#q reader insert

[strawwritesfic]

Asexual!Q x Female!Reader: Logical Fallacy [Ch. 21]

Summary: Q’s got one hundred and two problems. His girlfriend is, technically speaking, every single one.

Challenge:  “102 Things A Guy Should Know About Girls” challenge by Miss Chocobo on Lunaescence Archives.

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: T (foul language; sexual references; asexual!Q; sexual!reader; a running gag about sexual harassment; double standard: sexual harassment, female on male; sexual harassment played for comedy; James Bond & Reader friendship; civilian!reader; artist!reader; complicated family relationships; reader has a really big family; miscommunications; MI6 would not behave this way in reality; set post-Skyfall; joking references made to Bond/Q)

Pairings: Q/Female!Reader; James Bond/Eve Moneypenny

Tag List: @imaginesfire; @rory-cakes​

Master List

Rule #21: Size does matter–but only to hos, not to girls that want relationships.

If Q thought seeing Bond in various locations across London was stressful, it was nothing compared to seeing Bond in his own home. Even then, sitting at the table, Q could not help but feel immensely uncomfortable. Relatively large though the flat may have been, it still didn’t seem roomy enough to contain Bond, Q, and the latter's excitable girlfriend.

“There you go! Tea is up.” 

You flashed Bond a smile as you set one mug down in front of him, then Q. Bond smiled back, Q nodded, but you didn’t leave. Instead, you pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and settled in beside them.

“Mr. Bond, I know you’re here for super-secret work purposes and all–”

“Yes,” Q interjected. “He is.”

“–but could I ask you a question really quick?”

“[Name], now is really not the time. Mr. Bond needs to catch a flight to Beijing in the next five hours, and he really cannot afford to waste time with idle chitchat.”

“Oh, give the lady a break, Q.” Bond smirked at the look Q shot him over the top of his glasses. Really, it was bad enough that he had to invite Bond over to do this trade, and now Bond was purposely going to make Q look the bad guy. “I’m sure the professional matters can wait for a few minutes. Unless my ticket is going to blow up if I don’t leave quickly enough?”

Q answered with stony silence that you reacted to not at all.

Bond’s grin widened as he turned back to you. “Go ahead, [Name].”

For a moment, Q thought you might just do as he had asked and leave. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. These actions were unfortunately not in preparation for exiting the room. They were instead preparation to ask the following question:

“Mr. Bond, how big is your penis?”

Tea spurted from Q’s mouth. Both you and Bond turned to give him quizzical looks as he continued to cough.

“[Name]!” he protested around his coughing fit. “Why would you–You just can’t–Why do you even–” Q could not finish his sentences.

You shrugged your shoulders in an almost offensively casual manner. “What? It’s not like I’m taking out a tape measure and asking him to whip it out on the table.”

Q’s cheeks grew as hot as the teapot sitting on the stove. Next to him, Bond’s shoulders silently shook, as if he were trying desperately not to laugh openly at Q’s predicament. When Q could not find it in himself to speak, Bond ran a finger around the lip of his mug and asked:

“Why the sudden interest?”

“Well.” You frowned at the table. “Q says everyone wants to sleep with you. I guess I was just curious if that had anything to do with it, because as far as I know, no one has offered to sleep with Q other than me. Maybe it's a size issue?”

Now Bond was definitely suppressing a smile. “How big is Q’s?”

“That’s none of your business!” Q burst out at last. Bond chuckled. You cocked your head to one side and blinked. “Can we please just get back to what we came here to do?”

“You didn’t come here to do anything. You live here.”

“You know what I mean!” Of course, it was unprofessional to snap, not to mention that Q probably wouldn’t hear the end of this particular embarrassment for a long time to come–from Bond or you. He sighed and tried to contain himself before speaking again. “[Name], please relocate to the living room. This does require the exchange of some confidential information.”

“But I didn’t get my answer,” you said, sticking your lower lip out.

Q glowered at you. Sometimes it seemed as if you got some sort of kick out of mortifying him. 

From the corner of his eye, Q saw Bond wink. “I’m afraid that’s confidential information as well, [Name].” 

Q turned his head slightly to stare at Bond. What was going on? Was he really trying to salvage the situation? Or was he about to speak some new terror into it?

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

Bond nodded gravely. “I might have to kill you if I told you. M would definitely find out about it, and then where would we be?”

“Dead,” you said breathlessly. “Or arrested.”

“That’s right. Now, why don’t you run along to the living room before Q here’s head explodes?”

“Okay!” You got to your feet, beaming, and headed toward the hallway. “You two have fun!”

Q waited until he heard the television turn on, then heaved a relieved sigh as Bond took a deep swig of tea.

“Thanks,” said Q.

“Don’t mention it.”

[auroracalisto]

opposites attract, or so they say

simon x gn!reader, 1.9k words summary: simon's got a crush on the sweet little thing down the street. a/n: I love him. I love kyle gallner. send help. tw: lots of cussing but it's mostly because I went with simon's pov and ran with it, simon is buzzed, brief mention of sexual content but like nothing other than the idea

Simon was a lot of things.

Angry. Vile. Crude. A badass punk rocker.

But there was something more to him than just that. There was something deep within him that screamed for release, that just wanted to be a part of his world just as much as the rest of him.

And that, which it's far more simple than you might think, was the need to be loved.

His family was shit. That was a given. Never once looked at him like they were proud of him, which for what it was worth, he couldn't give a shit.

His bandmates were fucking righteous, but what the fuck's that got to do with anything? Love from a bandmate? Right. Weird as fuck. This wasn't one of those half-assed teen romcoms where the drummer fell in love with the lead singer. He'd rather vomit in front of an entire set than have his drummer fall in "love" with him.

And then, there was you. That bitch down the block that made him question anything and everything. Just looking at you made him feel things that he wasn't used to, and it infuriated him.

Sure, maybe he wanted to be loved, but by you? Sweet, little Y/n who'd never had a bad thought in your life? For fucks sake, it was as if the universe was laughing at him!

The universe was always laughing at him.

But who cares? He was in a punk ass band, he always stuck it to the Man, and when it mattered most, his bandmates showed up when others didn't.

But you were always on his mind.

Shit.

He was down bad for you. There was no way around it.

Standing outside your doorstep, half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips, he knocked rather loudly. If you didn't answer, he'd just leave. God, he hoped you didn't answer. The cherry wine coolers he'd had just moments before weren't doing much to settle his nerves.

Why the fuck was he even nervous?

It wasn't like it was the first time he'd been around you. Hell, he'd smoked a cigarette or three on your doorstep, complaining about anything and everything as you drank a soda, a coffee, or one of those cheap wine coolers he brought you.

It wasn't like he didn't know you.

There's a pause as he sucks in a deep breath of smoke, and the door opens to reveal you. In your pajamas like a good little samaritan, ready for bed at 10 in the evening.

Simon silently scolded himself. Of course you were ready for bed. A goody-two-shoes who most definitely wasn't waiting up for some kind of divine inspiration for a new song. Who wasn't waiting up for some kind of alcohol to finally kick in.

You blinked slowly at him. You knew him—not as well as you would like to, but you knew him. You had a history class together back in high school, and while you weren't that teenager from way back when, you still remember the inkling of a crush you had on him. You knew him way better then than you did, now.

Ethics be damned, am I right?

"Simon?"

Your voice was so soft, so sweet. He just wanted to turn around and walk away, to avoid you so he wouldn't taint you like he wanted to.

Dammit.

"Hey, Y/n," he said, dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his boots. "You, uh, got a minute?"

You blinked slowly but gave a small nod, stepping out onto the porch. You closed the door behind you to keep the cool air from going in. Your arms crossed over your chest and you watched Simon closely before he spoke. It wasn't the first time you had done this.

You stood barefoot in front of him, the cold concrete a not-so-welcome addition to the conversation.

"Look," he began. "I, uh, just wanted to—well, fuck, I don't know what I wanted to—"

He was a blabbering mess. What the fuck was this? He was confident, but around you, it was as if every little bit of his brazenness melted away.

"You, me, bar tomorrow night, yeah?" he blurted.

Simple. To the point. Far less embarrassing than what happened just moments prior.

Your eyes widened, and he can see the gears turning in your pretty mind. But you didn't seem adverse.

You smiled a bit. "What bar?"

He blinked slowly. "What bar? The fuck—uh," he looked over his shoulder, clearing his throat. "Sure. Why the fuck not? Bar on Main Street."

"Will I meet you there?"

He scrunched his nose. "Yeah. Meet me there."

"Cool. What time?"

He blinked slowly. "Time? Fucks sake, Y/n, you ask a hell of a lot of questions," he said, snorting softly. "Let's, uh, say nine? Or is that too late for you?" He eyed your warm pajamas.

"I'll be there," you said.

He perked up a bit before he looked you up and down one more time. "Fucking right," he said. "Be there." He took a step back, nearly faltering on the first step of your porch, but then he turned away and without another word, left you behind.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wasn't stupid. He was smart in his own ways, sure, but what the actual fuck was that?

Girls threw themselves at his feet, especially when he was John Q. Guys did too, in their own ways—hell, he had one guy one time tell him he'd give him a blowjob if he looked at him for longer than five seconds.

He almost took him up on the offer. But that was nearly a year ago, and the way you looked at him tonight made his heart melt in the confines of his beaten chest.

Dammit all, what the fuck was he doing?

Love. What the hell would love give him that he couldn't get from some random fucker down the street?

What in the ever-loving hell was he doing?

Nine o'clock on the dot, he was there at the bar on Main.

Down bad. He knew it, too. Even canceled his band practice just to come and see you. His drummer had nearly cussed him out, but Simon didn't give a shit.

He went straight to the bar and ordered a beer, downing half of it in the first few seconds of having it.

When he felt a hand on his arm, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked down, seeing you standing there. You actually came. You weren't pulling his dick, you actually showed up.

His heart pounded nervously in his chest. Shit. When was the last time he was actually this nervous?

"Y/n," he said.

You smiled up at him. Did anyone ever tell you how pretty your smile was?

What. The. Fuck.

"You said nine, right?" you asked. "I'm avoiding my pajamas just for you."

Just for him. Fuuuck.

You were cute.

He shoots a cheeky grin, leaning against the bar counter. He could be suave. He could be confident and not seem as needy as he felt. The pyro was more than capable.

But for some reason, he didn't feel like lying to you. He didn't feel like joking around, or trying to show you something that simply wasn't true.

He'd loved you since that stupid class back in high school—the one with Mr. Fuck-face and that terrible toupee. You had been so nice to him, while everyone else had treated him like a parasite. Not that he blamed them. He knew what he was.

He cleared his throat and looked around the bar. Maybe it hadn't been the best place to ask you to, but the alcohol definitely would help at some point.

"Yeah. I said nine," he said.

You ordered a drink. He doesn't listen to what you say to the bartender. He's staring you down, eyeing you like a fine choice of meat. Fuck, you were, though. Every inch of you was like heaven to him.

Maybe it wasn't love he wanted. Maybe it was just lust that kept him in a chokehold.

Besides, he hardly knew you. Knew you briefly in high school, but the fuck's that matter? How long has it been since the two of you graduated?

Long enough.

Long enough for everything to change, except for him, apparently.

"How've you been?"

Your voice drew him out of his thoughts. He looked at you, blinking slowly, before he shrugged.

"Busy," he said.

"You still playing?"

He blinked slowly. "Huh?"

"In high school. You had a band. You still playing?"

You remembered that? Shit.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm still playing. We play a couple gigs here and there."

Your eyes widened. "Really? Where do you play?"

"Wherever we can get a spot. You, uh, should totally come out to hear it some time."

You smiled immediately. "I would love to," you said.

He stared you down. Either you were lying or you were one of the fuckers who he knew he'd never get enough of. It's looking like it would be the latter.

He looked away from you, taking a swig of his beer.

"You think that—"

He interrupted you, slamming his beer onto the counter. "Look," he said rather quickly. "I don't know what it is, but I need you to take me seriously for a second."

You blinked slowly. "Yeah. What's up?"

He clenched his jaw as he looked at you. He wasn't angry with you—nah, he was angry with himself. Not talking to you sooner, not kissing your pretty mouth, not—

"I think you're fucking tits," he said, taking hold of you by your shoulders. "I'm not about to sit here and tell you I love you, because I don't, but for fuck's sake, I want you more than I've wanted anything in my entire life."

Okay. Lie number one. Starting off strong. But how could you love someone if you didn't truly know who they were? Guess it wasn't really a lie. It just... was a half truth, if that.

Your eyes are wide as you stared up at him. "What?"

"I want—" he began, letting out a labored breath. "I want you. Okay? There. Fuck. I said it."

"You... you want me? How?"

He snorted softly at your question. "I want you in every fuckin' way imaginable, Y/n."

He said nothing more, leaving it up for your interpretation, but clearly, by the way he was looking at you, it was obvious.

"Simon—"

"Nah, don't," he said. "If you're gonna protest, I don't want to hear it."

"I'm not gonna protest—"

"—I've had enough people tell me they don't want me, and it pisses me off."

"But I—"

"—I'm serious, Y/n."

"Simon. I'm not protesting," you said defensively. "I—I feel the same way."

He blinked slowly at you, like he didn't just hear you correctly.

"What?" he asked.

"I like you," you said. "Have for a while now."

"You..."

"Yeah. I do," you said.

"Well shit," he breathed out, looking down at you. "Well that was easier than I thought it would be."

He pulled on a cheeky grin, and those pretty eyes of his bored into yours.

"You should kiss me," you said, smiling up at him.

"The fuck?" he let out a curt laugh, but he took you up on the offer. A hand moved to the back of your neck, and his lips pressed to yours almost instantaneously.

Fuuck, he'd wanted to do this shit for ages. Why the hell didn't he ask you sooner?

[bonkers-4-hatter]

@castbracelet240 asked: Lotor idea: fem reader and Lotor are fighting (not each other) and the reader gets hurt. A little angst but reader survives.

Hello! Ohhhh yes, some angst! I love me some angst and I really love writing it because damn! Anyways, I hope you enjoy it! <3

If you enjoyed this, consider buying me a coffee. <3

---

"They've entered the deck!"

Chaos was everywhere, weapons going off, screams and grunts of pain as blood was spilling on the floor of the castle. A group of space bandits infultrated Alura's castle and everyone was fighting to defend it. You saw the rest of the Voltron team fighting. You noticed the bandits were being careful not to injure them and the princess as they were needed alive.

You weren't so lucky. Your face was bruised and bloody and your clothing was ripped from cuts from their daggers. Lotor was holding his own though, he only had a few cuts. Your eyes strayed to long making sure he was okay as you let your guard down.

A piercing scream ripped through your throat as you felt a sharp hot pain in your side as you crumpled to the ground. One of the bandits stood above you with a smirk as he ripped the dagger out of your side.

You were stabbed and judging from how long the dagger actually was, it was deep.

Your scream alerted the team and Lotor.

"(Y/N)!" Lotor's scream pierced through the chaos. You looked over to him, eyes growing heavy as you felt your blood...oh God, your blood...it was seeping out of your wound. Bringing your hand up, you saw it caked with blood. The last thing you saw was Lotor's panicked face, fear in his eyes as everything around you went black.

---

A groan emitted as you opened your eyes, the bright lights of the med bay hurting as you closed them again. A deep chuckle and a hand stroking your head made you open them again as Lotor was sitting next to your bed.

His hand continued to stroke your head. "There's those beautiful eyes." His voice was soft as you smiled softly at how gentle he was being. He was usually gentle when you both were alone, so seeing as he was doing this out in the open he must've been really worried.

I scoff lightly at his words, but wince. "Easy (Y/N), the stab wound was deep, but you'll be okay. The doctor said you'll still be in pain for a few weeks while you heal."

"(Y/N)!" The rest of the team came rushing in only to have Lotor glare at them making them calm down and stop before they got to your bed. "Keep it down! (Y/N) just woke up and I swear if any of you make her wince in pain from any touching or hugging, I'll throw you into the vortex of space myself."

The team stopped dead in their tracks at his words. You couldn't help but let out a laugh making everyone stop and stare at you. Wincing lightly, you flashed everyone a smile.

"Lotor, I'm okay. They were just worried...like you were." Lotor's cheeks flush red, but he just scoffs and looks away. The team left saying they'll visit later, leaving Lotor and yourself alone once more.

"...I was more than worrid (Y/N)..." He gently grabbed your hand, his thumbs brushing over the knuckles. "When I saw you go down, my heart stopped, I never knew fear until that moment (Y/N)...I thought I lost you."

Your eyes widen as Lotor's eyes welled with tears. Your arms circled around him pulling him towards you on the medical bay's bed hugging him closely to yourself as he clung to you as if he was afraid you'd dissapear if he let go.

You weren't sure how much time went by, but you didn't mine. You just held him until he pulled away still having a hold on your hand. "You do realize I won't be letting you out of my sight for the unseeable future." You laughed and gave his hand a light squeeze.

"I wouldn't have it any other way Lotor."

[peqchsoup]

Please | Q Drabbles Pt 1

Based on prompt 1 on this post by @urfriendlywriter

I wanna start by clearing up some things:

I am not okay

I have not spell checked this (I haven't even read over it truth be told)

I wrote this in 15 mins in a Starbucks waiting for my laundry

THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH Q FICS

Reader insert (reader has no assigned gender)

I haven't written in a while pls go lightly on me but also pls send prompts/requests

Ever since you started working on the set of Impractical Jokers you had grown to enjoy being around the 4 main men of the show. Joe and Murr were like your uncles; they always had your back when your dad wasn’t around. Sal was your best friend- you two would constantly be joking around with each other and playing little pranks. Then there was Q. Brian. You were head over heels for him the moment you laid eyes on him. The two of you joked around in the way that you and Sal did, but with Q it was different. He was like the friend you don’t want to be embarrassed in front of because you constantly want to impress him and make him think the best of you. 

One day you and the guys were hanging around in the trailer at their live show, becoming more friends than colleagues in the year or so you had been there. Sal and Murr were called to makeup while Joe went outside to call his wife and to say goodnight to his daughter. You took it upon yourself to clean up the trailer a bit- picking up empty wrappers and the likes while Q scrolled on his phone. 

You were trying to lose yourself in your task, rather on focus on the fact that you and Q, the guy you’d been crushing on for a year, were alone in a secluded location.

“Hey, y/n, you don’t have to do that y’know? It isn’t your job.” You turned to see Q watching you, eyes floating down over your ass and back up before you would notice. Or so he thought. 

“I know, but you guys are animals and I can’t sit in this filth anymore.” You joked, holding up two shopping bags of rubbish. Q laughed with you and ushered you over, 

“Come on, come sit.”

So you did. He motioned to his phone as he unlocked it to show you the cat compilation video he had been watching. The two of you laughed together, enjoying each other’s company. 

You were still smiling at the video when you could feel his eyes on you. Raising your head, you found Q’s mere inches from yours. He looked to your lips, you looked to his. Your eyes met again and you breathed in each other’s air. 

Hesitantly, Q leaned in to kiss you. Once, twice, and a third time. Small, shy kisses, not knowing if the feeling would be reciprocated. When he pulled back from you, you could see the pleading look in his eyes. 

As you looked at him, you simply whispered, “do it again, please.”

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (21)

Word count: 3.3K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Look who is posting regularly now ;)

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist

“Miss, you can’t keep waiting by the door for him all day!”

“Watch me,” you muttered and Abby let out a sigh. She must be convinced of your obsessive insanity by now.

“I called Jack and he called Castiel. Mr Winchester will not be back before evening. You will fall sick in this cold.”

“It’s already five… won’t be long before evening. You go on.”

Abby gave you a look that most definitely doubted your sanity but left you at the foot of the staircase where you sat with your book, feet tapping so rapidly, that the anklet Sam had gifted you started to sting.

For the umpteenth time, you wondered what the last, engraved square charm stood for.

Abby had seen you through a week's worth of anxiety but did not know the reason behind it. You knew. Sam was to return today and he had every intention of completely avoiding you and there was no way you were giving him that chance.

Since finding it, you had read Sam’s letter so many times, that the crumpled paper had lost most of its composition and now lay flat, the words already etched in your mind. At first, the pain and sadness in his words riddled you like bullets, but the more time you spent with his words, the angrier you felt about the whole situation.

How dare he apologise for saving you? Stupid, stupid man! How dare he make you fall in love with him even more? 

Admitting to the things he’d admitted to couldn’t have been easy… his childhood, how he truly thought himself to be responsible for his mother’s death and then Jo’s. How his father had treated him, and watching his brother, the only family he had known waste away right in front of his eyes just like his father.

You shuddered to yourself, thinking of your Han that way. Dean had an easy-going way about him. If bringing you into the picture had eased his anguish, how could it have been a bad thing? Sam, with his principles, couldn’t forgive himself for the act, but you, who was the one affected by it, wanted to find him and kiss his hands for signing that cheque now. He hadn’t just saved his brother, he had also saved you.

Then there were things he’d admitted to about you. 

…but what if I confessed that I liked the fall of your hair…

… I could nearly imagine the feel of your skin, your lips…

A soft shiver ran through your body at the recollection.

If Sam had stripped himself naked before you, he’d have still been less vulnerable. By admitting to the shame he felt over the simple act of choosing you, he’d bared more than you in that godforsaken picture. You understood him now… understood him to the depth of his soul. 

But you wished he understood that with all his principles, he was only a man. And he couldn’t keep punishing himself for having the reactions and instincts of one.

…How am I any better than all those men? How could I ever face you after that?

Reading those words? All you wanted to do was climb into his skin, dissolve into his being and hold him so tight, he’d never feel that shame again.

Footsteps echoed outside the door and you got to your feet, the book falling to the ground with a thump. Had you been less lost in thought, you would have realised those footsteps didn’t have the crispness of Sam’s.

“Hey, Honeybun!” Nick smirked. “Waiting for me?”

The air in your throat coagulated then disappeared to nothing seeing his face.

“You are as jawdroppingly gorgeous as ever.”

“And you are just as bastardly,” you heard yourself say. Any other day words might have evaded you, but living through Sam’s anguish over something he had no control over, made you livid at this asshole’s audacity, who hadn’t lost even a second of his sleep over destroying your life.

“Oh, she shows teeth now,” he said silkily.

“Get out of my house,” you hissed. “Get lost before I call the security.”

“And tell them what?” He challenged. “Why you’re kicking Sam’s cousin out? Mary was my mother’s sister, you know. I’m part of the Trust. Or do you not want the people in your house to know about us.”

“There’s no us.”

Nick took a few calculated steps close to you. “Come on now, Y/N. I know you love your secrets, you’ve always thrived in them. Secret siblings in a boarding school. Never thought I would become your dirty little secret, too.” He grinned and you shuddered. “What a privilege.”

He circled you slowly and you pressed into the balustrade, grabbing the handrail. 

“Poor little Sammy, does he know how you secretly met his brother at the pier in the middle of the night? That’s right, I saw little Y/N sneaking out in the dark. Do you still have Dean’s leather jacket in your drawer?”

The blood in your vein suddenly ran cold. “S- Sam knows… Dean and I are friends… He knows.”

“Tch Tch Tch,” laughed Nick, the sound grating your brain. “Sam knows his brother thinks of you as his friend. But you tell me, which respectable wife would tiptoe out of the house in the middle of the night to meet a complete stranger? Now good Ol’ Deano knew who you were, but you didn’t know who he was, did he now? So didn’t you lie to your husband about your secret rendezvous with a man?” He sighed dramatically. “What they say is true after all. Once a slut… always a slut.”

“Don’t you…”

“Dare?” He mocked, hands in air. “Does Sammy even know everything you did with me? Did to me? That you’ve gone down on your knees for me and–

The clatter of a briefcase had you jumping out of your skin.

Sam stood over the threshold, face white as a board. 

“Sammy!” Nick greeted with glee. “My man! You look ready to drop. Bad trip?”

He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and Sam shirked it away in disdain.

“I was just telling Y/N how wonderful it is to catch up with her after all these years. Did you know we used to date in college? Well, she was in college anyway. I never had time for that shit.”

Nick turned to face you with a grin. “I was telling her how… great she still looks. Doesn’t she?”

At long last Sam’s gaze slid from Nick to you, absolute disbelief etched in his expression. 

You stared back helplessly.

When Nick turned back around, Sam had gathered his expression and settled into a perfectly blank face.

“Nick,” said Sam, voice composed. “I had a long flight back and I’m in no mood to see your face when I could have a much better view. I’d much rather be in bed, having dinner with my wife than stand around listening to you reminiscing about things that don’t matter anymore.”

“You knew?” Nick challenged, doubtful.

Sam picked up his briefcase and briskly crossed the distance, surpassing Nick. “I sure remember gagging when Y/N mentioned it in passing. I find it hard to believe she had such terrible taste.” He picked up your fallen book and handed it to you, beginning to take the steps. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do.”

At the top step, he turned and said, “Y/N, come on up. Find Abby and get her to send the dinner up for us. I’m starving.” With that, he disappeared into the corridor.

Shock held you in place for a few moments, but eventually, you turned your back on that grinning bastard and followed Sam up the steps. The door to his room was already closed and when you tried to push it open, the door held. 

“Damn it,” you cursed, crossing to the next door and getting into your own room. Things were already as fucked as they could get and this was not how you had wanted Sam to find out about Nick.

Horrifyingly, Sam and Dean now had one-half of the story. Dean knew your boyfriend had sold you to the boss and now Sam knew Nick had been the boyfriend. Only you knew the whole truth and had known it for a while. The mole on the estate that the brothers were searching for had to be none other than Nick. After all how many such assholes could be around? And it made perfect sense now. Nick was part of the Estate Trust, someone who could have easily offered Rosalie a new job, and lured all these women associated with the estate into the flesh trade. Even Jo, who might have just stopped the car to acknowledge Dean’s cousin had paid for that mistake with her life.

The true horror of the situation was how you could tell neither brother the truth because if Dean found out that Nick was the reason his fiance was dead, he would kill Nick and the boss would know. And if Sam found out what your Ex-boyfriend had done… you still remembered the murderous rage in his eyes when he’d found out about Michael inserting hot pins in your heels. If he confronted Nick, the boss would still know. Then what would happen to Jamie and Danny? You’d never see them again.

The sheer helplessness of holding the Ace that Sam and Dean so desperately sought in your hand, and yet unable to hand it to them.

Now, Sam knew and you felt ashamed of what he must be thinking.

Rushing inside the bedroom vestibule, you pushed at the connecting door, but for the first time, found it locked… from the other side.

“Sam!” you banged on the wood. “Open the door.”

Nothing.

“Open the damn door! Let me explain.”

Oh, how the tables had turned. What a wretched feeling to be on the other side, locked out. The medicine did not taste sweet.

“Open the door,” you tried again. “P-L-E-A-S-E”

Except the last word came out as knocks and pats on the wood.

You were about to give up when the door opened and you were only a couple feet away from Sam. Being away from him for an extended amount of time always made you forget just how tall he was and right now the buttons of his shirt appeared more appealing than meeting his eyes. 

“What?” Sam asked, point blank, his voice without inflection.

All you wanted to do was close the little distance and hug him, but the two steps in between felt like miles.

“Won’t you invite me in?”

A second passed, and then Sam moved aside. “It’s your house as much as mine. You’re welcome to any part of it.”

Tears pricked your eyes. Sam’s words and tone were polite, but each detached syllable stung like a pin in your heel.

“So this is how it’s going to be?” You remained resolutely at the threshold. 

“How?” 

Something about Sam’s quiet rage rankled you from the inside. Despite his absence, you felt like you had uncovered more of Sam from Dean’s words and then his letter. Sam had always seemed like an ocean on the verge of breaking into a cyclone, that something always simmered under it, barely restrained, but dangerous all the same. Seeing him now, face cast out of stone, you finally understood how he could have fooled all the staff into thinking of him as a cold man. The truth was that whatever darkness he restrained within him, whether it was anger, fear or hatred, all of that was at its thinnest now. If you pushed, that unhinged darkness, for better or for worse, would come unleashed.

You decided to push it.

Crossing into the room you walked past Sam and took a seat at the edge of the bed. He stared at you. Sam had gone from bad to worse… his skin was shallow and his eyes sunken, looking nearly black in their intensity.

“What do you want, Y/N?”He asked once more, not moving an inch.

“I want to talk.”

“Yeah?” He walked to the bed, towering over you. “Now you want to talk?”

You ignored the question and countered with your own.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

“How much, Sam?”

“Nick’s your college boyfriend.” He took a deep breath and let it out. Calming the sea, keeping the cyclone at bay. “It’s alright. You don’t owe me answers.”

But you weren’t having any of it. “Yeah, he’s the one I told you about on our walk into the forest. My boyfriend from back home. We used to go on long rides on his Harley, cruising through the streets of California on hot nights. He was shacking up in a friend’s place in LA and he’d take me there on Friday evenings all the way to Sunday morning. Just the two of us–”

“That’s.. That’s enough. I don’t want to hear it.” His fists were clenched, tendons standing out white against his skin.

“Why?” You shouted, getting to your feet. “You’re my friend and you told me I can share anything with you. So why not?”

He twisted his body and grasped your shoulder with both his hands, fingers digging into your skin. “You know why!” His sunken eyes were watery, the white tinged with red. “You know why, Y/N. Don’t do this to me, don’t break me like this.”

You finally closed the distance, snaking your arms around his thin waist. “He is nothing but a person from my past. Nothing. Do you understand?”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? You locked yourself for days when you saw him at the inauguration. It’s been a month since and you never said a word.”

Stepping back, you looked up at Sam and admitted part of the truth. “I was ashamed. Seeing him reminded me of my past in the most jarring way, and you’ve been so kind to me, I suppose I needed time to wrap my head around it all.”

Sam peered into your face, scrutinising.

“Believe me, please.”

He deflated just a little, then nodded.

“But him? Really?” His incredulity nearly broke you, but you held your own. “Of all people, Nick?”

Oh, if only Sam knew.

“I was naive and daddy issues are a thing.” You shrugged. “C’mon, let's go to our room. All your clothes are there and you need a shower.”

Taking his hand in yours, you led Sam back over the threshold into your bedroom and closed the connecting door behind you. 

He took the room in for a minute then dragged his feet to the walk-in-wardrobe. “I’m not hungry,” he said passing you. “Just call for some coffee.”

You still had Abby bring in some fruits along with the coffee. She sat by you, nibbling on a piece of apple as Sam finished in the shower, then waited long enough to wish Sam a good night when he returned. Sam had stepped out in a thin wet tshirt, hair dripping water into the neckline, and a towel wrapped around his waist. The way Abby averted her gaze, face flaming, gave you an idea.

She left quickly after and you watched Sam put on his drawstring pants and then remove the towel from around his waist. He got on his side of the bed, pulled the covers over his legs and reached for the cup of coffee.

“How do you expect to sleep if you drink coffee right before?” You asked, but then couldn’t help adding. “Not that the thing in the cup is remotely close to coffee. Stop doing business in Bali if this is what they give you in return.”

Sam rolled his eyes while taking a sip. “Enough with the coffee already.”

“It’s such a shame that you came out of the bathroom wearing the t-shirt today. Remember that time you came out with just the towel wrapped around your waist? Short towel, too.”

He drained his cup, put it back on the side table and faced you, brow furrowed. “When?”

“Last time you were here. Great abs. Guess all that working out helps, huh?” You put your fingers on his arm. “And that time we were all wet in the shed? I slipped and fell on you, I could feel the bulk of your muscles. Made my throat go dry.”

Sam gulped. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Very slowly, holding his gaze, you moved to straddle his hips and Sam flattened himself against the headboard, a deer caught in headlight. 

“The first time I saw you, Sam Winchester, even through the veil, I knew you were an attractive man and I can’t count the number of times I have found myself staring at your body— the shoulders, the chest, arms, all of it. If you want me to go into details about what seeing you shirtless does to me, you are welcome to be my guest, but the point is, I don’t feel ashamed about it. I don’t feel ashamed about a natural reaction.”

“You read the letter…”

Raising your hand, you gently skimmed the side of his face with the back of it and he closed his eyes at the touch. 

“I did, and now you know how I feel. What are you going to do now?”

“It’s different,” he said finally. “You didn’t pay money–”

“You said yourself that you paid the price for my freedom, for a chance to know the truth about Jo and not for my body.”

“You don’t understand–”

“Don’t complicate emotions to the point of no return, Sam. I’ve wanted to kiss you, and I took both of those chances.” You leaned it, face inches away from his now, lips only a whisper away from his. “But you didn’t answer my question. What are you going to do now?”

He opened his eyes, and they smouldered. Sam’s fingers found your hair and fisted in them. He crushed his lips to yours, devouring your mouth. His other hand slid from the base of your throat, down your body, decidedly feeling the shape of you. You followed his lead, rejoicing in it… in the following. His self-control had cracked at last and he was finally staking the claim, he should have staked a long time ago… making the first move, claiming what was his… you.

Maybe it was seeing you with Nick, knowing about your past, or hearing your admission, that had caused the careful wall of self-control that Sam always held around you to crumble. Some of that self-control must have survived because he broke off, breathing hard. 

“I’m not going to apologise,” he said.

“You better not.”

Sam smiled, skin stretching over his cheekbones, but it still lit his eyes. “Yes, Ma’am.”

When he slid into the bed, he grabbed your hand and pulled you against his side instead of restricting himself to his end of the bed. “Sleep, Y/N. We have to be up early tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Humour me,” he said. “I have the day planned.”

“Okay,” you agreed readily, then wound your hand around his waist, snuggling as close as you could. Between the two of you much had been said, and even more implied, yet a lot was yet to to be put into words. But Sam was here now and you had all of tomorrow. Right now you simply wanted to savour the feeling of holding the man you loved in your arms and being held by him.

*****************************

A/N 2: I LOVED writing this chapter! The nuances of Sam’s admission and the delicate nature of his emotions were just so damn satisfying to put into words! What did you think?

Oh, I can’t wait to share what’s coming with you!

Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!

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[strawberry-eden]

violence solves (most) problems — danny johnson x reader

↪ summary — you're relatively new in the fog, having been here just long enough to get a hold on the working order of this place when you catch the unfortunate eye of the most obsessive man on the planet, who decides that you're going to be his newest plaything.

or, your first encounter with the notorious ghostface killer goes very poorly.

↪ tags — canon typical violence, swearing, crack treated seriously, blood & injury, obsession at first sight, gender neutral pronouns/description for reader, no use of y/n, and danny's weird way of flirting

↪ word count — 2.4k

a/n: i wrote this originally way back in february but i found it again and figured i would share with the class. inspired by a cool piece of art i saw on twitter that ended up spiraling from there. enjoy!

The cold air of Mount Ormond ski resort bites angrily at your bare face, your shallow breaths manifesting in puffs of white fog as you fight to keep giant spidery talons from spearing through your torso. A low, guttural growl sounds from all around you and nowhere all at once, your arms shaking from effort as a particularly hard shove from the entity forces your hooked shoulder to shift, sending a ripple of white-hot agony through your body. “Fuck!”

This is your first match of the day. Not a single generator has been done and none of your teammates have been hooked yet. If anybody is coming for you, you can’t see through the cage the entity’s talons have created around you, itching to close in and take you back the campfire. You’re half tempted to let her do it.

You barely register the second pair of hands that appears and bats her away until they’re gently pulling you down from the hook by your armpits, holding you up until you’re steady on your feet. You blink away a few stray tears to look up at the face of your savior. “No offense, kiddo, but you look like shit,” says Bill.

You almost shrug instinctively but stop yourself last second. “A little bit taken. I feel like shit,” you mutter. He shoots a cautious glance over his shoulder, then takes you by the arm and leads you away from the hook towards a safer spot to patch you up. You can’t help but flit your gaze all around the area, searching for that haunting white mask or floating strips of leather, wondering if you’re being watched from somewhere.

Bill catches your paranoid expression and frowns. “Christ, what’d you do to him?”

Unable to hide your frustration, you round on Bill with an exasperated cry, “I don’t know! He just—” You make a vague gesture. “Set his eyes on me and decided he wanted me dead! I haven’t even touched a gen yet, for fuck’s sake.”

Bill pulls you behind a boulder secluded somewhere in a corner of the resort. You squint at the shape of the killer shack some ways away, trying to get your bearings. Bill whistles lowly. “Maybe he’s just trying to get an easy win, then. Lord knows it’s working. The rest of us are struggling to keep up.”

You collapse into a bloody pile into the snow, leaning against the rock and pressing a hand against your wounded shoulder while he pops open his medkit. “Yeah, well. I’m still pissed about it.”

“Oh, we all are,” he replies. “Nobody likes being down a teammate this early on. You got anything to help you out?”

Your face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

He raises a grayed eyebrow. “You know, like that trick David pulls to endure pain, or how that girl Laurie hides glass in her sleeves. They teach you any of that?”

“Uhh… No?”

Bill curses under his breath. “You’re kidding, right?” He curses again, louder this time when you shake your head. He digs into one of his many pockets, pulling out something that he clutches tightly in his palm, then motions for you to extend your hand. He places something smooth and warm into it, closing your fingers around the object. “Hide it well, okay? If he sees it, it’s game over. And make sure you don’t. Miss. That was my second chance, and I’m giving it up so you a better shot. If you end up fumbling, I’m never gonna let you live it down.”

Bill holds your gaze until you give a slow nod, retracting his hands as he returns to rustling around the supplies in his medkit. When you open up your fingers, you are greeted by your own reflection looking back at you from a small, sharp piece of glass. It’s almost shaped like a knife if you turn it right. “What do I do with it?” You ask curiously.

Bill wheezes out a laugh. “Stab him with it, obviously.” You bite back a painful hiss when he begins stitching your wounds back together, which he apologizes for under his breath. “But don’t just swing it around all willy-nilly, you gotta wait until he isn’t expecting it—like when he’s got you slung over his shoulder like a sack of meat thinking you’re gonna be an easy kill. Then, you take your opportunity to prove him wrong and stab it right into his shoulder. Always shocks ‘em so bad they drop you then and there. Gives 'em a taste of their own medicine, which they don’t like too much, y’know?”

You stare thoughtfully at the shard. If it’s such an effective tactic, then why in the world hasn’t anybody told you about it? You can’t help but feel a bit betrayed.

“Doesn’t always work, though,” he says, pulling the question straight from your mind. “After a while, they start to expect it, which means you gotta change it up. Start playing stealthier, like Zarina or Jake—the guy’s got an iron will. Real impressive. I have no idea he’s even hurt until I realize he’s left a streak of blood halfway across the map.”

This is all too much information to ingest when you feel about five seconds away from dying via blood loss. “Got it,” you mumble breathlessly.

Bill blanks at you. “You didn’t retain a thing I just said.”

"I got all the important parts."

“Sure you did,” he huffs. He starts opening up some gauze, when all of a sudden, his head shoots up and his whole body goes rigid. Bill’s wide eyes find your alarmed ones, and all that he’s able to get out before all hell breaks loose is, “Run.”

There’s an almost imperceptible rustle of clothing that doesn’t reach your ears. You’re frozen in place, barely given enough time to register the command as you watch him jump to his feet. “What?”

“God damnit, kid, I said run—!”

“There you are,” a third voice purrs, and you barely get a glimpse of the knife that glints maliciously at you just before it’s buried in Bill’s back. The hoarse scream that’s torn from the older man’s throat echoes hauntingly in your ears as it digs in deeper, forcing him against the ground. Dark red splatters across the snow when Ghostface violently wrenches it out of him.

Your shoulder cries out as you feebly scramble backwards, every little cut and bruise on your body flaring in pain as you awkwardly clamber back to your feet. Ghostface steps clean over Bill, who groans in pain on the ground, and the shard in your sweaty hand suddenly feels a thousand times heavier.

You can hear the simper in his voice when he says, “You didn’t forget about little old me, did you?” He wraps his gloved fingers around the bloody knife, wiping it clean with one swipe. “Oh, darling, I’m hurt.”

You’re running before you even know it. The cold air stings your lungs with each intake, your muscles burning with every step. You don't have a clue where you’re headed until you’re tearing through the killer shack, narrowly avoiding crashing into the generator that sits in the middle. You don’t need to look to know that he’s right behind you if the sounds of crunching snow and throaty laughter are anything to go by, and when your bare fingers find the splintered slab of wood sitting against the doorway, you waste no time throwing it down behind you.

You stop and turn to shout obscenities towards your assailant, but he’s nowhere to be found. You blink, and a knife is suddenly jammed between your ribs. “You should really look behind you sometimes,” Ghostface says coolly, pressing the blade deeper in emphasis and relishing in the way you whimper in pain. “Maybe you would have actually seen me go around the side of shack. Kind of embarrassing to fall for that, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

He tsks, ripping the knife out of your side and effectively taking away the only thing keeping you upright, letting you fall to the ground in a bloody heap. You look up at him through hazy eyes, looking like a dark mist against the pale gray sky, the screaming white mask being the only thing to come into focus. “You know, I don’t usually do this—”

You watch as one of his hands dives underneath his cloak, searching around for something for a solid five seconds until he pulls out a small handheld camera with a muted A-ha!

“—but I like you, so I’m willing to make an exception.”

“An exception?" You spit out a wad of blood and saliva. "What the hell are you—”

The air is unceremoniously knocked out of your lungs when he plops himself down on your stomach, knees caging you in and pinning your hands against the snow. You flinch when the glass shard hidden in your sleeve pinches the skin of your wrist.

Gloved fingers firmly grip your jaw and force you to turn toward the camera lens as he leans in close, the scent of cheap cologne assaulting your senses and filling up your head. You swear the smell alone would kill you before he ever could.

“Smile,” he breathes into your ear, and you’re blinded by the flash that goes off when he clicks the camera. You’re busy recoiling in the aftermath while he gazes quietly at the picture in the viewfinder, blinking away the green and purple splotches in your vision. Still gripping your jaw, he forcefully turns your head to show it to you.

The picture looks about exactly how you’d expect it to turn out. You're staring wide-eyed at the camera in shock and fear, blood seeping from your various wounds and soaking into your clothes. His mask takes up the entire left side of the photo, but if you look hard enough, you think you can spot a pair of dark eyes staring into the lens—they’re squinted at the edges, like he’s actually smiling underneath it as he casually holds up a peace sign.

"Say, you weren't a model or anything before this, were you? 'Cause damn." He lets out a low whistle. "This one’s definitely going in my collection.”

He takes one last, long look at the picture before tucking the camera back into his coat and stands, allowing the blood to resume flowing through the veins in both of your arms again as they’re overcome by that numb, prickly feeling. Too hurt and exhausted to resist, you limply allow him to maneuver you into a sitting position, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he effortlessly hauls you up onto his shoulder.

"Alright, playtime's over," he huffs. "Duty calls, blah blah blah, you know how it is. Ain't no rest for the wicked."

Something smooth and sharp slides into your palm from the depths of your sleeve. Catching a glimpse of your reflection in it’s surface, you let out a gasp that Ghostface assumes must be from the sight of the giant meat hook that appears at the corner of the shack, because he gently pats the backs of your thighs in what you assume is meant to be reassurance.

"Now, don't you worry, sweet-pea," he says, “the next time you and I get matched up, I promise I’ll play nice. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll even let you escape, yeah?” He laughs, and you can feel it vibrating through your ribcage. “After I kill your friends, of course.”

You grip the glass so tight in your palm, it digs into your fingers, drawing blood. You see your own eyes staring back at you through a thin stream of red, wild and angry and terrified, Bill’s words bouncing around in your skull as you raise the shard and slam it hard into the back of his shoulder, digging in viciously and twisting.

He inhales sharply, hands immediately losing their grip on you as he drops down to one knee, letting you slide off of his shoulder and land face-first in the snow. You push yourself up to your hands and knees, then to your feet, and glance nervously over your shoulder.

You meet those same eyes that had peered gleefully at you in the picture, no longer hiding behind that wretched mask as it lays by your feet in the snow, but they’re not squinting like they were before. They’re wide, pupils shrunken into tiny pinpricks as they bore into you, nostrils flaring and lips curling into a grimace as he reaches behind him and rips out the glass. Blood sprays from the wound in an arc, a fury so deep and animalistic roiling in his guttural tone as he ...

... Laughs.

Something dangerous glitters within his irises as he turns to face you. What catches you most off-guard, though, is that he's actually handsome underneath the mask—he's younger than you thought, with long lashes and full lips. A tiny scar marks the corner of his mouth, and it stretches slightly as he bares his teeth in a wide, manic grin.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He drops the glass shard and stands, and you're screaming at your body to move, but you can't. You just watch as he slowly reaches out to collect his mask and knife, refusing to take his eyes off of you even once. It's like it's just his gaze keeping you pinned. "The gift that keeps on giving?"

A loud buzzer sounds from somewhere in the distance. You flick your gaze away for just a moment to check which direction it came from, and by the time you look back, he's already secured the mask back in place.

"I'll tell you what," he begins, tilting his head at you curiously. "Let's make a bet. If you can last until your friends get alll the gens done, I'll let you go."

You swallow thickly. "And if I can't?"

Silence. You don't need to see his face to know that he's smiling. "You wanna find out?"

Strangely enough, a part of you almost does.

He lunges then, but you’re already on the move, adrenaline as well as an odd cocktail blend of terror and exhilaration pushing your body past its limits in a last-ditch effort at escaping this trial with your life.

You probably won’t, but you’re definitely gonna give him a run for his money—you figure that you've earned at least that much.

[night-ecl1ps3]

Guys don’t worry, in AUS where Suzi Q gets cheated on/ replaced/ divorced or broken up , just so you my self-insert oc is there to support, date, and love her non-stop 💞

My faves won’t be miserable, lonely, and suffer on my watch buddy, I’ll make healthy yuri ships. If she’s evil in these AUS and fics then so is my ocs, they will be an evil couple together.

oc x canon, yumeshipping / Reader x Canon, self-inserts on top! 💯

[samsblades]

about to abandon everything to write stupid x reader fics for fucking dept q. two episodes in and wow. i need to fuck that old man. i need to fix him SO BAD. FATHER FUCKING FAILUREEEE OH MY GOD i neeeeedddd to yell at him and i would make everything SO MUCH WORSE !!! it would be awesome <333

[ski0k]

i guess this is the time of year i start yearning again for young justice and hoping for season 5, so much so i might just write the fanfic that’s been in my head for so long now (over a decade probably). like at this point i’m writing jason’s reveal and wally’s return myself because i quite literally cannot take it anymore

[auroracalisto]

day #3: telling a kid all about santa claus.

simon x gn!reader, 568 words tw: child (written as your six-year-old cousin). cussing. simon from dinner in america.

Simon stared at you like you had suddenly grown an extra limb.

"The fuck?" Simon questioned, blinking quickly for just a moment. "Okay. Sure. Babysitting your brat cousin I can handle. But he believes in Santa Claus? The fucking Tooth Fairy? Come on, Y/n, how old is the kid?"

"He's literally six years old, Simon," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. He's currently laying down, watching a cartoon on the VHS tape you had put on for him.

Simon deflated at that, grumbling under his breath. "Why the fuck are you even watching him to begin with?"

"His mom asked me to," you said. "I didn't ask questions."

"And you agreed? We were supposed to go out."

"After she comes back, we will. Our plans are still the same, just a little later than we said. I promise," you said.

He rolled his eyes and walked over to sit on the sofa, beside of where your little cousin sat watching the TV.

He glanced back at Simon, wide eyed for a moment before he suddenly sit up.

"Simon!" he said. Because of course he knew Simon—he knew his favorite cousin's boyfriend.

Made Simon's skin crawl.

"Simon, it's Christmas," he excitedly said.

"Yeah, yeah," Simon said, rolling his eyes as he looked at the television.

"What did you ask for?"

Simon blinked, looking at the child. "What?"

He was careful not to cuss around the kid. Last time he did, you'd punched his arm so hard it left a bruise. Rightfully so, but still.

"Santa! What did you ask Santa for?"

He stared the child down, looking to you for help.

You came over and sat down in front of the boy, smiling. "What did you ask for?" you asked the little boy.

He immediately seemed so excited. "Legos! And, and cars, like... like an orange car! A green car. And Thomas!"

You gasped softly. "Thomas? Thomas the Train?"

"Yes!" the little boy giggled, nodding when you got it right. "Thomas. I love Thomas. Will Santa bring it for me?"

"Oh, I'm sure he will!" you said, kissing his little chubby cheek.

Simon grumbled under his breath, something you didn't truly catch, but you still looked over at him, raising an eyebrow.

Simon looked to you, frowning.

"You, uh, you know Santa lives in the North Pole, right?" he asked your cousin.

He looked back at Simon with wide eyes. "Yes! All the snow. So cold."

"Yeah, I could fu—I could imagine," he said, snorting softly. "Your mama ever tell you about all the reindeer?"

The boy blinked as he thought, before he grinned. "Like Rudolph?"

"Yeah. The one with the bright, red nose."

"Yes! We watch the show. Mommy loves Rudolph and snow and she loves hot chocolate." The little boy gasped and looked up at you. "Hot chocolate?"

"Do you want hot chocolate?" you asked him, gently ruffling his hair.

"Pleeeease," he said, clinging onto you in a death grip of a hug.

You snorted softly and looked over at Simon. "You want some?"

"Nah," he said, looking towards the TV. "I'm good."

You stood up, carrying the boy to the kitchen with you. All the while, you couldn't fight your smile.

You knew Simon had a hard time reeling it in sometimes, but damn, he really tried for you today. It warmed your heart in ways you didn't think was even possible.

[aeharbour]

🪧Masterlist

🪧Parts: one I

🪧Genre: Fantasy, Horror, Alternate Universes

🪧Pairing(s): Hyunjae x Reader, Q x Reader

🪧Summary: Seoul is in lockdown after a horrific outbreak. Separated from her family and fiancé, a young woman joins forces with three strangers to reach her family. A desperate fight for escape unfolds as they race against time and the growing chaos to survive.

🪧Word Count: 2,450

🪧Warning : Mention of zombies, and subtle references to the 2020 pandemic

net: @deoboyznet

You leaned against the cool metal wall of the elevator, your head throbbing in time with each ascending floor. The bright lights shine over your pale face, making you push the cap on your head further down. Last night's after-work hangout had been a whirlwind of chattering workers, loud music, and endless soju bombs. Now, the remnants of too much alcohol twister your stomach into knots. You closed your eyes, hoping the ride would end soon, but the soft ding of each floor felt like a hammer against your skull.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you ignored it—no doubt a message from your fiancé, who finally had some time to use his phone privileges. You felt guilty for ignoring Jaehyun when you had so little time to speak to him each day, but there was no way you could bear to look at the glowing screen.

The door opened, and you were about to sigh relief before a tall man stepped inside with a large duffle.

Level 6, which means you had 7 more floors to go.

You shyly recognize that the male beside you is handsome, his broad shoulders and defined jawline accentuated by his fitted t-shirt. He gave you a polite nod of acknowledgment, which you returned with a slight smile before averting your gaze.

As the elevator approached your floor, you took a deep breath, hoping your headache would ease once you were in the quiet of your apartment. The doors opened with a final ding, and you stepped out. To your surprise, the man followed, heading in the same direction.

You walked silently down the hallway together, the soft carpet muffling your footsteps. When you reached your door, you hesitated momentarily, fumbling for your keys. He stopped at the apartment directly across from yours, and you watched from the corner of your eye as the door opened and he slipped inside.

You mused that he must be a friend of Changmin's, unlocking your door. You knew your neighbour in passing, another attractive tall male who coincidentally works in the building across from your office. Jaehyun was more familiar with your neighbour than you were; the two of them once got into a small fight over something as trivial as parking space, but that deterred you from ever building a friendly relationship with Changmin.

You step inside and slide into your slippers, hanging your coat and bag on the rack. Thinking back to all your decisions yesterday, staying over at Naeun's house when you had nothing clean to wear was probably the worst. The throbbing in your head persisted as you moved towards your ensuite bathroom, hoping a quick shower might alleviate the dull ache and eliminate the smoke smell stuck on your hair.

Glancing out the window as you shuffle out of your clothes, you notice a small traffic jam has formed due to a car crash on the main road next to your apartment block. You grimace. Great. Just what you need – another obstacle before getting some much-needed rest. Sighing as you step into the bathroom, you turn on the hot water in the shower, hoping the steam will help clear your head. As the small room fills with warmth, your phone buzzes again persistently on the counter.

This time, the guilt wins the battle. Ignoring the dull ache behind your eyes, you stretch out a soapy arm and grab the phone, the screen momentarily obscured by a sheen of water. A glance at the caller ID reveals it's not Jaehyun but your mother. A flicker of surprise shoots through you – your mom rarely calls you so early on the weekends.

"Eomma," you answer, your voice echoing slightly in the shower. The sound of your own voice, hoarse and scratchy, makes you wince.

"There you are! I've been trying to reach you all afternoon," your mom's voice comes through, laced with a hint of panic that sends a jolt through you. "Have you seen the news?"

Panic claws at your throat, mirroring the tightening sensation in your stomach. News? With a growing dread, you picture flashing headlines about military disputes or other political turmoils.

"No, I haven't," you manage, the steam making your voice even more raspy. "What's going on?"

The sound of your mother taking a deep breath reaches you through the receiver. It's a shaky breath, unlike the usual sigh of exasperation she reserves for your life.

"There's been an outbreak," she says, her voice tight. "An airborne virus. They're calling it 'Zen II'. The government just announced a city-wide lockdown will be initiated tomorrow. You must get into your car and drive to Incheon immediately."

The phone feels slick in your wet hand. Lockdown? A new virus? You thought you'd never have to deal with all of that again, how could the government let it get this far without a word leaking to the press. A million questions bombard your mind, but the hot water stinging your skin reminds you of your immediate situation.

"Okay, Mom. I'll start packing and try to make it home before midnight," you say, forcing your voice to stay calm. "But what about Jaehyun? Are they saying something about the military?"

"There'll be more information on the news. Jaehyun will probably get leave as well, don't worry. I will talk to his mother and call you back. Try to shower quickly, would you."

The line goes dead before you can ask anything further.

You stare at the phone, a cold dread settling in your stomach. Guilt crashes over you like a wave – the after-effects of last night's work gathering suddenly feel trivial compared to the news your mother just delivered. You should have gone home and been preparing for this, not nursing a hangover in the shower. You force yourself to focus. Packing. That's what you need to do. Food, water, essentials – the same drill you went through years ago feels chillingly familiar.

With a sigh that echoes off the wet tiles, you step out of the shower, the chill of the apartment contrasting sharply with the hot water. Wrapping yourself in a towel, you grab your phone and scramble for a dry spot.

It would be nice to check the news for yourself. As you open the news app, an old notification pops up – a message from Jaehyun. Your heart leaps momentarily before sinking again. You were supposed to meet tomorrow for family visitation, there's no way that's still on.

01:43 Hey love, I just got off duty. Did you make it home okay?

In your drunken stupor, you hadn't even let him know you would be staying over at Naeun's. You bite your lip, the weight of your actions pressing down on you. Ignoring Jaehyun's text for now, you toss your towel aside and rush to your closet.

Clothes are thrown onto the bed in a flurry - jeans, t-shirts, a warm hoodie. You rummage through drawers, shoving socks and underwear into your only suitcase.

Suddenly, a loud BANG echoes from outside your window. Your heart jumps into your throat. Adrenaline surges through you, so you race to the window and fling open the blinds. Your breath hitches. The traffic jam you noticed earlier has become a scene of chaos. Cars are abandoned, doors flung open. In the distance, you could hear a loud ambulance siren echo through your double-paned glass window.

Your stomach lurches. It's real. Zen II. The news reports you missed must have been filled with all the details. But there's no time to dwell on that now. You grab your phone, and Jaehyun's message flashes on the screen, mocking you. With trembling fingers, you type a quick reply.

14:27 I'm sure you have heard about the lockdown by now. I'm on my way to my parent's house. Stay safe. I love you.

You hit send without proofreading, shoving the phone back into your bag. A second, another bang erupts from downstairs, closer this time. It's probably coming from the car park below your apartment building.

Panic thrums through your veins. You grab your suitcase bag and sprint towards the door and the brightly lit elevator at the end of the hall.

The elevator descended, each floor seeming to take an eternity. The tension in the air is so unfamiliar to the ride upstairs that it feels like it was yesterday and not an hour ago. The silence is suffocating, broken only by the anxious gasps escaping your lips.

The doors finally slid open, revealing the dimly lit car park. You scanned the rows of parked cars, searching for your familiar blue sedan. There. In the spot somewhere across from the elevator. Relief flooded your system momentarily before a wave of nausea washed over you. Your car wasn't facing forward the way you left it yesterday. It was backed in, haphazardly at that, one bumper dented and scraping against the concrete wall.

Anger flared, hot and sharp, momentarily eclipsing the anxiety gnawing at your gut. Who did this? Some careless driver amid the chaos? It didn't matter. Whoever it was had just thrown a wrench into your escape plan.

You quickly approached your car, the silence broken only by the sound of your suitcase's wheels bumping against the concrete floor. Reaching the dented bumper, you peered through the driver's side window. The airbags had deployed, but the keys, thankfully, were still in the ignition.

But a flicker of movement in the back seat caught your eye. You froze, breath catching in your throat. A low, guttural moan rose from within the vehicle.

Panic rocketed through you, momentarily eclipsing the nausea. A figure, its silhouette vaguely humanoid but grotesquely contorted, lunged from the backseat of your car. Claws, long and dripping with something viscous, scraped uselessly against the glass, missing you by a hair's breadth. You lurch backwards, the suitcase wheels screeching as they scrape across the concrete. Your foot gets caught on an uneven edge, sending you sprawling onto the grimy floor.

Pain flared in your ankle, but it was quickly overshadowed by a new terror. A strangled scream ripped from your throat as you scrambled to your feet, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

Your eyes darted around the dimly lit car park, searching for an escape route.

Just then, headlights cut through the gloom, bearing down on you with terrifying speed. With a screech of tyres, the car slammed to a halt mere inches from where you stood, the force of it momentarily knocking the wind out of your lungs.

Squinting through the sudden brightness, you recognized the car – it was Changmin's jeep, one you usually see on your way to university. The passenger's door swung open, and the man you recognized from the elevator wordlessly grabbed your suitcase and pushed you into the car's back seat.

"Wait, what are-" you ask before he tries to shut the door in your face.

"Just get in," he barked, his voice gruff, "We don't have much time."

Before you could question his urgency, you noticed the man sitting beside you. This man, younger and with a mop of unruly hair, held out a hand to help you settle in with your suitcase. Ignoring the throbbing pain in your ankle, you grabbed his hand and slid into the middle seat. The taller male quickly pulled your suitcase in after you, slamming the door shut and getting into his own seat just as another guttural moan echoed from behind your car.

Through the rearview mirror, you caught a glimpse of the horrifying figure clawing uselessly at the empty space where you once stood. A wave of nausea hit you again, but you forced it down. Now wasn't the time to be sick.

"Sorry for Younghoon, we're all just a little rattled," the man beside you explained, his voice surprisingly calm. "We were by the exit when we heard you scream, thank god we arrived in time. My name's Chanhee, by the way."

"Hi," you breathe out, frazzled and introduce yourself.

The engine roared to life, tyres screeching against the concrete as Changmin peeled out of the car park. The familiar street outside your apartment building now had an unsettling air – abandoned cars haphazardly blocking lanes, overturned trash cans, and the occasional flicker of flames in the distance painted a picture of a city in descent.

"Where are we going?" you asked, clutching your suitcase tightly.

Changmin glanced at you briefly through the rearview mirror, his jaw clenched tight. "The nearest express bus station. It's a gamble, but it's our best chance to get out of the city before the lockdown clamps down hard."

"Shouldn't we stop by a convenience store? Just in case?" Chanhee chimed in from the passenger seat.

"There is no time, Seoul is the only city that is currently afflicted" Changmin replied, "The lockdown will seal the city soon, and who knows what will happen then. We need to get outside the city limits. Do you have somewhere to stay?"

You realize the last question was directed towards you, "Yes. Yes, my parents are waiting for me in Incheon."

You watched Changmin take in your words as silence settled for a moment.

"What about your boyfriend?"

"My fiance," you reply, "He's stationed in Yangju."

"That's not too far, but I doubt they are letting the soldiers go anywhere with a zombie outbreak."

The word "zombie" echoed in your mind. It felt strange, almost unreal. Throughout your life, it had been confined to the pages of comic books and the flickering screens of horror movies. It sounded absurd.

"Those things," you collect your thoughts, "They were human?"

You watch Changmin through the rearview mirror as his eyebrows furrow and unfurrow at your question.

"That's what they're saying."

The express bus station loomed closer, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. But even as relief flickered in your heart, you knew the real challenge was just beginning. Reaching the station was one thing; securing passage on a bus out of the city was entirely another.

"Do you think they'll be letting people on the buses?" you asked, voicing the worry gnawing at your gut. Images of desperate crowds and overflowing buses flashed through your mind.

Chanhee shook his head, his youthful optimism tempered by the grim reality around them. "Maybe. Maybe not. But it's our best bet. We just have to get there and hope for the best."

His words offered little comfort, but they were all you had. Gripping your aching ankle tighter, a silent prayer escaped your lips as Changmin slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt.

You had arrived.

[peqchsoup]

Could I request a NSFW Q story? Not picky I just love him

As you wish!

Bathtime | Q x Reader - NSFW

Like everything, tours had their ups and downs. You were the only one of the jokers’ partners that joined them on tour with Joe’s wife staying at home to take care of their kids, so you often spent time alone while the guys were actually performing. 

Oftentimes you would wander around the city you were in, trying different foods and cafes you found, but sometimes it all got a bit monotonous. So, when Q had to leave your hotel room to go and perform, you ran yourself a hot bath and relaxed. Bath salts, a bath bomb, candles, a book- you had the perfect setting to sit back and enjoy an evening in the bath. You loved the way the bath salts and bath bomb worked together in the water to make your skin slick and smooth. You didn’t bathe often because you were self conscious of your body, but you were glad you had taken the time to do so tonight. For once, you felt sexy. In the candlelight, you ran your hands from your feet up your legs, ghosting past your core and instead moving across your hip and up to cup your breast. With the tour, Q had been coming in late and he was always too tired to give you the physical attention you desired. You understood, of course you did, but at the same time you had needs. 

You thought about the last time you and Q had sex. It was the night before the tour started, around 2 weeks ago, and Q had taken you out to a nice dinner with fancy wine. Afterwards, you returned home and poured a glass of wine each for you and Q but were interrupted when he gripped your hips, spun you round and hiked you up onto the countertop. He kissed you with such passion, hands not being able to settle anywhere so he would continuously take handfuls of your flesh. 

He eventually pulled back, giving you time to catch your breath, and began sucking and biting your neck. While his mouth was busy with your neck, Q’s hands popped the buttons on the front of your dress so he could manoeuvre to your breasts with ease. After popping your buttons, Q’s hands travelled south and bunched the skirt of your dress around your hips, showing the lace black underwear you had worn that matched the overall theme of your dress. Q pulled back from marking your pale skin to take a look at the wet patch that formed on your underwear. A deep growl came from his chest and he all but ripped the underwear getting it off of you, before bringing it up to his face and sniffing hard. The underwear was then stuffed in Q’s pocket for a later time. 

You watched his actions in awe, eyes wide and pupils blown. Q’s actions had you distracted enough that two of his fingers plunging into your core caught you off guard and had you gasping. Your legs circled around Q’s back and pulled him in even closer as he pumped his fingers to the knuckles, grazing your g-spot. Adding another finger and using the thumb of his other hand to massage your clit, your eyes rolled to the back of your head with pleasure. 

Praise flooded out of Q’s mouth as you took the stretch of his third, and then his fourth finger. The sting that came with the stretch was worth every morsel of pleasure you felt. Q kept pumping as deep as he could and raised his left hand from where it was rubbing your clit. With his hand behind your head, he pulled you into a sloppy kiss as you moaned into his mouth, and then lowered himself to suck your clit. The mix of fingers and tongue had that knot in the pit of your stomach get tighter and tighter until his teeth grazed your clit. The feeling of his teeth was enough to push you over the edge and you were coming all over Q’s face and fingers, the reach of his fingertips causing you to squirt. 

Q pulled back, licked his fingers and started to undress. You took that opportunity to lift your dress off completely so you were both as naked as each other. Your pussy throbbed while you looked at Q’s form, he was the epitome of a man’s man and you loved it; hair on his chest above his slightly soft stomach. Your eyes reached further down to admire the curve of his erect cock standing tall and looking oh so delicious. 

He gave himself a couple of tugs and pushed into your slick entrance with ease. Your head lolled back on your shoulders and Q slid you forward off the counter, placing his hands on your ass and began to bounce you up and down on his cock. He was big and you could feel every inch of him as you moved up and down. 

“Taking me so well, sweetheart.”

You could feel Q’s arms start to tire, so gave him a tap to let him know it was okay to put you down. 

The second your feet were on the floor, Q spun you round and bent you forward across the kitchen island. Not a second later he was back inside of you working at top speed, snapping his hips back and forward. A hand came down and struck your ass cheek, causing you to moan at the top of your voice. That encouraged Q and he brought his hand down twice more. Despite your beliefs, your moans got louder and soon you were coming on Q’s cock. The contractions had his hips stuttering and he let out a deep, guttural moan as he spilled into you. You loved when Q would come inside you, feeling as though he was claiming you. 

He flopped onto your back to catch his breath before he pulled himself out and got a rag to clean you up. Once you were clean, Q intertwined your fingers and pulled you to the bedroom where he pulled back the covers and bridal lifted you into your side. He slid in next to you and pulled you against his chest, cradling you until you both fell asleep. 

You came back to the present, to your now luke warm bath where you had completely lost track of time. Upon hearing the hotel room door, you were about to get out so you could see Q, but he must have spotted the light in the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door because, before you stood up, he was peeking his head into the bathroom. 

“You’re getting out?”

You nodded with a smile on your face, “it’s getting a little cold.”

Q entered the bathroom, kicked the door shut behind him and began to undress, 

“Get more hot water in there, I’ve missed touching you.”

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (19)

Word count: 4.5K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: A huge shoutout to all my wonderful readers! Your support and love keeps me going! <3

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

“You can’t kick 'em in the nuts and make a run for it?” The girl in the next cell asked.

“Not if you want to avoid getting beaten into a pulp,” you told her through a mouthful of bread and tomato. “There’s always a guard outside the door.”

“Kick 'em in the nuts, too.”

You snorted so hard, bits of tomato landed on the floor.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “There are fancy rooms upstairs with wardrobes full of fancy clothes that you have to wear and then they take you to other fancy places for men–”

“Sometimes it’s just the fancy rooms overhead. Men come here, too.”

“But they take you out, don’t they?” She argued. “Just go to a reception and tell the hostess, a waitress, anyone. I know you managed to run away once… so why not try again? If they let you out, it can’t be that hard!”

You swallowed the bite in your mouth and sighed. What did it matter if you told her the truth? Neither of you would make it out anyway. 

“They’ve kidnapped my half-brother and half-sister. Little kids, barely six… have them at gunpoint somewhere. I make one wrong move and they are dead.”

“Shit.”

You could picture her dumbstruck expression. After spending a week next to her, seeing her face while going in and out, you were starting to get a hang of her. You still didn’t know why you did it, take her turn every night. Eventually, they would drag her out, but for a week, the boss wasn’t in the building and no one seemed to push the inevitable and drag that girl’s stubborn ass out. 

And boy was she stubborn. She bit and clawed like a wild cat at the guards who tried to drag her. She got plenty beat up in the process, but everyone seemed to wait for the boss to get her in line when he came. 

“Don’t you worry,” she said. “My fiance is going to get us out.”

“Fiance?”

“Yeah. I bet he’s worried out of his mind right now. But there’s police. They’ll find us.”

“The police are in on this,” you said. “They get serviced for their quiet.”

She spat, then screamed in frustration.

Footsteps echoed off the walls, and blood froze in your veins. You recognised the hard tap and unforgiving rhythm of his steps. The boss.

“Go to your bed and pretend to sleep,” you hissed, discarding the sandwich in your hand and doing the same. 

“W-what?”

“Just do it.”

Covering yourself entirely with the blanket, you rolled into a ball, as if that would make you invisible, teleport you out of the horror story you were about witness. Since staring at the glass wall in his cabin for the first time, you had prayed for yourself. The pastor in the church your aunt dragged you to every Sunday preached that one should only pray for the world and not for oneself… because praying for oneself was selfish. If you prayed only for the world, that made you a good person, and God helped good people without having to ask for it.

You had never been particularly religious, but that one thing had stuck around. Subconsciously, all your life, you had never asked for yourself, not from God, the universe or even as a favour from people. If you wanted something, you had worked hard to earn it, and achieve it by sheer will and not divine intervention.

But that first night with the boss had made you pray for yourself over and over.

And you prayed now, in whispers that only remained in your breath, never making a sound. 

God, let him forget that I exist… Not tonight. Please please please.

The footsteps came to a halt, and the door next to yours opened.

You closed your eyes tighter. Oh, that poor girl. He had come for her at last.

“I hear you’ve been difficult.”

A spit.

“Michael,” he said in his cold, raspy voice. “Hand me my cane, now.”

“Yes, Boss,” said Michael, gleefully.

A slash in the air and a piercing scream sliced the air.

You shut your ears tightly as the scuffling began… but then it ended as suddenly as it had started when a loud, sickening crunch which sounded so close to the shared wall that you were certain it had happened against it.

A minute passed.

“Oh, what a terrible waste,” the boss sighed at last, almost delicately. “Remove it.”

The taps receded and then soon they carried her body by your cell, blood trailing behind her.

You sat up bolt in your bed, unable to keep the bile down as you emptied your stomach on the carpet next to the bed. Sam’s side of the carpet.

You plopped back on the bed, breathing heavily. 

“Just a dream,” you told yourself. “Just a dream.” Then, the reality came crashing down on you and you wanted to throw up all over again.

Abby’s quiet knock from the main door wrenched you out of bed and through the seating area. She didn’t have to see the vomit. Her face was pinched when you opened the door for her. She entered trepidly and placed the breakfast tray on the table. 

“Who’s in the house?” You asked

“Just us,” she said. “Mr Dean Winchester left last night itself.”

“And S-Sam? He’s out for his run?”

“Mr Winchester left for work.”

“It’s only 7.”

She gave you an apprehensive look, as if she wanted to say something but was scared of how you would perceive it.

“What is it, Abby?”

“Miss, he’s in a right state, that man. Before you came, he used to be so dry and detached… but this past month, since you first locked yourself in your room, he’s gone from pillar to post for you. Sleep, food, everything be damned. The only thing he has done is worry.” Her hand fluttered nervously to her side. “He stumbled down the steps this morning from exhaustion and still went for his run anyway. I think he needs to see a doctor.”

Abby didn’t know what had conspired last night.

“I don’t know the deal with his brother being back now,” she said, wrangling the corner of her apron. “But everyone knows they don’t get along. It can’t be good for him.”

Sam had looked exhausted last evening. The dark circles under his eyes, the once-fitted shirt that hung loose on his shoulders, and the ever-present frown on his forehead had become more and more etched now. 

“Abby, tell me when Sam is back, will you?”

You sent her away and cleaned up your mess in the bedroom. A hot shower further cleared your head. Taking stock of your time in the Winchester Mansion made you recount the number of times you had run out on Sam, locked yourself in the room, the number of secrets you had kept. So, he’d had his own secrets. You knew that. 

Then there was the fact that Sam had never explicitly said he hated his brother. In fact, he’d never spoken of him without pain mingled with love. His exact words- “We had a fight and I couldn’t see his face after that.” Couldn’t…. Not ‘Didn’t want.’ Nowhere had his words implied that Sam’s consent was considered.

The day appeared stormy, with an overcast sky. Maybe the light of the lantern would carry, perhaps it wouldn’t. You set it on the sill anyway.

Dean found you at the pier an hour later, when you had nearly given up hope. He stood at his usual spot but did not sit beside you and you noticed he was dressed differently; no jacket today, just a black T-shirt and jeans.

Slowly, you tilted your face upwards to meet his sharp green eyes. How often had you wondered what Dean Winchester would be like? Bitter? Angry? But Han wasn’t any of those things.

“Get up!” He ordered, without an ounce of remorse. You got to your feet.

“This way,” he pointed and began to walk towards the jungle without a preamble.

A frisson of annoyance ran through you. Where was his abashedness?

“Sam didn’t know,” he said briskly. “That you knew me. That we knew each other. That poor bastard had no damn clue.”

“You want me to believe you’ve been hiding out in these woods without Sam knowing?”

“Yes.” He came to an abrupt stop and you realised Dean was dead serious. “That kid’s as straight-jacketed as they come. Keeping up the charade nearly did a number on his head, and then you came into the picture. Sam’s nearly lost his goddamned mind over you.”

“He told you that?”

Dean sighed in exasperation. “Haven’t you been listening to a single word? I haven’t seen Sam in months, not since the fight. But he’s my only family left. I had to keep an eye on the kid.”

The trees were too damn thick for any sunlight to trickle down. Dean started walking again and you followed.

“What was the fight about, then?” You pressed, refusing to believe.

“You,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Two years before I came into the picture? Yeah, right.”

Dean tilted his head, weighing his words. “About the idea of you, I guess.”

“Wow, that clears it all up, doesn’t it?” You laughed sarcastically.

He stayed quiet for so long that you actually paid attention to your surroundings, finding the trail vaguely familiar in the thick trees.

“We were to be married in eight weeks,” he said, voice deep and achingly sad. “She’d come to drop off pie for me. Sam says he insisted on dropping her back, but I knew my Jo. She was stubborn that one. If she wanted to drive herself, nothing Sam said would’ve changed her mind. Nothing. Ellen called three hours later asking for her. We searched all night long, all through the woods, all the way two towns over. Nothing. Sniffer dogs couldn’t catch a trail. The police found her car two days later in New Mexico… and her body two weeks later face down in the lake.”

You wanted to reach out, say something… anything, but words failed.

“She hadn’t drowned, Y/N. She’d already been dead when they threw her in there. Post-mortem said haemorrhage… blunt force trauma to the back of her head, ligature marks, bruises…” He closed his eyes unable to continue. 

You knew bits and parts of what followed– Dean’s self-destructive tendency and Sam’s unwavering support. The latter won.

“Sam still thinks he’s to blame. That he should have somehow foreseen it. I know Ellen doesn’t disagree with him or shy away from throwing it in his face.” A mirthless scoff.

“I think the bigger part of her anger is because of what Sam did to you… and me.” You said. “Or rather, what she thinks he did to you and me.”

Dean sighed. “I owe Sam a lot more than my life, a sorry and a thank you. This whole plan hinges on his resilience.”

“What plan?”

He ran a hand through his hair, but his pace slowed down. “The detective working this case, Jody Mills… she’s suspected a human trafficking ring here for years. Every few years someone goes missing or a body mysteriously appears. But this thing has its claws in so deep that we can’t trust the entire PD.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

He glanced at you briefly, and you saw the ever-present kindness there. “You’re smart. I’m sure you’ve figured out a bunch of this yourself.”

Nodding to yourself, you thought out loud. “Sam wasn’t keeping me around for sex, didn’t want to hang me as bait for kidnapping, so obviously he wants information about where I was but…” You vividly remembered the night when he’d held your bloody hand and then all but shushed your barrage when you had tried to spill it all in a haze. “He stopped me from telling him… He didn’t want to hear any of it.”

Dean chuckled. A sudden light sound in the pressing quiet. “And I just called you smart.”

“What?”

“For all your God-forsaken angst over loving Sam… Have you not considered him liking you back?” Dean narrowed his eyes as if he was judging your intelligence. “Obviously it’s hard for him to listen to what you’ve been through. Hell, I’ve choked back on what little you’ve told me. Why are you being so thick?”

Tears sprang in your eyes. 

He placed a gentle hand against your cheek. 

“Give yourself some credit, Y/N. As stupid as you’re being right now, how can you question your own judgement of Sam so easily? You took your time forming your opinion, didn’t you? So consider all proof objectively. He was on board with the plan from day one knowing it would wreck his reputation if I disappeared after transferring my inheritance to him, knowing he’d have to make himself a villain… all for Jo. The kid didn’t bat an eye before agreeing. What led to the fight was the very last step of the plan. After infiltrating the system, he’d have to be one of them and well…”

“Buy a girl,” you finished.

“Yes,” said Dean. The word hung heavy in the air. “Sam refused to do it at first, but it was the only way. It’s killed him since day one, Y/N. And yesterday when you said he’s no better than any of those men who hurt you…”

The tears now freely flowed down your cheek and right into Dean’s palm. He slowly directed your face into his chest, tightly wrapping his arms around you.

“Oh, what have I done?” You whispered into his jacket. 

Sam had banged hard on your door last night and you never gave him a chance to explain. Not a single word. If you truly loved him, how come the trust was broken this easily? And when you refused to speak, he’d respected your consent then, too.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” you said. “I should’ve trusted him, trusted you. After all, you never coaxed anything from me. I–”

A thousand memories ran through your mind: Sam’s fingers holding up your corset, touching his hand for the first time in the entrance hall before, his laugh after the false escape from dinner. Sam handing you a portfolio, Sam showing you around the old guesthouse, his fingers slipping on your wet shirt in the barn, laughing with him on the floor of your bedroom, his voice as he read out poetry… and his lips when they met yours.

“Sam took to playing chess in high school,” said Dean as you moved back. “I don’t think he ever got too good at it, but he used to come back rambling about all these moves, the King's Gambit, the Scandanavian, the Sicilian. He didn’t have anyone to play against, so I learned the basics to humour him and we played every night before bed.”

He’d started walking again and you kept pace this time.

“So there we are one night, recreating some classic game from half a century ago and I played a different piece and well, what do you know, my king ended up in a position from where he couldn’t move. Thought I’d lost because that was the only square my King was safe in. But then Sam said that’s not what it was. I couldn’t be forced to move my King to a checked square, but it wasn’t currently checked. A stalemate is what it was. That’s where we are at, Y/N.”

“A stalemate?”

“Yes. We know pieces of information, but not the ones that actually matter. It’s our move next, but every square is checked, Y/N. We need to know.”

The dim lights of the dungeon came back to you and oddly the crack of the skull. “The operation is not local, definitely crosses state lines. The building where they kept me is somewhere along New Mexico's border. It’s a huge glass building, seven stories high. I don’t know exactly where but from the se…” you gulped. “From the seventh floor, I could see a tall red tower with blinking lights. They blinked all the time… like passing seconds… but slower than s- seconds. The boss sits on the seventh floor.”

“The boss?”

“I-I don’t know his name. No one does. They only call him ‘the boss.”

“This is good, Y/N,” Dean said eagerly. “What does he look like? How does he find these girls? How does he keep them?”

“He… He looks like any other white man, in his 50’s, maybe early 60’s but his eyes, he has the coldest gray eyes and his laugh...” You stopped, collecting your thoughts. “You already know how he gets the girls. Men as scouts, pretending to be friends or lovers, finding vulnerable girls with little in the way of family. Me… Rosalie. About keeping them, there are two ways. One is standard, get them hooked to heroin. Once you have that, they’ll do anything to get the next fix. But those girls don’t make much money, yeah? They aren’t polished. I was the second kind, for the richer clientele that don’t like the smell of drugs and want the girls alive and kicking. For them, guess, it’s easier to blackmail by holding a loved one hostage. Rosalie only had a mother and I only had Jamie and Danny.”

You told him about how your siblings were held hostage somewhere, and how you stayed in line just to protect them.

“There’s very little we wouldn’t do to protect them, wouldn’t we?”

Dean nodded, then came to a halt and you noticed with some surprise that you were standing in front of the wishing well. 

His fingers grazed the parapet's tally marks, and you voiced a long-lost curiosity. “Why do you have one extra?”

“That dumbass brought you here, didn’t he?” Dean snorted. “So much for our secret place.” But he didn’t seem to hold any grudge over it. “Dad brought me here right before Sam was born. Told me this was a magic well, so I needed to make a wish about what I wanted… a sister or a brother.”

“What did you ask for?”

“You see the extra mark there, don’t you?” He winked. “After the fire, I used to run out a lot, trying to find the well again. Wish my dead parents back, you know? Finally found it when I was twelve and Sam was eight. ”

“Seems like you’ve kept pace since with the tallys.”

Dean winked as if there was a secret to it, but didn’t share it with you.

“Come on, make a wish then,” he said.

“One is already due. I don’t want to burden the well.” You sighed. “Look, Dean. I’ll help you with whatever you want. I can draw plans of the building, and the street layout I could see from the seventh floor. Tell you the number of guards, the shifts, even the names of some of the clients, but I need you to promise me that nothing will happen to my brother and sister.”

“I promise.” 

The walk back should have seemed like an interrogation, except Dean held your hand as you described more of the place, the people, the process… the boss.

“I told you already, I don’t know his name,” you burst out when he questioned a third time. 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Did he… Did he hurt you? This boss?”

You laughed. One short, shaky laugh. “He had a wall full of these instruments… silver, gleaming and so cold.” Then there was the glass wall.

“Oh, that son of a bitch.”

“I wonder why you think Jo was involved in this,” you said, more to change the subject that anything else. “I mean she didn’t exactly fit the pattern.” Full family, doting boyfriend, well-to-do. Blitz kidnapping didn’t seem likely. The boss had to have had something on her.

“No, she didn’t fit the pattern and for a long time, we didn’t suspect her to have been in this.”

“How come?”

Dean’s voice reduced to barely above a whisper. “No obvious signs of… sexual assault in the postmortem report.” And despite the tragedy of it, Dean almost sounded relieved. He pulled out an old wallet from his back pocket and gazed at a picture inside lovingly. “I don’t know, Y/N, it makes me feel like an asshole but knowing that maybe she might have escaped the worst of it… God, I think it kept me from throwing myself off a damn cliff.”

“Oh, Dean!” You closed the distance in-between to hug him. “I bet she–” you gasped. The wallet hung loosely in his grasp and you glimpsed the picture behind the plastic. 

You grabbed the wallet and held it up. “That… That’s Jo? Your Jo?”

He took you by your shoulders. “You knew her?”

“Oh my God!” All the hurt and anger and fear came crashing down on you as you collapsed to the green earth of the side lawn. Over the years she had gone from being the girl in the next cell, to the girl with brown eyes, to the girl in your nightmares and eventually… the only thing you were proud of.

“She’s… she used to be the girl in the next cell. I knew her.”

“Who did this to her?” Dean asked, voice so sharp, it didn’t even sound his.

“The Boss did,” you whispered. “I think it might have been an accident. I only heard the scuffle and then the crack of her skull. It was quick. She didn’t suffer much.”

There was a sharp intake of breath over you and you didn’t dare look up.

“Dean, you should know, the girls there… eventually choose to stay there. I know I did. Once you stop with the kicking and screaming, it gets a little easier. The bad days are lesser and most clients don’t treat you like complete trash. There’s food on your plate at night and poor orphan girls have a bed to sleep in when they comply… they…. we stop fighting. Because there is no relief to fight for, no home to go to and no one who could protect us. But your Jo, she never stopped. I bet she took a few teeth out of that one guard, too.”

“Did they… did anyone ever…?” He could not spit the entire sentence out and you saw the courage it took to finally confront that question.

You looked straight in his tear-stained tortured eyes. “No one hurt her that way. I… I took her turns for the week she was there. I still don’t know why I did it. I’m not a charitable person, and it was hell that week, but something about her faith in her fiance reminded me of, well, me… before I found out how I got there. I wanted to protect her faith just a little longer. So, no Dean, no one touched her that way. And you should also know, she died like she lived, fighting and believing in your love for her.”

Dean hugged you and broke down. “Thank you… Thank you for doing that for my Jo,” he blubbered. “You’re… You’re like an angel. Sam said that you know… yesterday he said that he thought you were some kind of an angel when he first saw you dressed in white. Wasn’t wrong.”

And you broke down with Dean. The night had descended upon you, as you both held each other in the darkness and just cried. 

Much later, locked in the dining room, you drew the floor plans of the building from your memory, a map of the road and the way to the bus stop that you could remember, the names of the guards, physical descriptions, names of the girls, anything and everything you could think of. The maids all gave you curious looks. Getting along with a brother-in-law would be normal for most families, but an estranged brother-in-law who you had never supposedly met? Knowing the history they knew, that had to look shady.

As it turned out, Dean had been alternating between living in the Guest house in Sam’s room and a cabin further north that not many people knew of in the estate. He knew ways to sneak in and out better than almost anyone. Hired security was never too big a problem for him. He was to set out first thing tomorrow morning to see how he could use your intel.

“You know my roommate Carmen,” you said at the door when he was about to leave. “She might have been the only one to care for me back then. I fought with her the night before. If you can do one thing for me, find her and tell her she was right and I am so very sorry.”

“Of course.” Dean stepped up and kissed your forehead. “And Y/N, I’m going to get that bastard. Not just for what he did to Jo, but also for what he did to you. You said you didn’t fight after a while because you didn’t have a home, a family. Now you do. Remember that.”

You watched Dean head out. He would be gone before you woke up tomorrow, but you felt lighter than you had in years, like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. Upstairs, you found Abby in her room.

She stood up the moment she saw you. “Miss, is everything alright?”

“Yes, Abby. I was wondering if you knew when Sam would be back?”

“He was home earlier this evening but didn’t stay long. I believe he left for Colorado.”

Hurt. “Did he say anything about when he would return?”

“No, Miss.”

“Did he ask about me?”

“No, Miss.”

“Did he say anything at all?”

The pitying shake of her head was enough for you to turn around and return to your room. What if you had hurt Sam beyond fixing this time? Abby had been correct, he looked fragile, not just physically, but something about the fragmented look in his eyes, as if one blow could shatter him. What if your hurtful words and vitriolic accusation finally pushed him to the edge? How much bullshit could one man take after all?

You had stepped into this house thinking you would be used, and it was the most horrid feeling in the world. What if Sam thought the same now? That you had used him… used his home, his wealth, and his empathy. Hell, you had used his body, too! 

No, you didn’t pray for yourself much. But in that moment you did- God, please give me one chance to apologise. Please.

*****************************

A/N 2: So turns out I was tagging all wrong :/ Ana is feeling sad about that. Hopefully, it will work this time.

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[revenant-dumpster-fire]

I was wondering, since Rev has Six and the other prowlers he takes care of, what would he think of a Legend S/o who takes care of Prowlers, Spiders and Flyers for the games? Like they own some and they usually go to World’s Edge, Kings Canyon and Storm Point before they are in Rotation to check on the animals and they all really really like s/o when they drop by.

Okay I sort of took the vibes of this and absolutely ran with it. This is basically a plot point skeleton for a first book in a multi-book fanfiction at this point:

You never noticed Revenant between games before, as Bloodhound was always more your pace with a commonality in caring for beasts, until one day you were running behind.

The Flyers were upset that day, as were the Spiders. You ended up having to spend way more time to feed both, and you didn't even get a chance to get close to them in order to check their condition.

By the time you reached the Prowlers, you understood why.

Nothing quite like a 6'7" tall metal maniac holding a young, injured dinosaur like a beloved puppy to get you to pay attention.

He was not pleased to see you.

He was immediately accusatory: why weren't you there sooner? Something about how bad this could have been, and how he can't stand the use of prowlers as fodder for entertainment, and that they deserve care or to be let go.

Oddly enough, you agree with the oversized villain character of the Apex Games.

You interrupt him to ask what exactly is wrong, since it needs to be addressed immediately.

"Blood scale" is no sooner uttered than you jumping over the prowler in his arms to try to find the lethal bleed.

He shoves you away, and you hear him say it.

"I took care of it, skinbag."

He... he did?

He flicks a bloody, hollow scale in your direction. Most of the blood has drained, but it clearly was a blood scale.

You spent eight years in school to become a veterinarian with a focus on neozoology and exotic animals, became a specialist in some of the most dangerous fauna on this side of the Outlands, and pushed the present understanding of medical knowledge on these species youself just for some simulacrum at work to "take care of it" himself.

He reels back a bit as you stare at him, letting the prowler leap from his arms while panting happily, letting it's tongue loll out.

After that encounter, Revenant could not escape your notice, much to his annoyance for a few months.

You would seek him out to present questions about prowlers aloud near him, much like you would with Caustic for the spiders. Like Caustic, Revenant would often sigh loudly in frustration while answering the complex question like it was elementary knowledge.

He became an invaluable resource.

Caustic never came around to liking you, but Revenant got used to you.

Finally, Revenant would start "appearing" when you would make your usual rounds to the battlefields' prowler dens.

You are surprised to find that Revenant's presence does not upset the prowlers, but rather calms them down.

He started by just watching you take care of the prowlers: taking blood labs, treating small injuries, providing meat fortified with necessary vitamins and minerals, administering basic medicines to the sick, and tagging newborns for tracking.

Then you tried checking on a prowler with a broken leg, which would usually call for careful euthanasia due to how dangerous it can be if the prowler lashes out in pain.

You thought you could help, but trying to set the leg proved too painful.

The bite would have killed you instantly, if it reached you.

Revenant took the bite with his own body, holding the snout in place around his leg to give you time to set the break, splint it, and hard cast it.

He began stepping in to help you after that, and it became an unacknowledged standard for you to give the prowlers better and more in-depth care in exchange for his invulnerablility, knowledge, and strength.

It started to become the best part of your job.

You began getting to the prowlers first, and spending a bit longer with them.

Eventually, he started following you to take care of the flyers and spiders too, although he clearly was a bit more out of his depth in those situations.

He was able to adjust to the flyers fairly easily, but the spiders and him seem to have a respectful hatred of one another.

The spider eggs are no problem for him, and even freshly hatched spiders do not affect him much; but the massive, drop-ship sized adults are a different story.

Given their venom is caustic and turns his body to a rusting, oxidizing mess: fair enough. You agree with him, but moreso because of the fangs that are almost as tall and wide as you.

Thankfully, so long as they're well-fed and it's the daytime, they don't have much interest in you.

Revenant, however...

If the spiders become aware of Revenant, they will either threat pose at him until he backs away or gently approach him to reach for him.

He's not fond of the latter behavior, likely because he's not fond of having younger, smaller males trying to attach a spawning web to him.

It's funny, to watch his smaller frame hiding in a crevasse from a massive spider who has mistaken him for a possible mate.

Revenant rapidly became the prettiest (and most docile) bachelorette at the ball, likely on account of not killing and eating the males like the females normally would.

At the same time, he plays the hardest to get, leaving you snickering back at the dropship to handle paperwork.

He hates it, obviously, but he sticks around anyway.

Finally, one time a male managed to attach a ball of spawning silk to him, and that was the first time you got to help Revenant back.

Back at the facility, after a very uncomfortable and sticky ride back from Storm Point, you were able to carefully use acetone and a paint scraper to get the webbing off of him.

Revenant was about as cooperative as the prowlers, growling and complaining with each long scrape.

Some of his paint comes off with the webbing, but he doesn't seem to care so long as his evidence of being the target of a male spider's love and affection is gone.

You promise in the privacy of his living space that you won't tell anyone about it, and thank him for always being around to help you

He immediately shoots down your thanks verbally, insisting it means nothing to him

"As long as the prowlers are taken care of, I don't give a damn"

He mumbles about wishing they weren't a part of the Apex Games, right as you scrape off the last clump of webbing

He tries to get up to leave, but you stop him to wipe him down with acetone, just to be sure the adhesive slime isn't lingering.

He's sticky beyond compare, and the acetone-soaked rag strips off paint with the adhesive.

You have to carefully hit every crevasse to clean, which rapidly reveals he's...

Ticklish?

As the paint is stripped from the metal plating, Revenant contorts, jerks, huffs, and gasps randomly as you gently rub the rims and edges of his chassis.

He's clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable, causing you to instinctively apologize while insistently cleaning him.

He reminds you of most of your patients: large, able to kill you in a single motion, and yet vulnerable in some way.

And that's when you got fully attached to sticking close to him.

He invited you to sleep on his couch for the first time, especially as long as it took to finish cleaning him.

You insisted you "couldn't" because you needed to stay up until he was fully taken care of, which included repainting the stripped areas.

Honestly, you were completely exhausted and not all there at that point, but he let you help him repaint his chassis.

Between the paint fumes, sleep deprivation, and exhaustion, you passed out in his room.

After that night, Revenant wouldn't stop sticking to your side. You caught his attention, and you weren't getting away from him.

[crying-fantasies]

Loved your Prowl/Constructicons/reader thing you wrote earlier!

I'm especially intrigued by the way you write from Devastator's perspective and about the gestalt psyche as a whole, any headcanons about that? (no pressure!)

Thank you for your kind words!

Well, it's mostly based on what happened in RID and the combiners wars, where, from time to time, you can see mainly the thoughts of the center of the combiner and the thoughts of the very combiner in between, a psyche born from every component, and it was just so cool to me, because in the way it acts and how it talks you know who is inside, of course, it changes between the gestalt's own team.

I remember, back with G1, every component needed to have a personality component, as in their own "me" had to be hard enough to not get lost inside or something like that, and if that didn't happen the combiner would be weak, and sometimes I link that "me" with the idea of "what I want to do" in order to form a combiner.

If there is consensus over at least one thing, a combiner can happen, or you use the Enigma of Combination and create one by force, whatever goes your way, really, but in the second scenario you must see if it can stay together because launching together 3 or more bots can result in all of them going their way without a real objective and simply fall apart.

Defensor, for example, can transform since all the protectobots share a single ideology: "I must protect my people and I must protect the defenseless humans", because we've already seen how this specific combiner treats humans as they were his kids, that comes from Streetwise, maybe a little bit of First Aid is what handles the main idea since Defensor is also know for having medical knowledge to some point, the part were he stops to think before going full rage? That's Hot Spot alright, but that fury when the innocent is in danger's way? That's Blades, the part that tries to calm the wounded? That's Groove, they aren't exactly close to one another, but sharing a similar, if not exact, objective in mind is what makes Defensor, but their differences show in how they can't keep their force shield together for more than a few seconds.

Devastator, it's been said time and time again how the constructicons all share one thing, rage, anger, be it against the autobots or whatever, their rage is what forms the most iconic combiner of all times, but it isn't perfect, in almost every continuity Devastator is an amalgam of different mechs that didn't want anything to do with one another (like, majority of all the decepticon gestalt teams) but by Megatron's order it must happen because it just must, hence you have a strong as fuck combiner, but that's it, there is no great procedure and the constructicons have been burned from this, in the early comics you motive how Mixmaster wasn't as crazy as be ended up for example and Scavenger's anxiety is also more notorious, Bonecrusher is mad all the time like Long Haul and Hook is way more fixated on making everything perfect, they're all mad at something, just look at Scrapper, who wanted to be away fromt them for a moment, and what happened to him, most irregular components merged together must remain together to be sane since now they are tainted with one another and it can cause insanity.

Now, Devastator with Prowl, finally there is no only anger in their shared mind, there is options, thousand upon thousands of options than the whole team has ever seen, than what Devastator even had the processor to even imagine, and Prowl gives him something that he never had before: the idea of freedom, and they all love it because Prowl is a mad, gray freedom that they would die for to be real.

Then we have perfect child, perfect team and perfect combiner: Superion, whose whole gestalt team is in synchrony by force, because it's Superion himself that put his components in mute an goes on his way, using the shared idea of destroying the decepticons of his components to keep going and not falling apart, but this is a bad movement, since there is no center there is no bond, no talk, and Superion struggles to even talk or do something as simple as moving something if it isn't related to eliminate the decepticons.

Now, if we put in something they want, or at least one of the components want, you may catch the interest of the others or the combiner itself, as it happens with Prowl, the constructicons and Devastator, because they share it, and depending from how they take it you have a different result, and since the constructicons are awful and insane Prowl's little human conjunx is also theirs to some degree now, so, somehow in their beaten psyches, Chainbreaker is also theirs.

Devastator hasn't been formed since it's time of great peace (freaking finally) but he'll also go along the lines of "if he is yours then he is mine, since you're a part of me" kind of thing if he sees Chainbreaker, more prepared when all his components know about Prowl's progeny, not like with reader when he was hit with the revelation during the bond, and just for the record, the son of a glitch that asked you out was Bonecrusher.

[luckyfluffy-ccs]

Information about how Simeon and Mc were/got together

(From now on I'll react to comments posted under my fic. unfortunately, I just pasted the Q's in a document and some questions are now merged together.)

So I will be a bit honest. I haven't dived too deep into their previous relationship except for the parts that are vital to the story (in later chapters) aha-

However! I can share some things ;D

As has been stated everywhere, Mc and Simeon have known eachother since they were little kids. Their parents lived next to each other and when Simeon was 5 they scheduled a little playdate. At first MC didn't like him at all. Crying loudly anytime he got near no matter the urging of either set of parents. But as time passed they managed to get along super well.

They went to kindergarten, and middle school together. Only in college did they part but at that point they were already dating. 

Back when they were teenagers Simeon asked MC to prom and they agreed. Ever since then they started dating to nobody's surprise. Back when they weren't such workaholics they often went on dates, mostly to places where you did or made things. Usually not very intensively high-energy. But the hands were busy. Their shared house is full of little trinkets they made together or for each other. When they want a more romantic date, Simeon is surprisingly good at finding cute hidden cafes with a home-y aura.

On houses. Both of them lived with their parents for quite long as schools are expensive. Simeon was the first to get himself a studio apartment to live closer to his college and eventually work. But due to (spoiler) MC got themselves a house as well, and as it was much roomier Simeon spent most of his days there too.

Simeon was also the one to propose. While hiking wasn't something they did very often, Simeon told them he “knew a spot” and together they went on a relatively easy but long trail. At last when the sun was sinking down they reached their end destination to a gorgeous view. MC was completely entranced and jokingly complained that he never showed them this earlier. When they turned around to face him he was down on his knees with a ring in hand. And as the sun turned Simeon’s skin and hair gold he asked to be their man.

Officially they both had their own houses. But Simeon was living full-time in MC’s house. But due to work (RID by now) he sometimes still lived at his old place. So this was just easier. 

I don't want to make it sad so I won't talk about their ( technically first) breakup. But Simeon officially broke off their engagement about ~4 months after MC met Mammon. And well… you know the rest.