Summary:Sons of Anarchy meets Supernatural. In this AU, the Winchesters run the most notorious biker gang in Lawrence. They traffic illegal drugs, weapons, and anything else that makes them money and keeps them on top. Characters in this chapter: Dean Winchester, John Winchester, Crowley, Jo Harvelle, Meg Masters. Mentioned - Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Ruby. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Word Count: 1,432 Warnings: I’m a horrible person. I’m sorry. Author’s Note:This series isn’t going to be light and fluffy. It will include explicit language, explicit sexual content, casual use of illegal drugs, explicit canon typical violence.Miss the beginning?GIF credit [x][x] Picture found on Google Images.
From the moment you slipped into the comforting darkness of unconsciousness, you ran as far as you could. Away from the constant stabs of pain in your gut; the way the serrated blades caught on and tore through your skin, slicing ungracefully through the layers of muscles and organs. Or the constant pulse of your heartbeat against your brain. It was crippling, making you cry out wordlessly in utter agony. But it didn’t matter how far you went, you could still feel the hot bursts of Gadreel’s breath on your neck, smell the sourness of it on the tip of his tongue. Blood and violence got him off, and you could feel him go hard against your back, the way his body shuddered as desire rolled through him.
The helplessness you felt was nothing compared to three years ago. You remembered dragging yourself across the floor, slipping in your own blood as you sought out your cell phone. You had been so sure you were going to die, that if you could have, you would be laughing at yourself. Because now, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Gadreel would succeed in killing you.
You don’t know how long you’d been running or how long you’d been hidden in the deepest part of yourself, rocking back and forth, whispering nonsense to yourself when a gruff voice was talking to you, begging you to wake up.
“Baby, please,” he pleaded, emotion choking him. “I need you to wake up.”
You knew that voice, you just couldn’t place it. It was enough to fill you with curiosity and pull you from the ground. He said it again, clearer this time, and that’s when it hit you. “Dean,” you breathed, his name rolling off your tongue effortlessly.
There was a brush of calloused skin on your hand and it made you jump back. Not because it scared you, but because it sent a thrill slithering down your spine. A sense of urgency pushed down the fear, stomping it into nothing. With your heart pounding, you tore away from your safe place and ran towards Dean’s voice.
Darcy/Clint trying to fix a car or truck while on the run.
“It’s the alternator, “ Darcy says, sitting with her feet out the passenger side window, the sun baking her calfs in a way that will probably suck later, but right now, she does not car.
“Darce, the engine is smoking. It’s not the alternator.”
Clint looks at her with murder in his eyes. It’s a favorite of his looks, because the malice looks almost exactly like aroused and tempting. This is neither the time (3 in the afternoon) or the place (back country roads) or the circumstances (Hydra. Because fucking Nazi’s can’t leave themselves in the black pages of history where they belonged). But damn, it’s a good look.
“Perhaps a timing belt?”
“Are you just naming parts of a car now?” Clint says, wiping sweat from his brow. It falls onto the block and Clint looks down, “Fucking…” and makes a few adjustments.
In the distance, Darcy can hear an engine running higher, faster, harder. Which happens to be the same way that her heart drops and she tenses.
“Try it now!” Clint yells, and Darcy does. The car roars to life, too loud but working, and it’s the best sound in the world, alongside the hood slamming down and Clint leaping into the driver’s seat.
They drive. Fast.
“So what was it?” Darcy asks, a little later, a little safer.
“Spark plugs.” Clint answers with shrug and that same murder-lover look.