#⌬ –– a used up bullet casing.「 face claim. 」

[wildwestdean]

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park. 

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you. 

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait. 

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.” 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach. 

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together. 

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like. 

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.” 

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.” 

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets. 

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be. 

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo. 

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun. 

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.” 

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.” 

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building. 

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock. 

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?” 

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.” 

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold. 

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you. 

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?” 

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.” 

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.” 

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him. 

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance. 

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs. 

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker. 

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall. 

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way. 

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles. 

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you. 

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere. 

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!” 

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision. 

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you. 

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!” 

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her. 

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.” 

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent. 

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on. 

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.” 

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up. 

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood. 

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him. 

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.” 

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down. 

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand. 

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?” 

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.” 

“What?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?” 

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?” 

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently. 

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket. 

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks. 

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you. 

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat. 

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously. 

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?” 

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.  

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink. 

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker. 

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall. 

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say. 

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?” 

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion. 

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.” 

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.” 

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink. 

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam. 

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically. 

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer. 

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean. 

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away. 

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table. 

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.” 

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth. 

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you. 

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter. 

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar. 

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away. 

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you. 

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. 

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?” 

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car. 

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you. 

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats. 

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?” 

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?” 

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.” 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!” 

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance. 

“What, why?” you asked in confusion. 

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.” 

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off. 

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned. 

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.” 

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy. 

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders. 

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done. 

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom. 

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand. 

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran. 

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you. 

He couldn’t save you. 

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart. 

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him. 

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.  

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind. 

“Dean.” 

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came. 

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above. 

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut. 

“God dammit, Dean!” 

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer. 

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt. 

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.” 

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice. 

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him. 

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out. 

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current. 

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.” 

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order. 

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone. 

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name. 

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere. 

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order. 

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink. 

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him. 

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake. 

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang. 

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.” 

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?” 

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle. 

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?” 

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.” 

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice. 

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not. 

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.   

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself. 

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration. 

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.” 

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation. 

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.” 

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!” 

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed. 

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief. 

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!” 

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.” 

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?” 

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!” 

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?” 

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.” 

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!” 

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?” 

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?” 

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff. 

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-” 

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?” 

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!” 

“Right,” Sam said sceptically.  “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared. 

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively. 

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.” 

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.” 

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued. 

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.” 

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on. 

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin. 

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction. 

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen. 

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully. 

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen. 

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway. 

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly. 

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child. 

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.  

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do. 

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything. 

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.” 

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!” 

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him. 

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion. 

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife. 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?” 

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?” 

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily. 

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call. 

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more. 

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered.  So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do. 

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.” 

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” 

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?” 

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.” 

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation. 

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.” 

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner. 

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water. 

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water. 

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself. 

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding. 

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant. 

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.” 

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him. 

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.” 

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered. 

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you. 

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly. 

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again. 

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.” 

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?” 

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.” 

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.” 

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door. 

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out. 

“It’s not gonna kill me!” 

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?” 

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?” 

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.” 

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign. 

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” 

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!” 

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.” 

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.” 

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.” 

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” you scolded. 

“This is so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly. 

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.” 

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him. 

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.” 

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head. 

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.” 

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed. 

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully. 

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.” 

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.” 

“I do,” you agreed quietly. 

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.” 

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?” 

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.” 

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly. 

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].” 

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle. 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently. 

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.” 

“Right,” you agreed. 

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly. 

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.” 

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off. 

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.” 

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say. 

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.” 

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.” 

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while. 

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.” 

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build. 

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.” 

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat. 

“Okay,” he said with a huff. 

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly. 

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you. 

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened. 

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked. 

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.” 

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more. 

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.” 

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly. 

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?” 

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.” 

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?” 

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?” 

“Always,” you said honestly. 

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed. 

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly. 

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more. 

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things. 

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest. 

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares. 

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest. 

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

[yuri-is-online]

A really stupid idea I had and I can't even decide where I want it to go 😩

Anyone of the first years heard from a guy in their club that their boyfriends bestfriends roommates cousins friend has a thing for Yuu and a bad reputation for using love potions, suddenly first year of your choice is taking his bodyguard duties for Yuu even more seriously than ever and watching them like a Hawk until one day Yuu seemingly receives a nice gift package from an "secret admirer" and the boys panic, snatching the treat from Yuu's hand and chowing down themselves because they're dumb and impulsive and in love.

What follows is either;

A. The "secret admirer" was actually Grim who wanted to do something nice for his Henchhuman by making them tuna filled muffins as thanks for their service and now not only did they inhale the worst cake ever, got a tantrum throwing Grim to appease.

B. There was a love potion in those cookies, but whoever laced them is actually kinda bad at potionology and they're "Puppy love" potions, cue our freshman acting like The Prince from Mirror Mirror (2012) when he had a puppy love potion. His reputation at school will never recover from this but its worth it because Yuu now looks at him like he's the sunrise itself for taking that bullet for him.

C. There was no love potion. No shady business. Just normal brownies and now a very upset Yuu. Even if they understood his concerns, do you think between their allowance and Grim's appetite they want to hear excuses for them stealing food from Yuu!? He promises he'll make it up to them just stop hitting him! 💦💦

D. There was no love potion.2 but man. These pretzels...really suck. The freshman almost feels bad for whoever sent them because if this was their pickup attempt then they lost before they even began. Wait, what? Yuu made these to send as a secret admirer to their crush!? Now he's got even more complicated feelings about this whole ordeal while Yuu sulks about how the guy they wanted to give these to just said they suck to their face.

E. There was no love potion.3 but Yuu doesn't have to know that. Now the Freshman is free to "pretend" all his flirting and affection is thanks to those croissants AND play the hero. Its full proof! Until Ortho runs a diagnostic to find a cure for him and reveals that there was no potion that is. Hey, he can always try and claim a placebo effect, right?💦

F. The love potion was actually an aphrodisiac and now Yuu has t[I AM BEATEN TO DEATH BY KING MICKEYS KEYBLADE]

So the problem with this ask is that I really love all of these options and they could all work for a small fic for each of the options. That being said, there are specific ones that suit certain first years more than others.

A. The Great Grim's Perfect Surprise- Ace

Floyd is the one who gives Ace the heads up that someone with a bad reputation was interested in Yuu. And hey that was technically true! It's just that Floyd also over heard Grim bragging about the cupcakes he made and had a brilliant idea.

It's the worst possible case scenario for Ace, the cake tasted horrible, Grim is throwing a tantrum, Floyd is there and he brought Jamil to laugh at him too. This fucking sucks he hates his life man. Well until you shoo everyone out and shush Grim with some praise before turning your focus to him.

You're so concerned about him it makes his heart hurt. You get him something to drink and fuss over him for the rest of the day in a way that makes him fall in love with you all over again. Those half hearted scolds about there being better ways to get rid of poison don't land at all, doesn't matter how he does it he'll keep you safe and that's a promise.

B. Puppy Love Potion- Jack

The captain of the track team tells Jack and Deuce together, he knows the two of them are your friends and that they'll make sure you stay safe. Unfortunately he's not fully aware of how... delusional Jack is about how not into you he is.

The puppy love potion has him acting like even more of a puppy than usual. His tail won't stop wagging and he is actually smiling at you, thank the seven he's so willing to listen to what you have to say so you can keep him in Ramshackle until the potion wears off. He manages to reclaim his reputation just fine, Jack's a scary fucking guy when he tries to be and you'd have to be really stupid to mess with him when he's in a mood.

... not that you can really tell the difference between puppy love Jack and normal Jack when the Ramshackle Prefect insists on looking at him like that. He must really hate his tail.

C. How Dare You Eat my Food- Deuce

Same as before: captain gives the heads up, Jack and Deuce are really concerned, and Deuce decides to do something about it because he's in love and doesn't want to see you get hurt.

He doesn't realize there was nothing wrong with them until you point it out and he's beyond heartbroken. Please you have to understand he didn't mean it! Sure those brownies were really good and yeah maybe he should have realized that they were normal about half way through the pan but- he's so sorry! He's not above getting on his knees to beg for forgiveness and especially not from you.

There is a rule in Heartslabyul about returning things after you take them, so as soon as Deuce learns he took your food he's already planning on replacing it. Maybe you would let him borrow your kitchen? He won't let you help since he's fixing his own mistake but he doesn't see why you can't hang out. You'll get fresh brownies out of it and he gets to look cool Task failed successfully?

D. This is... Adequate I Suppose- Sebek

Only someone with an actual death wish would come up with this sort of plan in Riddle's presence. He's screaming, the paddock is on fire, and no one is really stopping him because hey idiot deserves it and also has anyone seen where Sebek went? Would have thought he'd have something to say too given that whole "crush he has on the prefect thing"

Well that's because he's too busy eating your pretzels with a trademark look of disgust as he tells you about what happened at Equestrian club today. These suck, he has such high standards for what you are worthy of and if it weren't for the potential danger posed to you he never would have-

Your wry disappointment silences him immediately, his look of concern and shock is really cute so it sort of makes up for how much his words hurt. He's aghast, you have someone you... admire? Someone you are too shy to confess to? And you made them something with your own two hands, he actually wants to cry he's so embarrassed, jealous, and in love all at the same time.

"You shouldn't have to do this. You- You are the one who deserves to be pursed. But if it is something you wish to do-" He draws himself up into a proper knight's stance, stiff as board and deeply determined to be seen as reliable. Safe. A... friend if you will allow it and something more if he could be so blessed. "-then we shall begin training immediately! Back to the kitchen, human!"

E. Placebo Effect- Epel

Only someone with an actual death wish would come up with this plan pt. 2 except Leona is a lot more reasonable than Riddle with how he handles it. He tells Epel to go check on Yuu while he goes to dump the guy on Crewel. That way he doesn't have to be the one to fill out all of the annoying disciplinary paperwork.

So he knows by the time he shows up at Ramshackle that there really is no threat to your safety but still... this sort of opportunity is just too good to pass up. And he's such a good actor too, if this wouldn't get him in trouble with Vil he'd rub it in his dorm leader's face.

See Vil! He doesn't need no fancy manners or etiquette, Yuu's flushed and charmed by his old fashioned gentlemanly behavior. He's holding doors, pulling out your chair, giving you all of the compliments he thinks about but never says for fear of looking uncool. He even gets to bake apple pie with you until Ortho calls his bluff. Sure, he should have some shame, but this is Epel we're talking about. He claims the placebo effect and pretends to be super embarrassed while gauging your reaction for any trace of disappointment.

If he's satisfied with how sad you are he just might make it up to you with a real date~

Like I was saying all of these prompts could really work for any of them and- huh could have sworn there was a sixth one. Weird anyway thanks for the ask!

...

....

..... ok so now that the coast is clear:

First thing's first, they're all mad as hell that someone tried to drug you with an aphrodisiac. That's so beyond disgusting, who does this guy think he is?

Ace's focus is entirely on you. He doesn't outright admit what's wrong, he actively teases you for being into him when you express concern as if it doesn't send a painful pang of arousal through him when you don't deny it. You have to make a move, he'll ask for it half serious half joke, but he wants you to do this because you want him and not as some sort of favor please don't say it like that- He starts taking shots at the other guy when he regains enough of his ego to flip you on your back and start taking the lead. Really, how stupid was that guy to think he had a chance when you only have eyes for him, prefect? Now don't you dare try to hide your cute expressions from him, he's been looking forward to this.

Jack is convinced he can just lock himself in his room and endure. He tries thinking of it as a training exercise, sure he might have had some... similar feelings before. Similar thoughts, painful dreams that felt real until he woke up alone, drenched in sweat, painfully unfulfilled and deeply embarrassed. But nothing can compare to the real you, he's almost angry that he ever thought that at all now that you're underneath him. He's so lucky that you're his mate, that he can bite into your neck and thrust into your body and have you accept him even as he locks you together in a sticky mess of sweat and slick. He's beyond embarrassed when he wakes up still balls deep with your fingers running through his matted hair. This would be the worst if he didn't have a cute, very human, bite of his own on his neck.

Deuce's anger is made so much worse by him being horny. The other guy is terrified, everyone around him is terrified Deuce is aware he's gone full delinquent and he can't seem to stop. By the time you find him his knuckles are bruised, he's sweaty, with rumpled clothes, and taking great heaving breaths unable to deny the effects he's feeling and asking you to forgive him. Deuce has an idea of what he wanted your first time to be like. He wanted to take you out on a real date, he wanted to be honorable with you. He didn't expect you to be the one to push him back against the shower stall and take him just as quick and dirty as he feels. You're so beautiful, he's so powerless in the face of your naked desire and very eager to please. Just tell him what you want him to do; he's all yours.

Sebek can't lie about how he feels to save his life. All of NRC knows he's horny because he's screaming about how not horny he is right now and how much he doesn't think your flesh looks super supple, bitable even seven he just wants to- Lilia doesn't let him ignore those feelings after confirming you aren't the slightest bit uncomfortable being the center of Sebek's attention. He's shy, in denial. He is proud of his honorable intent and self control. But he is in love with you and with that love comes a deep, fathomless desire edged with obsessive devotion that all fae pride themselves in. He needs your guidance, he's unused to this. That obsessive attention hangs on your every gasp and moan, when he finds a noise he likes he hammers at the source again and again until you reward him with the most wonderful noise of all. When the potion has worked its way through his system the hunger still remains; his appetite is voracious. A potion is nothing compared to his own desires, hopefully this little accident left you prepared.

Epel's anger is also made so much worse by being horny. But Leona already dealt with the scumbag so it's not like he can work out his aggression on the creep... so won't you let him take it out on you? He's completely serious, the drug has gone straight to his dick and he's not interested in pretending like he doesn't want you prefect. No taking care of it himself won't work, no don't be shy it really can't be anyone else. You want a real man? Well he's right here and he wants you something fierce. Epel wouldn't be this confident if he didn't have so much adrenaline running through him, but he can't bring himself to be embarrassed when he comes to his senses and sees you bent over your desk and much more out of breath than him. He's going to be riding this high for the rest of the year, and he's going to make sure you feel it for just as long too.

[imsilay]

HAMARTIA

MNDI +18, cw: oral (f!receiving), fem!reader ( i don’t think there’s much to warn :/ )

cw: 2.3k

bigger font as promised lol and not proofread sorry :/ my stomach hurts :(

(i need my mouth on his abs. and hands it’s a need trust me. idk the cr please tell me.) it’s royaidni on X guys :> -i might buy patreon for him-

You swore this was the day that you’d kill this man as you tightened your hands around his thick neck. He smirked under his mask, you were strong. You were strong enough to take your anger out of him and knock him to ground when he asked for a fight with you. His words were taunting, irritating even as he did so which was something you happened to not like. You didn’t really knew if he was doing it on purpose. You suspected that he was trying to get the best of you.

And you were undoubtedly right.

He absolutely loved the way you clenched your fists when someone challenged you. He observed you long enough to know you wouldn’t say no to any competition. What a brave girl you are. “You… are weak.” he managed to choke out as you breathed rapidly. Oh how beautiful you were… From the blood dripping down from the edge of your lips to your heaving chest. You were a mess, he wasn’t easy on you, he knew what you were capable of, he knew if he let his guard down you could easily knock him down which was predictable and happened as soon as he froze for a moment. He froze because he couldn’t believe he really punched your precious face, because he couldn’t believe how pretty you were when you spit the blood pooled on your mouth and jumped on him like a lioness. He felt his whole body shivering underneath you, not daring to move away, not daring to do anything to ruin the positions of your bodies because Gott- your form rose heavenly on his stomach.

The angle was just right, he could see- nein, he could feel the way you looked down at him, was it another way of saying him he’s nothing different than a bug without words? Did you hated him enough to not even utter a word? That couldn’t be the case because he saw the burning lust in that gaze, felt it in his bones. It flowed into his skin from your palms around his neck.

“Said the man who’s about to die from my hands.” you snickered, breath coming out short and rapid. You felt a hot sweat rolling down on your spine as he chocked out a dry laugh. It was chocked because you had no intention of loosening your grip. “It would be a honorable way to die.” he finally got a hold of your wrists and pried your hands from his neck.

“But not today, Maus.” he lead your body down from his stomach to his crotch. Oh he loved the dumbfounded expression of your face, eyes going wide and lips forming a small ‘o’ shape. Because what was the thing poked your ass, you hoped it wasn’t his gun- or maybe you hoped it was. You were frozen and only remembered to get up when he tilted your chin up with his nose. You pressed your knees firmly against the floor to have the leverage to push yourself off of him. “Sit down.” he barked, both of you knew you could try more and eventually break free from his grip but you were a little curious thing. You wondered if he was really getting off from fighting with you. You were also curious when you accepted his challenge, wondering that König, the colonel who never talked with anyone unnecessarily but a few people, came to you on his own.

Did you loved to be on top? Or did you prefer to let your partner have the control? Would you like if he had you in a mating press and emptied his balls deep inside you until you break and cried for him to sop? Or would you prefer to ride him until he was overstimulated and panting like a dog?

These were the overwhelming thoughts he had every single night since he saw you kill a enemy which he claimed as his target. Along with 10 others. Your skin was hard, not squishy and soft like he was used woman to be. Your skin was scared from the bullets and sharp knifes. Your skin was tortured, beaten, overworked even. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to cause you any pain. The punch he landed on you made him want to cut his wrist off and feed it to dogs. You weren’t fragile but he loved how sensitive you were. Just like him, you weren’t so used to have someone so close and intimate. He could feel your heartbeat pick up as he pressed his clad lips on your pulse.

You were being oddly obedient and he loved it.

You we sitting on his lap like you weren’t choking him to death just a minute ago. You could be a witch or siren, whatever you name it, because there was no other explanation for your enchanting presence. He felt weak, for the first time in a decade he felt like he could drop to his knees and worship you like a temple.

You weren’t patient as you were strong. You wanted to feel him grow harder, you wanted to feel him as impatient as you so you could have him. So you started to grind your hips against his throbbing length, successfully drawing a growl from him. But not without a smack to your hips.

“Behave. I didn’t knew you were much of a slut. I thought you were just an arrogant brat.” he mumbled, not bothering to leave the confines of your neck. So you grabbed his hair with his mask and yanked his head back. “Are you going to fuck me or do i have to continue where i left of?” you hissed, wrapping your now free hand around his nack and getting irritated with his calmness. “Don’t wanna hurt you Maus, but you give me no other choice.” he purred yet there was irritation matching with yours, maybe even more. “Sometimes you forget who you’re talking to, and i’d be more than happy to fix that.” he pushed you back onto your back and you landed on the ground with a thud. You didn’t expected him to push you off after nuzzling you like a stray cat. You thought you had him in your palm, but he wasn’t like others. You were so shocked that you couldn’t do anything to stop him when he pressed on your torso and tugged down your pants. You wanted to kick him which you could with your current position but something primal in you prevented you from it. You wanted to let him put you in your place, you wanted to see if he could.

Now he was the one breathing heavily as he looked down at your exposed panties. The black ones, his favorite. He saw you in them one time, by accident if you believe. And since then he couldn’t get any sleep. He gritted his teeth, this was his lucky day. “Don’t move.” he retreated his hand from your torso so he could pull your panties with both of his hands. As he pulled down the fabric his hungry eyes drank every bit of skin that was being exposed to him. You thought he was doing it slowly on purpose, you thought he was teasing you for being touch starved but you just couldn’t notice how his hands were trembling and he was thankful that you didn’t noticed. “This wet from a little fighting and grinding? You’re pathetic. And i’m your colonel. Aren’t you ashamed? The strong soldiers everyone’s afraid of is getting wet for her colonel, i bet they would kill to see you.” his words hit just the right spot, it traveled through your veins and rushed your blood pressure. And of course that cocky bastard noticed that. How couldn’t he? His eyes were never leaving you!

But you wanted him to do more than looking, you wanted to feel his hands, mouth, tongue- god you wanted him all over you. “Oh look at that…” He parted your folds with his thumb and catched that glob of arousal dripped from you. “Do you need something in your pretty pussy? I got something you’d like.” he snickered, how needy you were… He’d never thought you would be so cute under him. You’d be hot of course but not that cute. He imagined every possibility but the way you covered your face with your forearm and the way you lifted your hips to chase his thumb never crossed his mind. “Give it to me.” your voice came out muffled by your forearm but he could understand you very loud and clear. “Nein Maus. You forgot to ask properly.” he dab his thumb on your clit, slowly and lightly. “What do you want?” he asked again and you knew it was your last chance. He never liked to repeat himself. You threw your head back when he licked your slit before you could answer. He swallowed thickly and pressed his fingers into your thighs. You had to answer before he lost his control and did something he would regret. “I…” you hesitated, he was your colonel but he was the one who offered all of this. You looked for your morals but they were no where to be seen when König was between your legs, looking into your eyes with his halfway lifted mask and your slick on his chin. “I want your cock. I want to feel you, i want you to fill me up until i am full of you.” oh your sweet voice, your sweet sweet words. “Braves Mädchen. That was what i wanted to hear.” he practically growled when he buried his fingers and face into your cunt. You gasped by intensity of both at the same time. His long and thick fingers dragged along your walls and curled just right as his lips wrapped around your sensitive bundle of nerves and sucked and lapped until your hips rose from the ground by his merciless attack. “Slow down!” you grabbed his hair to pull him away but you couldn’t use your strength due to his teeth gently grazing your clit. Your hips twitched and you could feel the overwhelming pleasure pooling within you, ready to explode with a poke. And the poke was his fingers hitting your g-spot. You pushed his head away- at least you tried but he didn’t left his place. His tongue lapped every drop you offered as you squirted all over him and the floor. “Mein, mein, mein.” he purred as he pulled his fingers out of your quivering hole and kissed your pretty pussy all over. Along with your strong thighs and throbbing clit. He sucked and licked your folds like he’s making out with your pussy. You were still twitching and trying to calm down after your intense orgasm. “König, enough.” you whined, your whiny voice strange to even yourself. Oh but did he love it. He’d kill to hear you whine and beg him again.

“I can’t understand what you’re saying, Maus.” he mumbled against your slick pussy and continued to lick until there was nothing left from your orgasm. He wanted it back. Not just your sweet slick, he wanted your sweet cum on his tongue. But he had to leave your pussy as his cock throbbed painfully in the confines of his pants. He straightened his back and that was when he could get a glimpse of your glossy eyes. His heart kicked his chest like it was trying to rip his skin and present itself to you. ‘Beautiful, pretty, cute, but mine, mine, mine.’ His twisted mind screamed as he hungry gaze drank the sight of you. You were just laying there obediently, for what? For your colonel to sink his cock into you and fuck the breath out of your lungs. He felt the globs of precum dripping from his slit to wetting his boxer. “Open your pretty legs f’me Maus.” he taunted, looking for a defiance or a little light of irritation in your eyes at his order but surprisingly you brought your hands under your knees and pulled your legs open for him. His whole body shuddered and he felt like he had been blessed by the god himself. His hands were erratic as he unbuckled his belt and fished his cock out. He hissed when his painful erection was finally free. He grabbed the base of his cock as he opened your folds with his long pointer and middle fingers. “You’re so ready f’me.” he breathed, you’d think he was talking to himself. He dragged his cock up and down on your slit until it was covered with your slick. You twitched and moaned everytime his tip kissed your clit. As he pushed the tip in he caressed underneath of your thighs and stopped under your knees where your hands hold your legs up and open for him. “Leave it to me Maus.” he softly pushed your hands and replaced it with his. You tried to breathe and loosen up for him but he was just so thick and it felt like he was splitting you open. Finally when he was fully inside you and filled you up like you wanted, you felt him pressing your thighs further into your chest. Your breath left your lungs when he snapped his cock out and inside you to the brim. He thought you couldn’t feel any better than engulfing him like a glove but when he left you breathless your walls clenched around him like you wanted to milk his balls empty.

After a few thrust your moans got louder and louder along with the clenching of your walls. "Scheiße Maus. If you continue to squeeze me like that-“ he grunted and picked up the pace. He felt like he couldn’t hold back anymore but he wanted you to cum with him. So he brought a hand between your impossibly flushed bodies and drew firm circles on your clit until you cum with a screaming of his name and he painted your walls with his relase.

-

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc <3 your comments also makes my day :* and i love to reply all of them :>

[samsno1]

Hi, idk how often you do requests but could you do a mid season Sam fic. The reader is with the FBI with the unexplained cases and she meets the brothers. It would be funny if they tried to convince her that they are also with the FBI and she somehow catches them in their lie. They work together in the case and Sam and the reader end up falling for eachother. Thanks you so so much!!!!

Caught

Sam Winchester X F!Reader

this took me so long to write i'm so sorry. i don't reeeeally like the ending but i did the best i could. i hope this is what you expected bby <3

Summary: You were assigned a complex case and you end up meeting two very weird men who were, apparently, also FBI agents but...why are they named after famous rockstars?

Warnings: FLUFF, descriptions of murderer, murder scenes and violence (usual supernatural shenanigans), sam is an 'intimidating woman enjoyer™', use of Y/N, the writer (me) has no idea how fbi works because she isn't an USA resident, NOT PROOF READ, english is not my first language

W.C.: 8,8k

enjoy!

You had climbed the ladder in the world of criminology considerably fast considering your age. Getting into the FBI in your late 20s was probably one of your biggest achievements and, of course, men tended to make disgusting comments about how such a young woman got such a difficult job – including claiming you opened your legs to get this far. You didn’t mind, actually, it added to your ego to be above those guys – as if they even deserved to be in a job that required empathy towards the victims.

Still, even your superior was shocked at the case he found. A couple had been killed inside their room without any signs of forced entry. All doors and windows were locked and nothing inside the house had been stolen; the bodies seemed to be torn apart from the inside out since there were no knife or bullet wounds and he put you on the case. He thought you would have the abilities to deal with something like this – ‘you’re a prodigy’ he had said – and the guts. The crime scene was absolutely vile; there was blood everywhere and their faces had the skin peeled off to the point their cranial bones were visible. You had seen some stuff, but nothing like this.

The first thing that you did when you got to town was talking with the local police so that you’d learn more about the town’s history with murderers – especially the unexplainable ones. They told you something close to an urban legend: the house that the couple was renting was cursed according to the locals. Decades ago, three kids got killed by their parents in rage, who committed suicide afterwards. They never found the kids bodies and the case went cold after a few years, the police giving up on finding their remains. You found that absolutely unacceptable, giving up on children like that should be a crime, but it wasn’t up to you. Ever since the assassination, every person that rented or bought the house died in unexplainable ways and the police had started to practically ignore or do the bare minimum on the case.

“We’ve been having problems with that house for years” Said the sheriff, a man with a grown out beard, deep eyebags and average height. Not what you would expect for a sheriff given his dismissiveness towards you and the mess his office was. “The previous sheriff also received complaints from townsfolk regarding the place but we could never find out anything. There were no clues, no suspects, just…nothing” He finished, his arms waving around tiredly.

“This is probably why they put the FBI on the case” You said to yourself, guaranteeing the man wouldn’t hear you. You took notes on your notebook, your legs crossed as you sat in front of the sheriff, his table between both of you. You could sense his eyes on you and feel his unasked question floating around in the air. “Anything else, Sheriff?” You asked, looking up from your notes.

He seemed to wake up from his thoughts, shaking his head lightly at you. “No it’s just…Why do you need three FBI agents to work on this?” He asked, on edge, a worry line prominent in his aged face as he squinted at you. Three? You furrowed your eyebrows and leaned back on the chair, closing your notebook.

“I’m not aware of the other two working alongside me” You say. You thought about what your boss had told you and didn’t remember him saying anything about partners, especially two. You usually worked alone most of the time, functioning better on your own. Then again, this was a difficult case, maybe they thought it was better than one federal agent working on this.

“They came by earlier today, asking about the same house and the murderers. They were tall, one of them was…very tall and had long hair. The other one was less serious and, honestly, unprofessional. I think they said they were agent Page and Plant” The sheriff filled you in and now this seemed like a joke. You raised an eyebrow. You had a peculiar taste in music considering it was the 2000s and your father barely listened to anything further than the 90s, resulting in you growing up to know most of the rock bands that were at their highest from the 60s to the 90s. That included Led Zeppelin. And it would be too big of a coincidence for both guys to work together with last names such as those.

“I’ll talk to them about the case, thank you very much Sheriff” You say, raising yourself from the chair and extending a hand to politely shake his. You walked out of his office with a question in your mind and thought about looking up Page and Plant on the database to see if anything showed up when you got to your room tonight. For now, you had to take a look at the crime scene while it was still daylight.

–

Your car’s engine died down as you turned the key. You opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting your suit over the white button down you wore underneath. You shoved your car key in your pocket and, when you looked up, you saw another car that easily stood out from the others around the street – a black Chevrolet Impala which you couldn’t guess the specific year just by looking. It was a very beautiful car and you secretly praised in your mind whoever owned it – it seemed well taken care of.

You walked to the crime scene, taking your badge in hand to show it to the police officer that took care of the place when you saw two men, also in suits, talking with one of the officers – two tall men, one had longer hair. The officer approached you as you got closer and you simply showed your badge to him before he nodded and lifted up the ‘crime scene’ tape for you to go underneath. You ducked down and mumbled a thank you as you made a beeline towards the two guys.

You wondered what you were going to say and how you were going to question them about their identity without seeming like you’re assuming anything. As you walked closer, they were finishing their conversation and were turning to leave making you almost bump right into them. They stumbled back and you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“Who are you?” The shorter one asked you and you took the badge out of your pocket again with a sigh, making sure he reads your name and sees the picture of you that clearly stated you were a federal. He hummed and looked towards his partner, a silent conversation going on between them. You interrupt.

“And you?” You ask and they get their own badges out. You extend a hand to the taller one, silently asking you if you could take a look at it. He gave it to you willingly, which was one less red flag to take into consideration. You looked through everything and it all seemed alright…until you looked at the name on the bottom. Jimmy Page. Is this serious? You look up at them with a judging look and you see the tallest swallow harshly. “Your parents were big Led Zeppelin fans I assume” You say.

“Yeah, yeah they– ha– they were” Jimmy says in a way that’s not believable at all, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. The shorter one closes his eyes and shakes his head discreetly in disappointment – which doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You give Page his badge back and turn to – apparently – Plant.

“I didn’t know that I would have partners in this case, but maybe it’s for the better. What did you find out about the case? Just so we are on the same page” You look between both of them. Plant nudges his partner in the ribs and, before mumbling somewhat of a curse to Plant after practically jumping in place, Page starts to explain to you about their side of the investigation. He seemed professional enough, with a notebook in his hands as he told you everything they could make up from what they knew so far, even sharing with you his assumptions. You were impressed as you started telling him about what you thought – a weird case, too many murders, few clues…Plant stayed quiet most of the time until about halfway through your conversation he said he was going back to his car and you took that as a hint to call it a day.

“Well, I think we are going to work well together, Agent L/N” Page says with a polite smile and you nod, smiling yourself. You took one of your cards where your professional number was written on along with your name and offered it to him. He gently took it from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Just in case you have anything else to share” You said and he nodded, a strand of his hair falling over his face, which he mindlessly put back with a brush of his hand. “It was great meeting you, Agent Page”

“You too” He said and, sensing the end of the encounter, you started to walk back to your car. You still couldn’t shake the thought of those two being too suspicious for your liking and you were determined to look them up and see if Agents Jimmy Page and Robert Plant actually existed. You walked fast, your heels knocking against the concrete and you didn’t notice Page’s eyes on you, lost in the movement of your hair as you walked away. What woke him up from his trance, though, was his partner honking and signaling for him to hurry up. He rolled his eyes and walked to his own car, stealing one last glance at you. You turned your head back right on cue, giving him a polite smile and a small wave. He awkwardly waved goodbye back and started to walk to the honking Impala.

You had assumed the unknown car belonged to them and you had written down the plate in your notebook discreetly – just in case. You were impressed by their ability – well, Page’s ability – to analyze crime scenes but you weren’t stupid. You couldn’t just erase the fact that you had no idea who those two were and you were determined to find out, one way or another.

–

Meanwhile, in the Impala, Sam got inside the car in the passenger’s side, almost hitting his head on the roof – like he did most days. Dean was impatiently waiting for him to get in until he saw something clasped in his brother’s hand, his eyes quietly scanning the white paper. In Sam’s distraction, Dean reached for it before he could react. “Hey!”

“You got her number? Wow Sam, never thought of you like that” Dean teased as he looked through your name written in cursive writing and your phone number right under it. Sam snatched the small card back from his brother and shoved it in his pocket, glaring at Dean.

“Shut up man, this is her professional number, she gave it to me so we could talk” He defended as he put his seatbelt on. He mindlessly brushed a hand through his hair again, getting it out of his face as he heard Dean chuckle to himself as Baby’s engine roared to life. Sam looked back to his brother and waited for more teasing to come – as it always did.

“Yeah, talk.” He said, the double meaning in his words floating around in the air but being ignored by Sam. Dean pressed his foot on the pedal so the car would start to move as he shifted into gear. “Besides, she’s an actual FBI agent, don’t you think she’s going to suspect that we aren’t?”

“Dean, I did go to law school, I can manage my way out of this” Sam said with a mischievous smile. He really thought he could, he knew he was smart and he was a damn good liar – he lied in college for a very long time about who he was and what his family did. Not something to be proud of but it came in handy, especially when both him and his brother were in trouble. He had practically lied his whole life about who he truly was, not entirely giving away specific details – especially those who involved his family. Sometimes he regretted it – like he did with Jess – but it was always safer not to know, for both parties. Or so he thought.

“Don’t think she’s stupid–”

“I don’t think she’s stupid–”

“Let me finish” Dean scolded, raising a hand to silence his brother, his eyes still on the road. It was often funny to pay attention to their brotherly behavior and how anyone could know who was the oldest just by these simple interactions. Dean raised his hand and Sam silenced, listening, like how it was when they were kids. “Don’t think she’s naive, she is in the FBI, working alone on a case. I don’t know much about federals but I’m sure that’s not for everyone”

Sam stayed quiet. He knew Dean was right but it wouldn’t hurt to try. Still, he really didn’t think you were stupid, it was impossible to. The way you talked about the case in detail, relating your point of view and what you could gather in a few hours was more than enough evidence to show him you deserved this job more than anyone. He wasn’t used to seeing women in this field, but everytime he did he was convinced that men were definitely unfairly placed higher. Yet, he still didn’t want to get arrested again so he needed to convince you that he and Dean were legitimately federals.

The conversation drifted away in another direction as Sam stared out the window and replied to the small talk Dean made with him every now and then – when he didn’t crank up the volume once Metallica came into the radio playing Creeping Death while they were talking. With a chorus of ‘Die, die!’ being sung by Dean while he beat his hands on the steering wheel to the drum rhythm, Sam’s mind drifted away and he fell asleep with a head against the window, the tiredness of sleepless nights catching up to him.

–

These fuckers. You thought to yourself as you stared mouth agape to the pictures of who you learned were actually Sam and Dean Winchester – not Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. Two brothers, presumed dead a couple years ago.

Your coffee sat cold over the wooden table of the hotel you were staying the night at. You had already changed into your pajamas and taken a hot shower when you decided to take a look at the case again. Two hours later you remembered the two men you encountered and, when you looked a bit deeper in the police files, the results were horrifying. It actually wasn’t that hard to find out about them, a quick look through the FBI database and you found their exact faces – even if Pag- Sam’s hair was relatively shorter then now. You were beyond pissed, especially at yourself, how could you not have known this? How could you let yourself get played like this? Just because the tall guy was a bit of a nerd and kind of cute? Ugh!

You started pacing around your room, not knowing what to do. Confronting them could kill you, they were murderers after all, according to the database, they had killed civilians and federal agents equally as much. You were strong, both physically and mentally, but there was no way you were escaping two guys that were over six feet tall and weighed about two hundred pounds each. You had to play smart, you had to catch them in a weak moment and then. Bingo. You stopped in your tracks and – like a lightbulb lightened up above your head – you had the perfect plan. You had to wait until the next day for you to execute it but it was going to be worth it. You sent their mugshots to your phone through your e-mail and any other evidence that you could use against them.

You still felt slightly weirded out about them. They didn’t seem dangerous, they didn’t freak out the moment they saw you and they were confidently adding to the investigation with actual useful analysis. You were looking deeper through their files and found out they lost their mother in a fire at a very young age – the youngest wasn’t even one year old yet – and their father had died a couple years ago, in ‘06. They had a pretty sketchy life, living off stolen credit cards and fake identities but something interesting you found out was that Sam Winchester actually went to college, he went to Stanford and your eyes widened at that. You wondered what made him quit, maybe his father dying and his brother needing him, maybe he got kicked out, still, going to college after having a childhood like that was more than impressive.

You kept reading about them until the late hours of the night and you only noticed you fell asleep over the papers you left on the table and your computer when a phone ringing startled you awake. The noise echoed inside your head and, as you lifted your head, the sunlight getting into the room through the curtains hurt your eyes. You only noticed how bad you’d slept when you felt a pain shoot through your neck and down your back as you turned your head to look for the phone – great. You groaned and felt around the table with your hand until you felt the square shape of the device and its humming. You clicked to answer after slightly clearing your throat so you’d seem less sleepy and put the phone to your ear.

“Hello, Agent L/N speaking”

“Hey Y/N, how are things going?” The voice of your boss made you unconsciously straighten your back and swallow harshly. You looked at the time on your computer and your heart fell to your stomach. 11:36AM – shit! 

“Hey Sir, everything is running smoothly. I’m currently collecting evidence and later I’m going to the morgue so I can look through the autopsy”

“That’s great, you always do a great job kid” He said and you could feel him smiling on the other side of the line. You felt bad for kind of lying but you had been worrying about other stuff last night.

“Thank you Sir, I’ll report back to you as soon as possible” You reply.

You talked for a while longer as you disclosed the case and, when he finally hung up, it was already past noon. As you got ready for your day, doing your daily morning routine as quickly as you could, you felt your stomach rumble when you got out of the shower, reminding you that you hadn’t had breakfast. You decided then that it was better to stop at a diner or somewhere so you could eat something to go on with your day – since it was already lunchtime you couldn’t necessarily call this brunch. You finished getting ready, putting on your shoes and grabbing the keys to your car while you looked up the closest place to eat something quick.

You drove to the nearest diner that had a decent rating and stopped at the parking lot. When you looked around, you couldn’t believe your luck – or rather the lack of it. The infamous Impala was parked a couple meters from you in all its glory. You audibly sighed but you couldn’t just find another place to eat as quickly, besides, you know what they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Maybe eating at the same place as them was actually a good strategy. You grabbed your wallet and locked your car, confidently walking towards the diner entrance.

The bells dinged above your head as you got in, some eyes looking your way with the noise – including Sam’s. Him and his brother were sitting in a booth in the far corner of the diner, Sam turned in the direction of the door and Dean facing away from it, in his brother’s direction. Sam had his laptop open in front of him as he ate a salad, Dean was eating a burger. Thay had probably been talking before you came in because when you came through the door Sam went quiet as he looked over his brother’s shoulder and Dean kept talking, hunched over his food. You couldn’t listen to their conversation but you gave Sam a slight smile and a nod, your stomach turning as you faked sympathy, as if you didn’t just friendly greet a murderer. He nodded back and that's when Dean slightly turned to look behind him and see you, nodding as well.

You started to walk towards their table, the weight of your hidden gun on your hip more than evident. Just keep calm, you were trained for this. You decided to keep to yourself that you knew their true identity, after all, you were one step ahead of them and, deep down, you knew they could be useful. Their intelligence was beyond impressive – faking your death wasn’t something easy to do. You stood above them with a gentle smile.

“Hello agents, mind if I sit with you?” You asked as politely as you could. Sam scooted almost instantly, changing the placement of his laptop to the side of the window. You didn’t miss the eyebrow raise his brother gave him.

“Hey Ms. L/N. No, not at all, make yourself comfortable” He said, smiling at you. He has dimples you mentally stated.

“Yeah, please” Dean agreed, stretching a hand to the seat beside Sam. His voice was slightly muffled thanks to the food in his mouth and you internally cringed as you could see the chewed food when he talked.

“Thanks. No need to call me by my last name, you can just call me Y/N” You simply said as you sat down, looking almost immediately to the computer screen open in newspapers that dated a couple years back. Murders in the same house all with the same time frame from each other. “I see you work even while you were supposed to be on your break, careful not to burn out Agent Page” You said, looking at his side profile. He seemed embarrassed as your sweet voice got to his ears and awkwardly laughed.

“You know…you don’t need to call me Agent Page, that is just an alias, call me Smith, Sam Smith. That’s Dean Wesson” He said. Huh, claiming aliases, smart move Winchester. “And yeah, I’ve been taking a look at the history of the place, apparently–”

“It’s timed killing” You finished. You scooted slightly closer, pointing your finger to the screen where the date of the newspaper was written at. “Every two years on the same date someone was brutally murdered in the house.”

“Yeah and inside the same room too” Dean pointed out. That you hadn’t noticed. A waiter coming to get your order interrupted the conversation you three were having to get your order. You quickly looked through the menu deciding to eat the quickest and most nutritious stuff there could be at a diner. You thanked the boy that took your order and he walked in long strides towards the kitchen. You came back to the talk you were having with the two brothers and Dean continued. “The master suite. And always couples, someone seems to hate true love” He joked.

“Apparently. Have any ideas for suspects yet?” You asked. If you were going to play pretend you might as well acquire some useful information with it. The boys shared a look between them that they thought you wouldn’t catch, but you weren’t FBI for no reason.

“None yet, still looking into it” Sam said, suddenly seeming on edge, shifting his placement on the booth. You were good at reading body language, it was one of the main qualities that got you in the FBI, interrogating criminals was easy exactly because they couldn’t lie. When you learned their behavior and played your way into their head it destroyed them because even if they were silent, even if they didn’t say anything, you knew what they were lying about – flinching when you mention a certain name or changing the leg they were crossing under the table when you named an address. So, Sam couldn’t hide from you earlier, imagine now that you were inches away.

“Really?” You asked, raising an eyebrow and turning your torso slightly more in his direction, leaning your elbow on the table. He was trapped. You thought about confronting them here, questioning them about their identity in public but you thought better – they definitely had guns on them and two beats one. Either way, you’d put him in a challenging situation, confronting him without even disagreeing verbally. He felt intimidated and now seemed unsure of his own conclusion – how you loved playing these games.

“I mean there’s barely any clues” He laughed nervously. “I was going to call you to see if you had any idea”

“I don’t either, as you said, no leads” You said. The waiter arrived with your food right then and you politely thanked him, drifting away from the conversation you were having with Sam as you started to eat. This time you weren’t paying attention and Dean questioned Sam with a look. What is she on? And the youngest shrugged. You swallowed your food with a pleasant hum, just now noticing how hungry you truly were. “I was thinking we could go to the morgue, if you haven’t already. Take a look at the bodies, see if we find anything”

You were purposefully playing right into their game, faking cluesness and at the same time taking advantage of their abilities to solve the case. It was more important to you to solve whatever was going on to bring peace back to this town than to arrest the brothers who were supposed to be dead. You’d learned that men tended to believe that you were stupid very easily, that you had no idea what you were doing and you started using that to have your way with them. With big doe eyes and feigned innocence you could get very far.

“That’s where we were going later actually. It’s good if you tag along” Sam tells you.

“I would even if you didn’t want me to” You said, joking, but not really. Your tone was humorous  but your smile was bitter. They didn’t seem to notice though and Sam even chuckled slightly at your sarcasm. You noticed the dimples in his cheeks and how boyish his smile was, full of bright white teeth and sincerity. You almost felt bad for being rude until you remembered they were killers – even if they didn’t look like it. Sam didn’t seem the type to brutally murder someone, Dean seemed too stupid to be able to get away with it for so many years, even faking his own death and walking around normally – you’d bet he was the one with the idea to put the name of famous rockstars as FBI aliases.

By the time the conversation was over, so was your food. You left enough money for the bill and a tip and stood up from the booth. “Okay, well, let’s go, we have a lot to do today boys” You said, adjusting your suit, unnecessarily dusting it off. You eyed Dean’s plate, the mess he made similar to how a child would eat. You would have laughed if you were in a more friendly situation. You looked at Sam and with a smile you said: “Don’t be late pretty boy, I’ll be waiting for you”

Then you turned around, politely nodded goodbye to Dean and started walking away, holding back a laugh. Sam stood still, stunned as he stared at you walked out the door, the bells above you ringing twice – one for when you pulled the door, the other after you let it smoothly close behind you. Dean was staring too, his bright green eyes filled with confusion. Once he turned to look at Sam he saw his younger brother completely zoned out, looking in the direction where you once were. He snapped his fingers in front of Sam’s face, who immediately looked at Dean.

“Pretty boy?” Dean questioned, holding back a smirk as Sam rolled his eyes.

“Dean…”

“She’s got you man. I get it, strong and intimidating women, I understand, I understand”

“That’s not it, she seems…off” Sam points out, looking at the door once more to make sure you wouldn’t come back and leaning closer to unnecessarily speak in a lower voice to Dean. “I think she might be an it, the monster we are looking for”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Really? Why?”

“The way she’s acting is, I don’t know, weird”

“Look Sam I know you’re not used to having women hit on you but that doesn’t mean they are monsters” Dean teased, Sam gritted his teeth.

“Dean, I’m serious!”

“Okay, alright, we are going to investigate then” Dean said, raising his hands in fake surrender to his brother’s scolding. “But it doesn’t make sense to me. Didn’t we consider it to be a vengeful spirit?”

“Maybe, or maybe we are dealing with something completely different”

“Alright smart-ass, but if you’re wrong you owe me a six pack”

Sam scoffed but he wasn’t one to turn down any bet. He had thought your behavior was weird the moment you stepped foot in the diner. The questions you asked, the way you would constantly question his abilities, there was something going on and he could sense it. Besides, he liked betting with Dean, especially winning, so there was no way he wasn’t accepting his brother’s challenge.

“Deal” Sam said, hitting his palms against the table and standing up, ready to leave and go to the morgue. Dean followed his movements and stood up with a cheeky smile, taking out his wallet to pay for the food.

–

At the morgue, you waited about 5 minutes until they arrived. When they walked up to the entrance you were waiting at, Sam and Dean saw you in a much more serious state as you read through your notes and made annotations here and there. The noise of their footsteps made you look up and put your little notebook back in your pocket and place your pen behind your ear. You crossed your arms in front of your body and waited for them to get closer. Your heels were starting to hurt the bottom of your feet from standing too long in the same place and you were overwhelmed with different emotions – towards the men and yourself.

You weren’t necessarily scared of Sam and Dean, you were trained not to be, but it was never in your plans to be alone in a city with federal criminals, it would be downright ignorant not to be at least nervous with the situation. You were keeping yourself friendly without giving away any hint that you might know who they were, debating internally which would be the worst case: if you confronted them or stuck beside them for longer – what’s that say again? Friends close, enemies closer.

“Hey, Y/N” Sam called you and you turned your lips upwards in some-kind of a smile. He mirrored your expression and you caught his dimples again, your eyes wandering around his face. You broke the stare when Dean cleared his throat and, when you looked at him, he had his eyebrows furrowed, giving Sam a side-eye – more like a diagonal one, since, well, Sam was a big guy. In your own trance you hadn’t noticed how Sam was also looking at you like you were a beautiful piece of art – damn it, focus.

You also cleared your throat and that seemed to wake Sam up. “Hello Sam, Dean” You said, nodding to each “Shall we go inside? The longer we take the further the killer goes, come on” You turned your back to the and started walking inside the morgue. Dean waited until you walked further and held Sam by the elbow, making the youngest look at him in confusion.

“Stop that” Dean whisper-yelled.

“Stop what” Sam whispered back.

“Whatever your eyes are doing, I’m gonna puke if you keep that up”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You stop it, you’re reading too much into it”

“Hey, you are the one that said she might be dangerous and, honestly, you are kind of a monsterfu-”

“Dean!” Sam pushed his shoulder to shut him up.

“C’mon you were hypnotized, maybe that’s what she does, or you are just in love” Dean shrugged his shoulders, holding back a grin. He loved making Sam mad.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s go now or do you have any other stupid remarks?” Sam didn’t wait for an answer as he followed the direction you went in. Dean mocked his brother, mimicking Sam’s words to himself in a high pitched tone and went along.

You were already putting your gloves on when they came into the room, the dead bodies laying before you - or at least what was left of them. The lower part of the couple’s bodies was covered beneath the pale blue blankets and both torsos were exposed. It was an awful sight and, if you were about ten years younger, you would’ve puked. Everything was dilacerated, they were practically disfigured, their faces barely recognizable. Huge gashes adorned their bodies that even cleaned up still looked absolutely vile. Behind you, Dean hissed.

“Wow” He exclaimed.

“Yeah, very brutal, whoever did this wanted them to feel the pain” You said, snapping the latex gloves against your wrist and grabbing the file about the autopsy in your hands. You skimmed through the words and placed it back on the table where it previously was, turning back to the bodies to see Sam already looking through them, Dean putting on the blue gloves the mortuary offered. You approached Sam’s side and crossed your arms as you watched him work, his hands roaming through the deep rips on the skin, he seemed to come to the same conclusion you did. “It’s not a clean cut, see” You pointed out and he nodded, turning to you.

“Yeah, the skin is–”

“Ripped, not cut” You paused “How can someone do this and just…get on with their lives?” You thought out loud. You discreetly looked up to Sam’s face to see if he had any reaction to your words, to see if his face faltered when you mentioned how psychotic it would be to keep going after killing someone, to see something, anything…

His face was blank.

“You’d be shocked at what…people can do” Sam replied. He seemed to hesitate before saying ‘people’, a hard swallow, a thought behind his eyes and you marked that in your mind for later.

“Sam, I work in the FBI too you know, I’ve seen shit” Maybe you were harsh, maybe you were just defensive or maybe the years of being brought down by men in your field made you snap at his words when they weren’t that deep. He seemed to catch on to your aggressiveness and stumbled over his words to try and reword his phrase.

“No– I-I know it’s just– I mean–” He couldn’t get the words out. You softened at that, noticing your defensiveness was, in fact, exaggerated. You chuckled at him and waved your hand dismissively.

“I get what you meant” You said and he seemed to calm down, giving you a slight smile. Dimples. Again. You turned back to the bodies in front of you and reached for your pocket to get your notes. You started patting with your other hand for your pen through the other pockets and when you didn’t feel the distinctively cylindrical shape of the object you started to freak out. Where’d I leave it…

Sam noticed your squirming and when he saw the notebook in your hand he knew exactly what you were looking for. He held back a chuckle as he watched you try your hardest to remember where the pen was, the concentration in your eyes almost touchable.

“Hey” Sam called and you turned your head to him. He reached his hand up, close to your cheek and you could sense the heat radiating from his body. You froze in place as you thought that you were caught, that Sam’s intelligence overpowered yours and he figured out that you knew who he was. Well, you were wrong. Sam caught the pen you had put behind your ear between his fingers and slid it off of it, watching as your hair fell back into place. You wanted to bury yourself whole inside the ground as you felt heat spread through your face. “Here” He said, with a cheeky smile.

You took the pen out of his hand, your fingers brushing lightly against each other “Thanks” You mumbled. You started writing away what you figured from the autopsy but you couldn’t get your mind off of how close Sam had gotten. The warmth that he emitted was captivating, comforting even. How could you even think that? You were a professional, what the hell! You shouldn’t be feeling this way, you had a job to do, lives to save. Sam was a killer, you put killers in jail. That’s it.

“Okay so…” Dean spoke up, breaking your embarrassment “...We can discard any murder with weapons like guns or knives, those can’t do…this” He made a face and pointed towards the wounds. You nodded in agreement as you wrote it down. When you looked up at them again they were sharing a look, having a full conversation without even speaking. You weren’t a professional in facial expressions but you could read the room, you were being kept in the dark about something. You decided against confronting them, unneeded drama in the current settings because, indeed, the longer you took to solve this case, the closer the killer was to killing other people.

“So, I have no idea if you already did but I didn’t look further in the room where the murder happened. I think I’m going to go back to the house and see if the local cops missed anything” You said, not waiting for an answer as you pocketed your notebook again and started taking off your gloves. You didn’t request their company as you were, first, still trying to figure out why they were so adamant about solving this case, second, you had to figure this murder out, and third, you needed to find a perfect moment to confront both of them. “See you around agents”

“See ya” Dean waved at you as you walked away, Sam didn’t say anything. You knew they were going to follow you, you felt their silent conversations lingering in the air as you left the room, discarding your gloves. In your head you could see them communicating with lifting eyebrows and shrugging shoulders – they were so obvious; and predictable.

–

“We are going after her” Sam said to Dean after he heard you leave. Dean nodded as he started taking off his own gloves, side eyeing his brother. Dean wasn’t stupid – he only acted like it – he knew that there was more than one reason for Sam’s eagerness to follow you.

“So…” He started and Sam knew there was something he might not like hearing coming. “Are you going to play the brave soldier saving the damsel in distress?”

Sam stopped and looked at Dean, absolute confusion adorning his features. “What?”

“Man c’mon, you can’t be thinking that she is the monster now can you? Look, I did the tests while you were…pining over her” Sam opened his mouth to argue but Dean didn’t let him speak. “There was holy water in her drink at the diner, the utensils she was using were pure silver…”

Sam was shocked that his brother thought that quickly, he didn’t even notice…Okay, maybe he was infatuated by you a little too much.

“She could be a ghoul,” Sam argued as a last resort.

“Already looked her up, no one that has that beautiful face has died around here. I’ve looked through the FBI database too, she’s there” Dean said. Sam would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the tiniest bit of relief knowing that you were really human. You were, in fact, beautiful, stunning even. Maybe Dean was right, maybe he did like you, a lot.

“Guess I owe you that six pack then” Sam said.

“Hey, I get the six pack, you get the girl, seems like a fair trade” Dean said, raising his eyebrows tauntingly with a cheeky smile on his face. Sam chuckled and shook his head.

“Either way, we have to go after her because if this ghost decides she’s next on its list, we need to get there before she gets hurt” Sam said in all seriousness as he started walking out of the room, going towards the exit. Dean followed suit, the Impala keys already on his hand.

–

They arrived at the house a minute or two after you. You were waiting in the house’s living room as you heard the rumbling of the old car’s engine. You had your weapon ready and loaded as you heard them open and close the door of the house. As soon as they turned the corner, you lifted your gun.

“Stay right fucking there! Don’t you dare move or else I’ll actually kill you, for good this time!” You screamed at them, gun in hand pointed towards Dean’s head. They widened their eyes and stopped all their movement. Sam opened his mouth to try and talk and you shifted the gun to point at him instead. He shut his mouth again and you saw his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. You were fuming, anger making your hands shake lightly.

“Did you really think you were going to fool me? Who do you think you are– Better, who do you think I am?” They stood as still as a rock. “Sam and Dean Winchester” You said their names, venom running through your tongue as you did, your gun pointing respectively at each. “You better start talking or I’m popping your heads off, speak!”

“Okay, okay, look we can explain” Sam started.

“You fucking better”

“We are not dead” He said and you looked at him like he was stupid. “Me and my brother we faked our deaths but we had a reason, a much bigger reason”

“You killed people”

“We didn’t, at least not intentionally, we do the exact opposite, we save people Y/N”

“How? The deaths are there, if you are telling me the truth and really save people you do a terrible job at that” You countered. You admitted you only said this to get under their skin because if anyone knew that saving everyone was impossible was you, a federal agent.

“Put the gun down and we can talk” Dean spoke up, talking to you calmly and moving his hands slowly to try and reason with you. You were reluctant but something in their eyes, their actions towards you didn’t indicate any imminent danger. Maybe you were being stupid and, at the end, you’d be lying in a ditch, lifeless, left there to rot but you wanted to give them a chance.

“If you try anything funny I’ll claw your eyes out with my bare hands” You said and Dean, even shocked, nodded slowly – you were exaggerating but you felt the need to. You sighed and put your gun back in the waistband of your pants and saw the boys breathe in a deep breath of relief.

Sam and Dean exchanged those looks again and finally looked at you. Sam was the one you wanted to talk to, you felt deep, deep down that he was going to tell you the truth and that he was actually a good guy, that all that he did until now wasn’t just an act and he was really nice.

“Me and Dean we…We hunt monsters”

Well, now your hopes are shattered. What the fuck.

You just looked at him like he was clinically insane and waited for him to continue.

“I know it sounds crazy” Because it is “And it probably is but it’s the truth, we don’t think whatever killed that couple was a human, this is why there’s no DNA, not a single clue and why the case is hard. I assume you were assigned it because you are smart and a good agent but this is not your kind of case”

“It’s ours” Dean added and Sam agreed with a nod.

You were dumbfounded. They sounded so serious as they explained to you about the tons of different supernatural beings that existed, things you only ever heard of in fictional books and horror movies. Halfway through the talk you looked physically sick, your face pale and eyes dissociated completely and Sam quickly got a chair, ushering you to sit down. He was looking at you with such a guilty expression, like he felt bad for lying to you.

Once they stopped talking you spent a good five minutes absorbing it all as you stared at your hands folded over your lap. You thought you knew things, you thought you could solve everything, that all you needed to do was analyze everything to its minute details and you’d find a solution. Truth is, you were completely oblivious all this long, so many things that you had no idea existed causing trouble around the world, things worse than humans could ever be. You were an idiot.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Sam asked after a while, making you look up at him. “I know it’s a lot to process…” He said, carefully laying a hand over your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you.

“I’m going to be fine” You said harshly. Sam felt the slight disappointment in your voice and frowned as he looked down at you. He had seen tons of different reactions to ‘the talk’ but this one was one of the worst, where the person feels upset with themselves for not knowing about this sooner, the kind of reaction he saw mostly on authority figures such as cops and federal agents like yourself.

You stood up and his hand fell from your shoulder. You needed to make this right, paranormal or not, this was still your case and you were solving it one way or another.

“Show me how you do it” You said, turning to look at Sam. The phrase got Dean’s attention as well as a sudden tension fell upon the room. Sam looked at you with confusion “This case is still mine, I want to learn how to get rid of…whatever killed that couple”

Sam exchanged looks with his brother. “I don’t think this is a good idea Y/N, you can get hurt” He said. You rolled your eyes and stepped closer to him, less than a foot between the two of you.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m a federal agent, you don’t get to tell me I’m going to get hurt when I literally hunt and kill people if needed” You said angrily pointing your finger at him accusingly “Your little Ghostbusters roleplay doesn’t scare me”

“Okay, can you two stop? Let’s get out of here and go study about the house to see if we find anything about someone who died here who might want revenge” Dean said, approaching and looking between the two of you. “Please”

–

After spending two hours in the nearby library you finally found something. The one responsible for the killings was someone named Alicia Meadows who died in the late 60s, not little kids – it seemed like even the own urban legend the locals passed around was wrong. She was a woman who lived in that house with her husband and kids. One night she found her husband in their bed with another woman and went crazy, killing them both with a shotgun and then shooting herself. Ever since then she’d been killing couples who stayed there, the trauma of the cheating made her assume that everyone who laid in that bed on the same date, every two years, she found her husband and his mistress was also having an affair.

You three soon found out where she was buried and, after the brothers explained to you and made you swear not to arrest them for grave violation, you were driving to the cemetery.

As Dean was digging up the casket you stood beside Sam. “Do you guys do this everyday?”

Sam looked at you with a smile. “No, sometimes we behead vampires too”

You looked at him wide eyed and chuckled. He laughed with you, his face looking ten times more beautiful under the moonlight and the fucking dimples, the damn dimples. Silence fell between you as the sounds of the night – and Dean’s digging – took over. You wanted to talk more, you wanted to know more about Sam because the little you thought you knew was actually a lie. He was nice and, according to the FBI files…

“You went to law school?” You asked him. He sighed. Well damn Y/N so much for breaking the ice, good job. 

“I did but…I went back to hunting soon after, you can’t run from this type of job you know?” He chuckled dryly. It was clear that was a sensitive subject for him to talk about.

“If it helps, you would’ve made a good lawyer” You smiled at him. “Besides, you look great in a suit”

He seemed stunned for a few seconds, were you flirting with him? He didn’t get to figure out because Dean made a dramatic pained sound as he straightened his back, breaking the casket open. The putrid smell of death rose and you scrunch your nose. Sam helped Dean get out of the hole and started showering the bones in alcohol and salt and you watched as Dean threw his lighter in making huge flames rise up. You jumped when it happened out of shock and Sam held your shoulders so you wouldn’t fall back, the flames roared loudly with what seemed to be the anger of the woman.

Dean started gathering their stuff and you turned to Sam. “So, is this it?”

“Yeah…pretty simple actually” Sam shrugged. He looked at the fire and you could see the flames dancing in his eyes. You found Sam handsome ever since you laid your eyes on him but now, after a whole day by his side, the light touches you shared throughout the day and the care he showed towards you you wondered if it’d be too bad if you kissed him right now.

“Sam” You called him lowly and he turned to you. You stepped closer and you could see his hands clenching and unclenching by his side, as if he was holding back the urge to touch you. Your faces were inches apart and you could now see every little detail about him. The light stubble that adorned his face and the blush of red in his cheeks that you didn’t know if it was because of the heat of the fire or because you were this close.

You smiled at him and in that moment Sam couldn’t hold himself back. He closed the distance between the two of you as one of his hands cradled your cheek and the other was gently placed on your waist.

You let one of your hands place itself on his neck as you reciprocated the kiss. It was electric and warm, his soft lips over yours felt like a sweetness you didn’t know you were craving to taste. Your heart was beating fast and Sam slowly dragged your body closer to his with the help of the hand he placed on your waist.

When you pulled away you slowly opened your eyes to look straight into his and let out a stupid giggle – like a teenager after kissing her crush. Sam chuckled back as his thumb caressed your cheek lovingly.

“I've wanted to do this ever since the diner” He admitted and you bit back a smile.

“Really?” You asked.

“Really”

The moment was interrupted when Dean honked the Impala, impatiently waiting for you two to finish whatever you were doing so he could go back to the room and finally sleep. Sam showed him the finger as Dean yelled a curse back making you laugh at their stupid teasing.

“Let’s go Sam, Dean’s impatient. We can finish our talk at the motel” You said, your words full of innuendo making Sam turn back to you. You knew you got him when you felt his hand squeeze your waist for a moment before letting go.

“Oh yeah?” He said with a grin, looking down at your mouth and back at your eyes. You nodded.

“Yeah”

A/N: Likes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing, feedback makes those writings better. Thank you for reading XoXo

[stairain]

Swing and a Miss.

You meet a nerd at a bar, and you’re determined to claim him as yours. 

Warnings: Sub Spencer, blowjobs, hesitance, praise, nicknames, implications of desired corruption, mentions of alcohol, this is quite tame in comparison to everything else I’ve written. 

WC: 5K

You slowly walked into the bar, noticing the bustling atmosphere that surrounded you. You took a few moments to look around and admire the patrons before walking up to the bar table and sitting down. 

Spencer sat at the table, and looked around him at the strange, unfamiliar environment, and he quietly watched the people in the bar as they drank, talked, and laughed. He was studying them carefully, observing their gestures and faces, trying to pick up on small details about their behavior and manner of communication. 

He took in the sights and sounds of the place, taking mental notes and storing the information away for later use, in case he needed to recall it. He did not interact with anyone, instead keeping to himself and letting them come to him.

You smile towards the bartender before telling him what you wanted, and when you were done talking to him, you looked to the quiet man next to you. 

He seemed to be in his own world, and looked very out of place at this bar. But you decide to bite the bullet anyways.

“Hey.”

He looks at you for a moment with a neutral expression, then smiles slightly and gives you a brief nod of his head in greeting. Although you had only just met, he seems to be trying to figure you out, studying you and taking in your appearance and behavior. He seems to be assessing your trustworthiness and what kind of person you are.

"Hello. I'm Spencer Reid, and you are?"

You shake your head and smile.

“That’s not important.” The bartender hands you your drink, and you take the glass in your hand. “But I can’t help but notice you seem.. out of place. You don’t usually go out to these types of places, do you?” 

He looks around at the rowdy bar with a faint frown on his face, clearly not enjoying the rowdy and loud atmosphere. His eyes return to meet yours, and he nods slightly.

"Correct, I do not regularly visit such places. They are noisy and crowded, and people are usually intoxicated, which makes them more unpredictable and potentially dangerous. Additionally, I do not understand how people can enjoy spending time in such chaotic settings, and I usually feel out of place and out of touch with the people around me. It's not my usual environment."

You take a sip of your drink and listen to him ramble on. You had to bite back a joke about how he’d be better off in a library, you were interested in this man, and you didn’t know how well he’d take that joke.

“So.. Then what are you doing here? Waiting on a friend.. Waiting for a girl?” You looked at his hands, no ring.

He chuckles slightly and shakes his head.

"Not waiting for anyone, no. I was, um.. I was trying to get more comfortable with this type of environment, I suppose. Trying to expand my social experience a bit. I'm not particularly fond of this kind of place, but I'm making a bit of an effort to make myself more comfortable with things that normally make me uncomfortable. Trying to learn to deal with discomfort and chaos rather than avoiding it, if that makes any sense."

“How admirable.” You take one more sip of your drink before setting it down on the counter. You move your body so you’re now facing him, your legs almost brushing against his seat, and your arm supporting your head as you lean on the table. “You’re an introvert then, I take it..”

He is slightly taken aback when you move closer to him, but he recovers quickly and nods.

"That's... correct, yes. I'm very introverted, and I typically prefer my own company, but I'm trying to make more of an effort to interact with people. I enjoy reading and studying about other people, but actually socializing with them is something I'm still working on being comfortable with."

You can’t help the soft laugh that leaves your lips.

“You study people, but can’t bring yourself to talk to them.. Seems a bit stalker-ish, no? I mean, I have no doubt you can tell what I’m thinking just by looking at you..”

He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles a little, a bit embarrassed.

"I suppose that could be seen that way, yes. But I mean no harm. I'm just... I'm very analytical. I like to understand how things work, and people are the most complex things there are. It's fascinating to study them and their behaviors, but I still haven't quite figured out how to make it work in practical settings. I am... not very socially skilled, as I am sure you have already gathered."

You flash a smile to him before sighing and picking up your head from your hand. You reach down to grab at his chair and turn it so he’s facing you.

“Alright then, pretty boy. What can you tell me about my behavior, hm?”

He is a little caught off guard by your sudden action, and he blushes faintly at your comment, clearly not used to such compliments. He thinks for a moment before speaking. 

"You are very.. bold in your methods of approaching men. You seem confident, and comfortable with yourself. But also, perhaps a little bit lonely. I am not sure, but I get a sense of restlessness from you."

You huff softly through your nose at him those last few parts.

“Maybe all that studying paid off then, stranger. You’ve just about hit the nail on the head.”

There’s a slight sadness in your tone, but you mask it quickly with a smile. He looks a little shocked by your admission, and his eyebrows furrow slightly, indicating he is concerned.

"I... am sorry to hear that. It must be... difficult, feeling so restless and alone. I can see why it might lead you to try new ways of meeting new people, if the usual methods aren't working out."

His words are sincere and genuine. He has a kind and empathetic side to him, and he feels a lot of sympathy for you, imagining a life without meaningful connections and genuine relationships. 

“Thanks, but, I’ve been alright on my own. Plus, meeting new people is always fun.. Don’t you think?”

You look up at him with a flirtatious smile. He smiles back, but also seems a little bashful.

"Well.. meeting new people can be interesting and exciting, certainly. But it can also be difficult and uncomfortable. It's not really my specialty, to be completely honest." He chuckles a little nervously. "I tend to be a bit... awkward, in social situations, if you cannot tell. I am not the most charming or charismatic person, and I generally don't make the best first impression."

“That’s alright, I’d say I have enough charm for the both of us, hm?” You throw a wink at him and reach over to take a sip from your glass. He blushes again, but his smile grows a little bit, as he seems to find your flirting a bit flattering.

"I suppose you do,"  he laughs a little. "I admit, I'm not usually on the receiving end of flirtations from beautiful women, so it's a bit of a... new experience for me."

“Beautiful, huh?” You chuckle at his small attempt at flirting. Your words are teasing. “Was flattery in those studies on how to read people?” 

Spencer laughs, embarrassed. "Okay, okay. Flattery is not exactly my strong suit, as I'm sure you have already gathered. That was.. awkward, wasn't it?" He sighs and looks away. 

"Anyway, I guess maybe it did get mentioned a time or two in my studies, yes.. but it was never really something I put much effort into. I guess I must be out of practice, because it clearly did not work at all."

“Swing and a miss.” You joke before you reach out and pull his jaw gently so he’s looking back at you again. “I admire your attempt, what else you got?”

His face flushes even brighter, and he looks at you intently as he tries to think of something to say. He's not used to this kind of interaction, and so he just ends up staring at you, his face pink as his brain whirs quickly, thinking of something to say. He clears his throat, trying to think of a compliment that doesn't sound too forced or unnatural, but it doesn't seem to help. You've really got him stumped now.

"Um... I... I..." 

He sighs, looking slightly frustrated as he's unable to put his thoughts into words. You pick up your glass and swirl around the drink as you continue to tease the poor man.

“Rendering a nerd speechless, consider me accomplished.”

He smiles and bows his head. "I guess you definitely have more experience than I do when it comes to meeting new people. You definitely seem... very good at this. You must be a natural born flirt, hm?" He chuckles a little and shakes his head, laughing at himself. “You definitely put me to shame, if I'm being honest. I'm not sure I can match your level of charm... but I'll keep practicing. It can't hurt to try and learn from the best."

“The best? Look at you, you’re already learning.” You praise, trying to gauge the kind of person he is. You wanted to see what made him blush, what made him stutter, and what made him aroused. “And no, not natural born.. You just make it easy.” 

He blushes again at your comments, and he looks slightly embarrassed. He seems flattered by your praise, but he's also a little bit suspicious of you, wondering what your game is. Why are you being so playful and flirty with him? He doesn't think you'd go through all this effort for no reason.

"Why are you being so... nice to me?"

You nonchalantly sip at your drink, obviously entertained at watching the confused and flattered expression on his face.

“You’re adorable, I see no reason to lie about that, seeing as you’d probably be able to read my mind somehow anyways.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head, quite amused by the situation. You really did catch him off guard, but he is still enjoying the banter and the playful flirting. In fact, it's very flattering, considering he's not used to people being flirty with him.

"Okay, you got me. I can't argue with that. I guess sometimes I'm a little bit too easy to read, huh?"

“Seems a bit ironic, you’ve spent all this time analyzing people and their behavior, and yet you’ve already given away so much to me.”

The playful teasing tone in your voice doesn’t falter at all, it only grows stronger as you can feel him becoming more comfortable with it.

“Makes me feel special, stranger.”

He nods, trying not to laugh. He seems to find your teasing both amusing and refreshing, despite his previous suspicions. "I suppose that is a bit ironic, huh?

He chuckles and shakes his head again, blushing slightly but seeming to relax and let his guard down a tad bit, feeling more comfortable with you. You have a very charismatic manner about you, so he can see why people are drawn to you, and he is enjoying himself now.

"You do have a knack for making people feel that way. I must admit... I am feeling quite special right now."

“Maybe that was my plan all along.” You reach out and run your hand through his hair, pushing it back slightly before ruffling it again. “What else are you feeling..?”

Spencer gives a soft gasp at the sudden touch, and he blushes again. He’s surprised by your boldness, but he can't deny that he finds it awfully flattering. You are clearly very comfortable with the flirtatious vibe. "I... I must say, I'm feeling... a little flustered..." He smiles slightly, but he’s still feeling bashful and is unable to stop blushing. 

“That’s all?” You give him a faux pout and after a few moments you bite your lip, waiting for an answer. 

He clears his throat, still very flustered. "Well... I'll admit my mind is starting to think about... more than just my typical studies of people's behavior..." He chuckles shyly, finding it a little amusing, but also a bit thrilling that he's feeling this way. 

He's not used to such experiences, and it makes him feel oddly excited and hopeful. "I've never met someone like you before, you must forgive me. I'm... not very experienced with flirting or intimacy."

You can’t help but laugh in admiration at the way he speaks. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind, pretty boy.” 

He blushes even more at the nickname you’ve assigned to him. You've completely caught him off guard now, with your playful tone and teasingly bold manner. He clears his throat again in an attempt to steady his voice as he tries to answer you honestly. "W-well.. like I said, I've never experienced this level of flirting before.. and, um, well, I.. I feel myself becoming a little bit attracted to you."

“Just a little bit? You think we could change that?” Your tone is condescending and teasing, as if you’re talking down to him.

He sighs and nods, clearly defeated by his feelings, but he smiles nonetheless. "Okay, okay.. I'll admit it. You got me. I'm more than a little bit attracted to you, and... yes, I would like to change that." 

He chuckles softly, realizing how blunt and honest he's being, but he seems to accept his attraction to you. You are a beautiful woman, after all. There's no denying it, so he just gives into his feelings.

You smirk at his answer and stand up from your seat. You lean up to his ear to whisper lowly, making him shiver in anticipation.

“Meet me in the bathroom.. 4th on the left. Wait a few minutes before going, I’ll be waiting.”

You turn away from him and make your way to the back of the bar. You push open the door and thank god they have single bathrooms.

He looks absolutely stunned by your sudden show of boldness and the intensity of your request. He blushes even more, but he nods and seems to accept his fate. After a few minutes, he pushes up his sleeve and looks at his watch, then he heads to the bathroom, trying to get himself prepared for what is waiting for him. His emotions are all but out of control, and his heart is racing, but he feels strangely excited as a part of him can't believe this is happening. 

As soon as you hear a timid knock on the door, you know it’s him. You quickly swing the door open before forcefully grabbing him by his tie and dragging him into the bathroom.

His eyes widen as he's suddenly grabbed by you, and he's shocked by your boldness and the physical force with which you pull him into the bathroom. He's knocked off balance, completely he's caught off guard by the unexpected aggressiveness of your approach. But he follows along without resistance, feeling excited by your confidence and your dominant attitude. You have clearly taken charge, so he follows your lead, eager to see where this is going.

You shut the door behind you two and lock it. Once you twist the lock, you slam his body against the door and lean forward to press a messy, aggressive kiss on his lips.

Despite the way you’ve assaulted his lips by your aggressive and passionate kiss, he can’t help but melt into the kiss and starts kissing you back, feeling caught up in the moment and carried away by the passion. Any thought about protesting against you was completely out of his mind. He kisses you back with equal levels of passion, he puts all of his emotions and his feelings on the line to give in completely.

You pull back and lick your your bottom lip, looking up at him with a predatory gaze. “Not such a shy nerd anymore, what happened, pretty boy?”

He blushes again when you break apart, his face now completely red when he meets your intimidating gaze. "I.. I guess you must've brought it out of me.. you do tend to have that effect." He chuckles, still quite breathless from the kiss. This is all new territory for him. 

“I’m flattered, baby.” You say before diving down and pressing wet kisses against his neck, and you can feel the goosebumps on his skin on your lips. 

Spencer’s is taken by surprise again, and he can't help but blush heavily. He can feel your lips on his neck, and he lets out a soft gasp at the contact. He can feel the goosebumps forming on his skin, and chills running down his back as you continue doing this. 

"This... this is..." He chuckles breathlessly, not able to finish his sentence, but he's feeling extremely pleased with this experience. He's never felt like this before, and he can't help but enjoy the sensuality of it. 

“Talk to me, pretty thing..” You whisper against his neck before continuing your kisses.

He can't help but shiver and let out a soft whimper at your voice, and the kisses you're planting on his neck. He can feel his cheeks burning red, and he can't help but give into the sensations you're causing him to experience. He doesn't even care if he sounds foolish when he speaks.

"This.. this feels so good... I've never felt anything like this before."

“Yeah? You want more?” You murmur against his skin as your hands find the buttons of his shirt, and begin to play with them. 

He nods, still breathless and a little bit shaky. He loves this feeling, and he's never wanted anything more in his entire life. His eyes are fixed on yours, and you can feel his heartbeat picking up speed as you unbutton his shirt. "Yes... please..." He gives a soft moan, now overcome with sensations, and he's lost in the moment. He can't help but give into your touch.

Nodding, you start pushing the buttons through the hole, and soon enough you have his entire chest exposed for you, fully on display. You sigh happily at the sight and slowly kneel down, pressing kisses against the skin of his bare chest and stomach as you lower yourself to the ground.

This sudden display of boldness from you leaves him completely and utterly shocked and speechless. He can't help but watch you with bated breath, as you make a show out of unbuttoning his shirt and leaving his bare chest exposed. 

"What... what are you..." His words are shaky and quiet, as he watches you with a mixture of surprise, arousal, and embarrassment.

You don’t answer him, but instead ask him your own question. 

“Tell me what you know about the effect pleasure leaves on humans..” 

Your skillful fingers run down his body and trail your digits on the waist of his dress pants and find the zipper of them. You give it a small tug as you speak.

His mind goes completely blank for a few seconds, and his heart rate picks up speed again. Your teasing, playful, and bold personality is starting to take over, and he's starting to become more and more overcome with the excitement of the situation. 

"Uh... I-It's been shown that pleasure does-fuck.. release dopamine and oxytocin in the brain, causing a feeling of physical and emotional satisfaction in the recipient, and... and this feeling can... get quite addicting, which... usually leaves people wanting more."

You hum in satisfaction at his answer and pull down the zipper of his pants. “You’ve never felt that before, have you?”

His eyes widen when he realizes what you're doing, and he takes in a sharp breath of air. He's completely and utterly flustered and embarrassed by this display of dominance, and he can't help but watch you like a deer trapped in headlights, unable to look away. 

He shakes his head, feeling slightly lightheaded from the excitement and the overwhelming feelings of the situation.

"No... I... I've-I've never felt anything quite like this before."

“And how do you feel, baby? You want more?” His zipper is completely pulled down, and you slot your fingers between his sweaty skin and the rough fabric of his pants. 

Your words and actions leave him feeling completely flustered and speechless again, and he can feel all of his emotions running wild. He can feel the blush on his face, and he's still feeling lightheaded from the excitement of the situation.

"I..." He takes in an uneven breath, trying to calm down. "I.. I've.. I certainly do want more, yes.." He tries to steady his voice, trying not to let his nerves stop him from being completely honest with you.

“Good boy.” You offhandedly say as you pull down his trousers and leave him in his underwear in the cold bathroom.

Spencer’s face turns even more red when you leave him in just his underwear, so exposed. He shivers, but your words and your boldness warm his skin anyways. His breath is shaky, as the excitement and the embarrassment still have a death grip on him.

"W-Wait.. What... what are you doing now? Please... this is all so..." He whimpers out, seeming a bit out of his element with all of this, but still, he can't help but be incredibly turned on by your words and your touch.

You look up at him with hungry eyes and hold the band of his underwear in your fingers, threatening to pull them down. “Tell me to stop.”

He looks at your hungry eyes and takes in a sharp breath. He's afraid of what happens next, but he's also incredibly turned on by you and wants to see where this goes. He smiles mischievously before he speaks to you with a bit of a fearful tone.

"Please... don't stop."

You coo at his words and finally start to pull down his underwear. “See.. I knew you were a smart boy.”

His face heats up again as you start to pull down his underwear. It should be embarrassing, he doesn’t even know you, but the excitement has taken over, and the feeling is far more powerful and more intense. He still feels breathless as he watches you.

It’s a bit of a struggle to take them off of him, as there’s a clear obstruction that’s preventing you from pulling them clean off, but when his heavy length subconsciously flexes in front of your face as you stare up at him in absolute awe, and a little bit of amusement. 

“Well, whatever you lack in social skills you really make up for now.”

His entire body is shaking with excitement and nerves, and his breath is already shaky as you look him over and stare at his cock like it’s your last meal. He blushes again when you laugh at him a little bit. He can't help but smile at your words.

"Y-you certainly know how to get a rise out of me..”

You laugh again at his choice of words. “Yeah, I can see that.” Your hand reaches out and strokes his exposed thighs, so close to where he so desperately needs it.

The brunet gasps, clearly surprised by your actions. This is all getting to be way too much for him to handle, and he's already feeling completely swept off his feet. He can't even think straight, let alone speak.

He just breathes heavily, feeling all too dizzy as this all happens. It's almost too much for him to take in, but he's too turned on to even bother fighting it.

And you were only adding onto it. Your hand moves from his thighs and to his dripping cock, giving him an experimental tug. He’s warm and hard in your palm, you can’t help the way your tongue peeks out and runs along your lips. 

He lets out a soft gasp, and any attempt at keeping a straight face is gone the second your hands start stroking him. He's completely overcome with sensations, and his mind and his body are almost unable to keep up with all of this. His whole body shakes, as if his every nerve is on high alert, and you can hear his breath become shaky with all the excitement. He seems to be losing his ability to speak completely, as his mind and his body are now completely controlled by all the new and powerful feelings that you're causing him to experience.

Your strokes along his dick speed up, you wanted nothing more than to hear and see him fall apart above you. You see his knees buckle at the sensation and you huff out a silent laugh.

His breath becomes more and more heavy and erratic. He's almost completely at your mercy, unable to think straight or even stand fully upright. He looks at you, barely able to stop himself from falling over when his gaze meets yours. He's so turned on by your touch that he can't even put a thought together.

The touch, the feeling, it's just too much for him to take in, and he has no control over himself in this state. He's completely yours if you want him, and it's almost frightening to feel that kind of complete and total surrender of control.

You watch him fall apart in your hold above you, and smile adoringly at his shaking figure. You wanted to corrupt this man, take him away from the shy, nerdy man he was, and turn him into your personal bitch. Not wasting another moment, your mouth encompasses him. 

His eyes wide open, and you can see the shock in them. Sure this was expected, but the feeling almost had him toppling over on top of you.

“Oh.. Oh my god..” 

But at the most basic level, this is what he has always wanted. He has always wanted to escape from all the social expectations of him, and he has always wanted to be released from all of the inhibitions of the past. This is his chance to let loose, and even the shock of the moment can't make him hesitate.

You watch as his eyes roll back into his head and his body suddenly relaxes. You smile around your mouthful and look up at him with admiration shining in your eyes. 

He lets out a loud moan of pleasure, feeling completely vulnerable and helpless in your hold. He can't help but look back down at you in awe and pure lust, unable to think straight and enjoying every second of it.

His surrender is total, and he looks completely at your mercy. He really is completely yours to do whatever you want with, and he's enjoying every moment of this completely unhindered passion.

You pull back and press a kiss to the sensitive tip, a string of precum connecting from the head to your shiny slick covered lips.

“How’s it feel, baby?”

"It.. you... it's... it's amazing.. You’re so good."

He sighs contentedly, feeling utterly lost in all of the passion, the new feelings, the sensation.. he is completely swept off of his feet and can't help but express his pleasure with high pitched whimpers and moans. 

You laugh at his reaction before diving back in. Your throat completely encloses around him, squeezing around that rock solid length that’s pulsating in your mouth. Spencer throws his head back against the door and reaches a hand up to cover the moan that inevitably slips through his fingers anyways. 

With every pass of your warm and wet mouth over his leaking tip and heavy cock, he can feel himself being lassoed to a brink of pleasure he’s never experienced before. His body begins to be wracked with shudders and he quickly taps on your shoulder in a panic. 

You don’t pull away like he was expecting, but instead, you just look up at him with awaiting eyes. It had never occurred to you before that he’s never had an orgasm, but it all clicked when you realized. 

With the way his legs were shaking, one hand trying to push you away and the other covering his mouth, and how he tried so desperately to look you in the eyes, but always ended up failing when they rolled back into his skull.. He was entirely yours. 

“I-I don’t know what’s.. P-Please.” 

The wet noises of your mouth around him only grow louder as you begin to speed up. The familiar ache in your jaw starts to set in, but you know it’s not much longer until he’s completely and utterly shattered by his own orgasm.

Your hands reach up to hold his bony hips, and you use the hold to push him deeper down your throat. His mouth drops open in pants, trying to get out a sentence but all that came out were incoherent moans and broken words. 

With an almost ear shattering moan, he fills your mouth with his hot and sticky release. The hand covering his mouth proved to be more than useless as whimpers and whines poured from his bitten lips.

His thighs shake around your head and you continue to suck his softening cock, wanting to milk him for every last thing he was worth, and make his first release worthwhile. 

“Ple-Please..” 

Before his knees could give out on him, you pull away and swallow. There’s some of his spend dripping from your lips, and the look you give him is primal as you wipe it off with your finger and put it right in your mouth. 

His eyes roll back at the gesture and you stand up to pull him into a sloppy, downright filthy kiss. When you pull away, he smiles down at you and tries to find his own voice. When he speaks, it comes out raspy, no doubt ruining his throat through all the moans and screams he let out. 

“D-Do I... Do I get to know your name now..?” He pants out as you tuck him back into his underwear and pants. 

“At least take me on a date first, Spence.”  

[grapejuicestyless]

So Long, London

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: Years and years of love and affection couldn’t amount to the floods of tears that flooded the once prosperous city you danced through.

From a young age I’ve always wondered what death feels like. Those who have experienced it aren’t here to tell us their stories. Would it hurt, could I feel it clenching my heart in its dark grasp or would I sigh in my sleep and let the darkness take me with no sense of slipping away.

As I walk down the old roads I used to dance on, I understand the concept of it better now that my heals hit the concrete like bullet shells falling to the floor. The vibrant red brick seemed duller nowadays, moss covering the once new white concrete holding all these places I often visited together.

To me, death wasn’t the last breath of air in my lungs escaping, it wasn’t the melodic beeping of the machines beside me in a hospital room, but something that drowned me from the inside out.

His smell is stuck to all my clothes, his smile carved into the back of my phone case from the polaroids of us I kept for keepsakes for years. I can still hear his voice, it’s all around me in the people passing by on the street, the same accent fresh in my mind, his last words knives in my heart.

He swore that he loved me, but where were the clues? I died at the alter waiting for the proof. His green eyes flashing with mischief as he lied to my heart to keep me close, his bluest days tainting my mind, my endless sympathy forcing me to stay even with the gun stuck against the back of my head.

I don’t remember the end, only the feeling of my spine splitting under the weight of his body as I pulled him in closer each time he slipped out of reach. Only the fading of his smile as I gave up trying to make him laugh after so many failed attempts. The heart was dead, I stopped CPR after all, there was no use. Our love was long dead, lying buried with our faltering spirits. He killed me when he killed our relationship, two graves dug with one gun.

He swore that he loved me, and his face looked just like the man who said it to me and meant it, so I believed him as he led me down the street with his hands in his pockets.

For so long, I loved london. My clothes out of place, made for the states and carried across to my home where he laid in the dimming light of our sunroom. For so long, I held him and guided his heart to mine, I let him take parts of me I’ll never be able to rebuild. And I’m angry that I gave him all that youth for free, but I’m just mad as hell because I loved this place.

And he claims I abandoned the ship, he writes it in the songs on his albums and sends the troops to my front door, breaking down the home I just rebuilt but they’ll never know how I was going down with it, my white knuckle dying grip holding onto his quiet resentment.

But truly how much sad did he think I had left in me to give? How much tragedy? Just how low did he believe I could before I would self-implode, waiting for his grays and blacks to turn back into the vibrancy I fell so deeply in love with.

And as I walk these streets, his scent fading from my clothes, I can feel the color coming back to my face, and I feel bad for anyone who stops me on the streets and asks me to grab a coffee, because the hole in my heart is black and it’s pulling in anything in it’s path, it’s destructive and dangerous and it acts a lot like him.

He’ll find someone, my stitches will come undone and my heart will die as I lay silently on the empty floor of the apartment I never thought I would see again.

I have to leave, I know it even in this post-death mist. I am a ghost walking down these once euphoric streets we walked hand in hand across. I can’t let myself rot like he did, I won’t let myself get left behind like he intended.

And I’m just mad as hell because I once loved this place.

But for now, it’s so long, london.

[squadmuse]

ONE DAY IN OCTOBER - Part I

A MATT CASEY X HALSTEAD!OFC FIC (Charlotte Halstead Casey)

A/N: so this has been an idea that I’ve been slowly working and developing for about a month now and @deanstead has been such a great & lovely helpful mutual through it… hope everyone enjoys this, as I am so excited about it!!

A cool October sun was high in the sky above the bustling city of Chicago that morning, and luckily Dr. Charlotte Halstead Casey found herself alone on the rooftop of the city’s Gaffney Chicago Medical Center to enjoy it.

A lifelong Chicago resident, her green eyes watched from high above as if she were a mere bird, looking down as cars rolled down the roads and people walked up along the sidewalks. Rush hour had been over for a few hours now, so it wasn’t as busy as it would’ve been as people hurried even more to reach work or school. When Charlotte had arrived for work the night before, the noisy city had been cloaked in a dark twilight with little to nobody wandering around.

Glancing down at her hand that was encircled around a travel mug filled with warm decaffeinated coffee, Charlotte grinned as the sunlight hit her diamond engagement ring and matching wedding band. It had been nearly six months since she had married the love of her life, Matthew Casey. He had dropped her off at the hospital last night with a kiss goodbye and a warm hug too. Matt was very much everything she had ever dreamed about.

It wasn’t often that Charlotte found herself working the night shift in the emergency department, but it had been a case of seniority needed and a call from Goodwin herself. Luckily, she hadn’t been working the day before and had been relaxing at home while Matt worked on one of his construction jobs in Wicker Park.

Looking back out at the metropolis that she called home, she sighed. It looked like it was going to be a slow day in Chicago, and luckily a quiet night too, as Goodwin had signed her up for night shifts for now on. Taking a gulp of her drink, Charlotte let herself be lost in the tranquil atmosphere around her on the roof, waiting for the moments to fly by and for caffeinated coffee once again.

Charlotte had been so lost in her daydreaming mind and her imagination running wild like a hummingbird would, that she did not see the figure that had appeared on the rooftop paradise that she had claimed for herself that mid-morning. Her green eyes were fluttering shut and there was a soft smile dancing on her soft lips which made her look as serene as the view that surrounded her.

With soft steps that were not unlike his soft wavy hair, did the lone figure make his way to where Charlotte stood alone. There too was a soft smile painted upon his face, like there was upon her own, and as he found his way to be at her side high above Chicago, the man placed a lean arm around her shoulders as if he had done it many times before.

Charlotte’s eyes shot open as if they were bullets firing from a pistol at the sudden touch and her wide eyes pivoted just as fast to face the figure beside her and a chuckle slipped from both their lips as she punched him jokingly on the chest. Her older brother Will Halstead grinned as she did so.

“Even after all these years, you still react to the slightest touch, Tater,” he chuckled, ruffling her dark hair, not unlike all those years ago.

Charlotte rolled her eyes at his comment and his childhood nickname for her, which seemed to be sticking around even as they were adults. Trust Will and Jay, her other older brother, to find out her name was also the name of a potato species when they were kids. She was grateful they at least didn’t call her Tater Tot.

“Well you still happen to have the coldest hands in Chicago, so we’re even Billy,” she grinned back as she used her own childhood nickname for her eldest brother in return. A louder laugh than before erupted from her lips as Will grimaced.

“You know you’re the only one I’ll ever let call me that?” said Will as he leaned on the railing beside his sister. His brown eyes followed the sights below like Charlotte had done before. “Jay is the same, only you get to call him Jayjay.”

A broad smile appeared on Charlotte’s face at his comment. Smugly, she nudged Will in his side. “That’s because I’m your baby sister,” she said mirthfully. It was true, ever since she had been born all those years ago in 1988, Charlotte had been the apple of her brothers’ eyes and spoiled rotten by two Halsteads. “Y'know, Pops is the same.”

Will nodded as he glanced at her. “That’s because you’re his little girl,” replied Will with a soft smile. “Pops didn’t expect to have a little girl, even Mom thought she would have another boy.”

Charlotte giggled as she shook her head. Thank god her parents had not had another boy, the old house back in Canaryville probably wouldn’t have survived that. “Remember the time when I refused to do the tap class Mom signed me up for and how I wanted to go to the ice hockey club with you and Jay?” said Charlotte quietly as she reminisced.

“How could I not?” chortled Will, his soft auburn curls jiggling with the movement of his head. “Mom was stunned, wondered where her little girly girl had gone!”

Sighing, Charlotte remembered that too. Theresa Halstead had been aghast about her only daughter wanting to act like her older brothers and not do all the girly things she was finally getting to do now she had a daughter. “I think I got pulled from the peewee team after Jay punched Eddie Lynch after he made me fall and break my arm,” said Charlotte, thinking about that moment with her brother.

“Yeah you did, I think Pops had a bust-up with Coach Murphy over all of that,” added Will as he turned to lean his back against the railing and so did Charlotte before taking another sip of her coffee. “I think that was when Jay switched to soccer, and you got into gymnastics?”

Charlotte nodded. She had got into gymnastics after that fiasco, at least it was all girls in her club in Bridgeport. “Yeah it was, Mom didn’t want me roughhousing with the hockey boys like I would with you and Jay at home,” she chuckled. It was true, and she still did have a tough side to her, having grown up a Halstead in Canaryville. “You just kept to your baseball, which Pops loved.”

“South Side pride, it’s in our blood little sis,” laughed Will as he threw his head back looking up at the fall sun. “I think it was Pop’s proudest moment when I won the high school baseball award.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes at the statement, which was the understatement of the century. Patrick Halstead was probably the biggest baseball fan in Canaryville and had been absolutely ecstatic about the prize at the De La Salle Institute, to the amusement of Will, Jay, Charlotte and their mother. Usually, Pat Halstead was a man of few words and even less emotion.

For a while the two siblings stood in silence, and the only sound was that of the lively city many floors below.

It was nice like that, just the two of them on a quiet day in October.

After minutes of watching the city and clouds go by, Will quickly grasped his sister’s travel mug and took a sip from it before spitting it back out.

“Serves you right,” giggled Charlotte as she took back the mug from Will, who was glaring at her with lighthearted disgust.

Will nodded, rolling his eyes in playful annoyance. “I see you’re still on the decaf?”

“Yup, you know I’m off it.”

Again, Will nodded his head in agreement as he knew that. “I know, I just hoped you had hot cocoa or something? Something that is actually nice!”

“Hey, decaf coffee is actually nice!” retorted Charlotte as she playfully shoved her brother to the side, making him stumble slightly. It wasn’t a lie, she had been surprised to find herself enjoying it.

Will shook his head and stood upright. “If you say so, Tater,” he replied before turning to face Charlotte with a more serious expression upon his face and his deep brown eyes fixated on her as he was reading her innermost thoughts. “How was your shift?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Charlotte sighed in response to her brother. “Just the usual stuff, I was only called in because Ethan is sick, and you worked the day shift.”

“Yeah Maggie had said about that when I arrived earlier,” said Will with a sigh, himself as he reached out to rub Charlotte’s shoulder affectionately. “I hope you still took it easy though.”

Charlotte took a large gulp from her mug before smiling at her brother. Even now, after all these years, Will was still the ever protective brother he had always been in her life. “I can still do my job, I’m not incapacitated.”

“Oh I know you’re not, and you’re a more than capable attending, but you’re carrying my unborn niece or nephew, so I’m not just big brother Will, but Uncle Will too, gotta keep two eyes out for you now,” he stated, gesturing at the round bump that was protruding underneath her ED scrubs.

It seemed Baby Casey was already under the watchful gaze of their Uncle Will, not just their mommy and daddy.

After a while longer up on the rooftop together, Charlotte found herself traveling down in the elevator with Will at her side. The two of them were not short on conversation topics as they traveled down the hospital building floor by floor.

“—I can’t believe he actually said that to you!” exclaimed Will angrily as the elevator stopped on the cardiothoracic floor. “You’re Noah’s superior.”

Charlotte shook her head, as neither could she when it happened. “He completely ignored my instructions and advice,” she stated wearily, remembering the interaction between herself and Noah Sexton, who was a resident in the department. “I think Connor is going to talk to Goodwin about it, he had to take the poor guy up to surgery to repair the mess.”

“Good, I’ll make sure to talk to him later about it,” scowled Will as the elevator started to move again. “You don’t need idiotic residents, especially now.”

Charlotte sighed in agreement. She didn’t need the added pressure and stress of someone like Noah Sexton working under her. With her pregnancy, it had been paramount to her and Matt that she stay as relaxed as possible, even in a stressful job (although he also had a stressful job too). Their baby would always come first. “Just don’t make a big deal out of it, Will. I’m off for maternity leave in December and then off for a few months. Maybe when I come back he’ll be off to some other hospital!”

“Fingers crossed, but I’ll say something to April,” stated Will, as he glanced at his sister worriedly. He knew their nurse friend would happily pull up her younger brother about his behavior and actions last night.

“Is she working today?” asked Charlotte as she felt the elevator move without stopping. It seemed not very many people were using the lift this morning.

Will nodded. “Maggie said so,” he replied as they finally reached the first floor and were met with the emergency department before them as the doors opened up. “So what are you going to be up to today?”

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders as the two doctors walked across the room. Much like she had thought before, it seemed like it was going to be a quiet day in Chicago. “Probably just napping and organizing baby things, Matt is on shift today,” she told her brother.

Will hummed as he held open the glass door to the doctors’ lounge for his sister to walk through before him.

“Maybe you could go visit Pop?”

[brawltogethernow]

—

L fell over from his customary seated position, died in his nemesis's arms, then came to in his customary seated position.

  He fell over.

  "Richard?" said Wammy, the alias he'd been using four cases ago. "Are you alright?"

  "Watari?" he said dumbly, into the floor. Wammy was dead. He hadn't wanted it to be true, but he had been sure when he saw the data kill switch had been flipped, pieces of information slotting together to form a whole even when he didn't want them to. His own hand had carved him into a device that did this process automatically. It was too late to deny facts.

  "What?" said Wammy like he didn't recognize the Japanese alias.

  L pushed himself up halfway off the ground. "Fuuuuuck this," he said, and fell over again.

⁣

"Why me?" he wondered aloud. "Does this happen to everyone killed by the murder notebooks? I can't investigate an infinite multiverse, Weatherby."

  "Probably not," conceded Wammy. He was currently humoring L gamely. L had been able to provide multiple descriptions of future events that would confirm he wasn't cracking up, but none of them had happened yet. He had never been much of one for keeping track of the date regarding matters where someone could do it for him, which didn't help. Well. Wammy would come around.

  L was humoring himself, too, for now. There was no point assuming his mind wasn't reliable. Using his brain to run diagnostics on itself could wait until it seemed necessary. If he was having an Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge moment it was certainly going on for a very long time.

  He ground his molars against each other. The Kira murders had been supernatural, but clearly guided by a hand that either was mortal or thought the same way. So far, this seemed...random.

  "I don't like this," he informed the room, and incidentally Wammy. His latest sugar cube tower collapsed and split into two factions, one falling into his tea and the other scattering across his desk. Tea sloshed out of its cup in futile pursuit of the desk faction.

  He picked up the teacup by the mostly not sticky handle and sipped it, pursuing the grit at the bottom of its basin. He put it down and but his thumbnail. It was slightly sweet. He needed to wash his hands. He added, "Well. I like it better than being dead."

⁣

He sent the party interested in his current case an e-mail with enough key bullet points of the solution for them to clean up what was left of it themselves, which was more than he felt like doing for a rerun of a case. If he were stuck only rehashing already closed cases he might entertain the theory that this was Hell. But the world was wide, he had only lived a year or so beyond this in the first place, and the Kira case was still open.

  He tried to console himself that Light Yagami possessed one of the most ruthlessly brilliant minds L had ever encountered. This did not make him feel any better about being beaten by a fucking child. L was an extremely petty man about things like that.

  (He had been a worse minor. If he had been eighteen as well when faced with such an infuriating suspect, he would probably have been the one instigating physical altercations. He would have broken Light's perfect nose instead of playing around with him, and then maybe he wouldn't be undead.)

  He gnawed his thumbnail, brain too itchy to be content just pressing it against his bottom lip where he could usually stop. He knew on one level of thought he was risking ending up with sore and bloody cuticles, but it was not the level primarily in charge of his teeth and hands when he was stressed. Was he stressed? Extremely, yes. But should he have been? His life wasn't even in danger, nor was Wammy's. Kira hadn't claimed his first kill yet, probably hadn't acquired his weapon, that awful, intriguing, unassuming notebook. And when he did, L could just...

  L didn't even have to do anything. He could just ignore it, and stay ensconced in whatever HQ he chose. Name unrecorded, face unknown, existence not relevant to Light Yagami's twisted morals. He already knew all the key mechanics of Kira. The method, the means—he was sure he'd already known the why. He had all the answers he wanted. Light had given him his answers.

  His true face... It was all the confession L had needed. An honor, even.

  Ha!

  L didn't need anyone's sanction to solve the Kira problem, either. He could steal the notebook. He could hire a hitman.

  Dull pain and the taste of blood alerted him that he'd bitten through his thumb.

  He popped it into his mouth to keep blood off his keyboard. No, he didn't want to kill Light Yagami. He probably should kill Light Yagami, but he didn't want to. He wanted to... To...

⁣

Of the many casualties of the Kira case, there was no one he cared to intervene for he hadn't led to danger with his own hand. (Should he have cared more about Beyond? Eh, he'd interfere if Wammy brought it up.) Even Naomi, who he hadn't spoken to in years, should have no reason to return to her home country if L didn't repeat old plays.

  ...He wondered if he was perhaps taking the wrong lessons about treating people as expendable from the situation.

  He tapped his fingers. Naomi. He had liked her.

  He spent an hour at the keys confirming where she was. The sun had set around him, at some point, leaving him in a black room with the monitor a white inferno at the center. Moved to Burbank, engaged, retired. She must be bored out of her mind in an empty room of her own making. No wonder she had died over this case too.

  He hoped it was exciting first. Light had never mentioned her.

  Focusing all of her faculties on her boytoy only for a killer to take him away... She must have gotten very unlucky to have not proved a bigger obstacle.

⁣

After it came clear that L was reporting his experiences accurately (or hallucinating his confidant's confirmations), Wammy sat silently for a subjectively long minute and forty-seven seconds.

  "What is it like?" he asked at last. "Dying."

  "I don't know, I was kind of distracted," L deflected, because this is true.

  Wammy gave him a blank yet communicative look.

  L bit down on his other, less raw thumb. Why hadn't Wammy come back with him, possessed of his own experience to draw on? Was there another Wammy, elsewhere, who has gone back alone?

  Could it be he really didn't die? No. L was sure.

  Kira had done that, but even spider-scrabbling blunted fingertips at the bottom recesses of the linty pockets of his heart, L couldn't find it in himself to feel too righteously indignant. L was the one who had wanted to win badly enough he'd anted up his allies in their game. He had been cocky. He had been too cavalier.

  "Frustrating," he answered. "Like when you can't stay awake even though you're in the middle of a project."

  The brain, whirling determinedly away even as it stopped receiving fresh blood, as the vision narrowed down to a thin line, a screen shutting off uncaring of whether it was the end of the program.

⁣

He researched relevant players he hadn't been aware of at this point. All were transpiring to be about where he'd have plced them.

  The web of events was elaborate. But that could have been dream logic. He'd tried, but never gotten the hang of, lucid dreaming. He was not sure he would be truly convinced this was happening until he'd discovered a why.

  He hovered his overful teacup not quite at his lips. Next, he could find a backdoor into the TCPD systems, but...maybe...

  He wormed into Yagami Light's computer instead. After 24 hours of passive data collection this provided him with Souichirou's passwords and how Light concealed he was using them.

  It was very amateur, which was the best way to hack an organization that thought it was going to be hacked by professionals. Casual exploitation of loose security.

  It was child's play on top of this to get a day-old visual on Light. L looked at the security photo and felt a thrill up his spine. Ah, death really didn't change me for the better at all, he thought.

⁣

"What's next in the docket?" asked Wammy, tidying up the workstation they were slated to abandon. (L remained on his computer chair and let this happen around him.) He was content to follow L's lead, even knowing he had led them both to their deaths.

  "I want to find out why I've come back in time, and how," said L. "...But I don't have any leads to speak of."

  "Except young Yagami," concluded Wammy, who was not an unclever man.

  "I don't want to return to the Kira case," L admitted.

  "Completely understandable," said Wammy without judgment. He was not an overly moral man, either.

  L fidgeted. Flopped somewhat. "The Kira case is the most interesting case on the planet right now," he said.

  Wammy waited.

  "But I already know how he kills," L sulked. "And dying kind of hurt."

  Wammy's mouth pursed at this. But he only asked, "What are you planning, L?"

  "I'm going to insert myself," announced L, rising and stepping out of his chair. "What do we have in liquid assets right now?"

  "What will this be put toward?" inquired Wammy.

  L rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling and thought about it, chewing his lip. "Shenanigans," he declared.

  He realized he had forgotten a social step and stopped his creep for the exit. He swiveled his head around. "Though Weatherby, if you want to return to the school for a year or two, or perhaps go on vacation—"

  "I'll go where you go," interrupted Wammy, chilly.

  L pursed his lips, finding now he'd began it that this was not the perfunctory check-in he'd taken it for. He said, "I would prefer if you didn't die."

  Wammy sighed. "A similar sentiment is why I will accompany you."

  L turned back around. "I see," he said, nodding. "Emotional blackmail."

  "This time I trust you to take the appropriate precautions," said Wammy.

  "Ugh," said L. "You're no fun."

⁣

To enact his very ingenious and only partially driven by general doubt in reality and spite scheme, L got a job at a pastry chain in Tokyo.

  After less than a single afternoon, the manager deemed L unfit to serve customers (this was correct), so he was shuffled onto glazing duty. He accepted this without complain as, due to the pop-up-cum-cart-style layout of the establishment, this still allowed him a clear view of anyone patronizing the establishment. Moreover, he did not especially want to serve customers.

  He despised the thin plastic sanitation gloves, which felt like rather than protecting his hands they moved the barrier of contaminated flesh up to his wrists, oils creeping and substances splashing upwards, until he wanted to decontaminate his arms up to the elbows and down to the bone.

   It's for the case, he told himself even though there was no case, not really. It was the same process of steeling himself to put discomfort aside for a greater cause.

  The greater cause this time was just bullying Yagami Light.

  This is a cinnamon roll of great justice, he told himself, then held it up to eye level and examined it, debating whether to eat half of it in front of his manager. For great justice.

⁣

His fingers twitched. He solved cold cases from his backlog and sent in tips about them thumb-typed on a PDA on his lunch breaks. He was so understimulated he contemplated playing some stocks, which he was trying to cut back on. He had more money than one person could ever need and than he had any inclination to redistribute responsibly, and also he acclimated to them the way some people did to pachinko.

⁣

The manager sat him down. "I have been informed I can't fire you," he said.

  "Yes," said L, who had purchased the chain before applying for the job.

  "But I want to," said his manager, like it was important L knew.

  "That's fine," said L. He pulled an industrial tub of cold icing over, stuck one finger into it, and licked it.

  The manager's mouth flexed murderously. L entertained himself briefly by imagining this scheme if Light was his manager.

⁣

When Light finally walked in, L had been shuffled back to cashier duty to get him to stop licking the donut icing, where he would remain until customer satisfaction dropped untenably low. With a pull that was gravity-inevitable, they locked eyes across the room, and a realization was clear to L at once:

  He's bored again.

  Without anyone challenging to oppose him, Kira was already getting bored. A smile spread like an ocean oil slick over L's face. Or perhaps like the mysterious and ever-widening sticky spot under the second stove that no one could seem to mop up.

  Everything was falling in line with his loftiest expectations. Light would crawl on his knees right to L. He didn't realize it, but he was desperate.

  And L would lead this insufferable man, in his supplication, right through the mystery floor goo.

  L favored Light with his (he was told) very unsettling customer service smile. "Welcome to Cinnabon," he said.

—

AO3

[jimmy-j-james]

okaay hii can i request something?🤭 Ghost x male reader who is stuttering and have some speech impediment? shsjsj i hopeyou have a good day!!

JITTERS

- M!reader x Ghost

- Proofread:

- Genre: Fluff

- Synopsis: Reader has a speech impediment caused by past injuries, and while training some of the newest recruits, he finds that they aren’t as respectful as they should be. Slowly enough, the stress of their words builds up, and Ghost is the first to notice, giving the rookies a piece of his mind.

════════════════

“Alright c-chumps, prac-practice today won’t be as easy.” (Y/n) starts up as he enters the gymnasium, tossing down the files on the recruits. He’d been assigned to train the new guys, expecting well prepared and mature soldiers, though it’s clear that won’t be the case.

A couple snickers follow after his words, delivered by a small group of privates. Their hushed whispers accompanied by laughter as they poke jokes. It’s clear they gave no care for whether they were caught or not.

“S-something to sh-share p-private.” He gives himself a silent curse, knowing that the sentence was filled with struggling words, though he pushed through.

A scowl sat on his face as the self-claimed leader of the ‘posé’ stepped forward. “Sh-shouldn’t someone more.. skilled, be teaching us?” He mocks, crossing his arms over his chest. The other three give their own sounds of agreement, earning a tight frown from the sergeant.

“I’m p-perfectly sk-skilled for this job.” He argues, standing tall before the group. His confidence wavers though, knowing his stuttering wouldn’t provide useful for intimidation.

“Sure you are, Jitters.” The cruel name stuck, earning silence from the sergeant as he silently calmed himself.

“T-ten laps around the base.” He demands firmly, his eyes glued to the private. “All f-four of you.”

The group groans and curses him out before making their way out of the gym, leaving the rest of the group stood patiently.

“C-continuing wi-without them..”

════════════════

The bickering didn’t stop there. The snide comments continuing as he passed them within the halls. Having the bitter group mock and pick at him.

It grew to the point that the other began noticing (y/n)‘s stress. The way he seemed so irritated to teach the privates. Flinching as people struggled over their own words.

The harassment had a clear impact on himself, and Ghost was not going to let it continue. He worked hard to track it back to the source. The pathetic group of privates that deemed themselves worthy of talking down to a sergeant.

He wasted no time gathering them into the gym. They stood anxiously beneath his glare. Practically sweating bullets as his cold glare kept watch over them.

“You lot think it’s funny to disrespect your superiors, do you?” He questions rhetorically, shutting down the first private to try and speak. “Think makin’ fun of sergeant (l/n) is amusing?”

Their faces notably pale, looking anywhere but towards the lieutenant. “Did you even bother asking why he’s got those stutters? Bet you slags didn’t even care to ask, just thought it was funny to pick fun.”

Ghost grunts, rolling back his shoulders as he eyes the four. “M.I.A, sergeant (l/n) kept us all safe despite the risks of his life. Kept his mouth shut as a group of terrorists interrogated him.” He starts up, basking in the way the privates flinch at his tone.

“He spent weeks with a broken jaw. Weeks of barely being able to make out simple noises. When we finally found ‘im, he was unable to speak without slurring everythin’. All to keep us safe, like a loyal soldier should. And you lot think it’s funny to go poking about his ways of speech?”

Ghost gives a weak huff, one of mock amusement as he scowls. “That man is more of a soldier than any of you will ever be. You’ll be transferred to a different team. Expected to be on the tarmac by five-hundred exact tomorrow.” He informs before making his leave, leaving behind the pathetic and guilt soaked privates.

════════════════

The sergeant’s mood noticeably picked up at the lack of the privates. Happily working with the rest of the group, going back to happily chattering with friends, and living worry free within base.

And all due to his ‘secret’ admirer’s work, or as he would place it, blessing. Removing all threats, small and big, so that the sergeant could live a decent life.

Going as far as to twist the harmful things into new opportunities. And of course, (y/n)‘s favourite, being his new call sign. Gifted with a new meaning of playful banters and pure affection, the team had slowly progressed to call the sergeant by the call sign Jitters.

And he couldn’t be any happier to have such a fitting name. A name that started with harmful intent to becoming an adoring title from his own lieutenant.

════════════════

© Copyright @jimmy-j-james, 2023

All rights reserved

do not copy/paste, claim as your own, post on different sites, or translate without prior consent from me

[femsolid]

So the french police killed a teenage boy during a traffic stop. They asked for his identification papers and he refused to give it to them. They shot him in the head and he died on the spot. They later claimed that he was charging at them when they shot him, but someone recorded the scene on their phone and it showed no such thing.

This caused a lot of upset, especially in all the "sensitive" neighbourhoods where they pile the poorest people, typically people of colour, and where the police is known to be harassing and assaulting people a lot. Men and boys manifested their anger by rioting, burning cars and garbage bins or destroying and looting shops all around France. It isn't very smart as they are typically destroying their own neighbourhoods or their neighbours' property, who are just as poor as them. And who comes when that happens? The police.

The french police has built quite the reputation during the yellow vest protests, it's notorious for being the most violent, racist and sexist police in Europe. They typically use rubber bullets against protestors which are still dangerous weapons: they aren't supposed to be used at close range nor to be aimed at the head and obviously shouldn't be used on people who pose no threat. That's not what the police does with it of course, during the yellow vest protests we used to count how many people were loosing their eyes, some had their hands ripped off, and there were countless videos of policemen aiming at random protestors who weren't doing anything, and aiming at close range too. So what happened next should come as no surprise.

During the night of the riots a young man was shot in the thorax and died. Another lost an eye. More than 30 people have registered a complaint to the police of the police (not very efficient, as we've come to understand) for assault and injuries caused by the police during that night. But one specific case shocked the nation, that of a young man who was just passing by and was assaulted by the police, who didn't ask for any sort of identification and left him for dead. They took him to a back alley and beat him senseless, broke his jaw and shot him in the head. He lost a part of his head, literally, it had to be removed. He's now blind from one eye. They did this to a young woman during the yellow vest protests as well. She also was not a protester and was just passing by. In both cases the police is not looking to make an arrest, they are lashing out, like a rogue militia, and leaving the person for dead. It's up to us, the civilians, to help the dying person and call for an ambulance. The person is left with permanent disabilities and trauma. In fact, in recent years a lot of people have developped trauma reactions towards the police, some were first time protesters, peacefully marching on a sunday afternoon and did not expect to be charged by a mob of policemen, to be insulted, gased and shot at. The population's trust in the police has plumeted.

But in this case, one of the policemen involved in the assault was identified and is currently in jail pending investigation. As a result, the police, nationwide, is going on a strike. Yes, apparently when one of them is temporarily jailed for an obvious and extremely violent crime, they get outraged. Their unions called for a strike to show their support to their incarcerated colleague. Policemen support each others as they commit crimes, publicly, with the director of the police saying that a policeman's place is not in jail if he hasn't be trialed yet. Since policemen are not allowed to go on strikes, not legally, they went to the doctor and asked to be put on sick leave. It's not really a strike if you're still getting paid but they aren't used to protesting so we'll excuse them, maybe shoot them in the face to show them how it works? The police unions are asking the government to create a special status for police officers preventing them from being jailed while they are investigated for crimes committed while on duty. I guess they really think the law shouldn't apply to them. They also ask that policemen become anonymous, impossible to identify. Make it more obvious why don't you?

All the french racists are in full support of the police right now, saying that, yes, shooting "thugs" is totally acceptable (thug = arab = french guy with north african parents or grandparents). Someone on twitter counted how many men with arab names had been participating in the riots and thought he was making a point against immigration. But the fact that it's mostly black and brown people who are poor and live in ghettos says more about France than about "arabs".

Anyway that's the state of things in my country.

[kayesfanfics]

Being Partners in Crime With Striker

A/N: Just watched all of Helluva Boss after some convincing, and I am coming out as a HB fan but mostly a Striker Simp. Also, takes place during the Harvest Moon episode

Warnings: Cursing obviously, some sexual innuendos and content but not straight up smut

You were born in Wrath as well, growing up poor was hard and your family turned to crime to make a living. You were a bounty hunter and mercenary, working hard to bring in money for your family and put food on the table for them. Your parents were getting old and tired, you and your siblings ran the family farm and did illegal work for extra cash as well

You met Striker when you were both hired by different people to go for the same target, not even realizing the other was there until your bullets collided when you both went to shoot your target

“Are ya crazy?! I was just about to kill em!” You’d both shout angrily, quickly realizing the situation. You would roll your eyes as Striker tried to tell you he could handle catching the target, and you didn’t have to worry your pretty little head about it. You both took off running after the target, trying to grab them or kill them before the other could. You got the upper hand, tackling the target and killing them quickly with a neck break. Striker skidded to a halt, a sly smile on his face as he grinned, “Well, a wins a win, ain’t it? Nice catch, dollface. How about I treat ya to a drink?”

After getting drinks together and chatting for awhile, he became less and less of an asshole, turning his charm on and making you swoon (on the inside at least, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction). After drinks, you went your separate ways, but started seeing each other more often because of your lines of work

You’d start dating eventually after finally giving in and going to his motel room with him to bang his brains out. He’s def a top though, so you’d leave the morning after with some scratches on your back and HUGE hickeys on your neck that were impossible to hide without stealing his bandana and tying it around your neck. He’d def like to mark you up to claim you, warning other imps not to even think about even breathing near you wrong

Lots of horse rides on Bombproof, you’d sit behind Striker and he’d make his horse ride a little rougher just to make you hold on tighter to him to stay on. You’d feed Bombproof while Striker got a fire going to take a rest for the night in the middle of the desert. He’d cook up some random Hell Birds he shot out of the sky for the two of you, plucking the feathers and handing you a bird on a stick. Not exactly the most romantic dinner, but you were also used to this kind of food so it brought some homely comfort

Speaking of homely comfort, you’d take him home to your family farm to meet everyone after a few months of dating and riding around the Rings of Hell with him. Your younger siblings were impressed with his gun slinging skills and he’d flex his muscles and let them hang off his arms to show off his strength. He’d be kind to your folks, kissing your moms hand and shaking your dads, complimenting their pile of bricks and talking up their daughter to them, which of course charmed them both. He even went as far to cook dinner for the whole family with you, giving a great first impression and gaining their approval to date you

When it came to doing bounties and assassinations together, the two of your worked incredibly well together, with your brains and his brawn. Plus doing it together made life far less lonely, being able to sleep together after long days of undercover work or chasing targets through Hell. Neither of you worried too much about the others safety, seeing how the both of you could handle yourselves with ease

When the two of you took an undercover job on Rough n’ Tumbleweed Ranch to get closer to a target and investigate the case. You did hard farm work all day between snooping around the house, acting as a charming couple looking for honest work. The work was nice to do though, reminded you of being a kid on your farm before you went into the bounty business, and Striker looked good doing his work so there was no complaining from you-

When your targets associates finally arrived, you slapped a convincing smile on your face and charmed them as best you could with your boyfriend. You quickly tried to make friends with Millie, easily gaining her trust by agreeing with her about things and saying shit she would like. Like when her paw suggested the boys enter the Pain Games, you talked up Striker which made her talk up Moxxie, and talking up your S/O always helped brighten the mood. You’d playfully say Striker was better, and the two of you made a friendly bet of who would win. You’d later laugh about it with Striker, giggling that there was absolutely no competition and he’d compliment your bullshitting skills with a grin

You and Millie cheered your boys on at the games, and you’d flash her a smile when Striker easily beat Moxxie with not much effort at all. You’d also take the opportunity to genuinely cheer for your boyfriend, enjoying watching him wrangle other contestants and wrestle with Blitzø in the mud like the stupid boys they were. Millie started disliking you when you cheered for Striker as he sang on stage about how he beat her husband and how much better he was than him, and you slipped up and said “What? He is.” instead of bullshitting some sympathy to Moxxie

After the Pain Games were over, you started getting back on track for your mission: killing Prince Stolas for his wife. You stayed outside with the family to distract them while Striker followed Moxxie inside, but when Millie heard something break inside, she went back inside and you now followed her up to you and Strikers room, just in time to see that bitch stab your boyfriend in the back multiple times. You quickly grabbed her and tossed her against the wall, nearly knocking her out but keeping her down

“Thanks, pumpkin’.” Striker grinned, kissing you before grabbing both imps. You let him go off, before turning to make sure the blessed rifle the Princess gave you was okay. You grabbed it and polished that little imps smudgy fingerprints off of it, smiling when Striker came back and wrapped his arms around you from behind. “Ya know that gun’ll work the same with or without smudges, right darlin?”

“Yes, but it looks better without them.” You smiled, handing the gun to him to make the hit as you heard the Prince’s voice on the mic. But your plan was eventually foiled by Blitzø and Moxxie, and the both of you ran off to safety, grabbing what belongings you could before heading out to find a shitty motel to crash for the night

[penny00dreadful]

Cat and Mouse - Spy AU - Part 1

AO3

18th April 2015

Steve pulled the trigger, barely even paying attention as the bullet tore through the head of his target. He was just so ready to go home, god this week had been boring.

His target was some bank executive that had started to funnel funds towards various criminal enterprises, helping those criminal families gain more power and Steve had been contracted to weed that rot out, right at the root.

The Hagans, Kline and Johnson families would probably still find ways to rise up in the ranks but it had been kneecapped now, making things more difficult for them.

They’d never climb to the heights of the Creel Syndicate anyway. 

Steve was pretty sure no one could.

Henry Creel, legendary crime lord that he was, had somehow managed to cultivate a culture of fear and respect amongst even the lowest of street drug dealers.

Not to mention the borderline mythical assassin he was rumoured to have at his side. No one knew who they were, no one even knew if they existed. Some claimed the assassin was just some boogeyman story cooked up by Creel to keep his workers in line and Steve wouldn’t put it past him. The guy was creative.

And some things that had been attributed to this assassin were downright impossible so… They were probably made up.

This mythical boogeyman had some kind of title as well but Steve had never really paid much attention to the rumours and the ghosts floating around the underworld he was a part of.

Lies were practically currency to them so he’d have to see it to believe it.

Whoever ended up working on the Creel case was going to have their fucking work cut out for them.

Holstering his weapon, Steve snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves and he knelt beside his dead mark, slowly leaking blood and brains from the hole at the back of his head.

Steve fished around inside the guy’s pockets, locating his wallet. There was a family photo in there, library card, organ donor card, an obscene amount of credit cards and a loyalty card for the strip club across town.

Since when did strip clubs do loyalty cards?

Whatever. Steve located his driver's licence and pulled it out. 

“Hm.” Steve tilted his head, reading the name from the laminated card. “Sorry, Peter. It’s not personal. It’s just business.”

He tucked the licence back into the guy's wallet, returning it to his pocket.

It only took three minutes for Steve to stage the scene, breaking into the guy's gun safe, planting the weapon just next to his hand, like it had flown out of his grip when he pulled the trigger.

He slipped out into the hallway of the high rise apartment building, removing his gloves and stuffing them into his pocket, pushing his hair back from his face and coming to a stop in front of the elevator.

The doors opened and an elderly lady with a yappy dog gave him the suspicious eye, no doubt not recognising him from this floor but as Steve took a step back with his most charming smile and a gentlemanly gesture, motioning her out of the elevator she smiled back and he knew he was in the clear.

He got back down to the lobby and through the front door, onto the streets with no issue, allowing himself to get lost in the crowd. 

He reached up to his ear, flicking a small switch on the back of his ‘hearing aid’, allowing Robin to hear him, rather than just monitor his location and vitals.

“Okay, I’m out. You can stop looping the cameras.”

“Roger that, dingus.” Robin was probably saluting him right now from behind her desk, sounding like she was speaking in his head. 

It had taken a long time for him to get used to it, hearing Robin, but still being able to hear everything around him at the same time.

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Be nicer to me.”

“You say that to me every time, and every time I say no. Job went easy enough?”

“Yeah, practically childsplay.”

Steve kept his eyes open, never quite able to switch the part of his brain off that was waiting for the next hit from around a corner, a knife in the gut or a bullet in the shoulder.

He’d already managed to walk a few blocks, trying to put as much space between himself and his completed job as he could without moving too fast.

The crowd around him was both safety giving and dangerous.

Easy to disappear into but easy for someone to sneak up on him unseen.

Speaking of…

There was a figure shadowing him, had been shadowing him for a few minutes.

It could be nothing.

It could be some guy walking the same route as him.

But it wasn’t.

Every time Steve caught sight of him in his periphery or through the reflection of a store window, the guy had his eyes on him. 

Locked on him, like he couldn’t afford to lose him, but Steve wasn’t worried.

The guy was weedy, probably weighed 140 pounds soaking wet. 

The large leather jacket and the denim vest made him look bulkier than he was and he'd nearly tripped over his own shoelaces twice trying to keep up.

Steve could tell when people were dangerous. It was in the way they held themselves. The way they walked. The way they looked at those around them. How they held their hands at rest.

This guy was none of those things. 

He might dress mean and scary but he was as delicate as a flower petal on the inside, Steve could tell.

So he wasn't exactly worried he was about to be shoved into a black van or choked out. 

At least not this time around.

He was probably just going to be pickpocketed.

He recognised the look on the guy's face. 

Desperate. 

A panicky kind of desperate.

Like if the guy didn’t get some money into his hand immediately, the hounds of hell were gonna be on his ass. Probably break his kneecaps for good measure.

He could just be looking for money for a fix, Steve tried to reason with himself. He certainly had the eye bags, the pale waxy skin, the skinny frame that told that kind of story.

But even from as far away as he was, Steve knew that wasn’t the case. 

Though he couldn’t see him clearly, he could tell his eyes were bright.

Alive and clear and piercing and active.

Not the hazy, cloudy, bloodshot gaze of someone coming down from their high or going through withdrawal.

Steve guessed he was some kind of dealer. 

Street level, considering how he tried to look scary but wasn’t really.

Any higher up than street level and he would have held a certain amount of danger around himself. He would have had to, to survive after all.

So what had made him so desperate and what about Steve had caught his gaze?

Steve glanced down at himself, to his pristine polo, light wash vintage levi’s and spotless sneakers.

Ah. 

Well that would be it. 

Steve looked like he came from money. Especially walking through this part of the city.

And like… the guy’s guess wasn’t wrong.

Steve did come from money. But he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his parents or their money since he was eighteen years old, nine years ago.

Any money Steve had now was his own. Being a spy paid really well, as it turned out.

But the desperation radiating off this guy, even as far back in the crowd as he was, was making him sloppy. A regular civilian would know they were being followed at this stage, never mind Steve Harrington who’d been trained to within an inch of his life for this. 

He could enter a room he’d never been in before and immediately know the most effective route for escape. He could look at a lineup of randomly selected people and know straight away who was the most dangerous in hand to hand combat and who would be most likely to have a weapon on them.

Steve could snap this guy in half over his knee probably without breaking a sweat.

Even still he felt a little bad.

He needed to talk it out. Needed someone to confirm for him he wasn’t going crazy.

"Someone's on my tail, Birdie." Steve muttered, flipping the switch on his hearing aid communicator again.

"Okay,” He could almost picture her nodding. “Gimme a description, I'll see if I can find them."

"No, it’s not an enemy or anything. I don't even think it's something I need to be worried about, honestly. Just some bottom of the totem pole dealer. Nicotine stains on his fingers, cigarette burns on his clothes. And Jesus Christ has he ever even heard of conditioner? And his eyes are huge.”

“Do you think he’s on something?”

“No.” He kept his eyes forward and continued to smoothly weave his way through the crowd. “But he is pale. Gaunt. His denim jacket looks pretty ratty. It’s been repaired multiple times. By hand. And he definitely hasn't eaten in a while. I think he’s probably gonna try to steal my wallet to stop his boss from breaking his legs."

“You don’t think that maybe he’s just hungry?”

Steve shook his head. “No. He looks pretty desperate but not that kind.” He frowned again, almost muttering. “Scared desperate.”

Robin sighed. "Steven."

"What?"

"Don't do it, babe."

"Why shouldn't I help the guy out?” Steve was already pulling his wallet out while ruffling his hair. 

Misdirection. 

“I can part with $20. Stick it in my jacket pocket, loose. Make it just obvious enough and easy to take. What's the big issue?"

"You're a bleeding heart, that's the issue."

"Yeah, well. He clearly needs it more than I do."

"Is he cute?" She asked in a teasing tone, making it clear she thought he wasn’t just a bleeding heart, he was a horny bleeding heart who could be swayed by a pretty face. 

Which…

Didn’t need to be pointed out.

"...No."

"Wow, decorated Special Operative Steven J. Harrington everyone.” He could almost hear her waving her hands around. “Infiltrator, martial combatant and, apparently, a master liar. On his way to recruit another wayward stray."

"Oh, fuck off. Why not spit out my whole government name, that definitely won't put me in danger."

"You're wearing a bone conduction audio transmitting ‘hearing aid’, I'm literally in your head-”

“You’re not in my head, you’re in my cochlea.”

“Which is in your head, dingus. No one can hear me and it's a secure line. You, however, can be overheard so don't sell me down the river."

"Well then, you better be nicer to me."

“Never.”

Something bumped against his elbow and he was suddenly, painfully aware of a body behind him, right up in his space.

He didn’t even think before he lashed out behind him, snatching the figure's wrist in a vice-like grip, spinning the two of them into a nearby alleyway and pinning the stranger against the wall.

“Woah, man.” 

Oh. 

It was just the guy who’d been following him.

He was staring at Steve with wide, deep, brown eyes, shaking his head. 

He looked fucking terrified. 

“I- I don’t want any trouble, I swear.”

Steve took a breath before dropping the guy’s wrist like it had burned him, taking a step back.

The guy's eyes were flicking nervously over Steve’s face, waiting for him to strike probably, before his gaze settled just to the left of Steve’s head.

He was looking at his hearing aid, but Steve pretended not to know that, lifting his hand to his ear in confusion and allowing him to subtly flip the switch off so Robin couldn’t hear anything anymore.

“Try not to fall on his dick.” She muttered at him when she heard the click.

But he could hear her, like always.

Steve rolled his eyes, making sure it was aimed at the guy, acting like his exasperation was because he just noticed the hearing aid.

“Don’t tell me you’re suddenly gonna feel bad because of this?” Steve gestured at it.

The guy shook his head, still plastered up against the wall as though he wanted to melt into it, trying to put even more distance between them.

“Relax, man. I’m not gonna attack you, or whatever.” He crossed his arms over his chest, setting up another barrier between them to try and put the guy at ease.

He didn’t think it was working very well.

The guy in front of him looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over. The same height as Steve but built much smaller, slender and delicate looking despite the heavy boots and chains and tattoos Steve could see peeking out under the neck of his shirt and spreading over his hands and fingers.

His hair was a curly nightmare, clearly needing an introduction to some conditioner and probably brushed with a regular hairbrush like a heathen, but aside from that the guy was…

Well, he was gorgeous. 

His mouth was full and plump and parted ever so slightly in fear. His eyes were as huge as Steve thought they were at first glance, deep and brown and warm. His face was slim and soft looking, with laugh lines cutting down on either side of his mouth and a hint of scraggly stubble that was putting Steve in emotional danger.

Steve could probably throw him over his shoulder with ease.

Maybe that wasn’t the most helpful thing to be thinking right now.

“Right, right, yeah.” The guy nodded again. “You’re not gonna attack me. You just dragged me into an alleyway for a friendly chat.”

“And you just stuck your hand in my pocket for completely innocent reasons.”

The guy blinked at him, those big eyes somehow getting bigger before growing mischievous, despite the clear nervousness still radiating off of him.

“You planted it there.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth, his eyebrows high on his head.

“You saw that?”

“Was I not supposed to?” He squeaked, like Steve was gonna kill him just for pointing it out. “It was kind of obvious.”

Interesting. Maybe he’d underestimated him.

“It shouldn’t have been.”

“Really?” The guy gave him a playful grimace. “Then I don’t know what to tell you. I saw it from a mile off.”

Steve’s mouth tugged into a reluctant smile and he ducked his head a little to hide it, leaning back against the opposite wall.

“What’s your name?”

“Wh-” The guy paused, shaking his head, bewildered. “What’s happening right now?”

“I’m asking you your name.”

“Yeah, I got that part sweetheart, but why the hell are you doing that?” 

Sweetheart was sneered out but it still got the colour rising up Steve’s neck.

“I don’t know, to help you chill out a little bit or something. Fuck. I’m sorry I dragged you back here, I think I was just going off of… fight or flight or something.”

“Great, great. You be fight, I’ll be flight.”

Steve couldn’t help the light chuckle that came out at that and was taken momentarily off guard by the small smile it brought to the guy's face. 

Pretty. He’s so fucking pretty.

Steve reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the $20 he’d originally stashed, holding it out between his index and middle finger.

The guy eyed it before flicking his gaze back up to Steve. 

“I don’t know what you’re expecting in exchange for that but I’m not that cheap. Even for a face as nice as yours.”

“What?” Steve scrunching his eyebrows in confusion before realisation dawned on him. “Dude. I’m not asking you to blow me for twenty fucking dollars. Christ.”

The guy hummed, but snatched the bill up anyway. Steve could just make out the word inked across his knuckles, mors. The calluses on the tips of his fingers brushed Steve’s skin, telling a story of years playing a string instrument. 

Based on the position and angle, it could have been guitar or bass, but it could have also been cello or violin. 

The look would suggest guitar or bass but classical instrumentalists were always dark horses, never looking like how they’d be expected to look. 

Steve would need to see his other hand to confirm if there was any healed damage on his thumb, indicating years of holding a bow and to see what he had inked over the fingers there.

Not that he was interested.

He was staring at the guy's hand for too long, the tendons standing proud under his skin and Steve only snapped back to himself when the guy tucked the bill away into his back pocket.

“I would say I have more dignity than that but a blowjob is definitely not the worst thing I’ve ever done in an alleyway. But yeah. Not for twenty dollars.”

Steve could feel the blush rise up higher on his neck and if the expression on the guy's face was anything to go by, it was visible now over the collar of his polo.

“You alright there, sweetheart? You seem a little flustered.”

“Steve.” He supplied, clearing his throat and trying to push the redness back down. “My name is Steve.”

The guy hummed again with a grin. “Think I prefer ‘sweetheart’.”

“And you?”

“I’m partial to ‘baby’ myself.”

Steve uncrossed his arms with a shake of his head, unable to hide his smile while putting his hands on his hips. 

“What’s your name,” he asked, before deciding to add on “baby?” At the end, with a tilt to his head, making his hair fall into his eyes and giving the guy, what Robin called, his puppy dog look.

The guy bit down on his bottom lip, the corner of his mouth ticking up and his eyes seeming to turn darker the longer he paused. “Eddie.”

“Eddie suits you.”

“I should hope so.” Eddie shrugged. “It’s the only name I got.”

“Baby suits you too.”

His eyes travelled up and down Steve’s body, leaving fire in their wake.

“Gotta say sweetheart, this is not how I thought this was gonna go when you grabbed me. Thought you were gonna smash my face in.”

Steve frowned. “I wouldn’t do that.” He dragged his eyes over Eddie again. “Wouldn’t be fair. Guess I was just surprised to feel your hand in my pocket.”

Even though he’d been expecting it, Eddie had managed to sneak up on him, which was not something he was used to.

Eddie’s smile dimmed a little and he sighed, pushing himself off the wall and beginning to wander aimlessly.

“Yeah.” He shrugged, lightly punching at the wall, expending energy. “Sometimes there aren’t a lot of options I guess.”

“Listen. I don’t know what kind of shit you’re wrapped up in but there’s always the option to get out of the game.”

Eddie swept his boot back and forth through the grime and dirt on the ground of the alley, leaving a tiny clearing in his wake. “If only that were true.”

“It can be.”

Eddie shrugged again now backing up towards the mouth of the alley. “Sometimes life doesn’t work out that way.”

Just before he got to the edge where he could disappear around the corner and into the crowd, he paused.

He regarded Steve with a tilted head before stepping forward again and taking Steve’s hand in his, raising it to his lips. 

“See you around, sweetheart.” Eddie muttered into his knuckles before pressing his lips down, gentle and soft.

Steve let the blush take over his face this time, playing up the coy angle just a bit too hard but fixed Eddie with a cocky smirk regardless.

“I certainly hope so, baby.”

He was delighted to see a matching blush across Eddie’s face who exited the alley with a wink and then he was gone.

Steve reached up to his ear and switched his hearing aid back on.

“Oh good,” Robin’s voice came through a little bored, “you’re not dead.”

“No, I am actually dead, my ghost has just possessed the instruments monitoring my vitals to make it look like I’m still alive.”

“That’s alright then.” She sighed. “Less paperwork involved for me if they think you’re still alive.”

Steve hummed in agreement, finally leaving the alley with a quick glance up and down the street but Eddie was well and truly gone.

“So what happened with the guy?”

“We talked a little, I gave him some money and told him to get out of whatever game he’s in.”

He was close to his apartment building, he was surprised to find. 

He’d been an auto pilot, paying more attention to Eddie following him than he had been where he was going.

“That’s it? I would have expected better from Slut Harrington.”

“You’d prefer if I told you the guy fed me his dick?” Steve asked, stopping in front of the entrance to his building and using the subtle biometric security to get in. “Or worse, you’d prefer to listen in? Wow-”

Robin’s screech nearly blew the side of his head open. 

He was glad he had made it into the elevator by then because the shockwaves sent him reeling backwards into the metal walls like he’d been punched.

He heard the ding and the whir of metal as he started moving up towards the top floor.

“Jesus tap dancing Christ, Birdie!”

“You deserved it! I remember Steve! I still remember the last and only time I nearly heard you get your dick into-”

“Then don’t get pissy when I tune you out!”

Robin huffed. “I will never get those sounds out of my head.”

“People would pay good money for those sounds.”

“I’m sure they would but I am not one of them.”

Steve didn’t respond, just let out a heavy sigh as he exited the elevator and crossed the short hallway to get to his door. 

He put his key in his lock and his hand on the handle at the same time, waiting just a second for the scan to complete before he heard the multiple locks and bars in the thick door click open allowing him inside. 

If there was one perk to working a life threatening job that regularly got him injured for a non-governmental international agency resulting in almost no personal life, it was that the pay was really good.

Steve had grown up around money, he was used to it. But that money had been stuffy and came with so many strings attached. This money was his money and he got to do what he wanted with it.

And what he wanted didn’t involve soulless art pieces and ugly as fuck chandeliers just because they were in some magazine that his mother read.

Steve’s space was mismatched. He decorated with pieces he liked the look of, regardless of whether it all ‘went together’. He was the only one living here so he wasn’t going to decorate according to anyone else’s standards. He’d been doing enough of that throughout his life already.

His furniture was vintage or artisan in nature, found in tiny little antique shops hidden away in corners or crafted by small business owners who loved what they did.

The front door led directly into an open plan living/dining/kitchen space. The floor to ceiling windows facing the park had been heavily altered. Thick enough to not let any sound or bullets through and made to obscure the view enough that a person would need to be pressed right up against the glass to see in, even though Steve could see out clear as day.

Steve’s apartment was the go-to venue for any kind of game night, the Super Bowl, playoffs, the World Series, they were all hosted here. His TV and sound system were unparalleled. 

He’d made sure of it. 

The couches were solidly framed but Steve wouldn’t have gotten them if they weren’t also the most comfortable ones he could find. One of them had to be reupholstered and none of them matched but he didn’t care.

Lucas always got pride of place in the middle with Steve while the other sports-heads, Robin and surprisingly El, took up the remaining space at either side of them.

Everyone else was happy to sit along the sidelines, mainly there for the food anyway.

Even all the pots and pans in his kitchen were a hodgepodge of whatever he found. Vintage copper and well aged cast iron lined the walls. 

The only things he’d conceded to buying new were the electrics. 

And then there was all the spy shit.

But that was a given. It was mostly functional stuff, hidden safes and compartments to keep documents and hard drives secure. Multiple concealed pockets and nooks containing a variety of small handheld weapons. The odd button here and there to enable or disable the silent alarm.

And the safe room, hidden behind the bath that only Steve knew how to get into or that it was even there. Robin didn’t know. The higher ups at work didn’t know. Hopper didn’t know. 

Maybe that was just a little too much paranoia, even for him, but paranoia had never steered him wrong before.

“Okay Birdie.” Steve flopped down face first onto his couch. “I am officially clocking out. Will I see you this weekend?”

“If this date goes well, hopefully not.”

“Go get her, tiger. I believe in you.”

“I believe in me too.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They said their goodbyes, Steve hoping against hope that Robin and this new girl worked out. 

She deserved something good in her life. 

He tried to distract himself by making dinner, showering and bingeing that TV show she insisted he had to watch (Ineffable Husbands or whatever it was called) but his mind kept wandering back to big brown eyes and soft plush lips.

Steve rapped the remote against his forehead a few times, trying to drive the thoughts away but they wouldn’t go anywhere.

Robin had jokingly suggested that Steve was going to recruit Eddie into the fold and it wouldn’t be the first time, if it ever did happen. 

Honestly, if it helped pull the guy out of whatever situation he’d gotten himself into, why shouldn’t he?

There were probably a thousand reasons to not drag Eddie into Steve’s dangerous world but just the thought of those eyes and that smile being directed at him again would have Steve doing almost anything.

Part 1 AO3

@geekymagicalpotato

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work and to the STWG for their motivation.

This fic is about 70% complete and is currently clocking in at just under 40k so far. I love this story so much, it has taken over my life in the best way.

[sasheneskywalker]

Weekly Batman/DC Fic Recs (1)

This week I've read two delightful character studies, one focused on Barbara Gordon and the other on Jason Todd. There's also a hilarious SI/OC fic from the perspective of Tim Drake and two fantastic fics where Lonnie Machin/Anarky plays a major role. Apart from that, two delicious smutty fics got an update: Bruce/Dick/Jason college au and Slade/Jason western au. We also have an amazing DCU, MCU and X-Men crossover oneshot! Hope you enjoy the recs <3

Delta T by Havendance In one universe, mere seconds stop Barbara Gordon from sniping Black Mask. In another, she takes the shot.

G | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batman (Comics) | Helena Bertinelli & Barbara Gordon

this city is the place to be by Jezebunny Gotham city is going to be destroyed in twelve hours.

Jason doesn't see any point in stopping it.

What does he owe anybody, anyway?

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batman - All Media Types | Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

Domestication Protocols for Nocturnal Fauna by rozaceous, vermillion_crown It’s been years since Tim's thought about the secret identities of Gotham’s winged wonders. A chance encounter while searching for college roommates that won’t burn the place down gives Tim a lead and the hope of new accommodations. The only thing he has to do is pretend that he doesn’t know anything.

Easy.

("—and they were roommates!" SI/OC edition)

T | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Batman - All Media Types | Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), Tim Drake/Original Male Character(s), Dick Grayson & Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) & Original Male Character(s), Tim Drake & Original Female Character(s)

The Assassination of President Luthor by the Radical Lonnie Machin by NiteWrighter "Hi. I’m Lonnie. So I guess I should start out by saying, I don’t believe violence is a sustainable tool. It’s not. It’s a reflection of our ugliest, most base instincts. But it is the current language of the state, so I apologize for bringing my voice to the conversation."

President Luthor has been brutally killed by a magical weapon, and Anarky has claimed responsibility. The Justice League is struggling with the ensuing fallout, instability, suspicion, and speculation, while a power vacuum opens up in the world of the Rogues. What does a world without Lex Luthor look like? Is he truly gone? Has a greater chain reaction been kicked off by this single death?

T | Major Character Death | Superman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, DCU (Comics) | Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Diana (Wonder Woman) & Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Lana Lang/Pete Ross, Tim Drake/Lonnie Machin

The Half-Life of Sixty Seconds by sunnymusings "The problem with thinking like a detective is not actually that thinking like one is too strict or structured. There’s organization on a document, but Tim’s mind is not a bullet journal. It’s not a legal form, it’s not a spreadsheet, it’s not a ledger.

It’s messy and human and creative. Loose, unstructured, instinctual. Detectives aren’t good at solving cases because they work like machines; it’s much the opposite. It’s that creative mess which aids in seeing between the structure of presented facts, reading the code, and then cracking it. It’s like tracing a spider web back to its center. There’s an observable track leading exactly where one needs to go— a veritable method to the madness— but it’s still art, all the same, even to the broom that ruins it.

So, when Tim is presented with a countdown, it’s not just a mechanical, factual understanding of time that pushes hard against the inside of his ribs; it’s a too-clear visual of a digital clock-face, neutral and unyielding, counting down from sixty in his neocortex. Artistic and messy and emotional.

There is only one place to go once one is caught in the web."

Based on Red Robin #16. Missing Scenes and Relationship Building.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics) | Tim Drake & Lonnie Machin, Tim Drake/Lonnie Machin

Making The Grade by MelodramaticMrTails Jason partners up with the rich and beautiful Dick Grayson and quickly finds out the Wayne family secret- and that Dick wants him to join in on it.

E | No Archive Warnings Apply | DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types | Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd

Nothing to Nobody by Jae_Cillian The kid—Jason—stared at Slade with wide, alert eyes. Big and round like a doe—startled in its grazing, frozen in the sights of a predator. He leaned forward, one hand still gripping the pistol but the other anchoring his weight against the floor as if to stand and chase after Slade. But with Slade’s eye on him, Jason didn’t dare move an inch. All tense lines and silent shudders of breath that Slade could see quake along the kid’s ribs, Jason reminded Slade of a stray dog. Snarling and snapping its canines when he got too close, but whimpering and whining when he walked away.

Slade wondered how long it’d take to tame the kid; and, thereupon, realized he might enjoy the challenge of it.

--

In which Slade, while chasing after the Joker gang's bounties and stolen payroll, finds Jason—battered, beaten, and abused at the gang's hands—alone in the mountains. Intrigued by the kid's feral tenacity, he offers Jason a chance at revenge.

E | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics) | Jason Todd/Slade Wilson

Five Supersoldiers Walk Into a Bar by bittercape He spots him through the binoculars, far away and disappearing fast. Logan is, more than anything, a hunter. He knows how to watch, and he watches the sniper moving away, after a single well-placed shot. He moves just like Barnes did. Everyone has a particular way of moving, if you know how to watch. And Logan, as mentioned, knows how to watch.

Logan knows it cannot be him, knows he died, falling from a train. No normal human could survive that. And yet …

He drops down from the watchtower. He’ll catch hell for this, sure. But he has to know.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Comicverse), DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics) | Logan (X-men) & James "Bucky" Barnes, Logan (X-Men) & Natasha Romanov, Logan (X-Men) & Slade Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Slade Wilson, Natasha Romanov (Marvel) & Slade Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Slade Wilson

[the-writing-mobster]

Where I can read your fics? They seem pretty interesting!

Thank you for the ask, love! Fic links, anyone?

You can find all of my fics on Ao3! I need to make an actual like... Official link post, don't I? I used to have one pinned but other things take priority.

So I guess I'll sprinkle the links to my fics here for your immediate viewing pleasure instead of sending you on a wild goose chase ;)

IMPORTANT NOTE — A lot of my fics are locked so only people with confirmed AO3 accounts can read them. This is because of AI scraping, obvs. TMDG is the only one that I think is unlocked since it's fairly new. But it'll eventually get locked as well.

~

| The What Do You Want Duology | 🥀 💀 |

(YWIW, the sequel, still lies unfinished, unfortunately, but WDYW is completed and currently under revisions!)

Summary (for those still not in the know):

Frisk spent most of her life fighting to survive in a cruel world where her only upper hand was her soul's Determination and her feminine charms. After angering the most dangerous man in her life, she is thrown down into Hell to be ripped apart and destroyed by the demons said to inhabit it. With her soul refusing to give up, of course she survives.

However, when she is taken hostage by the infamous Gaster brothers, she finds herself trapped in the strange, abyssal gaze of Sans the Skeleton. With political and sexual tensions on the rise, can these two work through their differences? Or will they forever be asking each other, "What Do You Want?"

—

| Baby Face - UF Highschool AU | 💖 🤘🏻 |

Technically an au based off of my characterizations of the UF characters in wdyw. This one is tooth rottingly sweet and set in a surface Ebbott City in the 90s. Inspo was movies like Clueless & the documentary Kid 90. I actually loved this story so much I completely reworked it and turned it into an original novel.

Important to note that this fic isn't really a romance. It's more about platonic love and friendships than it is about Frans romance.

Summary:

Seniors should not date freshmen. No matter what. Not even if the freshman is hot. Not even if the freshman says it's ok. Not even if the freshman makes moves. That’s the mantra Sans lives by, and even though Frisk, one of the cutest girls according to all of his friends, catches a crush of epic proportions on him, he makes it a point to keep his distance. She’ll thank him later.

Or

Sans is in a rock band and Frisk has a big ole unrequited crush on him.

—

| The Most Dangerous Game | 💙 🔪 💔 |

The dreaded serial killer dead dove fic we've all been raving about recently!!!

It's important to note that this one isn't a romance. They are (albeit obsessive) enemies through and through.

Summary:

Frisk Starling should've been used to cases like these. After all, it was her duty to investigate. Give the victims their voice back, catch the sick freak who did it and give the broken families the justice she couldn’t have for herself.

That is until a string of murders throughout the tristate area begin to appear. Women used like toys, mutilated and disposed of for the cops and journalists to find with only the tiniest slivers of useless evidence and the glaring fact that all the women...

Every…

Single…

One…

Look almost exactly like her… Frisk begins to wonder if maybe… the monster she's hunting down has turned her into the hunted.

And God, does she make the most exhilarating, delicious prey yet…

—

Honorable mention One Shots:

| The Witch, The Judge & the 3 Card Gamble | ♠️♥️♣️ |

Probably my best prose ever. Genuinely.

Summary:

After suffering a gruesome bullet to the ribs, the vengeful Witch hovers over a dying fire, praying her campsite isn’t spotted by vagabonds who’d surely make her pay for existing…

But as a shadow blots out the stars if not for the two red pricks of light glaring her down, she fears her true nightmares have come to claim her after all; The Grim Reaper, the judge of her fate.

And she doesn’t like her odds.

—

| We'll See - Christmas Rom Com | 🎄 💕 |

I wrote this as a secret Santa present to @themsource. It is very cute and fucking funny if I do say so myself. It puts the comedy in Romantic Comedy.

Summary:

Sans has some inhibitions about Christmas, clouded with cynicism and bitterness. But if there's anyone to make him have a change of heart, it's Frisk; Ebbot City's own Little Miss Mother Teresa.

—

☣️ HONORABLE MENTION SMUT ONE SHOTS ☣️

| French Kisses | Smut | 🫧💓 |

Summary: Sans has landed a well-paying position as a senior accountant and Frisk has a few ideas on how to reward him — one of those ideas involves a French Maid dress.

| The Librarian's Assistant | Smut | 📚💓 |

This one was pretty steamy...

Summary: Frisk's days working as a librarian can get pretty quiet and repetitive... Until a new patron with an obvious infatuation with her starts becoming a regular visitor.

Eventually she can't help herself...

.

.

.

I hope you are satisfied with my thorough answer! If you do end up reading, I'd love to hear from you again on your thoughts! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

‼️ Also — join my discord for readily available updates and fun discussion! DM me for the invite since those invite links expire ‼️

[indigochromatic]

We're a quoigenic OSDD system with no known childhood trauma. We saw discussions regarding "DID is a trauma disorder" and wanted to share as an example of a system with a CDD without trauma. We don't have what it takes to face the heat that comes with openly sharing this through our blog. Hopefully it's okay to share here anonymously.

Our main issue with "DID is a trauma disorder" is how it's used in syscourse and in CDD communities. As a quoigenic OSDD system with no known childhood trauma it's used to silence and exclude us. It's used to justify that us sharing our experiences is dangerous. It also pushes CDD systems to dig for traumas regardless if they're in a safe place to do so in order to fend off denial or access support or not be harassed. Anytime we hear it for us it's sad and a little depressing and a reminder of how our experiences are perceived.

We don't have childhood trauma as far as we could find. Unless we count any negative experience as trauma in which case we have to conclude every living being is traumatized which would make the trauma disorder category pointless. Our symptoms are mild as far as OSDD goes. We like to believe we have a brain that's innately more likely to dissociate which lead to our system forming without trauma. Our mother is a survivor of CSA so maybe there's some epigenetic factor at play. Or maybe some experiences were trauma and we're not recognizing them as such or maybe we haven't uncovered the trauma yet. We ultimately can't prove or know why our system is a system so we're quoigenic.

We know people conflate endogenic plurality with DID because they see "system" and think "DID" so they think "endogenic system" must mean "endogenic DID" and they get mad at that. We know the vast majority of endogenic systems don't have or claim to have a CDD. But systems like us we end up as a sort of boogeyman where we're used to prove endogenic systems are terrible by some and we're discarded by others as a hypothetical only brought up in bad faith. It sucks to have to think "if we fight for our experiences to be heard would that undermine the acceptance of other systems who deserve to be seen and believed and respected?". Sometimes we wonder if it's right to use the diagnosis we've been assigned since we're apparently not a good representative of it. Maybe our symptoms aren't bad enough to justify a diagnostic label. This isn't to guilt trip you or anybody just stating where our thoughts go when we keep seeing "DID is a trauma disorder" or "you need trauma to have DID". (They don't have to say OSDD because we understand most people say DID in that context to mean any CDD.) We also dislike how it seems like CDD systems can't be trusted about not having trauma, but those without a CDD can be trusted about that same thing. It feels unfair and like we don't get the same right to self-identify our own childhood experiences in a way that others get to do.

Then again we don't want to trigger denial in other CDD systems regarding their traumas and we don't want to derail conversations about acceptance of endogenic systems so this puts us in a difficult position. Most of the time it feels safer for everyone for us to remain silent. Might be for the best most of the time because it means we avoid the toxicity of syscourse. But also it's a bit sad. Not sure how to end this. Thanks for reading? Have a nice day? Have a nice day. That'll do.

Hey there! Thanks for taking the time to write this, (and we hope you have a nice day too, cheers). Actually we agree with basically everything you said, in a way that's making me think we maybe weren't quite as clear/thorough with our context in some of our previous posts about this.

Couple of big-picture bullet points about our personal current model for understanding how all this stuff works: 1. "DID is a trauma disorder" does not mean that we think only traumagenic systems can have CDDs, or even that we think that all CDDs must arise from the textbook-style 'severe chronic trauma during early childhood'. For context, not only do we know several endogenic systems with CDDs, we're also in basically the same situation as you, anon. We have a CDD dx on paper (DID for us), but also definitely don't have what the DSM would consider severe chronic trauma during early childhood--I think our ACEs score is like, zero, actually, and we remember a lot from back then, so we have reason to think it's less likely we're just having amnesia about it. We also don't think our system originated from childhood trauma, either (exactly what we do think about our origins is A Long Story, but suffice to say, 'quoigenic' wouldn't be too far off for us). 2. What we are trying to get at with "DID is a trauma disorder" is that, as far as we're aware, even for cases where the symptoms are pretty mild (like ours, and also like yours, it sounds like), the core part of recovering from the disordered aspects of the situation--the stuff that's bringing us to therapy in the first place--repeatedly tends to come down to stuff like...working through old emotional pain, handling in-system conflicts in a healthy way, uncovering and trying to take apart negative self-schemas (e.g. stuff like perfectionism, attachment anxieties, internalized negative messages about parts of your identity, etc), unlearning no-longer-helping-you coping mechanisms, etc. All of which is, essentially, trauma work. Doesn't matter if you're not doing EMDR, doesn't matter if you don't have any clear and obvious Big Trauma Events to point to--if it's about healing from things that hurt, it's still (in our understanding of it) trauma-related therapy.

Does this describe most therapy in general, for singlets as well? Yeah, absolutely. Trauma doesn't need to be rare. If you're not just using the very limited DSM definition of trauma, events that could be traumatic are incredibly common--especially subtle, cumulative things, where any individual event might not have been that bad, but together over time add up. And whether or not those things have lasting negative impacts is about a lot of complicated factors: not just "did you have support, in theory", but also "were you able to accept it at the time, were you able to access it, was it conditional, what did it cost you", etc.

Like, deep down, really what we personally care about isn't "What's the exact specific True Origin of Your Situation", it's "Okay, what now? What helps?" And that's what we're trying to get at when we talk about CDDs as trauma disorders. They're disorders of dissociation, presentation-wise, but/and, as far as we're currently aware (and this could change if we learn more, of course), the most effective way to treat CDDs isn't centered around "well, just Dissociate Less", and instead about assuming there is a reason behind why your brain is routinely checking out from reality in various ways, and figuring out how to address whatever problem your brain is currently using dissociation to solve. As a sidenote/disclaimer, yeah, of course, the experience of (and therapy for) folks with very intense posttraumatic symptoms is going to be quite different than for folks with milder symptoms. But, a lot of the core concepts are shared, the same way that both rehab PT and competitive strength training both share a lot of core principles about building body awareness and doing physically challenging things within a window of tolerance and growth.

Okay. whew.

With all that aside, I also think that you're bringing up a lot of really important points about how systems with CDDs but "atypical" presentations often get kind of pushed to the margin, especially in the morass of online syscourse validity wars. We've felt that ourselves, and we're really sorry you're also having to deal with it. None of this is made any easier by the huge variety in personal working definitions for various very relevant words (like "trauma", "system", etc), too, lol. And also, I don't want to give the impression that we think we've Solved It All or anything--our current framework of thinking about all this comes from our personal accumulation of information and experiences over these past 3-4 years, and I'm sure it'll keep changing over the next [insert rest of life here].

I'd honestly be super curious to know what issues you feel like are at the core of what your system is struggling with, and what you feel like personally has helped you the most with them--does it really feel like your main issue is just Too Much Dissociation on its own, and that there isn't really any kind of relevant emotional work that helps? (For example, we've personally got some amount of dissociation that's probably from the whole long COVID situation, separate (well. "separate") from psychological factors, but there's definitely also some emotional stuff involved for us as well.)

[cultofdixon]

Taking Time

Daryl Dixon • They/Them Pronouns | AFAB • The fall of the prison brought these two together, and it meant so much more • ANGST/SFW/NSFW • TW: Canon Violence / Insecurities / Night Terrors / Burn Scars / PTSD / Abuse

“Claimed!”

The familiar voice rang through Daryl’s ears thinking he was dreaming until he looked up spotting Y/N standing amongst a strange group. Looks like a biker gang. Without the bikes of course.

“Well shit boys. They modified the rules once again, but I’m kind of likin’ it” the man circled Daryl as he brought himself to his feet stepping close to Y/N about to embrace them when they retracted into themselves. “Aww. No hug for the newbie, anyway, you’ll learn about how we run things as we go along. But for obvious “what the fuck we doing” reasons. We’re tracking somebody”

“And helping this sweet piece of ass find that weird sanctuary place thinking the rest of their friends are there” and to the one’s mistake, he wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulder as Daryl watches their whole body tense and suddenly swing back one of their fists to meet his nose. The guy falls back with a thud and before he could get up Daryl aims his crossbow at his head resulting in a gun aimed at Y/N’s.

“Now now. Len here clearly never learns from his mistakes when dealin’ with the feral animal like times before.” The man from before, became obvious that he’s their leader. “He won’t do it again Y/N. But since you claimed this fella here, until he proves himself. Anything he does out of turn…will result in punishment on you” he whispers his threat up close and personal to Y/N making Daryl surrender to make him step away, but the defensive body language from his…Y/N. Started to stress him out, thinking they’ll snap a bone if touched.

Once the group got themselves settled into a building for the night, Y/N quickly claimed the truck and shoved one of the guys of the way for it. They gestured for Daryl to join them as the others fought for the other places. The two sat in the bed of the truck watching the others get settled as Daryl brought his attention back to Y/N seeing the exhaustion in their face along with the stress that he doesn’t know entirely about.

Until he had woken to the sound of fighting that was quickly muffled by one covering the other’s mouth. In this case being Len covering Y/N’s mouth as he drags their struggling form outside the garage. Daryl didn’t wait another second but did his best to keep quiet going to save them when—

“Where you going?”

“You let this shit just happen?”

“Y/N has always been a piece of work with us. Not only is the helping one another find whatever either of us is looking for being a reason to stay, but because they’ve caused us trouble. And instead of putting a bullet between their eyes, they agreed to work with us. In any. way. shape. or form” The leader by the name of Joe, that was earlier told to Daryl while the group migrated, stated watching a bit of the horror his words intended write itself on his face. “Nothing sexual if that makes yea feel better. You should just let’em fight”

“Nah. Fuck off” Daryl hissed and before he could even get to the door, Tony knocked him onto his ass. “Piss off—-“ and he stopped when he heard the click of Joe’s gun.

“Just let’em fight”

Daryl was willing to take a bullet for Y/N in that moment, but there’s so much more to it. He felt like a monster letting it happen…but he didn’t want them to die in a quick way either. He needs to find a way for this to stop.

The next morning came and Daryl stayed up all night with Y/N. After they came back in, they stopped speaking. Part of it was the injuries to their throat, another was the rage brewing inside them. But one thing they did do was take Daryl’s hand at some time during the night to reassure him not to blame himself, even if he does that regardless.

“Explain your shitty rules”

Joe chuckles to the tone but was going to comply anyway. “You see somethin’ you want. Claim it. Before another does. Y/N picks fights—-“

“Shut it. Am I still claimed?”

“Nah. I think that fine ass did it so we wouldn’t have killed yea the second we saw you. Cuz we really didn’t trust how you just sat in the middle of the road and didn’t get bothered by any walkers. Force of nature in your own strange way” Joe took out a pack of cigarettes that he managed to find, offering one to Daryl as he shook his head. “So do whatever. But don’t pick a fight. Imma still keep that rule in play. You do shit. They pay for it” he gestured to Y/N walking in the center of the group.

Daryl had gotten an idea.

Resulting in Y/N freezing to the hand wrapped around their throat and being pinned against the wall. They had just gotten into a fight with Len again and Daryl was sick of this shit. Putting them in their place which got brownie points from the rest of the group. Joe especially.

“You do what you’re told from now on” Daryl threats watching Y/N tense up a bit more as they nod, feeling a tear roll off their cheek.

“Well done. The feral beast is now tamed.” Joe suddenly grabs Len by the collar and shoved him against one of the cars they found. “Len, we’ll put a bullet through your head if you mess with them. Let Daryl discipline them when they’re out of line” he smirks releasing the poor dude before finding their group another spot to hold up in.

As the others followed Joe leaving Daryl and Y/N to be the stragglers, Y/N wiped away the tear relaxing their body once Daryl removed his hand.

“Sorry” He whispers to them, Y/N still deciding not to speak but they patted his shoulder to give him some sense that it was all part of the plan and okay…it was just going to set them back a bit.

Another few days went by, resulting in one where Len died after trying to plant something of Daryl’s in Y/N’s pack. Joe was sick of the kid’s shit and ended his dumbass. As night fell, Y/N offered to keep watch after setting up another barrier of cans. But Daryl of course refused to let them be alone and the remaining few of the Claimers, something the two decided to call them, turned in for the night.

“I really did get stuck by hurting a few of them” Y/N blurts out to avoid the silence between the two. Thankful that they started the conversation making Daryl internally sigh. “Already didn’t come out of the prison unscathed. Had to fight a few Governor fucks on my way out…they found me bleeding and full of rage. Didn’t kill Lou but he was the one that knocked me down back to square one…” they rub their throat gently not enjoying the bruises, but Daryl noticed how hesitant they were to touch parts of their arm. “I was already found broken…then got thrown back down to that stage again”

________

While on a run by himself to mainly get something for Maggie, Glenn came back in a hurry startling everybody when he came in running with a body in his arms. Beth and Carl quickly took everything off the table letting Glenn set the person down as Hershel approached with Caleb, both assessing the situation.

“We bringing in walker-like strays now?” Daryl states watching Carol move to block Beth who’s carrying Judith and Carl in case the mysterious person turned.

“They saved me. They weren’t bit or nothing”

“But we know very well that even a bullet wound can turn a man. Carol take’em out of the cellblock” Rick gestures for his friend to take the kids out before turning to the two docs. “Y’all can do what you can. But the second things go south, you’re taking them out” he pointed to Glenn making it his responsibility given he brought them in.

But instead of a walker waking out of the person, woke was a terrified human being cornering themselves while the group mistakenly surrounded him.

“We ain’t gonna hurt yea.” Hershel reassures taking a step back as the person who looked as if they were mummified because of the bandages pressed themselves against the wall.

Glenn stepped into view seeing their eyes lock on him and a sense of relief washed over them but when he stepped close they retracted.

“You were severely burned when you saved me. Clearly you were in something else before saving me…So I had to return the favor when you passed out from I assume exhaustion” Glenn says with a frown watching as his words did nothing to calm them.

Daryl finally arrived back with Rick and Maggie seeing the situation for himself. He watches for a bit seeing the few trying to approach the stranger that was giving clear signs that they didn’t want them near’em.

“Ight. Everybody out.” Daryl states receiving confused looks. “I’ve got it. Now get the fuck out” he watches his family go from confused to he’s serious and did what was…demanded more than asked of them.

The second the few surrounding the stranger was no longer around them and Daryl was left to be with them. He watches them slide against the wall reaching the ground and curling up on themselves.

“Nobody here is gonna hurt yea.” He kept his distance kneeling to the floor to be their level. “What we heard was you saved one of our own. We don’t meet those who help with violence.”

“…He didn’t see the walkers following him, and the foundation was weak enough to knock over to take the crowd out” They sounded weak given their state. “I…Had Uhm…just…”

“You don’t gotta tell me what happened to yea” Daryl starts seeing the relief flood them instantly. “I’ll stop anybody that bothers yea for an answer. You don’t gotta share if you don’t wanna”

Later that day, Daryl helped them get settled into one of the office rooms. Since the cells weren’t giving them any comfort, hell he understands that feeling.

“Holler if yea need anything…uhm”

“It’s Y/N. Y/N…” Y/N gave him an appreciative look as he made his leave to let them settle in.

________

“You’ve said I never had to bring it up…But this, still doesn’t top being burned alive” Y/N scoffs feeling the tears coming. “Your family made me feel safe again, be able to trust again…then the second I extend my hand in asking for help. I’m shoved back into that place feeling the heat rise and the footsteps fade…”

“Let’s leave then” Daryl whispers to Y/N seeing the pleading look in their eyes mixed with the fear and anxious body language. “I’ve lost and I ain’t gonna keep losin’. I’m not losin’ you to these fucks” he continues to keep his voice low turning back to the group before quietly getting up and extending his hand to them. “I’m not losing you” and with that, Y/N took the chance and they left.

But when the next night came and Joe had found who he was looking for this entire time. Daryl couldn’t let anything more happen and revealed himself from the shadows. Given the two had gotten back onto the road by following it within the tree line, but when they heard the commotion of the Claimers, they knew something was up.

“What the hell you doing?”

“Well lookie here fellas” Joe smirks keeping his gun directed at Rick. “Where’s your partner huh? Len might not be around but I still got a thing or two to pick with Y/N”

“What. Are. You. Doing.”

“Paying respects to Lou. By killing his killer”

“These people…are good people.” Daryl states watching Y/N in the darkness start to pull up without being spotted.

“Yeah? He killed our friend, saying he’s good people…is a lie” and that triggered two of the guys to bring Daryl down. Taking his crossbow off of him and starting to lay a few punches. While the one keeping Carl in the truck, Dan, pulled the kid out so that Rick could watch what he’s going to do with him. “First. We’re gonna beat your friend Daryl to death, then we’re gonna take the girl…and the boy, and finally end you”

Without a second thought, Rick suddenly head butted Joe causing him to release a shot but topple back a bit. As Rick formulated a quick plan, another shot rang through. Seeing the man on Carl drop and the one who fired coming out from the dark being Y/N. Oh how the two tuned out the rest of the world in that moment…

Rick took care of Joe giving him a piece of his mind while Y/N tackled down one of the two on Daryl, giving him a window to take care of the other. As Michonne took down her attacker before checking on Carl.

As the sun started to rise, Rick sat in silence thinking of what had just happened and turned to the two beside him seeing the damage done on Y/N that has aged.

“Why did you stay with’em? Did you know—-“

“We were trackin’ somebody. Didn’t know it was you. I just wanted to find you guys. Got stuck in a predicament” Y/N wipes the blood from their lip after being punched a few times during their recent altercation. “Then found Daryl, and got roped into another problem”

“It was a lot, Rick. Couldn’t step out until there was a window. A bit of an obvious one but still” Daryl kept his attention to the ground below before turning to Y/N when they rest their head on his shoulder. They all were exhausted. Y/N’s body was starting to give in.

“…Need to find the others. Find out if they’re alright”

Following the directions on the signs that passed by to this sanctuary called Terminus the closer they got. Y/N’s anxiety started to eat at them realizing it’s a gated community and remembering they didn’t know much of it. It could be a trap was all they thought as Rick cautiously placed his hand upon their shoulder watching them retract.

“You stay out here in case shit happens and we need rescuing”

“I don’t trust it Rick.”

“I know, I don’t either. But we’ll need someone like you to help us out of there when given the signal”

But the signal never came in the form of the retired sheriff or even the archer or the swordsman.

It was Carol. She had startled them unexpectedly as she had a suspicion on the place when she noticed the signs for herself. But seeing Y/N had been watching the community from the outside and hearing that they received no sign from their group…she knew that the two of them would have to break them out.

With the help of an explosion.

After getting their group out of the hell with cannibals, real fucking cannibals. Everyone reunited with Carol and eventually we’re led to where Judith and Tyreese were.

Y/N watches the Grimes reunite with one another and couldn’t help but grip onto their chest.

________

Y/N cornered themselves in a cell in the quarantine block as they felt their chest tighten at every breath. They couldn’t remember the last time they were sick but it definitely didn’t feel like this. They were waiting like the rest still standing, for Daryl and the others to return with the medicine and it felt like it was taking forever with how incredibly slow everything was happening.

Then Daryl came through the cell block with those that accompanied him and immediately went to Hershel who made the cocktail for those still alive.

Leading the archer to instantly make his way toward Y/N’s cell as he didn’t wait a second to give them the medicine. And within that moment even if it didn’t go into full effect, he wrapped his arms around them holding them in his embrace.

________

Something he’s been wanting to do since they reunited

Ever since the prison collapsed, everything seemed to went down hill. Now the group walked aimlessly through the streets after losing a few of their own.

Beth…

Tyreese…

Both happened so suddenly that it will ache for a while.

As the group stopped in the middle of the road investigating the water that was left out there. Ultimately refusing it. The weather changed and it felt like a sign when the rain fell…that some good will come again with time.

The archer didn’t budge from his place letting the rain hit him and ultimately drench him like it did others. He only moved slightly when he felt their hand place itself on his arm. As Y/N looks up at Daryl with that concern look in their eyes, the same one he bore during their time with the claimers. He knew he could do what he wanted right then and there…

Carefully engulfing Y/N in his embrace feeling them wrap their arms tightly around him holding on for fear life. As no one could tell that they had started to cry silently in each other’s arms due to the rain.

It’ll take time to heal from it all.

But he was thankful for them in this moment.