Saw Your Ask In Community! My Idea; Reader And Leon Having To Hunker Down In A Building During A Zombie

don’t stop- peeta mellark

summary: a heated make out turns into something more🤭

warnings: SMUT (16+)⚠️ heavy making out, dry humping

authors note: first time writing for peeta so please be kind:) this is one of my fav kind of smut prompts to read and there is absolutely no peeta smut anywhere😓😓i hope you guys enjoy:)

Something had come over you.

It was very rare that you felt so incredibly desperate for your boyfriend, but today that overwhelming feeling hit you like a freight train.

You didn’t know what had made you feel this way. It could have been the way his strong arms looked this morning when he was moving furniture for Haymitch, so perfectly toned and sculpted. Or it could have been the way he held you in his arms this morning and kissed you until your lips were flushed and swollen. Or maybe it was the way his towel hung so lowly around his hips when he stepped out of the shower this afternoon with water droplets still clinging to his abs.

That boy had been driving you crazy all day and you simply could not focus on anything. He consumed your every thought and all you wanted to do was touch him. You found your mind drifting toward the dirtiest thoughts and tried to squeeze you legs together to suppress the frustrated ache building between your legs.

But lucky for you, that same boy was now pinned underneath you in nothing but his boxers with his hands up your shirt groaning everytime you moved above him.

What had started as gentle and loving makeout session escalated to something far more needy and passionate.

Peeta looked so beautiful underneath you, his blonde hair still damp from his shower messily laid across his forehead, his tan chest flexing underneath your touch, his lips glistening with your saliva.

You were straddled on his lap, thighs on either side of his with your hands moving back and forth from his shoulders to his hair. He had one hand on your waist, pulling you closer to his chest and one hand under your shirt, toying with the waistband of your underwear.

Neither of you had come up for air. You were both so desperate for eachother and so obsessed with the other you couldn’t stop. Every kiss was so intense it felt like it could be your last.

After being lost in your own thoughts for a moment, you broke the kiss and shifted your focus to Peeta’s neck, which you knew would drive him absolutely insane. You began to gently suck and bite his neck and then swipe over the spot with your toungue.

Peeta was loving every moment of it.

His gasps and hums quickly turned into groans as his hands left your hips and went straight to gripping your ass.

“You’re so good baby” he groaned into your hair.

You wanted more, you wanted to make him a mess underneath you. You needed it. And you knew exactly how to do it.

While still sucking on his neck, you began to grind your hips onto Peeta. You knew exactly how to roll your hips into Peeta's; a way that would make his eyes roll back into his skull and make his jaw fall slack.

"Oh my god babe" he gasped into your ear.

His fingers tugged the messy hair at the nape of your neck and pulled your closer. You thought you couldn't be any more intertwined with Peeta.

You were wrong.

You felt the obvious bulge in his boxers growing underneath you which only made you grind onto him harder. You wanted nothing more than to hear his sweet moans and feel his fingers leave delicious bruises on your hips.

"Baby if you keep going, I'm gonna come." he breathed into your neck.

"Fine by me" you whispered with a cheeky grin pasted on your face.

You moved your leg farther up his body, your kneecap resting against his ribs. You kept grinding on him, the new angle impossibly more intense than before.

Peeta's groans turned throatier and deeper. His eyes were screwed shut as his beautiful sounds were lost in your neck and your collarbone. He wrapped his arm under your leg and pulled you even tighter on him and started to use his hands to grind you onto him even harder. He was getting desperate now.

"It's so good babe, I can-"

His praise was interrupted by a shaky moan. You could tell he was on the edge.

"Come on Peeta, let go babe." you whispered sinfully into his ear.

You started to bounce slightly on him and you could feel him everywhere. You pressed your lips under the base of his ear, making small breathy moans into his ear.

One last roll of your hips and Peeta was coming undone. His groans echoed the room and he came hard. His biceps caged around your and held you on his warm and glistening chest as he grinded his hips into you to ride out his high.

He was so beautiful when he was like this, and the fact that you were the only one who got to see him in this state turned you on more than you could even begin to describe.

After coming back from the heaven you had sent him to, you leaned down to kiss him softly.

"I can't believe you just made me come in my boxers." he laughed into your lips.

"I'm pretty good huh?"

"I think your a little better than good baby."

You smiled back into his mouth and began to roll off of him. But before you had the chance, he was pulling you back and under him.

"Not so fast babe. Gotta make you feel good too." he murmured into your lips.

Before you knew it, he was hovering over you with his knee between your legs and your heart was racing.

Part 2?

Discovering yourself

Request: Hiiiii. Would you please write something with Aegon x f!reader? I would love to see something where the characters are opposite. Would it be okay for the reader to be a bit shy and socially awkward and loves books and music but at the same time wants to experience a bit of life but doesn’t know how and is a bit afraid to get out of her comfort zone. Once she gets to know someone she talks and is super fun but it takes her a bit of time. And then there is of course Aegon who we know is quite the opposite. The reader fancies him and the two fall in love? Could that be possible? Thank you.

w.c: 3.4k

c.w: baratheon!reader, ooc aegon probably, hes a bit of an ass sometimes, fluff, insecure/shy reader, sfw! no smut since the request didnt state it, not proofread

masterlist

Unlike the rest of your family you had been more than happy when your family received an invitation to stay at kings landing in the red keep for a helena's name day festivities as she had become close with your sister floris. You had not been able to come with the rest of the family last time as you had been in bed rest. 

You couldn't even imagine how big the red keep had been and while on the way there you could barely sit still your sister hitting you on the shoulder more than once to stop you from moving around.

“Welcome back to the keep.” Alicent greeted the rest of your family before he eyes locked onto yours, “I don't believe I recognized you.”

You open your mouth to say something but there's a pause and nothing manages to come out so you put your head down as your father speaks, “my daughter, lady y/n, she was bedridden the last time we came to visit.”

Alicent lets out an acknowledged hum and you keep your head down fiddling with the fabric on your dress. You're sure your father will scold you later. 

“a pleasure, this is my son aemond and his lady wife heleana, aegon could not be here..”

you can hear the annoyance in her tone but choose to not acknowledge it and greet the other two siblings.

more formalities are exchanged between the two families, “it is so wonderful for house baratheon to join us for heleanas nameday festivities, she has grown quite fond of your family-” 

the doors of the room you were all in burst open, all head whip back to look in shock, “prince aegon!”

“I am here.”

“You are late.” you hear his mother hiss quietly to him as he stands in place next to his siblings.”

“apologies, my son prince aegon.” 

alicent introduces her son. You had heard the stories of Targaryen beauty and thought the two Targaryen siblings were gorgeous but Aegon, despite the fact he looked tired and a little sloppy, was a different level of beauty. He hadn't even needed to try and he wowed you. 

as if he could feel your stare he locks eyes with you and you shyly put your head down towards the floor oblivious to the smirk that's grown on his face.

Some more pleasantries were exchanged but you didn't bother to lift your head still feeling his stare. You wish you weren't so awkward, if you had been anything like your sisters who could keep their heads up high and smile while locking eyes while you could barely hold a sentence with these people.

You barely even notice you had all been dismissed until you felt yourself being dragged away by your sister floris. A part of you can't get the idea of Aegon out of your head, even  as you fall asleep that night you wonder if you'll get the opportunity to speak with him.

Today was meant to be the first of a three day long festival including a grand feast, a tourney and finally a ball all in honor of heleana.

The second you walk outside you are immediately hit with hundreds of people, it was definitely a celebration with music, people dancing, some watching the performers. It was magical, you had never seen such life brought to one place before. 

You and the rest of your family were sitting in one of the higher tables closer to the targaryens, you watch as floris eagerly runs up to greet heleana while you stand with your sisters who make many comments on the festivities.

“I can't believe he can put that whole sword down his throat.”

“It was just on fire too, how preposterous.” 

“Maybe he just has a lot of practice. Do you think he’s fond of men.”

Cassandra and Ellyn turn to you in horror while maris lets out your name in a chuckle while hitting your shoulder.

You shake your head with a grin but are horrified to hear the sound of laughter behind you and turn around.

“Prince aegon.” you're all clearly mortified as you all bow but he moves to stand next to you and stare at the man. 

“If he is not he should start to be there is so much potentially to be held.” 

“I am so sorry my prince i should not have-”

He waves you off with his hand and continues to look on in the crowd, “these events are such a bore they practically force you to make such a joke.”

“I did not mean to offend-”

“You talk like my brother.”

You have nothing else to say back instead just stand and watch the crowd disperse. It is only then you notice your sisters have all walked off elsewhere and you curse them in your head as the two of you stand in silence aside from the gulps Aegon takes from his chalice.

“What do you think about her?”

He points towards a contortionist not too far from where the two of you were standing. She had her leg way over her head.

“She is very pretty.”

“Oh come on, you must have some other comments to make.”

You tilt your head at her as she moves into a split and lays down flat on her stomach.

“Men must certainly fight for her attention, I am sure she is a rather capable woman.”

Your words are faster than a bird and quieter than a mouse but Aegon certainly hears them and bursts out into a roar of laughter causing those around you to turn and stare. Your face flushes and you stare at the ground as Aegon composes himself still chuckling. 

“You are a scandalous lady, y/n.”

You shake your head, “I do not know why I said such a thing.” 

“You said it because it is true, look,” he leans in closer to you, much too close, and subtly points, “look at lord simon staunton he looks like he wants to eat her alive.”

You gasp and bring a hand to your mouth as you take notice and look back at Aegon who has a smile on his face, “he is old enough to be her grandfather, no even her great grandfather! That is ridiculous.” 

Aegon shrugs, taking another sip of wine with a chuckle. “I rather think that's what he likes about it.”  

You can't help but laugh for the first time in this whole conversation keeping your head down. Once you finally lift your head and look at him he's already looking at you. You feel a rush of heat flood your face, he stares at you for a moment longer, his eyes drift down to your lips. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can you hear your fathers voice call out your name.

“I must go.” you quickly turn, feeling embarrassed about the sudden tension between the two of you and barely hear him as you rush away, “i shall see you lady y/n”

You can barely relax the rest of the day your conversion with Aegon playing in your mind over and over. It was the first time you had been sop open with somebody you barely knew. It was so refreshing to be able to joke and laugh with someone who was not your family.that night you toss and turn in bed with a big smile on your face. In turn you cannot sleep so you sit up and contemplate what to do. 

You would normally read a book but your father wouldn't allow you to take any on this trip saying there was no need for it but right now youre groaning and fall flat back on the bed. 

An idea suddenly hits you, you remember from the tour one of the guards had given you there was a library not too far from your room. It wouldn't be an issue to go and grab a book really quickly right. A grin finds itself on your face as you realize the red keep has many books you have never read or even heard of and before you know it you throw on an overcoat and begin to quickly make your way over to the library with a lantern in hand.

Nobody would mind if you just took one maybe two books to keep you sated for the rest of your stay here right? That's what you think as you manage to sneak in and out of the library with two books under your coat as you quickly try to make your way back to your room. You almost reach your door before a voice behind you rings out.

“Now what could you be doing, wondering about by yourself..”

You turn and gasp, “prince aegon.”

In your shock the books fall out of your hands, you quickly bend down to pick them up missing the ‘ah’ that had escaped his lips.

“So you read?”

“I am so sorry-”

“You did not answer my question.”

You stall for a moment, not daring to lift your head from the floor. “Yes.”

He hums, “you are quite like my brother. I see no fun in it.”

At a loss for words you keep quiet and take a step back closer to your door, turning around fully before you speak, “i shall bid you goodnight-”

“You will sit in the royal box tomorrow for the tourney.” your movements freeze and you're thankful you are not facing him as your face must be full of shock. 

You manage to compose yourself not turning around, “i thought my family would be sitting in one of the lower boxes-” 

“Not your family. You. you shall sit in the royal box. With me.” 

You feel a wild course of emotions run over your body. What does he mean, just you? Is he attempting to court you? He is trying to seduce you? Does he want something from you? Or maybe he is just trying to be kind? Maybe he takes pity on you after you had embarrassed yourself the last two days? 

You must be frozen for a while because he begins to laugh. You take a deep breath, “I must decline.” because you certainly cannot sit in the royal box with the prince. What would the people think? What would your father think? You cannot even imagine having to try and explain why you would be sitting with them tomorrow.

“This is not a request. You shall join me tomorrow. I am the prince. I say it is so.”

“But my family.” “They shall sit in the box in one of the many stands below.”

“I cannot just leave my family.”

He tsks and huffs, “then so be it your family shall join us too. I'm sure heleana would be happy to be seated with floris.” 

Did he want you to sit in the box so badly he was willing to just add your family at your request just like that? No, he wanted you to sit in the box. With him.

“alright, goodnight my prince.” 

You do not even wait for a response as you book it down the hallway and slam the door to your room shut. The books you had gotten drop to the floor as you cover your hands with your face. Out of breath like you had just ran a marathon you find yourself unable to stop smiling. 

When you and your family make your way outside you pretend to be shocked when your family is escorted to the royal box. You all greet the royal family who all stand to greet you. Aegon grabs your arm and ushers you to sit down next to him. You ignore the burning stares of your family as aegon quickly makes conversation with you. 

“Isn't the view so great from here aren't you happy I told you to sit here?” it's not a question more so a statement and all you can do is nod your head.  

“Oh come on you must have something to say to me.” he pouted at you and you swiftly turned away from him, “well you did not ask.” you mumble and he smiles, shaking his head and takes a drink of wine. “I certainly did not. You would have sat here one way or another.” 

You're thankful Aegon is sitting in the front row of the box while the rest of your family is all the way in the back so at least you won't have to deal with the questioning of your family.

“Did you prepare a favor lady , y/n?” you turn back to face queen who addressed you and nod, “yes my queen.” not mentioning it is the same favor you've had for awhile as no one had ever asked for your favor. You do not take notice to aegons clenched jaw at the question and narrow eyes at the question.

The journey begins and you've never seen a tourney as big as this one. But as it is it is pretty uneventful. You cannot hold your surprise when you see aemond being introduced. “He is competing?”

Aegon next to you hums as he continues to drink, “he does not like this stuff, calls it horse shit but heleana wanted to see him compete so he entered.” 

He of course comes up and asks heleana for her favor which she gladly gives him before he rides away.

“And his opponent, ser bronn beesbury!” The man rides in full confidence. When he takes off his helmet you can't help but admit he is a very handsome man, certainly not more handsome than Aegon but he was a very attractive man. He rides over near the royal box and Aegion sits up for the first time this whole tourney.

“Lady baratheon, you are the essence of beauty.” he holds up his hand towards the box and you're shocked in a haste you look over the edge and toss out your favor for him to catch. 

“You bless me this day my lady.” 

You sit back in your seat unable to say anything. You end up glancing at Aegon expecting him to make some comment about the man as he had been doing with all the other fighters that day. He was not even looking at you. An unreliable look on his face as he tapped his fingers on the table next to him. He started dead at aemond who stared back for a moment before nodding and slamming his helm down. 

The match began and you were wowed as aemond swiftly takes ser bronn down with an extra hard hit and ser bronn hits the floor and doesn't stand back up. You gasp as he's dragged off the scene and for the first time in the last couple minutes Aegon laughs turning to you. “What a fool thinking he can go against a targaryen.” 

A part of you feels like he's not just talking about aemond.  

you didn't speak to Aegon after the tourney as the men went out on a hunt and you're grateful especially since you're more than embarrassed after your thoughts during today's tourney. 

Though it is very tough to answer your family's questions when you don't even know yourself.

Finally it was heleanas name day and the day of the ball. You spent the morning with your family, the royal family nowhere in sight seemingly preparing for tonight's ball.

When you arrive back in your room that afternoon to prepare for the ball you and your maid are shocked to see a beautiful red and black gown laid out on the bed. “Did my father prepare this?”

The maid shook her head, she's been your maid for as long as you can remember so she freely speaks around you, “the baratheons may be wealthy little ones but your father could not afford a dress like this one.” 

The dress is gorgeous as you run your hands down it you can barely believe it.

“Well come on little one let's get you dressed.”

When your family comes knocking on your door their eyes all drop to your dress, “what is this look about?”

“Where did you get that dress?” 

“Oh I made it just today.”

“Shut your mouth and tell me.”

“I had no idea it was simply on my bed when I walked into my room.”

The discussion of your dress continued until you had been standing in front of the door waiting to be announced.

“Is it not obvious the prince has given her the dress?” You and Cassandra whip your heads to look at maris who shrugs. 

“Oh come on it's in the Targaryen house colors and obviously he seems obsessed with our dear sister.” 

“Be quiet you three” you would be surprised if your father could not hear the pounding of your heart as you consider maris’ idea.

Would the prince really leave you a dress like this? What could that possibly mean? Before you have any time to think, you and the rest of your family are being announced.

As you walk into the room you fail to ignore the stares of your fellow peers as they all seem to gawk at the dress you had been wearing. Keeping your head lowered slightly you eagerly rush to your seat. 

Soon after the main family is announced and everyone stands. When you see Aegon, a pit forms in your stomach. The suit he wears is basically identical to the dress you had on, your sister maris clearly also takes notice of this as she leans towards you, “told you so.” 

As the queen gives a speech and thanks everyone you attempt to hide yourself behind your father out of embarrassment but still manage to notice the smug look on aegons face as he looks over at you. 

Soon enough dinner is served and the music starts and you forget for a moment why you had been so embarrassed in the first place laughing with your family over good food and good music. After the food in front of you had been cleared you feel eyes staring into your back, refusing to turn around you attempt to continue the conversation you had been having with your sister maris who comments on the fact that one of the lords had stepped on ever girls foot whom he's danced with which causes you to laugh. 

A throat clears behind you and you freeze, maris smiles, “good evening my prince.” Everyone greets him as well and he gives a greeting back. You turn back to look at him and your eyes widen as he holds out his hand. 

“Dance with me.”

He says it in the same tone he had told you you were to sit in the royal box with him. It is not a question. “Aren't there any other ladies you would prefer to dance with?”

“No. Now come on.”

You glance over at your father who smiles and moves his head signaling for you to dance. 

You grab aegons hand and he is more than eager to let you onto the dance floor with him. “I heard you are fond of music.” 

“I am my prince,, where did you hear that?”

“One of your sisters had mentioned it. The plain looking one.”

You gasp, “how could you say such a thing?”

He chuckles his eyes never leaving yours, “I am simply stating the truth, I apologize.”

You huff and turn your face away from him, “if anything i am the plain one my prince.”

He huffs as he grabs your chin and turns your head to face him, “you are not. Now shut your mouth.”

A silence fills between the two of you as he continues to stare at you. “Why do you think that?” A pathetic laugh escapes you, “I am not the funniest, I am not the most pretty, not the most talented. I am the quiet sister who has no idea how to speak to people or has no confidence in anything. I shall remain alone forever as a spinster while my sisters all go off and get married.” 

The song ends and the two of you stand still while everyone claps. You do not look at him while he stares at you.  

“If you are so boring then why have you captured me so. If you are not unfunny then why do I find myself laughing more in your presence than I ever have. If you are so untalented then why are you the first lady I've enjoyed dancing with? If you shall remain alone forever then why do I wish to be by your side.” 

You don't even notice that all the eyes in the room are staring at the two of you, aegon is your whole world right now.

“Marry me. And I shall open up the world to you.”

Frank Castle tied up for @daredevilexchange

𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.

author's note | i'm taking a little break to work through some series and pre-write but i needed to write a little fix it fic for my own well being. ANYWHO, if you're reading this, thank you <3 and thank you to @chaotic-mystery for the beta read, love you bitch

content warning | hurt/comfort, fix-it-fic, jackson!joel, s2ep2 spoilers, established relationship, medic!reader, wound tending, mentions of leg injury and some face injuries, old man joel using a cane, flirting, fluff, kissing, i'm going to go cry again

word count — 3.8k

He’s breathing. Alive.

You’ve patched up Joel countless times - cuts and gashes that were too far out of reach for him to handle on his own, a busted ankle from a construction project gone wrong, the occasional painkiller to help with his aching bones. He was a regular within the clinic, like most of the patrol team. And he was your favorite, which wasn’t a secret.

But, this was different.

Tommy - as hard as he tried, attempted to shelter you with the rest of Jackson’s women and children, but it was useless.

You spent the last hour patching up the towns wounded and helping lay to the rest some of the less fortunate, but brave people who had attempted to defend Jackson from the impending horde.

In the chaos of cleaning up bloodied bandages and used medical supplies, the front door to the clinic sounds, bells ringing out so deafening it makes your heart stop.

And the sound of Tommy’s panicked voice as he called out your name.

When you turn the corner to catch sight of him, it was Tommy and Jesse carrying a limp, sleeping Joel on a makeshift gurney and equally injured Ellie holding tight to her ribs as Dina and Maria supported her weight, your eyes widening in shock.

“Fuck—I—what happened?” you ask, immediately sliding the supplies off of the only semi-available operating table you had in the office - it used to be a veterinary clinic, but the town was making do with what they had.

“You save my goddamn brother,” Tommy demanded, his tone riddled with an emotional pain you couldn’t fathom, taking the order in stride as you nodded and put your own curiosity aside, slowly accessing the weight of the situation and surmising that this had been an ambush, more or less, “alright?”

You access his knee, jeans matted with blood around his festering wound, his leg tourniqueted by a belt that Tommy explains wasn’t there doing, rather the attackers. His pulse is steady as your fingers over his femoral artery once you’ve cut his jeans open further with the scissors.

“El—Ellie,” your voice shakes slightly, looking over your shoulder to catch her grimace as she hunched over further in pain, “she needs—”

“I’ve got her,” Maria assures you and Tommy, who was understandably only focused on Joel.

You don’t waste another second, working around Tommy on instinct while Jesse followed the girls to the back room, a gentle but reassuring hand on your shoulder as he passes by.

Your hands move gently over his wound, mind racing through every step of triage and trauma care as if your nerves hadn’t already been shot an hour ago. You didn’t know how many wounds you’ve treated today, but Joel’s was the worst—and unspeakably, the most important.

The wound is bad. Deep.

Frayed flesh around the spread of the bullet, a shotgun you can assume, already turning an angry red. The steps were simple, fortunately. You’ll have to clean it out, maybe even dig if the bullet fragments were lodged in deep. 

His face is a mosaic of bruises and dried blood, and he hasn’t stirred once.

That—more than the sight of the injury itself—makes something in your chest clench.

Tommy’s gripping the table tight, white knuckling as his jaw clenched in worry.

“Do I want to know?” you ask softly.

Tommy shakes his head slightly, “Ellie ain’t said much—jus’ know whatever the problem was, it isn’t one anymore.”

“He’s gonna need blood,” you explain to him as you work quietly but carefully on the wound, grateful that most of the issue was at the surface and that with enough time to heal and consistent check-ins, Joel would recover.

Undoubtedly with a limp, but you knew Joel—he’d manage.

The quiet is unsettling, though.

He should be fighting this. Groaning. Cursing. Something.

But he’s still.

Too still.

Tommy stays rooted in place like he’s afraid Joel will vanish if he lets go.

Part of you carries that fear, too.

With the attack on Jackson, everything seemed up in the air.

“I need you to keep your hand here,” you say firmly, guiding his hand to the artery in his leg, feeling the steady pulse underneath your fingertips. “Count the beats, focus. If it slows, weakens—don’t wait, tell me.”

Tommy nods, jaw still clenched tight.

He’s got blood dripping from a cut in his brow, covered in dirt and grime, streaks on his face from the tears he was shedding quietly, it was your only attempt to busy his mind.

You work diligently, more focused than you had been all evening.

Forceps clink against the metal tray as you dig out fragments, your breath hitching every time Joel twitches—barely, like his body’s fighting beneath layers of pain and unconsciousness.

You glance toward the IV stand that was taped to hell, barely holding on.

Just like everything else in Jackson at the moment – like Joel.

“I’m gonna flush the wound,” you murmur more to yourself than Tommy, gripping the saline syringe with steady hands. “Then I’ll stitch it. Antibiotics to be safe. He’ll need pain meds and I need to work on the cuts to his face, but I want his body to rest. We have morphine stored away, but I know Joel will probably refuse…”

Tommy doesn’t respond. Just keeps his hand pressed where you told him, eyes locked on Joel’s face like he’s willing him to wake.

“He still needs blood, Tommy,” you remind him, “but I don’t know his blood type.”

“I’m O-negative,” Tommy interjects.

“That works,” you assure him, nodding for him to sit as you grab the supplies to draw Tommy’s blood, unflinching as the needle slips into his vein.

It’s all rather quick, kneeling to hold the bag as it fills while Tommy stares at his brother, looking briefly over your shoulder to catch his breathing, a slow rise and fall.

“He’s gonna be alright,” you assure Tommy, “the worst outcome here is him complaining about having to use a cane, if it comes to that.

Quietly, you tend to the small head wound that Tommy has and he doesn’t even attempt to argue, eyes flickering to your briefly at the gesture, tilting his head up for better access.

You move efficiently, like muscle memory as you tape up his wound before transferring the blood and prepping the line for Joel. 

The line finds Joel’s vein without much resistance, and you secure it with shaking fingers, your breath held as the dark crimson slowly, mercifully begins to flow into his body.

“C’mon, Joel,” you whisper under your breath. “Not you.”

“He was in and out on the way here,” Tommy comments, holding the cotton ball to use the wound as he stands and you quickly return to him to bandage up and pressure the wound, “but now he’s just…still. That ain’t good,”

“It’s the body responding to the pain,” you remind him, “he’s clearly lost a lot of blood, his face is bruised—the important thing is he’s breathing and his pulse is good. Just…let me work on him. Go check on Ellie.”

Tommy hesitates, glancing back at Joel like his feet were already rooted permanently to the floor. Then his eyes shift to yours—tired, firm, unwavering—and he nods, finally stepping away. 

Just far enough to check on Ellie. 

Just long enough to breathe.

The second he’s gone, it’s just you and Joel.

–

The room feels colder without the presence of Tommy’s worry. 

You stitch slowly, methodically, carefully maneuvering around the skin until you are satisfied, constantly eyeing Joel to gauge a reaction, noticing some of his color had returned, hair damp with melted snow.

If he was awake he’d be grumbling and complaining and part of you hates how much you wanted to hear it as you bandage up his knee, assuring that bleeding was under control before you removed the belt on his upper thigh and grabbing a spare blanket to drape over his body as you move down to tend to his face, riddled with cuts and bruises.

You press a hand against his and pull it to his chest, resting gently against the fabric of his shirt. 

His palm is rough, calloused, and warm—thank god, still warm.

You clean the last of the blood from his face, wiping gently along the arc of his brow, around the corner of his eye that was slightly swollen. A bruise is blooming dark down the line of his jaw, but under it—his face is still familiar.

Still him.

After a stretch of time that feels like eternity, Maria and Tommy return to the front room of the clinic, looking fearful as their eyes land on Joel.

“He’s alright,” you assure them both, “he probably needed the rest, too.”

Tommy chuckles weakly at that, “I—we’re…we’re gonna go pick up Benji, but we’ll be back, alright?”

You nod in response, “I’m not leaving until he wakes up Tommy, I promised.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tommy says endearingly, approaching you with arms open slightly, enveloping you into a short hug that were few and far between, “Ellie’s asleep, too. Dina and Jesse are sticking around until she settles.”

The front door clicks shut behind Tommy and Maria, the heavy silence seeping back in soon after.

You don’t move far, bringing a stool to sit beside Joel.

The clinic is dim now, the lights softened by fucky wiring as the evening crept in.

You can hear Jesse’s and Dina’s muffled voice in the back—low and quiet—and the distant creak of the cot Ellie’s curled into. But here, in this room, it’s just you. 

And Joel, and the quiet hum of his breathing.

You reach up to brush a stray bit of hair from his temple, your hand pausing just above his skin.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you whisper. “If you were awake, I’d be screaming at you,”

And you know he’d only smile.

Joel doesn’t respond, but his breathing shifts. 

Not much—just enough to prove he’s still there, riding the edge of sleep and pain.

“You enjoy it, though. You always laugh, I know it’s pointless and that you’re just stubborn as all hell and I’m willing to put up with it,” you push the few strands of hair away from his face and sigh, “guess there’s a reason why you always ask for me.”

A few hours pass, the night creeping in slowly amongst the storm that roared outside.

You glance at his hand after a thorough check-up and redressing his wound for good measure, still resting palm-up where you’d placed it. Hesitant, your fingers slip into his, lacing slowly. 

You wait. No squeeze. 

But, the warmth is enough.

Then, a shift.

A low grunt, almost imperceptible.

Your breath catches. You look up sharply, eyes scanning his face. One eye twitches. His brow furrows just slightly.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but his mouth moves.

“Ellie?” he asks weakly, squeezing your hand back.

Tears burn your eyes before you can stop them, relief flooding your chest in waves.

You squeeze his hand back again. Tight. “She’s okay—she’s good,” you whisper quickly, wiping your cheek with your sleeve, not that it helps.

Joel breathes out, like the tension’s finally releasing from somewhere deep inside his chest. 

You watch the slow rise and fall of him for a moment, just taking it in. Life.

Then his eyes crack open, albeit one is swollen, but hazy and bloodshot and focused on you.

His brows twitch as he looks at you.

“You cryin’?” he rasps, voice rough but teasing.

Even now, he teases you.

“You worried the hell out of me,” you tell him.

“Did I?” Joel asks genuinely, “M’sorry, darlin’.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Joel grimaces and makes a soft noise, “S’all touch and go, right now. I’m really tired, that normal?”

“I gave you some painkillers,” you explain, “probably why.”

Joel looks around gingerly, noting the mess with an amused expression.

“Cleaned up real nice for me, didn’t you?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you mutter dryly, shifting to adjust the blanket over him. “Next time, I’ll set up some mood lighting and put some music on for you.”

Joel groans low in his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Nah. You singin’ for me would be good enough.”

You snort softly, “I don’t sing.”

“Shame,” he murmurs, barely audible, his eyes slipping closed again. “Bet it’d be real pretty, you got a pretty voice, know you’d sing pretty too.”

Your chest squeezes, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath you can’t quite take.

“You’re losing it, old man.”

Joel smiles weakly.

“Maybe.”

A long pause and he speaks even soften.

“Still think you got a nice voice, though.”

–

You stay beside him. Even after he dozes back off, you don’t move—not far. Never quite letting go of his hand either. Just shift the stool closer and brace your elbow on the edge of the bed, chin tucked in your other hand. 

The storm outside has softened, now more wind than snow, rattling the windows with every gust.

You don’t realize you’ve nodded off until something shifts. A sound—low, grumbly.

“…you snore a little,” Joel rasps.

You straighten quickly and shake your head, blinking through a sleep haze as you answer him defiantly, “I do not, Miller.”

“Oh—you do, sweetheart,” Joel challenges, a subtle smirk playing at his face, staring at you through his swollen eye.

“Good to know you never stop being insufferable,” you tease him.

“Just like seein’ you laugh,” Joel admits before a silence grows, a look of subtle concern crossing his face, “How bad was it? The horde?”

“We’ve dealt with stuff like that before, maybe not at that level but it isn’t something we’re not prepared for. A couple didn’t make it, got bitten defending the watchtower—Jackson can always rebuild, we mourn, move on, you know? With you, s’different,”

Joel, for once, doesn’t know how to respond.

You see it then—that quiet, careful look he sometimes gives you when he thinks you're not watching. Like he’s cataloguing you. Not in some grand, poetic way. More like he’s memorizing how you look when you're safe. When he needs the reminder of it.

You’re too tired to do anything but meet it.

“I ain't goin' anywhere,” he says finally, voice rough but firm, “You can stop lookin’ at me like I’m about to flatline.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Joel smirks faintly. “You’ve been holdin’ my hand for a while,”

“Oh,” it started to feel like an extension of you, his touch, but you slowly attempted to retract.

“Don’t,” Joel tells you, gripping your hand tighter, shifting his head against the makeshift pillow underneath his head that you had made out of his jacket halfway through the night.

“Thanks for not givin’ up on me,” Joel says gently,

You glance over, unsure how to respond at first.

“You really think I would?”

“Dunno,” he says, voice low, “don’t really think I deserve the effort anymore from anyone…”

He trails off, but it hangs between you anyway. 

The way he says it—soft, raw—like the words snuck out before he could stop it.

You lean in slightly, brushing your thumb just once over the back of his hand.

“I’m not anyone, Joel.”

Joel looks at you again, his expression shifting.

His fingers curl around yours again. Warmer this time. Intentional.

“Five years I’ve known you—I’ve patched your ass up more times than I can count. I’ve had dinners with you, beers with you and your brother. This isn’t my attempt at gaining some good karma. I care about you just as much as the rest of this town.”

“You’re too good to me,” Joel says quietly.

–

Jackson rebuilds, but it takes time.

Eventually, you find out that the assailants were after Joel—but Jesse and Ellie had shown up at a crucial point in the ambush that saved Joel and Dina’s life, despite his extensive injuries.

And Joel, stubborn as he was, began to heal.

The first few weeks are slow, mostly bed-ridden - or office-ridden, leg propped up at his desk as he and Tommy planned out the rebuild process and you rounded your daily office visit to him for assurance that he was taking the antibiotics you had given him and checking on his wound.

It takes a few months, but he does get on his feet again.

He’s resilient, you’ll give him that. An injury that would take no less than six to eight months before the healing was done and Joel was already moving, though with some noticeable pain.

You spot him halfway down the main road on the first name where Jackson was finally starting to feel normal again, walking out of the Tipsy Bison with a pronounced limp.

You sigh to yourself, shifting the object under your arm and start down the road.

“Joel Miller.”

He doesn’t stop walking, but he flinches a little. 

He’s been avoiding you for a couple weeks now, knowing how insistent you had been about him using something to support his leg, just to give it a break once in a while.

“I will chase you down.”

He stops.

You close the distance, holding up the object in your hand.

“If you don’t use this, I’m following you everywhere, barring you from walking, and pushing you around in a wheelchair.”

He eyes the cane. Then your face. Then the cane again.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is.”

He scowls. “I’m not usin’ a damn cane.”

“You’re still healing,” you tell him, “and if you care about my worries—you’ll use it.”

“That’s low,” Joel counters,

You had spent a week sanding down the cane to a smooth texture, rounding out the handle to something comfortable to grip, even polished it up. It was extravagant or crazy, but it was clearly made with love.

“Did you make it?” Joel asks curiously.

“Doesn’t matter,” You shrug.

Joel smirks at that. 

You had. He knows it.

He takes it wordlessly, wrapping his fingers around the handle and planting it into the ground.

He tests it out wordlessly, leaning his weight into it and only slightly annoyed at how it eases the weight on his injured leg, looking up at you sheepishly.

“So….should I say it now or?”

“Zip it,” Joel retorts with a faint playfulness, “it…helps, s’real nice of you, you know?”

You raise your brow. “You sayin’ I was right? Knowing you needed it?”

“Don’t push it.” Joel warns

“Say it.” you tease with a flirtatious smile that doesn’t go amiss.

Joel sighs, scratching at his jaw. “You were… not completely wrong.”

You beam, and he rolls his eyes, though the edge of his mouth quirks up.

After a beat, he taps the cane gently against the side of your boot.

“Walk with me?” he asks.

He didn’t even need to ask.

–

There wasn’t any indication of where you were walking to, but naturally you drift to your shared street, homes sitting on opposite sides of the street, but near enough that you were only a short walk away.

The cane clicks softly against the dirt road like a steady metronome to the quiet shuffle of your boots. His limp is pronounced, but less severe than it was a few weeks ago.

The streets are quieter these days. Jackson feels like it's exhaling after holding in a long overdue breath.

Joel walks with his shoulder close to yours. Not touching, but close enough that it would only take a shift. He’s never been one for words, not when the moment matters most—but his silence is full of meaning.

Or, maybe he is just savoring the peace.

“You really made this?” he asks again after a few paces, like he needs to be sure.

You nod shyly, hands shoving into your coat pockets.

He’s quiet for a while, but then, “It’s real thoughtful of you.”

“I was gonna carve your name into it, actually,” you joke, nudging him gently with your elbow, “but Tommy said that was a bad idea.”

Joel chuckles low under his breath. “He’d be right.”

Through your sudden shared laughter, your knuckles brush.

It’s nothing, but it feels like so much.

As you approach your houses, Joel turns to you.

“Do you need anything?” you ask him gently. “I can stop by later if you need some pain meds or anything? Or yell at you for not resting up at home like you should.”

Joel huffs, shaking his head. “Always lookin’ for a reason to yell at me, huh?”

“Only ‘cause you keep givin’ me so many,” you tease.

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes scanning your face in the too quiet dark.

“You stayed the whole night,” he says finally, like he’s been holding it in for a while.

“I told Tommy I wouldn’t leave until you woke up.”

Joel nods once. He shifts his weight on the cane, hesitating just slightly, before adding, “I heard you—talkin’ to me.”

“You did?” you ask, your voice quiet. “Well, that’s…embarrassing.”

Joel’s gaze drops to your hand lingering close to his—he hadn’t even realized he’d reached out until it was too late, his hand dwarfing your own in a gentle hold of your fingertips. 

It’s a small touch, but it grounds him.

You flinch slightly at the touch, feeling the heaviness of the moment

“You can let go,” he says, looking back up at you.

You smile faintly. “I don’t want to.”

Joel hums thoughtfully. “Seems I don’t want to either,”

And in that soft hum between houses, under the stars beginning to peek through the roaming clouds overhead, Joel leans in, his cane shifting a few inches behind you as he leans his weight into it to reach you, his lips pressing against yours in a quiet, tender moment of vulnerability under the dim street lights.

“Never got to thank you properly,” Joel admits.

“Is that your way of saying thank you?” you ask curiously.

“Can be,” Joel responds mischievously, a smirk tugging at his lips as you pull back to look at him.

“I think you can do better,” you challenge him, nose brushing against his own.

“You’re damn right,” he agrees, using his free hand to curve around the back of your neck as he pulls you in, stealing your breath away with the second press of his lips.

When he parts, you can’t help but giggle against him, an indescribable feeling tightening your chest.

“Yeah…that’s—” You breath stutters as you nod, “that’ll do.”

Joel chuckles softly, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Good, ‘cause I got a lot of thankin’ to make up for.”

Grishaverse,

Warrior Nun was able to be brought back. I don't know the legal specifics of the contract Eric and his team have with Netflix but we need to fight for someone to save this show. please let's trend #saveshadowandbone !

◇ 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞 ◇

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟒: 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 18+ | 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

◦ 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐦! 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Warning: edging, teasing, sex! toy (vibrator!), pussy eating, soft dom marc, overstimulation

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You really wish you hadn’t tried getting back at Marc. Teasing him never went well for you, it always ended you up in the position you were in at the moment.

Your wrists were tied to the headboard with your legs spread, marc between your thighs with your legs above his shoulders. He wasn’t fucking you with his fingers or eating you out. He was holding a vibrator to your acing clit, circle it softly then pulling back as soon as he saw your legs shake.

“Told you honey, right before we walked out that door didn’t I?” Marc cooed. You whined in agony as your pussy pulsed and dripped in need. He’d been at it for who knows how long.

You went out with Marc tonight, the late night bar date was going well until you told him to look under the table. Marc’s body tensed as he saw you wearing no panties, just the thin fabric of the dress hiding what’s his from the world.

Now you were here, tied up and being edged for the past 30 minutes. “I- I’m sorry” you choked out as Marc ran the warm silicone up your sticky folds. The sound of the vibration and your slick making you even needier.

“No you aren’t and that’s ok, I don’t mind this” he mocked as he pressed the vibrator down onto your clit. Your hips bucked up in the air as you squeezed your eyes shut and focused on the pleasure.

You felt the knot getting tighter and tighter as he slowly circled the toy into your messy cunt. Marc smiled up at you, pulling the toy away the second he saw you too comfortable.

You let out a pitiful cry, tears streaming down your face as the edging was getting to much. “Ple- p- please Marc, please” you cried out.

“I know sweetheart, sucks doesn’t it?” He mocked. His lips pressed a soft kiss into your inner thigh, his hand moving the toy back up to your clit and dragging it through your folds.

“Think you’ve had enough punishment for today yeah?” He hummed. You nodded weakly with tears streaming down your face and body shaking. Marc turned the vibrator off, your soft smile turning into a frown as he threw the toy to the side.

Before you could get a word out his mouth was lapping at your pussy. His tongue working at your swollen clit that was covered in slick “mhm so fucking g- good” Marc groaned as he rolled his tongue around your clit.

A loud whine spilled out your lips as he bobbed his head and lapped as if his life depended on it. Your hands flew to his hair as you felt your orgasm wash over you.

The nerves in your body tingling as you finally got the release you’ve been dying for. Your breathy moans filled the room as he didn’t stop, causing your body to shiver and squirm under him.

Marc gave one last lick with a pop of his lips, his mouth covered in your wetness as he lifted two fingers onto his cheeks and collected your cum with his fingers, sucking them clean with a moan.

Both of you knew that this wouldn’t be the last time, and you were definitely not sorry.

On Irish trains we have train magazines for some reason and I would like to inform u that hozier is on the cover

He’s using the force..?

Soulbound Ch 3

1st Person POV:

Bobby is sitting in his make-shift library while Sam sits at a desk in the kitchen. I sit across from him while Dean paces around the room. Dean and I had just finished telling them about what happened while Sam was MIA and Bobby was ever so gently knocked unconscious by an angel.

"Well, then tell me what else it could be." Sam sighed, resting his forehead on his fist.

Dean leans forward slightly, "Look, all I know is I was not groped by an angel."

"Dean I saw his wings, his friggin' wings! Is that not proof enough?" I throw my hands up in exasperation.

"No! You wanna know why? Because I didn't see 'em! Why the hell are you the only ones that can anyway? I mean, Bobby didn't!" Dean raises his voice a little, gesturing his hand towards Bobby, who's just reading in one of his many books.

"Okay, look, Dean. Why do you think this Castiel would lie to you about it?" Sam's voice is calmer than his brother's, quieter.

"Maybe he's some kind of demon. Demons lie." Dean argues. I rub my forehead in frustration, these Winchesters always being the argumentative type.

"A demon who's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps... and Ruby's knife? Dean, Lilith is scared of that thing!" My voice starts to raise as well, feeling more and more overstimulated by each passing moment. I roll my eyes as Dean picks up a slice of pizza, sniffs it and tosses it back in the box. "Don't you think that if angels were real, that some hunter somewhere would have seen one... at some point... ever?" Dean waves his hands around, irritated.

Sam smirks softly, "Yeah. You just did, Dean."

"I'm trying to come up with a theory here. Okay? Work with me." 

"Dean, we have a theory." I argue.

Dean stands up from where he was leaning on the counter, putting his hands on his hips, "Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please."

"Okay, look. I'm not saying we know for sure. I'm just saying that I think we --" Sam starts before Dean interrupts.

"Okay, okay. That's the point. We don't know for sure, so I'm not gonna believe that this thing is a freaking Angel of the Lord because it says so!" Dean yells.

Bobby interjects, looking up at us, "You three chuckleheads want to keep arguing religion, or do you want to come take a look at this?"

The boys and I walk over to Bobby's desk, "I got stacks of lore -- Biblical, pre-Biblical. Some of it's in damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit."

"What else?" Dean asks, making me smack his shoulder.

"What else, what?" Bobby's eyebrows crinkle at the question.

"What else could do it?"

Bobby folds his hands in front of him on his lap, "Airlift your ass out of the hot box? As far as I can tell, nothing. And nothing on why (Y/N) can see his wings while you can't."

"Dean, this is good news." Sam beams.

"How?" Dean furrows his eyebrows and looks at his brother.

"Because for once, this isn't just another round of demon crap. I mean, maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?" Sam says, a little too excited about angels being real.

"Okay. Say it's true. Say there are angels. Then what? There's a God?" Dean's tone still holds disbelief.

"At this point, Vegas money's on yeah." Bobby shrugs.

"I don't know, guys." Dean sighs, rubbing his forehead.

"Okay, look. I know you're not all choirboy about this stuff, but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof." Sam waves his hands around. 

"Proof?" Dean narrows his eyes.

"Yes." I say incredulously. 

Dean raises his voice again, "Proof that there's a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally? I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it."

"Why not?" I cross my arms over my chest and shift my weight to my left leg.

"Because why me? If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?" Dean's voice breaks.

"Dean --," Sam starts but Dean interrupts him.

"I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that made up for the stealing and the ditching chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy."

"Apparently, you're a regular guy that's important to the man upstairs." Sam smiles a little.

"Well, that creeps me out. I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by... God." Dean scoffs.

"Okay, well, too bad, Dean, because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat." I clap my hand on his shoulder. 

A silence passes over us before Dean clears his throat, "Fine. What do we know about angels?"

My mouth falls open slightly as Bobby plops half a dozen heavy books in front of us, "Start reading." The older man says.

Dean's eyes widen and he looks at Sam, "You're gonna get me some pie." Then he grabs the top book from the pile. I sigh and grab the second book, plopping onto the couch and opening it.

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV:

Sam pulls up in the Impala as Bobby, Dean and I load the trunk of Bobby's car. Bobby tosses a brown duffel bag in it then walks up to Sam, telling him about his plan for us to go see a friend of his, Olivia Lowry. Dean walks around to the driver's side while I go to the backseat, Bobby going to his own car.

"Scoot over." Dean all but demands.

"Yeah." Sam responds, looking a little concerned. Dean grabs the bag of food from Sam and rifles around inside it. "Dude?" Dean doesn't look up from the bag.

"Yeah?" Sam looks at his brother while I giggle, knowing where this is going.

Dean looks at his brother, wide-eyed, "Where's the pie?" 

~~~~~~~

We all walk into Olivia's house, all armed with guns and Bobby calling out to his friend. "Olivia?" I round the corner with the boys, seeing the woman dead on the floor, bloody and mangled. Bobby says nothing as he walks out of the room and out the front door. 

"Bobby?" I follow him out, wanting to make sure he was okay. I see Bobby on his phone, dialing someone else's number. "Bobby?" He looks up at me, trying not to show just how distraught he is and failing. "Are you okay, Bobby?" He nods silently, bringing his phone to his ear. After a few seconds, he sighs and tries another number. He repeats this process a couple times, growing a little agitated. Bobby puts his down again, putting his other hand on my shoulder and leading me back inside silently.

"Bobby, you all right?" Dean asks him. Sam stands up from his position, previously crouched over Olivia's body.

Bobby keeps his hand on my shoulder, maybe a little worried if I wander too far I'll end up like Olivia, "I called some hunters nearby..."

"Good. We can use their help." Dean grimaces down at the corpse.

"...except they ain't answering their phones either." Bobby finishes.

Sam looks at Bobby sympathetically, "Something's up, huh?"

"You think?" Bobby leads me back outside, I can feel Sam and Dean's eyes boring into our backs.

~~~~~~~

Dean, Sam and I are driving to another hunter's house, a friend of Bobby's named Jed. Dean's been calling him every once and a while on the drive with no answer. "Jed, Dean Winchester again -- friend of Bobby Singer's. Look, we think something's happening. We think it's happening to hunters. Just want to make sure you're okay. Call me back."

Dean hangs up the phone and sets it on the dash as he drives, "Damn it."

I sigh softly, not having much hope that Jed is still alive, or anyone that Bobby has called.

~~~~~~~

"We're at Jed's. It's not pretty. He looks even worse than Olivia. What about you?" Dean speaks to Bobby through the phone as we walk down the front porch steps. After Bobby's response Dean speaks again, "What the hell is going on here, Bobby? Why did a bunch of ghosts suddenly want to gank off-duty hunters?" More silence as Bobby speaks, then Dean says, "We're on our way."

~~~~~~~

Dean is driving, on the phone, trying to get ahold of Bobby. Sam is in the passenger seat with bruises on his face, I try to assess his injuries, distracting myself from the growing anxiety of my surrogate father not answering his God damn phone.

"Damn it, Bobby! Pick up!" Dean yells, looking at his phone, then putting it back up to his ear.

"How you feeling, huh? How many fingers am I holding up?" I ask Sam, holding up three fingers.

"None. I'll be fine, (Y/N)." 

"Henriksen?" Dean asks.

"The FBI dude?" I raise my eyebrow. Dean and I were both asleep in the Impala when Sam was attacked in the bathroom, Dean saving him with salt rounds, while I took the gas pump out of the car, unaware.

"Yep." Sam nods.

"Why? What did he want?" I ask, leaning back against my seat, arms crossed over my chest.

"Revenge, 'cause we got him killed." Sam sighs.

"Sam." Dean says sternly.

"Well, we did, Dean." Sam tilts his head.

"All right. Stop right there. Whatever the hell is going on, it's happening to us now, okay? I can't get ahold of Bobby, so if you're not thinking answers, don't think at all." Dean scolds, rather harshly, speeding to Bobby's.

~~~~~~~

Dean, Sam and I enter the house, guns cocked and ready. "Bobby?" I call out, moving throughout the first floor.

"Bobby?" Dean calls. He snaps his fingers, pointing to a fire poker on the floor.

"I'll go. You check outside." I gesture to the stairs, the boys nodding and going outside to the junkyard. I go upstairs, searching for Bobby, calling his name every once in a while. A door slams next to me, making my head whip to my right. Another door shuts at the end of the hall, then the last one opens. 

"Come out, come out, whoever you are." I say as I slowly make my way down the hall. My breath becomes visible.

"(Y/N) Singer. Or should I say (L/N). Still so bossy." I turn around, seeing a woman a little older than me with (h/l) (h/c) hair. "You don't recognize me?" 

My eyebrows crinkle, remembering a picture of my mom and dad Bobby grabbed when he found me. My mother was standing before me, looking as she did when I was a baby, albeit a bit dirty.

My mother takes a step forward, "This is what I looked like when you were tiny. You were only a few months old when that demon killed me and your dad."

"Mom?" I tear up a little, letting my guard down slightly.

She smiles lovingly, "Hi. It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you, baby."

"You're my mom. Bobby saved a picture of you for me..."

"I'm glad he did, so you could recognize me now. You were too young to remember that demon possessing me. Too young to remember the demon in my body killing your daddy right in front of you. Then Bobby Singer showed up, your little self screaming and crying in your crib. The demon made me stab myself. So when Bobby exorcised the demon, I died too." She takes slow steps towards me.

"I'm sorry, Mom." I try to keep my tears at bay.

"Oh, yeah? So sorry that you're the reason the demon was there?" She tilts her head.

"W-What? What do you-?" My mom cuts me off, yelling.

"That demon was there for you! You're the reason your father and I are dead! It's all your fault! Without you, your dad would still be alive! I would still be alive!"

I sniffle, flinching slightly as a tear falls, "How is it my fault!? I was a baby!"

My mother takes another step forward, hitting me with a right hook, making me fall to the floor. My gun clatters to the floor and she kicks it away. "Mom." I grunt, bringing myself to my elbows before she kicks me in the face. I groan and roll onto my back. "I was a baby..."

My mom scoffs, crouching in front of me, "No...you're apparently more than that. Important enough that demons wanted you. Do you know what you are?"

"No, I don't." My voice comes out strained.

She grabs the collar of my shirt, I glance down, seeing a brand on her hand. "Of course not. Not a clue that the angel on your shoulder is the reason I'm like this..."

"What are you talking about?"

She shoves me back down, sending another harsh kick to my ribs. She stands over me, continuing her monologue, "Your daddy worshipped you. He was gonna be at your beck and call as his little girl. He died protecting you. He died because he was determined to not let that thing have you."

"Mom."

"You were the best thing to happen to us. We were already planning when to give you a little brother or sister. Picturing you running around with your sibling, being a mentor. But when that demon told your dad what you are, speaking with my voice! It's all your fault! I wish I never had you!"

Another tear falls down my cheek, I'm not sure if it's from physical pain or emotional at this point. "I'm sorry, Mom."

She grits her teeth and kicks me again. I grunt and get to my hands and knees, trying to crawl away, I probably have a broken rib...or two. I lay back down on the ground, pulling a pistol from my boot. I aim it at my mother, glaring slightly.

"Oh come on. Are you really that stupid? You can't get rid of me with regular bullets." My mother taunts.

"I'm not shooting you." I grunt, aiming my gun up to a chandelier, shooting the chain. It falls and immediately makes my mom disappear. "Iron. Bitch." I groan in pain, laying there for a moment.

~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean, Bobby and I are in the study, the boys looking away from me as my shirt is sitting on my shoulders so I can wrap an ace bandage on my ribs. Dark bruising covers my ribs and stomach, making me wince.

"So, they're all people we know?" Sam questions, his arms out disbelievingly.

"Not just know. People that died because of us. I saw something on my mom's hand, and I don't think she had any tattoos on her hands, it looked like a brand." I huff, struggling with the bandage. Sam walks over and helps me wrap it around myself, being gentle and not letting his eyes wander.

"I saw a mark, too, on Henriksen." He says.

"What did it look like?" Bobby asks.

Sam finishes wrapping my ribs, standing back up from his kneeling position, "Uh, paper?" Bobby hands him a piece of paper and a pencil, "Thanks." He begins to sketch the symbol on the paper. I pull my shirt back on as Sam shows me the symbol and I nod, "that's it." 

Sam shows it to Bobby, "I may have seen this before." He says as the radio starts up and lights flicker, "We got to move."

Bobby hands Sam a couple books, "Follow me."

"Okay, where are we going?" Sam asks.

Bobby looks at Sam like he grew another head, "Some place safe, you idjit."

Bobby picks up a couple more books and leads us into the basement. We walk to the back of the basement and Bobby opens a big, solid iron door. We walk inside, the boys looking rather impressed, meanwhile I helped Bobby set this up a long time ago. The light turns on, revealing the devil's trap on the floor. It has a bed, weapons rack, desk and a couple other things. Bobby shuts the door and sets the books down.

"Bobby, is this..." Sam starts.

"Solid iron. Completely coated in salt. 100% ghost-proof." He nods, a little bit of boasting in his tone.

"You built a panic room?"

"I had a weekend off." Bobby shrugs.

"Bobby." Dean says.

"What?"

Dean holds up a rifle Bobby had on the gun rack, "You're awesome." Dean smiles and looks at the wall, seeing a poster of a swimsuit model. Obviously not my idea. "Oh."

~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean and I are making salt rounds at the table, while Bobby is writing something down at the desk nearby. A heavy silence hangs in the air as Sam and Dean glance at each other. Dean speaks up first, "See, this is why I can't get behind God."

"What are you talking about?" Sam's eyebrows crinkle.

"If he doesn't exist, fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is." Dean looks back at Bobby then back at Sam and I. "There's no rhyme or reason -- just random, horrible, evil -- I get it, okay. I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?" Sam looks over at Bobby, silently asking for help with this conundrum.

"I ain't touching this one with at 10-foot pole." Bobby chuckles nervously.

"Yeah." Dean scoffs.

Bobby taps his pencil on the book in front of him, "Found it."

"What?" I ask.

"The symbol you saw -- the brand on the ghosts..."

Sam nods, "Yeah?"

"Mark of the Witness." Bobby flips a page in the book, pointing to the symbol.

"Witness? Witness to what?" My eyebrows furrow, a confused look on my face.

"The unnatural. None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts -- they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They were like rabid dogs. It ain't their fault. Someone rose them... on purpose." Bobby informs.

"Who?" I ask, irritation lacing my tone at the thought of someone doing that to my poor mother.

"Do I look like I know? But whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark, a brand on their souls. Whoever did this had big plans. It's called 'the rising of the witnesses.' It figures into an ancient prophecy."

"Wait, wait. What -- what book is that prophecy from?" Dean asks, him and Sam standing up and walking over to Bobby. I stay at the table, ignoring the dull throbbing in my ribs.

"Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists, you know. But long story short -- Revelations. This is a sign, kids."

I rub my forehead, "A sign of what?" 

Bobby leans back in his chair, glancing from me to the boys, "The apocalypse."

"Apocalypse? The apocalypse, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, $5-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?" Dean asks incredulously.

"That's the one. The rise of the witnesses is a -- a mile marker."

"Okay, so, what do we do now?" Sam interrogates.

Dean scoffs, walking back to the table, "Road trip. Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience." He claps his hands. "Bunny Ranch." Dean sits back down with me at the table.

"We're not going to Carson City." I cross my legs, resisting the urge to throw one of these salt rounds at him.

"First things first. How about we survive our friends out there?" Bobby rocks slightly in the desk chair.

"Great. Any ideas aside from staying in this room until Judgment Day?" Dean tilts his head.

Bobby taps his pencil on the page in front of him, "It's a spell to send the witnesses back to rest. Should work."

"Should. Great." Sam chuckles.

"If I translate it correctly. I think I got everything we need here at the house." Bobby says hopefully.

Dean smiles. "Any chance you got everything we need here in this room?"

"So, you thought our luck was gonna start now all of a sudden?" Bobby says with his signature sass. He stands up, walking to the gun rack, "Spell's got to be cast over an open fire."

"The fireplace in the library." Sam states.

"Bingo."

Dean looks between Bobby, Sam and I, "That's just not as appealing as a, uh, ghost-proof panic room, you know?" Sam sighs and we start preparing to leave the panic room.

"Cover each other. And aim careful. Don't run out of ammo until I'm done, or they'll shred you. Ready?" Bobby asks after we've loaded our guns and got things ready. Bobby pushes open the door, all of us aiming our guns and ready to fire. We round the corner to the stairs, seeing a man with dark, curly hair sitting near the top.

The man looks up, smiling a little, "Hey, Dean. You remember me?"

Dean smiles as well, "Ronald, huh? With the laser eyes? I wish I could say it's good to see you." 

"I am dead because of you. You were supposed to help me!" Ronald yells, standing up.

Bobby shoots Ronald with a salt round, making him disappear, "If you're gonna shoot, shoot. Don't talk."

Sam, Bobby, Dean and I get up the stairs and into the living room, I help Sam pour a salt circle while Dean starts the fire in the fireplace. Bobby looks at Sam, "Upstairs, linen closet -- red hex box. It'll be heavy."

"Got it." Sam nods and goes upstairs.

Two little girls appear, both with dark hair and dirty dresses. "Bobby." One of them says. I shoot them bot before they can get another word out.

"Kitchen. Cutlery drawer. It's got a false bottom. Hemlock, opium, wormwood." Bobby tells me.

"Opium?"

"Go!" Bobby yells at me.

I go into the kitchen and rifle through the cutlery drawer, grabbing what Bobby asked for under a false bottom in the drawer, when I hear another gunshot, meaning one of the boys shot another ghost. The doors to the kitchen close suddenly. "(Y/N)?" Bobby yells for me, worry in his tone.

"I'm all right, Bobby! Keep working!" I see Henrikson appear next to me out of the corner of my eye, grabbing my wrist, "Victor."

"(Y/N)." His voice is full of malice, of hatred.

"I know."

He scoffs, "No. You don't."

"It's our fault you're dead. We left you behind. And the minute I heard about that explosion, I thought, 'I should've known.' We should've protected you." I reach behind me to grab my shotgun, but it's flung across the room.

"Unh-unh. Not so fast." I look at my discarded gun then back at Henrikson, "You think you left and Lilith came and we all died in a beautiful blast of... white light? If only. 45 minutes."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion, "What?"

Henrikson continues, "Over 45 minutes. Lilith said she wanted to have some fun. The secretary was first. Remember her? Nancy, the virgin. Lilith filleted Nancy's skin off piece by piece. Right in front of us, made us watch. Nancy never stopped screaming."

"No." I could feel the guilt racking my brain.

"I was the last."

"Victor..." I start, full of remorse. Henrikson reaches into my chest, gripping my heart, making me grunt and grit my teeth. "Tell me how it's fair. Dean gets saved from Hell -- I die. Why does he deserve another chance, (Y/N)?"

Henrikson sighs, my eyes shutting as my vision starts to fade, before a loud gunshot makes my ears ring. Henrikson's hand disappears from my chest and I crumble to the ground, gasping and coughing.  

"You all right?" Sam kneels next to me as I grasp my chest where Henrikson's hand was.

I wince, "No."

"Let's go." Sam helps me to my feet. He opens the kitchen door, carrying the hexbox while I bring in the bowl of ingredients. We set them on the desk in front of Bobby and he starts putting things together. Ronald appears again as Dean is reloading his gun.

"Ronald. Hey, come on, man. I thought we were pals." Dean smiles a little, putting the salt rounds in his gun.

"That's when I was breathing. Now I'm gonna eat you alive." Ronald smiles back. 

Dean chuckles, "Well...come on, I'm not a cheeseburger." Dean cocks his gun and points it at Ronald, but Ronald has vanished. Bobby recites some Latin words and the windows blow open and a wind fills the room. The wind breaks the salt circle, leaving us vulnerable. Meg appears and Sam quickly shoots at her, as Bobby continues to recite the spell. My mother materializes in front of me, Dean shooting her.

Ronald appears and I shoot him. Sam, Dean and I continue to fire as the ghosts show up. My mom appears again and knocks my gun out of my hands. I quickly pick up an iron rod and swing it at her. Meg comes into view and pushes Sam against the wall, trapping him there with a desk. Sam grunts as he tries to push the desk away without success.

Dean shouts, "Sam!"

"Cover Bobby!" His brother responds, his voice strained.

Bobby continues to recite the spell as Sam keeps trying to get out from behind the desk. The two little are sitting on the desk in front of Sam. Meg plunges a hand into Bobby's back, making him drop the bowl with spell ingredients with a grunt. Bobby yells at me in a strained voice as I catch the bowl, "(Y/N)! Fireplace!"

I throw the bowl in the fire, which turns blue. Dean grabs me and pulls me from the fire as a bright light explodes in the room and we shield our eyes. When we look around the ghosts are gone and Bobby falls to the floor.

"Bobby?" I call to him, concerned.

Sam pushes the desk away from him while Dean nd I go over to Bobby. The boys help him up and I stand in front of him, looking at his face. Bobby nods, telling us he is okay.

~~~~~~~

3rd Person POV:

The couch where (Y/N) was supposed to be sleeping was empty. Sam and Dean are asleep on the floor nearby when the sound of wings wake up Dean. He looks up to find Castiel standing in the kitchen. Dean checks on Sam and sees he is asleep. He looks to the couch, seeing it empty and he grows concerned and walks over to join Castiel, who is leaning against the sink.

"Where's (Y/N)?" Dean asks him.

"She is outside, she is safe." He says, monotone. "Excellent job with the witnesses."

"You were hip to all this?" Dean asks incredulously.

Castiel nods, "I was, uh, made aware."

"Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance. You know, (Y/N) almost got her heart ripped out of her chest. Not to mention some broken ribs." Dean says angrily.

"I know. And I'm sorry. I plan on talking to her after I'm done with you." He says, the same guilt on his face that he had when he was reminded about blinding Pamela.

Dean furrows his eyebrows. "I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos -- you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks."

"Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier."

"Yeah? Then, why didn't you fight?" Dean interrogates.

Castiel continues in his monotone voice, "I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns." He puts emphasis on 'your'.

Dean looks at the angel with offense, "Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?"

"There's a God."

"I'm not convinced. 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?"

Castiel sighs, "The Lord works..."

Dean interrupts him, "If you say 'mysterious ways' so help me, I will kick your ass." Castiel puts his hands up momentarily in surrender, "So, Bobby was right... about the witnesses. This is some kind of a... sign of the apocalypse."

The angel nods, "That's why we're here. Big things afoot."

"Do I want to know what kind of things?"

"I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know. The rising of the witnesses is one of the 66 seals." Castiel states.

"Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld." Dean says sarcastically.

"Those seals are being broken by Lilith."

Dean nods in understanding, "She did the spell. She rose the witnesses."

"Mm-hmm. And not just here. 20 other hunters are dead." Castiel informs.

"Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us."

"Lilith has a certain sense of humor."

"Well, we put those spirits back to rest."

Castiel shakes his head, "It doesn't matter. The seal was broken."

"Why break the seal anyway?" Dean asks.

"You think of the seals as locks on a door."

"Okay. Last one opens and..." Dean trails off.

Castiel stands up straight, "Lucifer walks free."

"Lucifer? But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing."

"Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me. Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?" Castiel asks.

Dean makes the realization, "To stop Lucifer."

"That's why we've arrived."

"Well... bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice." Dean gives the angel attitude.

"We tried. And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost. Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here. You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in." Castiel threatens before he vanishes from Dean's sight.

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV:  

A flutter of wings makes me jump as I sit on the hood of one of Bobby's junk cars, my knees curled to my chest. Castiel stands in front of me, a gentle smile on his face, his wings folded behind him.

"Hello (Y/N)," He greets, his voice monotone.

"Hi Castiel," I give him a polite smile back.

"Good job with the witnesses, I'm glad to see you alive." He nods once, taking a step forward. "But I was made aware that you're injured."

"A, uh, a couple broken ribs, I'll be okay." 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you," Castiel apologizes.

"It's alright, you're busy, I get it." I hum and smile softly.

"May I...heal you?" 

I give him a look of surprise and I nod. Castiel brings two fingers to my forehead and I close my eyes, honestly preparing to hurt some. But instead, the dull throbbing of my ribs completely disappears in seconds. "Thank you Castiel."

He smiles again, "Thank you for letting me."

"C-Can I ask you something?" I stutter, my (e/c) eyes meeting his light blue ones.

"Anything." He answers honestly.

"Today, one of the witnesses was my mother. Her and my dad were killed by a demon when I was a baby. My mom said the demon was after me, that's why it was there. Because of the 'angel on my shoulder'. Do you know what she meant?" I ask, using air quotes.

Castiel nods, looking down at the ground, he seemed almost...nervous. "It's because your soul is tied to...my grace. Which could be harnessed in a way that can cause both of us great harm, even death."

"W-What do you mean? 'Tied to your grace'? Is that why I can see your wings?" My thoughts are going a thousand miles a minute.

The angel sighs and nods again, taking another step forward. "Every angel has a soul they are tied to. But not every soul is tied to an angel. I believe the term humans use is 'soulmate.'"

I look at Castiel like he grew a second head, "So what? I'm destined to be with you or something?" 

His eyebrows crinkle and he shakes his head quickly, "No, you still have the free will to choose that. It's more like I am your guardian angel. My father, he wanted to give us something to...live for. A lot of angels never meet the soul they are bound to, some die before they do. But the humans they are bound to, they are almost always reborn, or reincarnated. Unless that soul is sent to Hell."

 "I-I'm sorry, that's a lot to take in." I interrupt before he can continue.

He nods once more, fidgeting with the sleeve of his trenchcoat, "I felt like this isn't something I should keep from you. You deserve to know."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks Castiel." I nod, swallowing thickly.

Castiel's wings spread out a little, "I-I need to get going. Just know that if you pray to me, I will be there as soon as I can. I will always be someone you can count on."

(A/N:) 5.3k words later. This was really long, so I hope you like long chapters. This would have been out sooner but my daughter's first birthday was on March 30th. I've learned these take about 3-4 days to write so I will try to post at least twice a week. Thank you for reading and I hope the exposition at the end made sense.