts in Andrew’s face, something darker.
The first hit lands hard, snapping Deluca’s head to the side. Then another. And another.
Fist come down again and again with brutal force. There’s no rhythm, just raw, unfiltered rage pouring out of him. Each hit was heavier than the last.
Deluca tries to block, arms coming up weakly, but it barely slows anything down.
Andrew doesn’t stop.
He grabs a fistful of Deluca’s shirt, hauls him up just enough and slams him back down into the ground, fist crashing into his jaw once more. Deluca’s resistance falters, his movements slowing, turning sloppy under the assault.
Andrew leans down, breath ragged, face inches from his.
“If I get there…” he growls, dragging Deluca up just enough to keep him close.
“—if I get there and she’s dead…”
His eyes lock in, the rage in them flattening into something colder, more focused.
“I’m coming back and I’m finishing you the fuck off.”
He shoves him down hard, releasing him like he can’t stand the feel of him anymore.
“You stay the fuck away from me and my family,” Andrew says, voice low and shaking at the edges, every word controlled through clenched teeth. "Especially Angel"
He leans in slightly, just enough for Deluca to hear it clearly.
“You hear me? We're done”
Andrew straightens, eyes cutting away from Deluca like he’s already erased him, then looks to his brothers and J.
“Let’s go.”
—
Andrew and Deran went to find you. Craig and J headed to Baz’s place to wait.
Andrew didn’t hesitate. He rushed in first, every step fast and hard, scanning the space as he moved. Deran followed close behind, alert, eyes sharp, covering him as they cleared the room.
soaked through, rain clinging to them, running off their hair and dripping steadily onto the floor. A bat hung in Andrew's grip. Heavy at his side, like he’d forgotten he was even holding it.
His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths.
Once his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he saw it…blood. It was everywhere. The scene is a brutal bloodbath.
His stomach twists. He doesn’t want it to be yours but every step forward whispers that it could be. He swallows hard, forcing himself to follow the trail, each squelching step echoing in the tense silence.
At the start of the hall, he freezes. A pool of blood spreads across the floor, thick and dark against the surface. Smears of handprints streak the walls. Chaotic and desperate, like someone had tried to hold themselves up… or tried to get away.
And there, half-hidden in the doorway on the left, a woman’s body lies sprawled across the floor. The lower half is still completely unmoving. Andrew’s breath catches hard in his throat.
Violence isn’t new to him. Blood, pain, death…it’s all been part of his life for as long as he can remember. He’s learned how to stay steady through it, how to shut something off when he needs to.
But this hits differently. Something in his stomach turns violently, bile rising fast. His grip tightens without thinking, knuckles going white around the bat as his knees threaten to give out.
Andrew just stares. Behind him, Deran approaches.
He sees it. The body.
“Oh my god,” Deran chokes out.
His voice cracks immediately. Tears fill his eyes as his hand flies to his mouth, like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. He turns away, unable to look any longer like he’s going to be sick if he does.
“P-Pope,” Deran chokes out, his voice breaking as he calls to his older brother.
Hearing his younger brother cry forces himself back into focus. The bat shifts in his grip as he turns slightly toward him.
“Hey,” he says, quieter now. Steadier. “Hey—look at me.”
Deran doesn’t fully turn back, but he listens.
Andrew steps closer.
“We don’t know that,” he says firmly, even if he doesn’t fully believe it himself. “We don’t know anything yet.”
Deran swallows hard, shaking his head like he’s trying to erase the image burned into it. “Pope, I—”
“Stay here,” Andrew says.
Andrew moves slowly down the hall, each step heavier than the last. The bat hangs loosely in his grip now, forgotten more than held.
“A-Angel?” he calls out. Silence answers him. Nothing moves. Nothing changes. He keeps going anyway.
His heart hammers harder with every step, every second stretching too long. Every instinct he has is screaming the same thing…he’s already too late.
Still, he pushes forward.
When he reaches the body that lays in the doorway. He soon realizes it’s not you because you’re sitting against the bathtub, hands trembling, eyes wide. Blood streaks your body and clothes, but you’re upright, breathing.
Relief crashes over him like a wave. His knees stop threatening to give out, his breath steadies, and for a moment he just stares.
“Whoa,” he breathes, lifting his hands slightly as he fully reveals himself. “It’s me.” He sets his bat down.
You still hold the pocket knife Deran gave you, hands trembling. He can see you don’t mean anything by it. You’re scared, still in shock from everything that just happened…what you had done.
“It’s okay,” he says softly, stepping over the body he had mistaken for yours, careful not to startle you further. He sets the bat down.
Once he reaches you, he couches down to your level. His hands on yours, lowering the knife, taking it from you, closing it up and putting it in his pocket.
His eyes sweep over you, quick but careful, his hands following gently, as if he’s afraid pressing too hard might make you disappear. He takes in every injury: the gashes along your legs, blood smeared in uneven streaks, the cuts scattered across your arms and face.
“Andrew…I-I didn’t mean to… I didn’t—” your eyes stay fixed on the woman’s body, every heartbeat pounding in your chest. He sees the stab wounds scattered across the woman's body.
“I know,” he interrupts gently. His hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair from your bloodied face. The touch is careful.
Then his other hand cups your jaw lightly, tilting your head so your eyes meet his. “Look at me” he says firmly, voice low but steady. “You did what you had to. Do you hear me?”
Your lips tremble, tears streaming . He notices every flicker of fear, every ounce of guilt. Without hesitation, he pulls you into him.
His hands come to you firm but careful, guiding you up so you’re both standing.
You let out a sob, gasping for breaths. Your body shakes as the adrenaline finally crashes down. Andrew holds you tighter, his arms firm but gentle, anchoring you to him as if he could shield you from everything.
Carefully he turns you, guiding you so your back faces the woman on the ground. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you gently into his chest.
“Shhh… hey, hey… you’re okay,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, even if there’s an edge of urgency beneath it.
His eyes lift and that’s when he sees Deran standing in the doorway.
Relief flickers across his face, quick but real.
Andrew pulls away from you slightly, just enough to look at you properly.
“Deran’s gonna take you to Baz’s, okay?” he says, gentler now. His thumb catches some of your tears as he wipes them away.
You cling to him tighter, shaking your head.
“Don’t leave me—please,” you beg, your voice breaking against him.
“Hey, hey…” he murmurs, grounding, trying to keep you with him. “I’ll be back. I just— I gotta take care of some things first, alright? I promise I’ll be there as soon as I finish”
He leans kissing you on the forehead.
Before you can reach for Andrew again, Deran steps in.
“Angel” Deran hugs you tightly. You both cling to each other.
After a second, he exhales, glancing toward Andrew.
“You're gonna need help here?” He asks, still holding you against his face buried in his chest.
“No, I got it, just get her to Baz’s…”
Deran nods “C’mon,” he says, softer now, not unkindly. “Let’s get you outta here.”
Once you and Deran leave, Andrew is already moving quickly. Whatever softness he had with you is gone, replaced with something more efficient. He surveys the room once, taking it all in the blood, the broken pieces, the body and then gets to work.
—-
Everyone gathered in the living room of Baz’s house.
Lena wasn’t there. Andrew had taken care of that the night before. Dropped her off with a babysitter the second he found out you’d been stopped.
Outside, the storm hadn’t let up. Rain battered against the windows in relentless sheets, wind rattling the glass hard enough to make it shudder in its frame. Every so often, thunder rolled low and heavy, settling deep in your chest.
You were curled into the corner of the sofa beside Deran, tucked against his side. His arm rested along the back of the couch behind you.
The room was too quiet. The boys' voices came and went around you low, muffled, like you were hearing them from underwater.
Your eyes stayed locked on the sliding glass door.
Waiting.
You see him through the glass. You sit up.
The sliding door shuts behind him with a soft clack. Andrew stands there for a second, water still dripping from him.
His eyes find you immediately.
You’re already moving toward him, relief crashing through you at the sight of him.
“Andrew…” you say, holding him tight.
“I’m fine…” he says, a little rough, searching your face. “You alright?”
You nod “I’m just glad you’re here.”
“You guys alright?” Andrew asks his brother and nephew
Deran gives a short nod, “Yeah,” he says, voice steady. “We’re good.”
From the other side of the space, Craig’s answer comes in “good”
“Thank you,” you say to all of them.
“Why are you thanking us?” J asks, like he doesn’t understand.
“You risked your lives for me.”
“You’re family, Angel,” Craig says simply. “Any one of us would go to bat for you.”
Deran shifts, his expression tightening slightly. “Yeah… but it’s also because of us that this happened to you.” He exhales, gaze dropping for a beat before meeting yours again. “I’m sorry. We’re sorry.”
“Do you guys want to crash here?” Andrew asks the boys.
Craig shook his head first. “Nah.”
J follows with a quiet, “I’m good.”
Deran nods once in agreement, already shifting back into that detached focus of his. “We’ll come by in the morning.”
Craig is first, pushing off the couch with a tired breath. He pulls you into a quick, firm hug. Then he claps Andrew on the shoulder again before stepping out.
J follows next. He doesn’t say much, just gives you a brief hug. He nods once at Andrew, a quiet acknowledgment between them, then heads for the door.
Deran lingers the longest. He looks at you for a second, expression soft.
Then he pulls you into a hug too, and kisses your forehead. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” he says quietly.
He lets go, then gives Andrew a brief, solid hug as well.
When everyone finally leaves, the house goes quiet. Andrew doesn’t say anything at first. He just stands there for a second, like he’s listening to the silence settle.
Then he turns back to you.
All the fear, frustration, and relief hits at once, and before you can think, you move.
You grab Andrew and pull him into a kiss.
He freezes for a heartbeat, stumbling slightly, breath catching as he realizes what you’ve done. His expression stunned as he pulled back just enough to look at you.
He steps in again, closing the distance, one hand finding your jaw as he pulls you back into him this time.
The kiss turns deeper.
The storm outside seemed to mirror the storm between you, fierce and relentless, echoing the need that neither could deny.
Your foreheads collided as you both gasped, and his hands slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him. There was a frantic edge to the way you clung to each other, a tension that made your chest ache. Every kiss felt urgent. Every touch insistent as though neither of you could get close enough. Like being apart, even for a second was unbearable.
As you kiss, the two of you fumbled through the house. You tugged at his soaked jacket, pulling it off his shoulders until it hit the floor with a heavy thud. His shirt came next, wet fabric clinging stubbornly before you finally managed to lift it over his head, breaking the kiss only for a heartbeat.
Piece by piece, clothes were discarded and scattered along the way to the bedroom. By the time you reached the door, you were stripped down to your bra and underwear, and he stood before you in nothing but his boxers, breathless and wanting.
He walks you back toward the bed. At the last second, you twist the momentum, turning him with you. You push him down onto the mattress instead.
He landed with a soft bounce, surprise flickering in his eyes as you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Heat rushed through your body at the boldness of it.
His eyes move over you like he’s seeing everything at once: the exhaustion clinging to you, the adrenaline you haven’t come down from, the injuries you’re barely aware of anymore. Clarity cuts through him all at once. Thinking about what you’ve just been through.
This isn’t just heat. It’s everything you’ve just survived.
You go back to kissing him. He breaks the kiss just enough to breathe, his forehead still close to yours, voice rough and uneven.
“W-wait…” he exhales.
You don’t really stop. You press closer instead. You trail desperate kisses along his jaw and neck more instinct than thought.
His breath catches. For a second, he’s right there with you almost gone to it.
Then his voice cuts through, low and strained.
“Angel—” he says, and it comes out like it hurts. “We need to stop.”
You stiffen in his lap, pulling back just enough to see his face clearly. The moment caves in on itself, heat draining out too fast replaced by a tight, rising panic in your chest.
Your stomach drops, thoughts scrambling. You are trying to piece together what just happened and where you messed up.
You sit up straighter, hands suddenly unsure of where to go.
“I—I’m sorry…” you stammer, voice small now, shaky. “Did I… am I doing something wrong?”
Your fingers fidget in your lap, twisting together, like you’re trying to hold yourself together with them.
Andrew’s expression changes immediately. He sits up.
“No, no,” he says quickly. “Hey… look at me.” His hand lifts gently, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
“No, you’re not doing anything wrong. It’s just… it’s just—” He exhales, choosing his words carefully. “You’re running on everything that just happened… trying to numb it.”
“I know you must be feeling a lot of things right now.” He stops, shakes his head slightly, like he’s setting something aside. “But I can’t let this keep going like this.”
“You’re not thinking clearly right now,” he says softer. “And I don’t want this to be something you regret later,” he adds, quieter still.
“Andrew…” you whisper, your voice trembling as your forehead rests against his. “I know what I want. I want you. Just let us have this… just us. Even if it’s only now—if it never happens again. We can go back to how we were…” Your voice cracks as you look up at him, almost pleading. “I love you.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, his whole body going rigid beneath your hands.
For a second, he looks split in two like instinct is pulling him toward you, but something heavier is forcing him to hold the line.
“You shouldn’t love me,” he says, voice rough, almost breaking. “The things I’ve done… the lines I’ve crossed… I don’t get to have that. Not with you.” His jaw tightens. “You deserve someone without all this… someone who won’t drag you into it. Someone who won’t ruin you.”
“I don’t care what you’ve done, Andrew,” you say, steadier than you feel. “I love you anyway.”
That lands. His eyes close for a brief second, like it hurts to hear it.
“I love you too,” he breathes, the words quiet, heavy, pulled from somewhere deep. “God… I love you more than anything.”
When he looks at you again, it’s softer. His gaze lingers, tracing your face like he’s trying to hold onto it.
“And I’ve never been more scared than I was today,” he admits, voice low, strained. “Thinking I could lose you… because of me. Because of what my family is. What it pulls people into…” He shakes his head, like he can’t quite get the words out cleanly.
“And what happened tonight…” his voice dips, rough with it. “You never should’ve been in that position. You never should’ve had to—”
He cuts himself off.
His eyes flick down for a second, guilt written all over him.
“That’s on me,” he says quietly.
“And now you’re carrying it,” he adds, quieter. “Something you can’t just forget.”
“I’m not saying I don’t want you,” he continues. “Because I do. But because I love you, I can’t let this happen…” His voice lowers, firm with finality now. “Not like this. Not now. Not after everything you’ve been through.”
“We just need to pause for now… okay?”
You don’t answer in words. Instead, arms wrapping around him tightly.
His arms come around you immediately.
Your breath catches. Then breaks. And the tears come.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice softer now, steadier against your hair. “I got you. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
“I love you, Andrew.”
His hold tightens just slightly at that, like the words hit somewhere deep.
“I love you too,” he says quietly, almost against you. “Angel.”
“Come on,” he murmurs after a beat. “Let’s shower… and go to bed.”
“Okay,” you whisper.
Andrew guides you to the bathroom. He turns on the water, carefully adjusting the temperature and testing it before stepping back.
You step in first. He pauses only long enough to grab towels and clothes for both of you, then joins you a little while later. Warm water spills over the two of you, easing the chill still clinging to his skin.
Andrew stays close, one hand steadying you while the other reaches for shampoo. He works it gently into your hair like he’s trying to wash away the weight of the day with something simple, something grounding.
You wash each other in a quiet, unspoken rhythm, no rush, no words that need to be said.
Eventually, the water turns off. You step out together, drying off in silence and changing into clean clothes.
Andrew glances at you once, making sure you’re okay without needing to ask.
Whoever created a tiktok edit of him from this scene specifically in august of 2025, i owe you my first born child. I saved it not knowing who he was and the rest has been history
blurb that spiraled but it’s still a blurb argue with ur mother. 5.6k………. Right right….. mdni
okay okay look listen to me. virgin!reader who’s getting tired of being her grown age and not getting any action!!!!! and ofc, that makes her naive and it’s easy for pope to swoop on in there for his families latest heist
you didn’t get much attention from boys growing up. your friends were the pretty ones. with the latest fashion pieces and current trends. you were the odd one out. reading fanfiction for hours on end, even dabbling in writing your own. you spent more time on your phone, talking to online friends from halfway across the world, than doing things with your class.
you told yourself you didn’t need it. and you still don’t! or that’s what you tell yourself. in middle school, it was excusable, you were young! you didn’t need to focus on dating! and high school was the same. You were focused on your studies and ramping up your transcripts with sports and clubs and all sorts of extracurriculars that would make you stand out to the colleges you were applying to.
but now, you’re in your 20s. and you haven’t so much as held hands with a guy. your sisters tease. your friends tease. and they’re not bullying you but it makes you insecure. it’s not like you’re not interested!!! you have sex toys who keep you company but only vibrators, tiny ones that you can hide anywhere. it’s not the same.
your family owns a chain of grocery stores. well, your step-father does. you’re not close to him. he married your mother pretty late in your life so he didn’t feel the need to parent you, your mother had already done all the grunt work. you don’t have to work because of him though, he’s paying for all your schooling. the only thing he asks of you is to cover his shifts if he’s ever in a dire situation.
you’re shy. you don’t stand up for yourself often. an old white man is berating you at the register, a long line of customers behind him. tears are welling up in your eyes at his accusations, the others watching as if it were entertainment.
it wasn’t pope you were supposed to fall for. the plan was for craig to seduce you. he’s tall and buff and what most people would deem more conventionally attractive. he had to piss, leaving pope behind in line. he’s too far back to notice what’s going on quick enough. he listens for a beat, listens to the old man yelling about his coupons and that you’re stealing from him.
one second, you’re letting tears fall from the sheer embarrassment of this situation, a hand suddenly grips to your arm, yanking you harshly, and the next, the white guy is on the floor, punch after punch falling to his face. it takes three other men to pull them off of each other. your assistant manager deals with the cops. all your coworkers attest that the white guy assaulted you first. the knight was only helping you.
so you help him. he insists he doesn’t need a hospital. so you offer your services. you’re both in the employee bathroom now. Your hands are shaking as you wipe his bloody fists clean. he’s staring at you. he won’t look away. and god, you’re nervous.
“you’re scared.” he comments.
you eyes widen, head snapping up to look at him. “what?”
“you’re scared of what i did back there.”
“n-no! not at all! i really appreciate it! i-it-it, im just… you… you make me nervous. not scared…”
“nervous?” his stare is still so damn intense.
you’re not sure what comes over you. you’re not bold. not in any single way. not with your hair. your clothes. your way of speaking. none of it. and yet— “you’re just… you’re really… hand…” you clear your throat. “you’re handsome…”
the intense look switches to what you can only conclude is confusion. “handsome?” he repeats, needing confirmation.
you nod. “y-yeah.”
you’re embarrassed by what you’ve said when a heavy silence falls between you two. you’re about to apologize profusely but he cuts you off.
“can i have your number?”
And god, you’re so nervous for your first date. too nervous. you almost ghost him, block him and vow to never show up for another shift at the store. you’ll just have to pay for your tuition all on your own!!!!!! but your friends give you a loving pep talk. and your tuition is far too much to manage on your own.
it’s how you end up in his truck, nervously fidgeting with your fingers, hands placed on your lap. he’s not much of a talker. and you’re too nervous to talk. it’s awkward. you’ve been texting a lot. youre not complete strangers anymore but still… you wish you could jump out of the damn truck and never see him again. but it turns out… nice. understatement.
you loved it. he took you to the beach. you two ate at a cute little cabana restaurant. the awkwardness dissipated as soon as you two were sat. and you walked side by side down beach with ice cream cones at hand.
“so, college?” it almost makes you laugh how stiff the guy is. but it doesn’t seem to deter him. he lets you talk and talk. he gives his two cents but he seems to be content just watching you and listening to you.
you nod, “yeah. college.” you confirm, “did you go?”
he shakes his head, “no. i, uhm, i dropped out of high school.”
you hum, “ah, that’s okay. it’s never too late to go back though. get a ged. there are a lot of amazing programs that can help you get a better career than… what do you do?”
his hands are in his pockets, having finished his ice cream first. “work for my mother. help manage her properties. my brother baz… he’s the actual manager of her properties. i do the… physical things. mow lawns, fix broken sinks, squeaky doors, break noses when tenants don’t want to pay rent.”
you laugh at this, not believing him. sure, he beat a man up for you but you figured it was just a one time thing. how wrong you are. “right, right… either way… you got a good gig. i can respect that. but if you ever want something else, you have options.”
“that’s long past me.”
you stop in your step, glaring softly at him, nothing serious. “education is never past anyone.” there’s a ghost of a smile on his face, you can see it. “im serious, pope. you can be anything you want to be.”
“this a ted talk?”
you laugh softly, “sure is.” but you don’t let him keep walking. you lightly take his hand in yours. “i mean it. anything.”
—
he’s awkward. he doesn’t mean to be awkward. he’s just quiet. and that makes people awkward. you’ve seen the way he interacts with people. and by interact you mean the way he stares and doesn’t talk. most people think he’s awkward. he thinks he’s being normal. you like it. it always makes you giggle.
you watch him as he orders your coffee for you. and it’s a simple order, it really is but he makes even that seem stiff. it takes everything in you not to giggle as the barista fumbles around.
but the ping of your class chat pulls you away and you’re back to typing away at your laptop. he plops down across from you, your order at hand, placing it by your side, and staring at you. you’re used to it at this point, his eyes always on you in some way. it’s not inherently sexual but sometimes, it makes your stomach flutter. but you have to reign it in at the coffee shop.
“yes, king?” you ask teasingly without looking up.
he hesitates and this makes you stop typing, finally looking up at him. he begins soon enough, “are we dating?”
your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “what?”
“are we… dating?”
the snort you let out is completely unattractive. “shouldn’t i be asking you that?”
he shrugs, “i read up on feminism like you told me to. i can do that, right? ask?”
your grin is bright, “you read up on feminism?”
“stop smiling.”
“can’t. you know i live in world of sunshine and rainbows.”
“are we dating?” he asks again with a sigh.
“don’t sound too excited.” you scoff, going back to typing. “you haven’t asked me.”
“im asking.”
“no, you’re asking if we’re dating. im saying you haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend yet.”
he leans on the table, eyeing you. “i read women can ask now too.”
you laugh, “i guess i hold some conservative values. a guy must ask me. i will never do the asking.”
“be my girlfriend.”
you hum, looking up at him with your easy smile, “hmm… no.”
“you can’t say no.”
“i just did.”
“but you like me.”
“do i?” he kicks you softly under the table. you close your laptop, “it has to be romantic.”
“i wont ask.” he scoffs, leaning back on his seat. “you have to ask me.”
“then i guess we’re never going to be official.” you sigh wistfully, opening your laptop back up again.
it’s quiet for a few more moments, not awkward, despite his stare. “you’ve never told me about your dad.”
you pause, unsure of what to say. “what do you want to know?”
he shrugs, “what does he do?”
it’s your turn to shrug. “don’t know.”
his eyebrows furrow, “you don’t… know?”
you nod. “last i heard, he was a janitor at some school.”
“wait… i thought he was a manager of some sort.”
your eyebrows furrow and then it hits you. “oh, my step-dad? he owns like a bunch of grocery stores. told you, the one we met at is his.” you hum. “he favors that one most. it was the first one he ever opened up. says it was his most precious piece of work.”
he hums, interested. “how much is a bunch?”
you shrug, still typing, multi-tasking your homework and your conversation. “uhm i know he has about a dozen in Oceanside. about… 30 in San Diego, maybe more? Another dozen in Carlsbad. I don’t know how many more but he has businesses in Escondido, Encinitas, Del Mar, Chula Vista— god, there’s a lot. he’s opened a few up in the Los Angeles area too, i think?”
you see him nodding from the corner of his eyes. “if you ask me out first, we can date, get married, and you can knock me up and you can be rich like me.” it’s a complete joke.
“ha.” you don’t notice how dry his laugh is. “yeah.”
—-
you find yourself hanging out with him everyday. he picks you up, you two head to a quiet place, sometimes his home. mostly his home.
the first time he takes you there, you’re nervous. your friends told you that you’ve been on too many dates to not give it to him. it being your “cookie”, as they like to call it. so you shaved. every single part of you. there wasn’t a single hair on your body.
he ordered a heavy meal. that should have been your first sign. when you sit on the couch to watch a movie, he sits a little too far from you. and your damn panties are uncomfortable and riding up your butt. you’re not having a good time. you’re fully pouting by the time you get a few minutes into the second movie.
“you okay?”
his voice snaps you out of your thoughts. you open your mouth, ready to deny anything and everything. but you’ve decided you have to get past it. you really, really like him. and communication is key… right…?
“do you not want to have sex with me?” and for the first time since you’ve met him, he looks stunned.
“… do you want to have sex with me?” He asks carefully.
“uhm… yeah… do you?”
“you’re… you told me you’ve never kissed anyone. figured you’ve never… had it…”
you nod, skin feeling hot. “yeah… I haven’t.”
“and you want to give yourself to me?”
another nod from you. “yes. I like you, pope.”
he looks to be deep in thought, those dark and intense eyes scouring your face, looking for even a flicker of doubt. you’re sure he doesn’t find any because he releases a shaky breath and speaks, “let’s take it slow.” he scoots closer to you. “still haven’t had your first kiss?”
you snort out a laugh, “you mean since I met you? no. im only seeing you.” you pause, eyebrows furrowed. “wait… are you seeing other people?”
“im not.”
“good. im not either.”
the kiss is gentle. sweet. a little awkward only because you get into your head a lot. he pulls his lips from yours, a small snicker leaving him. “relax, baby,” a shaky breath against yours, “don’t stress it.” his hands are holding your face, caressing it.
you pout softly, “can’t not stress it.”
“jus’ me.” he’s ghosting his lips over yours, desperate to press his lips against yours again, breath labored.
softly, “that’s why i can’t… wanna be good for you.”
he chuckles softly, “don’t gotta.” he’s pressing wet kisses down your jaw now, “I’ll be good for you.”
you get the hang of it after a few tries. and you only get more desperate. you’re heavily making out now, his hands all over your body, groping every part he loves on you.
and that’s what you do most of the time. you go out, talk, go on walks, go to his place and make out. just make out. you make moves to tell him you want more. but it always ends up in just dry humping.
you’re straddling his lap, his big hands on your hips, guiding you. He’s unbelievably hard beneath his sweats. he’s relaxed around you, you learned that a few days ago when you realized he doesn’t wear only stiff button ups around you. and you love it. god, you love him. the first guy who’s ever paid any attention to you. the first guy who’s listened to you. the first guy who has made you feel wanted. a month and a half of this and you love him so much. too much.
your breathing is hard as the friction against your covered clit rubs against him. “pope… I want—“
he cuts you off with a sharp kiss, “know what you want,” he mumbles against your lips. “can’t give that to you.”
you groan, hips stopping. well, you stop putting effort. he’s still desperately dragging you against him. “pope… are you a virgin?”
he huffs out a laugh, “no, god, no. just… don’t think you want me to be the one.”
you glare softly at him, “why would you think that? i think you don’t want me.”
it’s his turn to glare at you, “that’s stupid.”
you put your hands over his, halting him. “it’s not stupid. you reject my advances. are you… asexual?” his eyebrows furrow, looking at you as if he has no idea what the hell you’re saying. you continue, “are you uninterested in sex?”
he looks at you like you’re stupid. “do you not feel how hard i am?”
“there are spectrums to it… maybe you’re not into vaginal sex. or vagina at all. you like vaginas… right?”
he laughs. actually laughs. a fully body laugh. it makes your heart race and grin in triumph. you’ve never heard him laugh like that, “im serious, pope. i don’t need you to eat me out or anything. i know men don’t like that and—“
“i like that.” he clears his throat. “i like doing that.”
you freezes for a moment, nodding. “okay…”
“okay…” sudden shyness on both ends. it’s silent for a moment, “do you want that…? right now?”
you clear your throat now, “do you… want that… right now?”
he nods, “yes.”
and that falls into the rotation of the very limited things you two do. he doesn’t let you touch his cock. at all. he lets you dry hump him, sure. but if your hand ever tries to slip into his jeans, he moves your hand to any other place on his body.
you try not to judge him for it but… you do think sexual intimacy is important in a relationship. but you don’t push. You try but once he shuts it down, that’s that. but surprisingly, you don’t need his mouth on you as much as you thought you would. it’s good, of course it is, but sometimes a lazy day at his place is better.
“what’s a seven word letter for a man’s bag?” he makes fun of you for liking crossword puzzles. because you’re not good at them, always pulling out your phone to google it. he always answers. he’s not this time. “pope…” you hum. “answer me, fucker.” more silence. You look over at him. he’s already watching you. your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “you good?”
the sigh he releases is shaky, “y’know i’d never hurt you, right?”
with absolutely no hesitation, “I know.” he reaches over and presses a soft kiss to your temple, inhaling deeply, you grin, “you sniffing me?”
he chuckles, nodding. “yeah,” another kiss. “smell good.”
—
“babe, do I really have to do this?” you’re groaning. groaning because you’re sweating and your body feels heated from the strain of working out. you were done for the day, having done an hour of a high incline on the treadmill and a too fast pace on the stairmaster for another hour.
pope nods, holding the punching bag. “just punch as hard as you’re able to. with the correct form. im serious, baby, you’re gonna break a finger if you don’t.”
you groan again, “im tired, pope.” you just wanted to take a long shower, wash off all the muck from the gym, and snuggle up into bed with him.
“just a few times.” a pause. “you know i love taking care of you.”
you raise a single eyebrow, “but?”
“you’re a wimp, baby.”
you snort out a laugh, “that so?”
“very much.” the smile is soft but it’s there and it makes your body tingle. or maybe it’s the strain from the stairmaster. “you’ve got to know how to throw a punch, at least.”
you groan. again. it’s your default at the gym. “pope. im always with you.”
“no you’re not.”
“babe, you take me to and pick me up from school. im always at your place.” you hum. “i have a drawer. that’s how much time i spend with you. even when you’re at work, im at your place. you’ll always be there to punch someone for me.”
“that’s a weak mindset.”
“im not learning how to punch someone.”
“baby—“
“no.”
“just—“
“i said no.”
it’s his turn to groan, “fine.”
he pouts. you hate it when he pouts. you mentioned it to him once and he got upset. claims he doesn’t pout. so you never brought it up again. but it works on you. with a huff, you roll your eyes, “fine. come on.”
he seems content that he’s won, behind the punching bag and holding onto it tight, taking his own stance. “alright, you remember the stance?”
“yes.” you answer, “if you keep teaching me how to fight i’ll end up beating you up one day.”
“what a dream.” he scoffs. “show me the correct way.”
you do as he taught you once. “that good enough for you?”
“more than good enough. come on, hit me, baby.”
you snicker, “hit you or the bag? i can totally hit you.”
“haha. what a funny girl i have. swing.” so you do. and he makes you repeat it. and repeat it.
you’re getting bored after a while, “pope, im bored. let’s do something else. outside of the gym.”
“just a little more.” he tries to convince you.
you huff, annoyed now. “pope. what is up with you?”
he glances at you once before sighing and removing his thin gloves. “nothing.”
“why are you being persistent about this?” you continue.
“i just think it’s important for you to protect yourself, baby. look at how we met. a man put his hands on you.”
you sigh, recognizing the fear in his voice. “nothings going to happen to me.”
“you don’t know that.”
“i do. because you’re… youre strong enough for the both us.” A pause. “i don’t know about you but… you're it for me, Pope. that means… i’ll always be around you. and you’ll always protect me.” you motion to the punching bag again. “a few more times. and we’re done, okay?”
he seems lighter now. not as persistent with it. he ends up showing off some kicking move while you sit the side and drink some water. you thought it was kinda dorky but he looks happy so you cheer him on. before you know it, you’re up on your feet and with a laugh, you try to mimic him.
it doesn’t work.
you cackle as you fall to the floor, unable to contain yourself. he had rushed to you, concerned. “im fine, pope.” he takes your hands in his, helping you up. immediately, he’s wiping at your mucked up knees, knowing they’re your favorite leggings. you grin, pressing a quick kiss to his lips when he’s back up, “see? always got you.”
he grins, pressing more kisses to your lips, “you do got me, don’t you?”
—
you don’t work at the grocery store often, which there are a lot. you don’t get business, that’s not your major and you tune out your step-father often. but you’re in a good mood today. and it’s victors birthday, you have to bring him the brownies he loves so much!!! you spent so much time on them, writing a lovely birthday note with his favorite flavor of frosting.
“my favorite underling.” you joke, putting the platter of brownies down. he gasps and coos, takes thousands of pictures too. but of course, there are no utensils in the break room. so, you’re off to grab some from the kitchen, which is closed down this late at night.
you’re humming the tune of the birthday song you and the others just sang to victor. you open a few drawers in the kitchen, huffing in frustration when nothing is found. you grab your phone, shooting your step-dad a text. ‘forks in ur office??’. You get a reply quick, ‘yes. lock b4 leave.’
you can’t believe how lucky you are as you walk to his office. he’s started to trust you, he never lets anyone in there. despite not wanting his businesses at all, you know he’s speaking to your mother about his inheritance and who could take over. you’d say no, but being thought of still feels good. you have amazing friends who are helping you with every awkward question you have when it comes to the relationship you have with a hot, older man.
and pope. you love him. you really, really do. he’s yet to say it and so have you but you know it’s there on his end. there’s no way he can be faking all of those late night talks, that intimacy you two have without having sex. and he had told you he has something big planned. you have a feeling your words got to him and he will be asking you to be his girlfriend in a romantic way.
you try to remember this week's code to his office lock as you round the corner. he had told you the start of the week but he doesn’t let you write it down. crap, you really wish you had written it down right now. with a sigh, you press the first button but a small noise leaves you when the door pushes open instead by the barely there touch. eyebrows furrowed, you softly push the door open some more, “uhm… I thought you were at ho—“ your breath catches to see two masked men.
immediately, you take a step back, but it’s too late. they saw you. there’s a big hand grasping your arm and dragging you into the office. a pained gasp leaving your lips as you’re shoved to the ground. you can’t take a full breath. the men are arguing back and forth.
“he said she wouldn’t be here!”
“she’s going to fucking kill us.”
“she?? he’s going to fucking kill us.”
one of them scoffs, the tallest one, “he told us he didn’t even like her.”
“i call bull.”
you’re not even really sure what’s happening. you’re trying to think. think. think. think. but you can’t. not with the sight of their weapons strapped to them. weapons. guns. you’ve only seen a gun once. in pope’s truck. you were opening the center console and refused to even look at him afterwards. he promised since then that he took it out of his truck. you chose to believe him.
there’s a safe in the office. one your step-dad refuses to talk about. your siblings and you would make jokes about it. there’s either gold, a porn stash, a body, or a fuckload of money in it. now, your best bet is money— these men clearly want it. but your step-dad can’t be that stupid, right? why wouldn’t you have your money at a bank? he’s smart. right…?
another body comes in. you’re too scared to look up, eyes on the floor and shaking. you thought you had gained confidence the past few months. you didn’t, apparently. there are tears streaming down your face, you can’t stop.
your mind gets hazy as they keep arguing, placing the safe on to the roller. the third person isn’t talking, you notice. and it makes you miss pope. anytime you see or meet the quiet one from a group, it makes you miss pope. and then, before you know it, the two huge bodies are out, pushing the safe out with them.
you think you’re safe. no more guns. no more arguing men.
a pair of hands meet yours. you flinch, immediately yanking your hands from the third persons. they pause for a moment, as if deliberating. but they reach out again. you don’t pull away this time, you let their hands grabs yours, helping you up off the floor. your eyes are shut tight, trembling in fear. but your body completely stills when they bend over slightly, lightly wiping the dirt off of the jeans at your knees. you just let it happen.
what’s worse is you let the man take a single step closer, his body almost pressed up directly to yours. he doesn’t do anything. he doesn’t say anything. he just stands there. as if he’s taking you in. a shaky inhale and your body shudders. he’s smelling you. inhaling the scent of you. and then, he’s pulled away. and leaving. leaving you behind in the turned over office, the giant safe missing.
—
it took you a few minutes to get yourself together. when you’re brought back to the real world, it’s victor that’s shaking you out of your trance. there are cops. detectives. your mother and step-father are there immediately.
you explain what happened so many times. at some point, it feels like a hallucination. like when you repeat a word too many times and after a while, it stops making sense.
you don’t call pope. you’re too stuck. it should’ve been a red flag when he showed up. but you’re too wrapped up in fear to question him. when you spot him, tears well up in your eyes again and you’re rushing to him. he immediately wraps his arms around you, cooing in your ear as you cry. “it was s-so, so scary, pope.” you cry in his arms, letting his arms soothingly rub at your back.
“i know, baby, i know.” his voice is so soft and sweet as he holds you. “you’re okay, everything’s okay.”
it’s how you end up in his home again. wrapped up in his arms in bed. you’re still a sniffling mess. you’re recounting the story again. every single part. but you skip the last part. how the thief was… taking you in.
“that’s all?” he asks softly, gently swiping the tears from your cheeks.
you hesitate. “‘s all…” you lie.
you’re like this for days. distraught. paranoid. he’s helping you a lot. holding you. talking to you. you swear this is the most he’s ever spoken.
“let’s do something.” you two are lying on your sides, facing each other.
you shake your head softly, “no… i don’t feel very good.”
he sighs softly, not from annoyance, but clear concern. “you can’t just… you can’t let this stop you.”
you huff out a small laugh, “yeah? isn’t this your dream date? doing nothing with me all day?”
he nods, “yes but i want your dream date. do everything with me all day.”
it warms your heart that he’s trying. really trying. not a single part of you picks it up as guilt. so, you groan dramatically, sitting up. “fine. but that means record store, beach, steak, and ice cream.”
he grins, sliding off the bed with you. “deal, baby,” he smacks your ass as you walk past him. you laugh happily, “get ready quick.”
and you do just that. anything you want, you get it. not that you didn’t before. he likes taking care of you. you can see it makes him feel useful. like his days have a purpose. but it’s different today and you can’t put your finger on it.
it should have been really obvious to you when suddenly, he has no qualms about being with you. about sex. despite being stuffed by your meal that afternoon, you two are heavily making out. and then, his face is between your legs. and then, it’s happening. he’s being so gentle, his touch full of love. he doesn’t need to say it. you know he’s feeling it.
soft praises fill your ears. the bed beneath you feels softer. your skin feels hot.
your breath catches as he pushes only a tiny bit of his cock. nothing crazy, just notches the tip of him in you. a small whimper leaves you, “fuck…”
he’s worrying immediately, “whats wrong, baby? too much? i can sto—“
“don’t you dare stop, pope, i will kill you if you pull your cock out.”
you both fall into a fit of laughter at your words. his forehead is leaning against yours, hand caressing your cheek. “i love you,” the sound of your name coming from his mouth makes your eyes fill up.
despite the fear you felt that day, you’re happy. You were so lonely before. and now, you’re losing your virginity to the man you love, “I love you, too, pope.” and he pushes in, hollowing out completely.
you think you’re a sex addict from there. you can’t get enough of him. more time passes and your anxiety is easing. you don’t flinch or pull away from random men you come across. you’re still slightly paranoid but pope helps you calm down, come back to earth.
“y/n…” he groans as you press kisses up his chest.
“what?” you’re smirking as you do so, skipping a ton of skin and pressing your lips to his. “you know that thing that men spew when they take a girls virginity? that they get clingy and obsessive? think im feeling that.”
his hands slides down to the curve of your ass, lightly smacking it. “yeah? you were already obsessive and clingy before.”
you feign a hurt gasp. “how dare you? i was rightfully clingy either way. you’re sexy. and you’re so weird. that’s all girls want lately. sexy and weird. god, im so horny. let’s have sex.”
he laughs heartily, “later, baby.” one final pat to your butt and he’s sitting up. he reaches over and grabs his wallet, handing a bill over to you. “delivery guy should be here soon. tip. gonna go shower.” he’s pressing a kiss to your cheek and moving out from under you.
he doesn’t notice how you still, staring down at the bill. the familiar bill. how your finger traces the familiar drawing. it’s small. barley even there. you’d have to really inspect the bill to notice it.
when your mother first met your step-dad, you didn’t like him. you didn’t get why she needed someone else’s love when she had yours. it was silly but the first day you met him, you asked for collateral. a deposit. you asked for two hundred dollars, which you would not return if he ever hurt or left your mother. her boyfriends never lasted long so you were just in it for the money. easy 200 bucks. he only had 20s. you were bored in homeroom and you drew a heart on one using a purple glitter gel pen. in the middle you wrote your step-dads initials alongside your mothers.
when they didn’t break up and you were the maid of honor at their wedding, you gave him the 20 back with their initials. “you two should really be thanking me. because of this 20 dollar bill, you two got married.” it made the room erupt in laughter and your mother cry as she pressed soft kisses all around your face.
“it was you.” your voice wasn’t soft. it was cut-throat. unlike your soft-spoken nature. your hear shuffling. you don’t look up, eyes still on the purple glitter heart and initials. “it was you. you were… you and your brothers… you hit the store.” you finally look up. he’s watching you. the same intense fucking look he always has on.
“what are you say—“
“don’t fucking lie to me, pope.” you hold the bill out to him. “this… i gave this to my step-dad. he must have been keeping it in the safe. the safe that you and your brothers stole. right?”
he doesn’t answer for a moment. his breathing is labored. and then, he’s fine. as if this weren’t a big deal. “yes.”
summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?
pairing: dean winchester x female reader
word count: 9.4k+
warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes
“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park.
You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you.
“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait.
“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.”
“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach.
“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?”
“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.”
“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together.
You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like.
“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.”
“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.”
You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.
“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets.
Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be.
“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo.
“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans.
“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun.
“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.”
“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.”
“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building.
The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock.
“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?”
You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.”
“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold.
The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you.
“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?”
“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.”
He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.”
“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him.
You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance.
“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs.
“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker.
“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed.
You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs.
A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall.
“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way.
Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles.
Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“
“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you.
Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere.
“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”
“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.
“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun.
“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!”
Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision.
Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you.
By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!”
Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.
“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”
“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her.
She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.”
“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent.
Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on.
“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.”
Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.
The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.
Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up.
“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood.
“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him.
“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.”
After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down.
“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand.
“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?”
Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.”
“What?” Dean asked gruffly.
“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?”
“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.”
Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?”
“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.
“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently.
“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket.
Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress.
“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks.
“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you.
You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat.
“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously.
“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?”
“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.
“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”
Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink.
“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker.
“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.
“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand.
He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall.
The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say.
Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?”
“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion.
“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.”
Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.”
He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink.
“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.
By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam.
“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother.
“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.
“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically.
“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer.
“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean.
Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”
“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.
“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away.
“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on.
“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table.
Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”
You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”
“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little.
“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”
Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.”
Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth.
“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”
You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you.
“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter.
“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar.
You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly.
He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away.
Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you.
As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car.
“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head.
“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice.
“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded.
Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?”
Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car.
Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you.
“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats.
The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.
“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?”
Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?”
“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff.
“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.”
“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.
“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!”
“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.”
“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets.
“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance.
“What, why?” you asked in confusion.
“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.”
“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off.
“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned.
You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.”
The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”
By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy.
“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders.
You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done.
Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom.
Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand.
“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran.
Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.
He couldn’t reach you.
He couldn’t save you.
The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart.
As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him.
The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.
“Dean.”
The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind.
“Dean.”
He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came.
“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above.
A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut.
“God dammit, Dean!”
Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer.
“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.
His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt.
“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”
“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.”
“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice.
“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him.
“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out.
Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current.
“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.”
Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order.
Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone.
Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name.
His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.
Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere.
Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.
“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.
“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order.
“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink.
With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him.
He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake.
Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang.
“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.”
“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?”
“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle.
While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?”
“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.”
“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.
“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice.
“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”
“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not.
“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.
The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.
“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself.
“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration.
Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.”
“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation.
“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.”
“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?”
“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!”
“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.”
“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly.
“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed.
“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief.
Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?”
“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!”
“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.”
“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?”
Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!”
“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?”
“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.”
“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!”
“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?”
“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?”
“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff.
“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”
“Sam-”
“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?”
“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.
After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!”
“Right,” Sam said sceptically. “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”
“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.
“Dean,” Sam chastised.
“What?”
“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!”
Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared.
“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively.
“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.”
“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.”
“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued.
“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.”
Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on.
Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin.
“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction.
“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.
“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”
“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”
“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen.
“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully.
“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.
“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge.
“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen.
“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”
His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway.
“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly.
“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child.
“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do.
“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything.
“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.”
“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!”
Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him.
“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion.
“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife.
Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?”
“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?”
“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes.
“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily.
“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call.
Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.
“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.
You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more.
He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.
At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.
It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered. So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do.
Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.”
While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late.
“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.”
His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?”
“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.”
He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.”
You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation.
Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.”
The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner.
“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water.
You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water.
“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself.
“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding.
“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant.
“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.”
“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him.
“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”
He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.”
“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered.
He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.”
“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.
“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you.
“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly.
He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.”
“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again.
“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.”
“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest.
“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”
He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him.
He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.”
“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?”
“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.”
“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.”
“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door.
“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out.
“It’s not gonna kill me!”
“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?”
He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?”
“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?”
He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.”
You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign.
“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?”
Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”
“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.”
“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!”
“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.”
“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.”
“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.”
“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“You know what,” you scolded.
“This is so fucking ridiculous.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly.
“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.”
Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him.
“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.”
Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head.
“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.”
“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed.
“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully.
He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.”
He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.”
“I do,” you agreed quietly.
“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.”
He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?”
“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.”
“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly.
“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].”
“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly.
“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle.
“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently.
“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.”
“Right,” you agreed.
“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly.
“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”
“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.”
“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously.
Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.”
“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off.
“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.”
“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say.
“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.”
“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest.
“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.”
You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while.
“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.”
“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build.
“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.”
“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.”
“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.”
“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.
“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question.
“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat.
“Okay,” he said with a huff.
“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly.
Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you.
You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened.
“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked.
“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.”
“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more.
“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair.
“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?”
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.”
“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly.
“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?”
“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.”
You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?”
He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?”
“Always,” you said honestly.
“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed.
He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.
“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face.
“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly.
He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more.
When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things.
The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest.
The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares.
He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest.
✦ — leon s. kennedy x wife!reader | what does it feel like when resentment is so intense that it lasts longer than a marriage? ; around 3.1k words, there will be a part 2
You realized that something was wrong from the very moment you noticed that the ring had been left on the nightstand. It wasn’t something extremely unusual, especially considering the price he had paid years earlier to buy it, but at the same time it was strange to see that glint far too close, and not around his ring finger.
It certainly wasn’t news that Leon cared about your wedding ring, after all, he had often come up that he himself considered it probably his favorite object in the world. Ironically, you always said that wasn’t true — that in any universe he would have chosen a gun over that little piece of jewelry — but deep down in your heart you knew the truth behind his words. You simply liked to joke whenever the topic came up, to be ironic about something you knew weighed so deeply in his chest. A bit like sugarcoating the pill — avoiding talking directly about what really lay behind the career he had been carrying on his shoulders.
Irony had always played a fundamental role in your lives, both when you were individuals and later as an actual married couple. It was better to laugh than to realize that it was more common to see a gun in the house than a bouquet of flowers.
Irony, always and only irony.
Even when it spilled into the worst of your arguments, the ones that lasted for hours and perhaps stressed him more than his entire days away — too far away from that tiny bit of normalcy he had imposed on his life.
Not that you liked arguing with your husband, but you were all too aware that your reaction to an argument was very different from his. If for you it was just a simple disagreement, for him it was carrying the awareness that it could be your last conversation at any moment before being sent to the other side of the globe. Perhaps this was what made you a bad person — being aware of this possibility, yet still starting an argument that had left you both completely drained last night.
And this morning, at 05:47, Leon had left the house after receiving a call less than twenty minutes earlier. Less than three hours after having spat venom at each other, forgetting the real reason you had argued in the first place.
You sigh, getting out of bed and picking up his ring. You place it on the marble countertop while brushing your teeth, move it onto the bed while changing your clothes, and watch it from a distance as you sip the first coffee of the day. It feels strange to see it close by, after everything that happened last night. It almost feels like a reminder of how much of a terrible person you actually are with the man who is, theoretically, your husband and the one you love most.
After your cat obviously, but you don’t think it’s the right moment to use your usual irony, not when he can’t laugh at your words.
You don’t even realize you’ve woken from this thought until the static noise starts on the other end, with the cold screen pressed against your ear. You place the coffee on the table, stand up, and begin pacing nervously around the room, occasionally glancing at the glint.
Is he not answering the call because of a zombi or simply for the sheer pleasure of not wanting to hear your voice? You don’t know if you honestly want to find out, either answer would be terrible.
“Is something wrong?” you hear on the other end, snapping you awake once again from thoughts that might be making things worse than they actually are. You startle and clear your throat, trying to analyze his tone — one you unfortunately didn’t catch the first time. You stammer something without really speaking, perhaps still focused on analyzing something that’s actually irrelevant “Hey” you finally say, yet you remain fixated on his tone, which — irreverent as it may be at the moment — can tell you whether you’ll spend the next few hours apart from him with solvable anxieties or or full blown panic attacks.
For a few seconds, the silence stretches for decades — longer than the years you’ve spent without him than with him “Umh… Yes. So?” you hear again from the other side, and it’s precisely in his absent irony that you realize he clearly hasn’t shaken off the problems from a few hours ago. A nervous smile appears on your lips, and you’re thankful it’s a phone call and not a face-to-face meeting — otherwise, you’d have burst into tears at his confused look “Yeah. Did you get to the place you were assigned?” you ask, unable to shake off the confirmed feeling that he’s still angry with you. You hear a sigh on the other end, one so heavy that it usually only comes when you’ve teased him too much or when he’s genuinely annoyed “Yes. I got here, I think… about half an hour ago? I guess. It’s going to take a while here” he says, and you don’t really know how to keep the conversation going.
“I understand. Did you take everything? Are you sure you didn’t forget anything? I could send the stuff to headquarters and they’d forward it to you and then-” you start letting your words flow a little, but you’re cut off “I didn’t forget anything. I think I need to go, the patrol is being assigned”
You’re taken aback when the call ends abruptly. The static noise fills your ears and then the entire room. You don’t know how long you stay there with the phone still pressed to your ear, but you realize the coffee has become as cold as the South Pole, even though it had been as warm as a late July day. It’s not the first time the line has been cut off in the middle of one of your calls — often it’s even the anti-tracking restrictions that make them end so abruptly — but something deep in your heart tells you that this time, it has nothing to do with that. You would almost prefer that he had hung up because of an approaching zombie rather than a simple irritation in his heart.
Maybe not exactly, but the fact remains that the first panic attack of the day is probably not far off.
You sigh louder than you really should, placing the phone next to the ring on the table, only to pick it up again a few seconds later. Your fingers fly over the keyboard, as if the zombie were truly close to him and if you had zero time. You stare at the screen for a moment before hitting send, then place the phone back on the table, face down.
✉️ from you — “I love you. Don’t make me worry, and stay safe. Call me when you have a few free minutes, okay?”
You hate that he didn’t even tell you which remote and dangerous location he’s in right now, but you can’t blame his behavior. You’d probably carry annoyance and resentment too after finding your life partner angry just after returning from an exhausting day. You can’t judge him for giving you a taste of the same medicine, even if admitting it probably hurts more than the punishment itself.
You stay in the kitchen for a few more minutes, completely abandoning the coffee to itself. You only return to the room hours later, when the morning sun has given way to the amber light filtering through the window above the sink. Not that you spent the hours outside the house pretending to be completely calm — but having constant panic attacks on your bed is better than having them on the shiny kitchen floor. Ignoring the phone and keeping it away is easier than having it constantly nearby, with the anxiety of checking whether he has read the message.
With a few tears still at the corners of your eyes, you notice that the message was actually read just a few minutes after you sent it — almost half a day ago by now. You involuntarily tighten your grip on the phone, but at that very moment you notice an unusual notification. Usually you never really have many notifications on your phone, probably because of a setting that moves them all to “read later” as soon as they arrive. Yet this one is marked as “urgent” and you know for certain that only one app on your phone has this specific type of notification. You jolt when the realization hits you, while your hands become almost like butter just when you really need to hurry.
The only app with this type of notification is a specific app for the distant families of D.S.O. members. Its sole function is to create a communication bridge between agents and their families when the situation has already become worse than originally expected. If a notification comes from there, the chances that something serious has happened are practically confirmed.
If earlier the panic attacks had already filled your day with shit, the feeling you’re experiencing now is only a small part of the previous hours. You immediately open the app, only to notice the notification that arrived less than a few seconds ago — seconds that now feel like the last calm ones before something you really don’t want to discover. In the messages section you find only a preset message, one of those that, if you press it, automatically calls the special agent.
“Shit” you mutter to yourself, hastily pressing the function, putting the phone to your ear and stomping your foot more than necessary on the floor out of anxiety. With the static noise in the background, you wonder if it was really worth arguing so bitterly a few hours ago — you know for certain you wouldn’t have done it if you had known about this situation beforehand. Leon has never had to use this function in all these years, and if he’s using it right now — he who has survived practically everything — then something horrible has happened. Bad as shit, probably.
The breath caught in your throat only returns when the static noise is replaced by something quieter but strangely more human. You hear only a faint breath in the background, low enough to set off all your worst fears “Leon? Leon?” you ask, but there’s no answer “Leon? Leon? Leon?!” you say, raising your voice as if he were actually there, just as you truly wish he were “Leon?!”
“I hear you” you hear from the other side, and just his voice is enough to make you break down in tears. Hearing him speak gives you the certainty that he’s alive, and if he’s alive, then all the worries of the last moments are just fears born from the terrible situation you’re in. Your hand goes to your face, trying to cover your mouth to control and mask the sobs. “I thought something had happened… you’ve never contacted me like this before…” you say, but unfortunately you know your sobbing breath does not go unnoticed.
You hear someone speaking faintly in the background on the other side, followed by a movement and the sound of footsteps continuing for a few seconds. You cover your mouth completely, sit down on the chair, and wait. It doesn’t even cross your mind to worry or probably get angry that he didn’t hesitate to hear you crying — you can’t compare your situations right now. You try to muster your strength, because you know that at this moment the ice is far too thin and could break again at any moment.
“I can talk now. I was leaving the tower” you hear on the other side, and immediately your nerves tighten again “Okay. Did something happen?” you ask, keeping it vague — partly because you really want to know what happened, and partly because asking about the ignored message isn’t the best idea right now. You hear a slight commotion, which gradually fades with each passing second “They’ve cut the line on many phones. We’re communicating through the disposable ones they provided. There was an attack that we neutralized, but for the moment we have to wait until the radiation levels drop”
“I understand. Do you know how long you’ll have to stay put?” you ask, and once again the commotion in the background appears and fades “I’m not certain, it could take a few hours or a few days. They’re still updating the databases to actually understand how much they attacked and how much they lost” he says, using technical language that would normally make you laugh, but now it leaves only a bitterness at the back of your throat. You remain silent, nodding as if he could see you. “… I understand. Alright” you say.
It’s precisely in the silence that follows, in the words that seem to leave your mouth but for some unknown reason get stuck, that you wonder how much you really love your husband. If you loved him as you say you do, you probably wouldn’t be like this — kilometres away, without the certainty of being able to tell yourself that you miss him. Or rather, the certainty is there, but not the kind that would confirm that Leon misses you too. How can you miss someone who shatters your boundaries? What if that person is your wife?
“Are you okay?” you ask in a faint voice, hoping your words reach his heart the way he reached yours years ago. A slight grunt is heard, loud enough to echo faintly “I’m okay”
The corners of your mouth lift slightly, enough to give you a softer expression “Okay… alright. I’m glad you’re okay, Leon. I’m really glad”
“Look” you hear on the other side, and it’s precisely in the moment when the conversation strangely seems to continue that you realize you might need to pay attention to what he’s about to say. You perk up your ears, your hand slightly trembling “Yes?” you say, a little uncertainly. The noise grows louder again “The message. I read it. I actually used this function just to call you. You’re aware that… we’re not okay, right?”
You knew it, but hearing it said and admitted by the person himself hurts more than all the venom you’ve spat and received over the past hours “I know. I know” you say, pressing your lips together and holding back a sigh that might only make things worse — a gesture of irritation that is really just worry “I know you’re aware, you’re not stupid. Listen, right now I really don’t have the strength or the will to argue…” he says, then pauses “But trust me when I say I’m pissed as hell. It feels like at the center of your world is only the goal of being my source of stress, even when I’m just trying to breathe, as Leon and not as a damn agent” he says, and as much as you’re aware that he’s right, at the same time you feel the need to tell him how you’ve perceived it “I know, Leon. It’s just that… fuck, every time you’re home you have nothing to say to me. Like I’m the doll you keep on the shelf, the one you use when you don’t want to kill yourself with alcohol, thinking I’m not watching. With this doll you just want to fuck or even create, I don’t know, the dream you’ve been telling me you want for years?” you say, and silence falls again.
“Don’t you dare. You speak as if you know the shit I’ve carried since I was just supposed to be a young adult, thrown into something I knew I could never fully handle” he responds coldly, almost making your blood boil again “You know perfectly well that you could have stepped away the moment something didn’t respect your limits” you immediately retort, gripping the phone tighter than necessary “Why are you acting like this, my limits? Do you even know my limits?” he asks, and though the background noise is loud, it’s just a whisper compared to his voice “I’d know if only you would talk to me!”
Can resentment really turn something sincere into pure, toxic bitterness? You genuinely ask this yourself, because you know that you probably wouldn’t be like this if only both of you could turn this bitterness into common ground. For years, you’ve done it for even bigger and more serious things, yet right now it feels almost like climbing a peak with your bare hands. When was the moment you started walking on two separate paths instead of a single one?
You don’t remember, because maybe it never really happened. Perhaps the daily habit of arguing without ever truly clearing things up has led you here, to a point where you don’t really know how this relationship can survive without first learning to breathe again. Maybe the moment could be today, today when he left his wedding ring on the nightstand. Yet you would rather endure everything he’s been living through for years than let him go and admit that the two of you no longer work. You’re far too stubborn and in love with your husband to let yourselves become like those couples who live under the same roof but exist in two completely parallel dimensions.
Right now, silence serves the same role as tears. The longer it stretches, the more you see it distort into something that could resemble a future where you truly can no longer live with Leon, but only survive with what remains of him.
“When will you be home?” you ask, your lips tight and pale, your mind already on the other side of the house, perhaps in front of the framed photo of your wedding. The silence continues and weighs heavily, probably more than a call filled with rivers of tears “When it’s needed” he says, and even though his words are deliberately harsh, you catch a trace of fear in them. You swallow, uncertain how to speak without breaking other untouchable walls at the moment “There’s always a need for you in our home, Leon” you say, just before hearing the tone that signals the end of the call.
Because no matter how bastard life is, you would always choose the option that would lead you to carry a minimum of the weight that Leon carries. It’s just that often the weight, even if minimal as it may be seem, can make an entire system falter.
A mission meant to be routine becomes a race against the clock when you’re bitten, and the only antivirals are destroyed. With the infection spreading and time running out, Leon Kennedy abandons everything except the one objective that matters: getting you back alive.
hot milf finds her first gray. | @leonarchive
yet another miscommunication arc. | @/leonarchive
bleeding hearts. | @/leonarchive
“if she dies, there’s nothing in the world left for me anymore.” | @vowheavyyz
You return home after a long day at work, expecting a normal night. You were getting ready for bed as you waited for your husband when the electricity went out, startling you. But before you could call your husband, you were kidnapped by a certain doctor. Leon comes home to find you gone, and he isn’t happy at all.
Just A Touch Of Your Love | @midnightsummerrain
Leon is touch-starved. Of course, he would never show this in public, but as soon as the two of you are alone, he can't help but crave your touch.
post re4!bf leon headcanons | @satorucele
Wedding Ring | @topsytervy
your husband can't find his gloves for the latest mission he's been sent on and he refuses to leave without them
Bring Him Back | @/topsytervy
things aren't looking to good for your boyfriend on his mission so he decides to call you.
lovers rock | @h4neypot
4 times the team notices something's up with leon and the 1 time they figure it out
Crawl Home to Her, Part 2 | @laceybubble
Leon has done well separating home from work, that is until the T-Virus rears its head once again. And it's worse than he could imagine...because it's not just him.
School Call | @/laceybubble
Leon leaves work early after hearing his daughter got in a fight at school.
Shower | m6cabre
My wife hates me, I might as well jump off a cliff, Part 2, Part 3 | @leonskluv
An argument erupted between Leon and his wife, and now he's doing anything he can to gain your favor back.
Leon and your daughter Isabella had told you both interesting information which led you both to believe a cheating scandal ensued.
you fell first, but he fell harder. | @halbravd
leon kennedy’s heart wasn’t immune to love, after all.
“Slow Drive “ | @littlepumpky
The first thing you do after finally being cured from the virus is fall asleep in the car.
“You Don’t Stand a Chance” | @/littlepumpky
Somehow, you end up back in the RPD. With two Leons. One is your husband: older, tired and way too protective. The other is his rookie self: confused, stubborn and definitely not prepared for you calling him “cute.”
LEON W/ ROOKIE!READER, PT. 2 | @aliidarling
Leon never treated a rookie differently than he would treat an equal. that is.. until you come along.
handyman husband | @clemenchives
preparing for your baby’s arrival, leon has taken it upon himself to start projects that involve babyproofing the house, prepping up the nursery, and supporting you all throughout your pregnancy journey. it’s like having your own personal handyman in the shape of your husband.
finally homebound | @/clemenchives
after returning from raccoon city, you find it imperative to be the one to take care of your husband, leon.
your wittle face | @dollyzdaydreamz
after a traumatic year, you and leon are finally getting the hang of mending your relationship again. when he thinks he’s changed so much he must be unapproachable, you remind him he’s not so far off from that adorable, doughy faced rookie cop you met in 1998.
the work dilf | @/dollyzdaydreamz
after a long day of work at the dso, you were streaming when a subscriber admits they embarrassed themselves in front of a crush. to make them feel better, you tell them about the time you embarrassed yourself in front of an older agent, who you just so happened to have a fat crush on.
Biohazard | @/dollyzdaydreamz
a video game company reaches out to the dso, asking to use agents mr. and mrs. kennedy as face models for their upcoming action horror game called biohazard. while your husband is reluctant, you, being a lover of video games, are more than ecstatic to accept the offer.
Nudelates | @/dollyzdaydreamz
you and your friend are goofing around when you two decide to test out a tik tok trend: call your husband and tell him you accidentally signed up for nude pilates…with a male instructor who won’t give you a refund.
Insomnia | @/dollyzdaydreamz
Relax babe, I got you | @screaming-potato
Tracking your husband down was no simple task but reuniting with him and joining him on his mission made it all the better. They just didn’t expect you to be like him…just with enhanced abilities.
Heart Bound | @/screaming-potato
Going down memory lane, you’ve realized no matter how long you’ve loved Leon you know you can’t compare to her. Leon convinces you otherwise
No one disrespects her | @multi-fandom-imagine
Hold On | @/multi-fandom-imagine
Somethin’ Stupid | @chickensim07
Married life means a couple things, being there for the good, the bad, and especially the seemingly stupid. So when Leon comes back home with an unexpected surprise you can only hope he has a good reason for selling your car.
Runnin’ for The Hills | @/chickensim07
You wake in the middle of the night because of a dream. It’s not the horrifying flashbacks that usually haunt you, it’s the sweetest, most comforting, beautiful dream you’ve ever had. And it left you restless. Why? Because you know it’ll never come true.
Hold you till I can’t | @/chickensim07
You and Leon’s days of fighting bioweapons are over. You’ve built your peace from the ground up in the mountains, your husband and your way of life protected by the hills and valleys of the earth, but all that goes up must come down
THE ‘SHUT UP MOM’ PRANK | @uramakimochi
in which yours and Leon's teenage kids decide to pull a prank from TikTok on him.
Stay | @froggibus
Leon shows you that his commitment issues don’t apply to you
A Moment of Hesitation | @/froggibus
leon has always kept you at arms length in order to protect you, but after leading the two of you into a trap, the cracks start to show and feelings come to light
The Three Times You Share A Bed | @/froggibus
two times you sleep in leon's bed, and the one time he sleeps in yours
The Second Choice | @/froggibus
after losing Ada, Leon can’t get her off of his mind—and can’t stop comparing you to her
When The Dust Settles | @/froggibus
after a gruelling mission, Leon takes care of you
Leon Kennedy One Shot | @mirainwonderland
You get bored and tie a ribbon around his bicep
A QUIET AGENT!PARTNER | @harbours-lighthouse
CATCH SOME SHUT-EYE | @/harbours-lighthouse
Scoot On Over | @drabblesandimagines
Hitched | @/drabblesandimagines
Swingin' | @/drabblesandimagines
Home | @/drabblesandimagines
Crash | @/drabblesandimagines
Zombieboy, part 2 | @the-archxr
As Leon starts to feel the initial effects of las plagas, Luis fills you in on a little secret about the disease that could potentially help out your partner.
Blue in the Night | @/the-archxr
Leon doesn’t always let himself be vulnerable. But after being granted a second-chance at life, he reasons that it wouldn’t be so bad to try.
Miss– Mrs. Kennedy? Well, your wife… | @escapic-mezzanine
You were pretty sure you preferred being strangled to death on a mission over having a phone call with a stranger… Embarrassing as it felt. Luckily, your closest co-worker is there to save you.
Nothing in the world belongs to me | @/escapic-mezzanine
Affection and attachment. Strange things that Leon saw as great values, yet ones he couldn’t afford because of his job. He didn’t know if it was a sense of responsibility or fear of disappointment that made him so reluctant… Well, good thing that the famous ‘cat distribution system’ doesn’t care. Nor his luck for incredibly charming neighbours.
I still dream of violence, Part 2 | @/escapic-mezzanine
When a young married couple disappears, who could be better at investigating the case than a pair of special agents used to working together and known for their high efficiency? Well, probably nobody, but someone clearly ignored the fact that one of them should retire a long time ago, and they are both too good at their job to rot in rural America. Not to forget the questionable nature of their professional relationship and mutual tension.
SUMMARY: When you know, you know. But there was so much you didn't know. A whirlwind romance and hasty marriage was bound to end in divorce. What you didn't expect was how impossible it was to find "Leon Kent" when you discovered the pregnancy a short time after he left. Still, you managed well enough on your own for almost seven years. Her name is Stella, and she's remarkable and gifted. Lucky you. Perhaps that's why someone's taken her. When all hope feels lost, you receive an unexpected call from a father that didn't even know she existed, promising to help you find her. All you can do is take this one last saving grace and set aside the unresolved feelings and sense of betrayal. Saving Stella depends on it. And who the hell is Leon Kennedy?!
RATING: 18+ for canon-typical violence and eventual smut. ✶ READER: single mom, nurse, no y/n use. ✶ SIDE CHARACTERS: claire redfield, chris redfield, rebecca chambers, minor side original characters.
TIMELINE: fic takes place in 2008, so after re4 and before re5, with obvious canon divergence.
WARNINGS: usual re violence, human & medical experimentation, typical re experimentation on children, cultish themes ✶ IMPLIED/MENTIONED: unplanned pregnancy, traumatic birth, postpartum stuff, religious fanaticism, ableism, suicidal thoughts, depression, alcoholism.
A/N: it's been years since i've written fanfiction, but the re9 announcement rekindled my love for writing. this is a result of me hyperfixating on a plot until i willed my brain to write it down. the first few chapters are currently published on ao3, but my first ever 24+ hour site shutdown scared me into creating backups. i'll be queuing them to avoid flooding the tags.
CHAPTERS
✶ PROLOGUE
✶ 1 ✶ 2 ✶ 3 ✶ 4 ✶ 5 ✶ 6 ✶ 7 ✶ 8
safeplace1222 @safeplacereading - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
