#but that’s just supernatural you can look that up

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Everbody Loves a Clown | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Word Count: 5956

Warnings: Canon violence, canon gore, coping with parental death, clowns lol

A/N: Special treat since the first episode was kinda short! Happy reading, everyone!

The only light in the middle of the clearing in the woods came from John’s wrapped, burning body. You stood wordlessly between Dean and Sam, watching as the pyre burned to ash. Dean stared silently while his brother fought tears.

It felt so odd to have spent so much time looking for John— a man you'd only met in passing during a hunt a little over a year ago— to now be standing in front of his burning corpse. It almost felt anticlimactic if you detached emotion completely from your situation.

On the very real and guttural side of things, though, you knew that having spent so little time with John after looking for him for almost a year was going to take a horrible toll on his boys, especially your Dean.

Sam spoke for the first time in hours. “Before he.. before... did he say anything to you? About anything?”

Dean refused to look at you or his brother, but said, “No. Nothing.”

An obvious lie.

***

Over a week after John’s funeral, you were watching Dean work on his car at Bobby’s. Bobby had been nice enough to let the three of you stay with him while Dean got the Impala back in working order.

Selfishly, every time you looked at Dean, you wanted to come right out with your feelings. Although, he was grieving, and you did not want to take advantage of his vulnerability. You wouldn't want your relationship to be born out of such a terrible tragedy.

However, you would continue to be there for him however he needed, even if that meant sitting next to him in the hot sun silently for hours and handing him a wrench every once in a while. You knew better than to ask if he was okay. You’d lost your father, too and knew he wouldn’t be okay for quite some time.

At first, he’d barely tolerated you sitting next to him. He fought you on everything you tried to do for him, but you got him to shut up after a few days. You knew he knew what you were playing at, and you could tell he appreciated it nonetheless.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as well-fortified against his emotions. You could hear him crying in the next room almost nightly, and it broke your heart. But you would rather Sam cry than build himself up against negative feelings the way his brother did. He was more into the touchy-feely-hug-it-out therapy style, and you were more than happy to give that to him. These boys needed you to be strong for them, and you would happily do so for as long as they needed. 

“How's the car coming along?” Sam asked, approaching you and Dean, who was under his car. You sat next to where his boots stuck out with a tool box in your lap.

“Slow,” Dean responded.

“Yeah? Need any help?”

“What, you under a hood? I'll pass.”

“Need anything else, then?”

Dean rolled himself out from under the car and stood up above you. You looked between Dean’s face, set in hard lines, and his brother’s puppy-dog stare. “Stop it, Sam.”

“Stop what?” the younger brother asked innocently.

“Stop asking if I need anything, stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise,” Dean scoffed.

“Alright, Dean, it's just—” Sam took a deep breath. “We've been at Bobby's for over a week now, and you haven't brought up Dad once.”

“You know what? You're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug, and maybe even slow dance.” You knew the bite in Dean’s voice was all a mask.

“Don't patronize me, Dean,” Sam returned. “Dad is dead. The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say something, all right? Hell, say anything! Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car.”

“Sam, let it go—” you tried, but Dean continued to talk over you.

“Revenge, huh?” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we do finally find it— oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So you know the only thing I can do? Is I can work on the car.” He got back down under it.  

“Well, we've got something, alright?” Sam crouched down next to you and handed you a cell phone. “It’s what I came out here to tell you. This is one of dad's old phones. Took me a while, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this.”

Dean pushed himself out from under the car again and sat up next to you as you played the voicemail. “John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn, you know I can help you. Call me.”

“That message is four months old,” Sam explained.

“Dad saved that chick's message for four months?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam nodded.

“Who’s Ellen?” you asked. “Any mention of her in your dad’s journal?”

“No. But I ran a trace on her phone number, and I got an address.”

***

You and the boys ended up taking one of Bobby’s beat-up minivans to the Roadhouse Saloon; the address Ellen’s voicemail led to. 

“This is humiliating. I feel like a fuckin’ soccer mom!” Dean groaned as he parked the car.

“It’s the only one Bobby had running, dude,” you reminded him. You followed the boys into the purposefully dilapidated-looking building.  

“Hello? Anybody here?” Dean asked loudly. No response ever came. All you could hear was a fly buzzing and a light popping. You caught sight of a man passed out on the pool table facing away from you. 

“Hey, buddy?” Sam said. He turned back to you and Dean. “I'm guessing that isn't Ellen.” He headed into a back room to look around. You walked a little ahead of Dean, only turning around when you heard him say. “Oh god, please let that be a rifle.”

You whipped out your gun and turned to see a pretty petite blonde holding a cocked rifle to Dean’s back. “No, I'm just real happy to see you. Don't move.”

“Hey!” you said. She looked to you, but didn’t move her gun from Dean’s back. “You shoot him, and you’re dead,” you told her.

“Well, he moves, and he’s dead,” she replied.

“Ladies, Ladies, please,” Dean smirked. “You know, you should know something, miss. When you put a rifle on someone, you don't want to put it right against their back. Because it makes it real easy to do…” He turned around fluidly and grabbed the rifle. “That.”

The blonde punched him square in the nose and took back the rifle. You cocked your pistol, catching her attention. 

“Sam! A little help, please!” Dean said. 

“Sorry, Dean, I can't right now. I'm a... little tied up.” Sam walked out with his hands on his head and a shotgun pointed at the back of him. An older woman walked out holding it. “Sam? Dean? Winchester?” she said.

“Yeah…?” Dean said.

“Son of a bitch,” the woman muttered.

The blonde spoke up next. “Mom, you know these guys?”

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys,” she answered, lowering the gun and laughing. “Hey, I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo.”

Jo lowered her rifle as well. “Hey,” she smiled.

“Oh, we’re just supposed to be cool now?” you remarked, still pointing your gun at the blonde.

“(Y/N), cool it,” Dean warned. You did as told and slowly lowered your gun, still stand-offish. 

“You're not gonna hit me again, are you?” Dean asked Jo. 

Ellen handed him a small towel filled with ice. 

“Thanks. You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?” he asked as he took it from her.

“Well, the demon, of course,” she stated as if it was obvious. “I heard he was closing in on it.”

“What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?” Dean snarked. “I mean, who- who are you? How do you know about all this?”

The brunette scoffed. “Hey, I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once.”

“Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?”

She looked down and softened her voice. “You'd have to ask him that.”

“So why exactly do we need your help?” Dean questioned.

Now you wanted Dean to cool it. “Relax, man,” you warned.

“Hey, don't do me any favors. Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But John wouldn't have sent you if—” Ellen stopped suddenly. “He didn't send you.” She looked frantically between Dean and Sam. “He's all right, isn't he?”

Dean refused to look at her, but Sam answered instead. “No. No, he isn't. It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess.”

Ellen looked sad. “I’m so sorry.”

“It's okay. We're all right,” Dean replied.

“Really? I know how close you and your dad were.”

“Really, lady, I'm fine,” he growled.

“Dean, relax,” you urged him quietly.

Sam continued the conversation with Ellen. “So look, if you can help, we could use all the help we can get.”

“Well, we can't. But Ash will,” she smirked.

“Who's Ash?” you asked.

“Ash!” she called.

You turned to the man on the pool table as he jerked up and flailed up. “What? It closin' time?”

Sam snorted. “That’s Ash?”

Jo hummed. “Mm-hmm. He's a genius.”

You looked at her, skeptical. 

“Sit, please,” Ellen said, and she and her daughter moved around the bar opposite you while you slapped a folder down in front of Ash. He sat across the bar from you.

“You've gotta be kidding me, this guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie,” Dean remarked.

Ash grinned drunkenly. “I like you.”

“Thanks,” the older brother smiled, seeming slightly confused by the drunk.

“Just give him a chance,” Jo urged.

You opened the folder and pushed it toward Ash. “That’s about a year’s worth of John’s work. See if you can make heads or tails of it.”

Ash shook his head as he looked through the papers. “Come on. This crap ain't real. There ain't nobody can track a demon like this.”

“Our dad could,” said Sam.

“There are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations, I mean, damn!” Ash’s cadence made you giggle. “They're signs. Omens. Uh, if you can track 'em, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms— You ever been struck by lightning? It ain't fun.”

“Can you track it or not?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, with this, I think so. But it's gonna take time, uh, give me—” he thought for a moment— “fifty-one hours.” He got up to leave, but Dean stopped him. 

“I, uh, I dig the haircut.”

He waved his hair around dramatically. “All business up front, party in the back.”

Jo walked around Dean, flirting a little. You could’ve killed her. 

He offered Jo a polite smile, but you apparently were not doing a good job of hiding your jealousy.

“Easy, tiger,” Dean chuckled, shooting you a smirk. 

You could practically feel Jo checking Dean out. 

“She’s looking at you like a hunk of meat,” you replied, talking through your teeth. 

“What, you mean, like you do?” he replied, smirking.

“I do not!” You paused at his deadpan look. “I mean, sometimes, maybe, quite possibly, but not right now.”

He nodded. “And you know, I, uh, I appreciate that.”

“Do you really? Sounded like you had a gun to your head when you said that,” you giggled.

He looked back at you sincerely. “You know I do.”

"I do just have... one question, though," you said, unable to stop the words coming out of your mouth due to the sudden, subtle flirting coming from Dean.

He nodded for you to continue.

"I'm assuming you pieced together what I was gonna tell you back at the hospital," you trailed off.

Dean nodded again, the ends of his lips tugging upward.

"You're not... freaked out?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "Opposite of freaked out."

You could feel your cheeks heating, and you looked down at the bar in front of you. Dean's chuckle was music to your ears despite the way it spurred on your embarrassment.

Then, Sam approached you and Dean. “A few murders, not far from here, that Ellen caught wind of. Looks to me like there might be a hunt.”

“Yeah. So?” Dean asked.

“So, I told her we'd check it out.”

***

Dean continued to grumble about the “stupid minivan” the whole way to your next hunt. Sam did research as you scribbled in your journal. Helping the boys was a task you wouldn't give up for anything, but it was beginning to bring up some negative emotions and memories for you. Journaling was helping to calm the storm inside you.

“You've gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?” Dean scoffed.

“Yeah. He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually,” Sam responded.

“And this family was at some carnival that night?”

“Right, right. The, uh, Cooper Carnivals.”

“So, how do we know it’s not some psycho in a clown suit?” you piped up.

“Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course,” Sam explained.

“Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?” Dean mocked.

“Oh, give me a break,” the brunet muttered.

You smiled but refused to make fun of him, because “everyone is afraid of something.” 

“You’re scared of clowns?” you asked.

“Yeah, he still busts out crying whenever he sees Ronald McDonald on the television,” Dean told you.

“Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying,” Sam deadpanned.

“Planes crash!”

“And apparently clowns kill!”

"Boys—!"

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean mumbled. “So these types of murders, they ever happen before?”

“Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O. It happened three times, three different locales,” the younger Winchester explained.

“It’s weird, though, spirits are usually bound to specific locales, y’know,” you said. “So how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?”

“Cursed object, maybe,” Dean suggested. “Spirit attaches itself to something and the, uh, carnival carries it around with them.”

“Great. Paranormal scavenger hunt.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well, blame Sam. It was his idea. By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job.” Dean threw a look to his brother.

“So?”

“It's just… not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt.”

You eyed Sam strangely, too.

The younger Winchester softened. “I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do.”

“What Dad would have wanted?” Dean turned his face to Sam.

“Yeah. So?” Sam challenged.

“Nothin'.”

***

You and the boys decided to join the carnival after the second family had been murdered to get a closer look at the happenings during the carnival. “Friends close, freak-shows closer,” Dean had said.

When you entered yet another tent in search of the show’s organizer. You found a man throwing knives at a target; all landing near but not quite on the bulls-eye. 

“Excuse me, we're looking for a Mr. Cooper; have you seen him around?” the older brother asked.

The man turned around and pulled off his sunglasses. “What is that, some kind of joke?” 

“Oh. God, I'm— I'm sorry,” Dean said.

“You think I wouldn't give my teeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset, or anything at all?”

Dean whispered to you, “Wanna give me a little help here?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

“Hey man, is there a problem?” a voice interrogated from behind you. You turned to see a very short man in a red cape.

“Yeah, this guy hates blind people,” the knife-thrower said.

“No, I don't, I—” Dean’s gorgeous smile was doing nothing to help him in this situation.

“Hey, buddy, what's your problem?” the short man scowled.

“Nothing, it's just a little misunderstanding.”

“Little?! You son of a bitch!” The man went to charge Dean.

“No, no, no, no! I'm just— could somebody tell me where Mr. Cooper is?”

You and Sam snickered.

“Please?” you asked. 

The short man looked up at you, and his gaze softened. “Sure, sweetheart, follow me.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, looking back at the boys. 

Dean’s jaw was clenched for a reason you weren’t quite sure of. When you asked, he said, “Just don’t like anybody else callin’ you that.”

You smiled lopsidedly. He could be really sweet when he wanted to be.

Mr. Cooper met you at the door of his office and invited you in. “You three picked a hell of a time to join up. Take a seat.”

You looked at the available seating options, and Dean motioned for you to take the normal of the two chairs. You obliged, and Dean stood behind you, forcing Sam to sit in the obnoxious pink chair with a giant clown face on it. He sat on the chair hesitantly and refused to relax into it. 

“We've got all kinds of local trouble,” Mr. Cooper continued.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first. So, you three ever worked the circuit before?”

“Yes, sir, last year through Texas and Arkansas,” Sam responded.

“Doing what? Ride jockeys? Butcher? ANS men?” 

“Yeah, it's, uh, little bit of everything, I guess.”

Mr. Cooper eyed your group strangely. “You three have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?”

“Nope,” Dean grinned. “But we really need the work. Oh, and uh, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady.”

“You see that picture? That's my daddy.” The showrunner pointed to a black and white picture on the wall of a man in a fedora in front of a ferris wheel.

“You guys could be twins,” you pointed out. 

Mr. Cooper smiled thoughtfully. “He was in the business. Ran a freakshow. Till they outlawed them, most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess. You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don't fit in nowhere else.

"But you three? You should go to school. Find a couple of girls. Marry this one, maybe.” The man gestured to you. “Have two point five kids. Live regular.”

Dean went to say something, but Sam leaned forward, his eyes serious. “Sir? We don't want to go to school. And we don't want regular. We want this.”

You turned to him skeptically, as did Dean. 

Mr. Cooper told the three of you to return in a few hours for training, which you were a little surprised by the suddenness of. 

“I guess they really are desperate,” you said as the three of you left the carnival holding your uniforms to go change into. 

“Were you serious?” Dean asked his brother.

“What?” Sam furrowed his brows at him.

“That whole, uh, I-don't-want-to-go-back-to-school thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you, you know, saying it?” Dean pressed further at his younger brother’s hesitance. “Sam?” 

“I don't know,” he replied.

“You don't know? I thought that once the demon was dead, and the fat lady sings ,that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State,” Dean deadpanned.

“I'm having second thoughts,” was all the younger brother answered with.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think. Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job.”

Dean stopped Sam. “Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam.”

“Since he died, okay? Do you have a problem with that?”

Dean’s voice hardened but remained sarcastic. “Naw, I don't have a problem at all.”

***

Later that day, you returned with the boys wearing a bright red “Cooper Carnival” jacket to begin your “janitorial job.” You were waiting for Sam or Dean to call you to tell you when to meet up with them for further investigation.

Before you had gotten a call from either, you noticed a little girl tugging on her mother’s jacket. “Mommy, look at the clown!” She pointed at something off in the distance. 

You followed her line of sight only to see nothing.

“What clown?” the mother asked. “Come on, sweetie, come on.”

You called Sam immediately. “Hey, dude. I got something.”

***

The three of you then chose to stake out the family’s home that evening. Dean had just relayed to you how the blind man overheard him calling Sam about the case and had to tell him you three were writing a book about the supernatural.

“Dean, I cannot believe you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown,” Sam snorted.

“I told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. I never said it was real,” Dean argued. He pulled a gun and cocked it. You jumped over the seat and shoved his arm down. “What are you, nuts? You’re gonna get us busted.”

“Oh, and get this,” Dean continued. “I mentioned the Bunker Brother's Circus in '81 and their, uh, evil clown apocalypse? Guess what.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Before Mr. Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager.”

“So you think whatever the spirit's attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?” Sam questioned.

“Something like that.” The older brother shook his head and sighed. “I can't believe we keep talking about clowns.”

***

You and the Winchesters had been stalking these poor people’s home for hours now. Well, you and Sam had, at least. Dean, on the other hand, was dozing in the front seat. You shook him awake when you saw a phantom clown appear at the front door.

“Dee, look,” you said. 

He hummed and sat up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He turned and looked at you when he saw the girl leading the clown inside. 

You jumped out of the car and went through the back entrance of the house. You hid around a corner down the hallway from where the little girl and the clown were.

“Wanna see Mommy and Daddy? They're upstairs,” you heard the girl say. At that moment, Sam leapt out and grabbed the young girl who screamed.

Simultaneously, you shot at the clown while Dean cocked his shotgun again. “Sam, watch out!” he yelled. 

The clown leapt out the window, turning invisible as it shattered the glass of the front door.

The parents ran downstairs and began shouting at you and the brothers. You and the brothers dropped the girl and sprinted away, hearing the girl whine, “ Mommy, Daddy, they shot my clown!” as you headed out.

***

A while later, you and the brothers pulled off the side of the road and ditched the crappy van Dean had been driving you around in. You pulled the license plate off the back of the van and stuffed it in your duffel bag.

“You really think they saw our plates?” Sam asked you.

“I’m not taking any chances,” you said.

“I hate this fuckin’ thing anyway,” Dean grumbled. He began to lead you and his brother off the side of the road. “Well, one thing's for sure.”

“What?” you asked.

“We're not dealing with a spirit. I mean, that rock salt hit something solid,” Dean responded.

“Yeah, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?” Sam suggested.

“I don’t know, man, I’ve never heard of a creature like that. And it’s definitely not a person. I have no idea what the hell it could be,” you huffed.

“Did it say anything in Dad's journal?” Dean asked.

Sam cleared his throat and said, “Nope,” pulling out his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” you asked him.

“Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash'll know something. Hey, you think, uh, you think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?” Sam smirked.

“No way,” snorted Dean.

“Then why didn't he tell us about her?” retorted Sam.

“I don't know, maybe they had some sort of falling out,” the older brother shrugged.

“Yeah. You ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?”

You chuckled, but Dean simply nodded and looked at the floor. 

Sam lowered his phone. “Well, don't get all maudlin on me, man.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean this ‘strong silent’ thing of yours, it's crap,” Sam answered.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, god.”

“I'm over it. This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man.”

Dean started walking a little faster. “You know what, back off, alright? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to.”

Sam caught up with his brother easily. “No, no, no, that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this. But you have to deal with it, man. Listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're okay.”

“Dude, I'm okay. I'm okay, okay? I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me!” the older Winchester said gruffly.

“What are you talking about?” Sam questioned.

“I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late.”

“Why are you saying this to me?”

“Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?”

You looked between the boys and knew Dean was handing Sam a load of bullshit. However, you decided to stow that conversation until you could get him in private.

Sam swallowed harshly, looking upset. “I'm going to call Ellen.” Sam walked a little ahead of you and Dean on the phone.

While Sam spoke to Ellen, you walked beside Dean wordlessly.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to act like I’m a bomb about to go off,” Dean said.

You looked up at him. “I’m not. I just thought you’d appreciate a little silence instead of me asking you to ‘share and care,’ as you put it.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing you to support him in that simple way. He rubbed his thumb over yours and continued to walk next to you. 

When Sam got off the phone, he turned back to you and his brother. “Wha—” He looked down at yours and Dean’s entwined hands and shook his head. “Nevermind. Rakshasa.”

“What's that?” Dean asked.

“Ellen's best guess. It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited,” Sam explained.

“So they dress up like clowns, and the children invite 'em in. Why don't they just munch on the kids?”

“No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?”

“Well, that’s grotesque,” you noted.

“What else'd you find out?” Dean questioned.

“Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. They sleep on a bed of dead insects.” The younger brother grimaced.

“Nice,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years. Slow metabolism, I guess.”

“Well, that makes sense. I mean, the Carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81—”

Sam cut his brother off. “Right. Probably more before that.”

“Who do we know that worked both shows?” You raised a brow.

“Cooper?” Sam replied.

“Yup.” You thought for a moment. “That picture of his father looked just like him. Maybe it was him.”

“Well, who knows how old he is?” Sam added.

“Ellen say how to kill him?” Dean asked.

“Legend goes, a dagger made of pure brass,” the brunet explained.

“I think I know where to get one of those.”

“Whoa, whoa,” you said. “Before we go stabbing Cooper, I wanna make damn sure it’s him.”

“Oh, you're such a stickler for details, sweetheart,” the older Winchester teased you. “Alright, I'll round up the blade, you two go check if Cooper's got bed bugs.”

***

You and Sam followed instructions and went to Mr. Cooper’s trailer. Dean had left the two of you to go find the blind man. Inside the trailer, you didn’t find any bugs he was nesting on. Just a plain, old twin mattress. 

“What the hell are you doing in here?” a voice called from behind you.

You wheeled around to see Mr. Cooper. “Oh, hi! Just the guy I wanted to—”

“Save it,” Mr. Cooper told you. “Get the hell out of here. Oh, and uh, you’re fired.”

You nodded. “I figured.”

You and Sam dashed out of Mr. Cooper’s trailer and over to where Dean had told you he’d be. When you arrived at the blind man’s tent, Dean stumbled out of the door.

“Holy shit, hey,” you said after he’d scared you.

“Hey.”

“So, Cooper thinks we’re Peeping Toms, but it's not him,” Sam explained.

“Yeah, so I gathered. It's the blind guy. He's here somewhere.”

“Well, did you get the—”

“The brass blades? No. No, it's just been one of those days,” Dean sarcastically replied. 

“I got an idea. Come on,” Sam said. You and Dean followed him to the funhouse. As you began to go through, the door slammed behind you between you and the brothers.

“Great!” you groaned. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled, banging on the door. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N/N), find the maze, okay?” Sam called to you.

“Okay!” you called back. You somehow stumbled your way through the maze and found the brothers. “Oh, thank god,” you sighed.

Sam broke a pipe off the organ a bit ahead of you. 

“Where is it?” you asked.

“I don't know, I mean, shouldn't we see its clothes walking around?” Dean answered. A knife flew right past your head, clipping your ear. “Fuck!”

“(Y/N)!” Sam called. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know, Sam, the thing’s invisible!” You jumped up, reached above your head, and grabbed a lever. When you pulled it down, steam poured out of the vent. 

“Sam, behind you! Behind you!” you heard Dean say. You began to run in the direction of Dean’s voice through the steam. When you arrived at him, there was a bloodied lump of clothes on the ground with a pipe sticking out from its chest. You turned to Dean who was pinned to the wall by two knives on his arm and helped him free himself.

“You okay?” he asked you. 

You nodded as you pulled the last knife out of his jacket.

“I hate funhouses,” he grumbled.

***

You sat next to Dean at Ellen’s bar, and she laid a few beers in front of you. “You kids did a hell of a job.” Ellen nodded at the brothers. “Your dad 'd be proud.”

Sam half-smiled. “Thanks.” He got up to walk over to Ash, and Jo took his place.

“So,” she cleared her throat.

‘Damn, this girl is bold,’ you thought.

“So,” you said.

She ignored you and focused on Dean. “Am I gonna see you again?”

Dean turned to her, surprised. “Do you want to?”

“I wouldn't hate it.”

You rolled your eyes and got up from your chair, heading over to Sam and Ash. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you walked away. You knew you had no reason to treat Jo poorly; she was just a young girl with a crush. She had no idea that you and Dean were at all involved. You truly didn’t even know if you and Dean were legitimately involved to begin with.

You noted Ash’s bizarre-looking laptop with exposed wiring and his stack of papers. “Whatcha got there, Pinky?”

He snorted at you. “I’d say I’m a little more Brain than anything, but where ya been? Been waitin’ for ya.”

“What, Ellen didn’t tell you about the clowns?” you asked.

“Clowns? What the fuck—”

You snickered as Dean walked up behind you. “You got something for us, Ash?”

“You find the demon?” Sam questioned.

Ash shook his head. “It's nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fugly bastard raises his head, I'll know. I mean, I'm on it like Divine on dog dookie.”

You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig'll go off. Like a fire alarm.”

Dean reached for his laptop. “Do you mind…?”

Ash gave him a look, and Dean pulled his hand back from the keyboard. 

You smirked a little at the sight. “Ash, where did you learn to do all this?”

“M.I.T. Before I got bounced for... fighting.”

“No way!” you exclaimed.

He smirked at you and took a sip of his beer. 

“Okay. Give us a call as soon as you know something?” Dean said, suggesting to you and Sam it was time to go.

“Si, si, compadre.” Ash took the beer Dean had placed down and chugged the rest of it. 

You followed the brothers to the door. Ellen stopped you before you could leave. “Hey, listen— if you kids need a place to stay I've got a couple beds out back.”

“Thanks, but no. There's something I gotta finish,” Dean said.

***

“So, you get Jo’s number?” you asked back at Bobby’s junkyard. You sat cross-legged on the hood of one of the cars next to the Impala Dean was working on drinking a beer.

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, she obviously likes you. Kid was shamelessly flirting with you, so I just assumed—”

“No, (Y/N).” He put down the wrench he was holding. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, okay, I just thought—”

He walked over to you and stood between your knees. He ran his hands up and down your thighs. “I’m telling you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Dean, stop it. You don’t have to come over here and flirt with me just ‘cause I got jealous” you said. 

“I’m not,” he assured you. “Look, we haven’t had a chance to talk about everything—”

“And I don’t need us to. I know you need time after your dad—”

“Would you let me finish?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you muttered. 

“But I have no interest in Jo. She’s layin’ it on a little too thick for my taste,” he smirked.

"I don't know, Dean, your bar hookups always lay it on pretty thick," you reminded him.

"Yeah, guess you're right. But she's not you. So I'm not interested."

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go get some more beer. You want one?”

He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

You headed back inside and passed Sam on the way. You found Bobby inside and began to update him on the situation with the brothers.

“I don’t know, Bobby, neither of them are doing well,” you said. “But it’s Dean I’m the most worried about.”

“Why’s that?” the older man asked.

“He’s just… bottling it up. He wouldn’t even let me sit next to him while he worked on his car for the first week we were here. He’s worrying me.”

“Sounds like Dean,” Bobby nodded. “But I think if anybody can get ‘im to open up, it’s gonna be you.”

You eyed him strangely. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s just… different with you. I think he puts up a bit of a front with Sam. But never with you.”

You nodded. “I’ll keep trying.” You grabbed two beers and again passed Sam as he came back into the house with tears in his eyes. As you approached Dean’s car, you heard slamming metal on metal and Dean grunting. You quickened your step to get to him, holding a beer in each hand. When you arrived, you saw him hitting the Impala’s trunk with a crowbar over and over again.

“Dean, what the f—”

He looked up at you and fought back tears. You put the beers on the car behind you and slowly approached him. You opened your arms to him and wrapped them around his torso, and he finally responded by burying his face in your hair. You could feel him still trying to stifle his tears, but it was clear he was unsuccessful. You let him hug you for as long as he needed to.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[holylulusworld]

Girls just want to have fun

Summary: Girls just want to have fun

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: partying, drinking, dancing, ladies’ night

A/N: For my story everyone is alive.

Inspired by Cindy Lauper's song "Girls just want to have fun"

It’s a damn good night. You feel good, and maybe you’re a little tipsy.

After months of being cramped in sleazy motel rooms with the Winchesters and fighting battle after battle, you finally got the chance to have a night out. It’s ladies’ night with karaoke and free drinks at the bar in town.

“Yes! Show them what you got!” you cheer your friends on, raising your glass. Jo, Charlie, and Bela are on the stag singing we will rock you. You’re not much of a singer, but you like to watch your friends having fun.

“They had too much wine,” Donna laughs because Charlie wants to try out stage diving. “There are like three people. They cannot catch her fall.”

“Nah, she’s like a cat and lands on her paws!” You exclaim loudly. “Believe me, she got this. A girl who fuck’s Dick Roman and Leviathans over can rock a stage dive too.”

“She will get hurt,” Jody worriedly watches Charlie stagger on the stage. “I can’t even look.”

“Wait! I got an idea,” you get your phone out to call Sam and Dean. “Guys, we have an emergency. You need to come to the bar. We need your help.”

You end the call before Dean can ask what happened, or if he needs to bring the big guns. While you order another drink and tell Charlie to wait for her stage dive a little longer, Sam and Dean run toward the garage at the bunker.

“What the…?” Dean watches Jo, Charlie, and Bela sing another song. Charlie waves at Dean while Bela blows a kiss at Sam. “Sammy, what has gotten into them? Do you think it’s a wrath? A ghost maybe?”

“Uh-Dean. I don’t think this is the supernatural kind of emergency,” Sam smirks at Bela who undresses him with her eyes. “I think they are having fun, is all.”

“What? Fun!” Alerted Dean storms toward you to snatch the drink you just ordered out of your hands. “Y/N, I hope you’ve got a damn good explanation why you called me. This doesn't look like an emergency.”

“It is!” you grab his arm to guide Dean toward the stage. “You see.” You point at Charlie on the stage. She giggles and walks toward the edge. “Charlie wants to try her first stage dive. We need strong men to catch her.”

“Stage dive – what?” Dean blinks a few times. “You’ve got to be shitting me! No more drinks for you.”

“Aw, but Deano,” you pat his chest with both hands. “Girls just want to have fun sometimes.” You lean closer to nuzzle his chin with your nose. “Please for me. Catch Charlie.”

Dean purses his lips. “This is far too dangerous! She could get hurt!”

“You sound like a dad,” you grin. “Deano, come on. Live a little.”

“What’s going on?” Sam finally joins your little conversation. “Where is the emergency, Y/N?”

“Charlie wants to stage dive. Y/N came up with the brilliant idea that we can catch Charlie,” Dean huffs. “She called us for a stage dive, Sammy.”

“Hmmm…” Sam looks at the stage, at the ground, and then at his hands. “If we team up, we can do it, Dean.”

Dean turns his head like in slow motion, to gape at his brother. “Did you hit your head, Sammy? What if she misses us and ends up on the ground? Charlie could get seriously hurt.”

“Deano, please,” you fist his Henley, tugging hard. In a hurry, he didn’t put on a plaid or a jacket. “I’ll make you pie tomorrow.”

“You’re going to be hangover tomorrow,” he points out. “If she gets hurt, you’ll take the blame.”

Dean walks toward the stage to talk to Charlie. He’s still not convinced this will work, but he’ll do it for Charlie and you.

“We can help,” Sam says. He walks toward the stage, followed by Castiel, Jack, and Gabriel who popped up Out of nowhere.

“Don’t tell me she called you too…” Dean sighs deeply. “Fine, let’s do this…”

And then, you all joined Dean to give Charlie the chance to have her first stage dive.

Sometimes girls just want to have fun.

Tags in reblog.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 [+ 𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥] 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: dean, sam, castiel, and gabriel

↳ warnings: none

↳ song: dance macabre—ghost

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧

• When Dean first meets you in the middle of bumfuck nowhere on a hunt, he's not surprised that you know his name

• Afterall, he has brought on the apocalypse more than once, and the hunter community isn't exactly known for its ability for people to keep their mouths shut

• What does surprise him, though, is your knowledge on him as a person

• It's nothing creepy— the thought of someone knowing all about him in that way brings him back to where he first met Becky through Chuck, and the thought males him shudder —but just enough to where it's obvious you've done some digging and people reading of your own

• "Brought back some pie with dinner; didn't know what you wanted so I got apple."

• "Careful handling this case, it's got some nasty demons. We don't want you diving head first into hell. Again."

• "No no, don't use that. It didn't work on that shape-shifter you ganked last year in Massachusetts, so it won't work on this one. Throw it out." You eventually say one night while looking in Baby's trunk for some ammo, and Dean finally turns to face you

• "How did you know that? How do you know any of these things?" He clears his throat, squinting. You shrug with a barely there smile

• "Who do you think cleans up your messes when you're done, Dean? And what can I say. Word gets around."

• It's a simple case of Dean's reputation preceding him. Although, as you discover, there's a lot more to the Winchester than just his precious car, a strange love for greasy food, and his ability to fight off a demon with his bare hands

• "You sure you aren't obsessed with me? Because its totally fine if you're obsessed. I mean, look at me." Dean asks you at one point while gesturing down at himself. He's leaning on his car door in what he probably thought was a sexy manner, watching as you lugged some equipment out to the vehicle. You manage to press your lips together just in time to hide your amused grin

• "Keep dreaming, man." You shake your head. "There's a difference between reading up on people, and stalking them."

• "So you admit it?" He grins misheviously, pushing himself off Baby. "That you've spent your spare time thinking about me?"

• "Sure. And those witnesses never mentioned you'd be this insufferable." You scoff light heartedly, even though thats exactly what some of them said, and leave it at that. But for the rest of the hunt Dean can't stop elbowing you in the ribs to make a playful remark; something that, strangely, you don't find yourself minding

𝐒𝐚𝐦

• Unlike his brother, Sam takes the information that you practically already knew him with a bit of embarrassment

• Sure, he had been (or was supposed to be) Lucifer's vessel, and sure he also had a habit of being at the center of everything world ending, but he never really conciders him anyone other than a hunter that just happens to get the worst cases

• So when you just offhandedly started dropping these facts about him, he's a little off put

• "How'd you know that?"

• "You're literally one of the most infamous hunters to ever exist, Sam. You tangle with angels. Most of us only ever get to meet a werewolf or two before a friend is organizing our funeral the week after."

• "Oh. Right"

• Gets a little curious after a while as to what you exactly know. It's not like he keeps a journal about his feelings that the public can read, and that this point he's just praying you haven't discovered Chuck's Supernatural series, so he'd probably ask you all of what you know and why you know it

• "So you're telling me you've done research on our hunting styles—" Sam asks you while leaning forward. You nod, so he continues. "—and all the people we've ever pissed off?"

• "Call it too much free time, which I certainly don't have enough of these days, but I knew if I ever ran into you two knuckle heads, and I knew it would happen eventually whether I wanted it to or not, then I would need to be prepared." You dragged a hand down your face and exhaled for a moment. "That meant making a checklist of every vamp, demon, or god you've ever had out for your head. And trust me, it's a lot."

• He's silent for a moment after you finish, but it doesn't take long for him to pipe up again

• "Can I see it?"

• Safe to say, after seeing the list, Sam started to rethink some of his past decisions

• "Seriously, how are we not dead yet??"

• "Buddy, I have no idea."

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐥

• He does not understand why you seem to know so much about him. Not only as a person, but as an angel

• Castiel is used to the Winchester's asking questions. The first year of knowing them was filled with 'How Did You Do That''s and 'Can You Do This''s. He'd answer all of them, even if he found their questions to be on a kindergarten level most of the time, until eventually they had no more to ask

• You hadn't been like that. Castiel doesn't think he could ever recall you asking him things unless they were about hunts or special circumstances, like the time Sam lost his soul. Hell, you seemed to know more about him than some angels knew about themselves

• Grace knowledge, wing anatomy, biblical lore—you name it and Castiel's probably heard it come out of your mouth at some point

• He gets around to asking you about it one day, albeit very bluntly

• "You don't ask questions." Castiels voice sounds from behind you. You don't even bother to turn around; you heard his wings flutter the moment before he dropped in

• "What do you mean Cas?" You sucked some air between your teeth as you scribbled away at the papers before you. It was something Sam had asked you to follow up on, and you'd been at it for a hot minute now. Hopefully you could make this conversation quick so you could get back to it

• "About angels." A beat of silence. "About me."

• This time you do turn around in your seat to look at him. He's already studying you with that silent squint, and you resist the urge to mirror it

• "Why would I ask questions I already know the answers to?" You parry. The case papers lay on the table, forgotten by now. Your response gets you a rare, but endearing, Cas head tilt

• Upon further questioning, he finds out you'd spent a lot of your early hunting years doing nothing but reading up on anything remotely supernatural. Even calling them 'hunting years' was a stretch. You were more like a crazed researcher that never left the library than a hunter, even resorting to keep mountains upon mountains of notes on ancient lore stored away in the margins of dusty books

• "That's certainly explains why you weren't surprised when we met for the first time and I healed you." Cas's low voice drawled slowly after you gave him a moment to interject. "Or how you knew the symbol for sending us back to heaven before Dean or Sam ever did."

• "Like I said." You smiled to yourself, and Castiel got the feeling he was missing a part of the joke. "Lots of reading."

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

• Do not bring up that you used to have an angel phase back in college. Under no circumstances should you reveal that. He will never let you live it down

• Especially if he finds out you used to study artwork and literature about him specifically

• It's all over the moment he finds your old school books. They're stuffed full of old crinkled pages with his name thrown in there. Of course, this was way back when the idea of angels being real was laughable to you and you still had dreams of graduating college, but that doesn't change to fact that the notes are there, and that Gabriel found them

• "Wait wait wait listen to this—" An old binder is clucthed in the hands of a very amused and very heavenly being as he paces around your spot at a table. His eyes are slimming the pages as a speed quicker than light, and Gabriel's shit eating smile grows as he continues to read

• "The archangel Gabriel isn't depicted as much as his brothers Micheal or Lucifer in classic literature, but when he is, it is often as a symbol of great power and beauty—"

• "I'm going to kill you." You cut him off and groan with hot cheeks. Your hands had come up to cover your face a while ago in an attempt to keep what little dignity you had, but something told you it wasn't working

• "Glad to know you think I'm beautiful, sweet cheeks." Was all Gabriel said. You could hear the teasing lit in his voice. Sure enough, when you looked up to glare at him, he was already looking at you and wiggling his brows suggestively. It took you a total to three seconds to throw the closest thing at his head

• "Hey hey! Watch the beautiful goods!" He laughed while dodging a pencil. It his his chest anyway and bounced to the ground with a dull thud

• "Gabriel." Your tone was downright murderous

• "Okay, okay! I'll stop!"

• He does, in fact, not stop. Someone restrain him for the love of Chuck, for he is getting way too much enjoyment out of poking fun at you

• You're gonna have to avoid him for the next few weeks after that if you want to keep your embarassment levels to a minimum. No other way around it

• Let's just hope he never realizes you had to spend time in art class analyzing renaissance paintings of him in the nude. Now that would be the conversation to end all conversations

• "Heyyy, you never told me you had an art folder—"

• Oh shit.

[johnwickb1tsch]

👀👀👀 (I’m not sorry at all jsyk)

I KNEW YOU'D SEND THE FUCKING FOOT GIF!!!🤣🤣🤣 I love you @treedaddymcpuffpuff !!!😘😘😘😘

Peep Toe Pumps - Kevin Lomax x fem!Reader

warnings: nsfw, foot fetish? fire divider by X

"You have pretty feet."

It's the first truly personal thing your new boss, Kevin Lomax, [Esq.] , says to you after months of working for Milton & Lomax. Maybe it wasn't entirely professional, wearing open-toed heels to the office, but it had been a looong winter in New York, and the first nice day of spring you couldn't resist.

He couldn't either, apparently.

You should have been suspicious, when he breezed into your cubicle and threw down a thick stack of papers, totally out of order, and said you were going to have to stay late to sort it all out. He was the boss, and it wasn't like your collection of houseplants were going to miss you...

And be real. One searing look from those burning dark eyes mixed with that sugar-sweet southern accent, and you would have done The Little Teapot dance on your desk in front of everyone if he asked you to. That man just has a magnetism. It's almost supernatural, the way he can sway people.

You guess that’s why he makes The Big Bucks. 

It's late and the office is practically deserted, by the time you've finished collating the mishmash of the court file. How had that even happened? Almost like someone dropped all the papers on the floor and deliberately mixed them together badly. And maybe, maybe you feel the slightest trill of alarm, as you realize how alone you are on the floor, making your way past all the empty cubicles. But you push it away, down down down with all your other little intuitions about this place, because you don't really have a choice. This city is expensive, and you are not going home.

You knock on his office door, and receive a muffled invitation to come in. "Here you are, sir," you say, resting the tome-like stack upon his behemoth of a walnut desk. He's sitting by the window in his shirt sleeves, black suspenders stark against his white button up, cuffs rolled up over powerful forearms. Though you know he’s a widower, he still wears his wedding ring. You don't know why the sight seems almost intimate to you.

It's late, and you are tired.

"Thank you, y/n." You nod, and make to go. "Want a drink?" The offer makes you freeze in your tracks. It's not something the partners usually extend to a lowly secretary like you. But as he lifts his drink your way, swirls an amber liquid with ice cubes clinking in his cut-crystal glass--he is the very embodiment of temptation. You don't even really like hard spirits, don't know how you'll drink it without making a ridiculous face in front of your boss, but still you find yourself nodding slowly, almost as though you don't have control of yourself. 

He smiles at you, knowing, but not unkind. 

It must just be the reflection off his wire rimmed glasses, but for a moment, it’s almost as though his dark eyes glow. 

He gets you the drink himself, waves for you to sit down across from him. You have to admit you are happy to get off your feet. You take a small sip, and do your level best not to grimace. 

“Good?” he asks, and you can tell he is laughing behind his own glass. 

“I don’t know,” you decide to answer, setting your tumbler down with a sigh. You take a moment to look out the window, the lights of Manhattan like your own galaxy twinkling below. “Quite a view you have up here.” You don’t get to see the lights like this, on your ground floor in Brooklyn.

“It’s breathtaking,” he agrees, and your heart does a little dance in your chest, when out the corner of your eye you realize he is looking at you. 

You shouldn’t be here, that little voice in the back of your head whispers. You know it’s right, but you just can’t convince yourself to get up and go. 

You are used to men staring at you in this city. Men will be men. But usually they’re looking at your breasts, or sometimes your mouth. Your legs, even, what they can make out protruding from your knee-length business skirts on the subway. 

This is the first time you have ever noticed a man blatantly, lustfully, staring at your feet. 

“Those hurt?” he asks, pointing at your heels with his chin. You cannot help but think he resembles a king in his court, sprawled in the comfortable leather chair across from you. It’s the most at ease you’ve ever seen him. 

You laugh a little nervously, not entirely sure what you’re getting into here. “Only since about 4:30,” you admit, which would have been the point you would have changed into your Nikes for the slog home, on a normal day. 

“Poor thing,” he laments in that cloyingly sweet drawl. God. Before you started working here, you thought men who sounded like that toted shotguns in denim overalls and hunted gators. How your perceptions have changed. “Give ‘em here.” Those long fingers make a ‘come hither’ gesture from his knee–and you think you might expire. 

“Sir?”

He smirks at you, a sparkle in his dark eyes that utterly steals your breath away. “Or not. Never met a woman who didn’t like a foot rub after a long day, but maybe you’re the first.”

Lomax makes you feel silly, when he says it like that. Like you’re the odd duck, balking at your boss touching your feet. Or–embarassed by how very much you would like for him to. You start to reach for the buckle at your ankle, but he leans closer, eager. “Allow me.”

That is how your foot ended up in his beautiful, strong hands. How he almost ceremoniously propped your shoe on his lap, on trousers that probably cost a month’s pay for you, so deftly undoing the little buckle by your ankle with clever fingers and sliding your foot free. 

It does feel heavenly, if you’re being honest, and the corner of his mouth ticks just a notch as a sound escapes you when he squeezes the ball of your foot. “Like that, sweetheart?”

“Too much, maybe,” you admit with a shaky little laugh. 

What in the ever loving FUCK do you think you are you doing?!

He traces the curve of your ankle bone with the blade of his thumb, and your eyes slide closed as though he touched you somewhere very different, your painted toes curling in his lap. This is magic, if you’re being honest, and you’re not sure you realized how much you miss being touched until this very damning moment, alone after hours with your very hot boss.

“No such thing,” he insists with that little smile that you’re sure has enticed multitudes of people to sign their lives away on the dotted line. “You’ve been working hard. You deserve a treat.”

That’s when your eyes flick down. You just can’t help it. And you see the bulge at his crotch, his burgeoning erection straining against the fabric of his pants. A spear of lust splits you down the middle, like a lightning strike to your loins–and you know this is very, very, wrong.

Oh. God. 

“Sir–” 

As though he senses your sudden need to bolt up and flee he leans towards you–without thinking, you plant your foot right on his chest, preventing him. A beat later you are horrified by your action, but you get zero time to dwell on it. With a wicked smile that melts your panties he takes your foot in his big hand–and brings it to his mouth. 

Your toe disappears between his luscious, kissable lips, his tongue tickling the bottom of your foot, and you discover you really might die of wanting. The strangled sound you make as his tongue explores between your toes is pure desire, and you know you are a ridiculous thing but your throbbing clit demands more and don’t stop. 

His lips trail up your instep, the line of your calf–is it just the light, or do his teeth suddenly seem sharp, somehow? You blink and he is on his knees before you, pushing up your skirt so his trim torso can wedge between your legs, his big hands on your thighs beneath the fabric. It takes you a moment to realize that little scream came from you. 

He looks you in the eye, as though he can see to the very depths of your soul, his pink mouth pulled in a smirk. He’s laughing at you, sure, but he still doesn’t seem cruel about it. That counts for something, somehow. 

“You want me to stop, Miss Y/n?”

Your hands are on his broad shoulders, your nails digging into the webbed fabric of his suspenders, your breath a quick and elusive thing in your chest like the fluttering of birds. He is the very embodiment of temptation, and though you know you should say yes, you simply can’t. You shake your head no, and that smile widens slightly. 

“I’d like to hear you say it aloud. An oral agreement, as it were.” 

He surely feels it, as you squirm beneath him just at hearing the word.

“No, Sir.” 

You can tell that you please him, and that should not make you feel so accomplished, so right, so liberated. 

“That’s my good girl.” 

Hearing that should not fill you with a searing heat that settles between your legs, warm and wet and so wanting. 

And that is how your boss debauched you, how he kissed you silly and ate you out in that fine leather chair, before carrying you to the desk for proper fucking. That is how he ended up inside you, you still only wearing one shoe, your legs wrapped around his waist as he railed you on top of all his important papers. You flail for something to hold on to, knocking the file you so painstakingly stayed late to organize, the pages scattering across the floor.

“Oh no,” he pouts through a devilish grin, filling you with his thick cock until his tip kisses your cervix. “Looks like you have to stay even later now.” 

“Fuck,” you moan, but it has nothing to do with your impending workload, and everything to do with the way he’s rearranging your insides, stuffing you full with that beautiful dick while his thumb flicks your clit. “You are. A devil,” you pant, so close to climax, the pleasure building and clawing in your pent-up loins. You would do anything, anything, for just a little more, right there. 

“No, just his son,” he answers through another sharp toothed grin.  

“What?” You’re not sure you heard him, over the sound of your desperate moans, your heartbeat deafening in your ears. 

“Nothing, baby girl. You cumming with me?”

“Yes sir.” 

He laughs, a wonderful, almost boyish sound, before his teeth sink into your shoulder and his hips lock against yours, spilling himself inside you as your needy little cunt flutters around his dick, milking him with the tremors of your pleasure. Utterly spent, wrung out, and more than a little ashamed, you collapse back on the desk. Still inside you, he brings your foot to his mouth again, kissing it lovingly with that wicked glint in his eye. 

“Wear those little peep-toes anytime, beautiful,” he teases you, his accent thick and sweet as molasses. Yet somehow–you sense he’s serious. 

Jesus fucking christ. 

You’re going to have to go shoe shopping. 

[queenoftheimps]

I feel like something people might be missing with Armand reaching out to Lestat last episode is why it's messed up and why Louis doesn't respond, namely: shame.

Basically, Armand is saying "You want Lestat to come chasing after you? Okay, then he can come chasing after you as you are right now: burnt and injured and helpless and howling in pain."

And Louis doesn't want that. If Armand's conjecture is right, he wanted Lestat to be chasing after a fiery Louis who's on top, whose snarky retorts have gotten published and gotten notice. He wants to be pulling the same maneuver as that 'Come to Me' record, but on a grander scale -- not drawing attention by being in agonizing pain and burnt to cinders.

(The irony being that Lestat probably would have come running and is clearly very concerned when he hears Louis is hurt. But Louis doesn't want that, he wants Lestat to be chasing after him because he loves him and finds him desirable, not because he finds him weak.)

Stripped away of the supernatural elements: if you knew someone had hurt themselves in a suicide attempt, blasting that information to other people is not a kind gesture, no matter how you frame it. Hell, it wouldn't even be a kind gesture if it was just "[x] hurt themselves badly during a bender, come here and take a look", and the fact that Armand is framing it as a generous offer while Louis is begging him to stop is why it's messed up.

[giggle-at-the]

Just an observation:) Was looking at s2Steve gifs and honestly I so get why Billy was going feral about him. 

Not only season 2 was imo Steve's peak Look and Character season, but also. Him and Billy ended up being ultimate pulling-pigtails, hard-to-get scenario with gut punch ending - but not for obvious reasons. 

By schoolyard drama standarts Steve should have responded to Billy upstaging him as alpha dog, they could have hot-blooded rivarly and maybe allyship after. Yet Steve wasn't playing by the rules bc a) he already denounced his circle in s1 b) he's involved in supernatural horrors beyond comprehension plot.

So it gets almost (rom)comical in the beginning, Billy showing off all he’s got so Steve would aknowledge and challenge him while Steve isn’t interested, occupied with Upside Down past (different coping mechanisms lead to breackup with Nancy) and present issues. 

It gets much heavier in 2.9, after we see abuse Billy gets subjected to. Inter-dimensional creatures are not the only monsters that can mess you up, but Steve doesn’t know this about Billy. But even before Billy threatened Lucas, by the way, Steve wasn’t going to clue him in on monster stuff.

[upsidedown29]

Into the Darkness

When you arrive as the new kid at Hawkins High, the enigmatic Eddie Munson invites you to join the Hellfire Club's Dungeons & Dragons game. As the night unfolds, you discover a sense of belonging and a spark with Eddie that you never expected. Dive into a night of adventure, fantasy, and unexpected connections.

Warnings include: Mild Language, Romantic Themes, Supernatural Themes, Social Anxiety.

The faint hum of metal echoed through the corridors of Hawkins High, Eddie Munson stood at the end of the hallway, leaning against his locker, his trademark smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His fingers, adorned with rings, drummed against the cool metal door in an erratic rhythm that mirrored the beat of his favorite songs.

You walked in, feeling the usual stares and whispers following you. Being the new kid in town wasn't easy, and Hawkins was no exception. Your eyes darted around, trying to find a familiar face, but instead, they landed on Eddie. He looked up, his intense gaze locking onto yours. A shiver ran down your spine, not from fear, but something else entirely.

"Eddie," a voice called out, breaking the trance. It was Dustin Henderson, one of the freshmen who seemed to orbit around Eddie like he was the sun. "You ready for tonight?"

Eddie's eyes flicked away from you for a moment, giving Dustin a nod. "Always ready, Henderson."

Curiosity got the better of you. "What's happening tonight?" You asked, stepping closer. You were new, yes, but you weren't shy.

Eddie's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Well if you're up for an adventure, new kid, there's a Hellfire Club meeting tonight. Ever heard of Dungeons & Dragons?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You'd played before, but never with anyone like Eddie. "I might have," you said, trying to play it cool. "Can anyone join?"

Eddie leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Only those who dare to venture into the darkness."

That evening you found yourself in the school's basement, surrounded by a group of eager faces. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a few scattered candles and the glowing eyes of the dragon figurine in the center of the table. Eddie presided over the game like a dark prince, his voice weaving an intricate tale that pulled everyone in.

You quickly fell into the rhythm of the game, your character coming to life with each roll of the dice. Eddie's eyes frequently found yours across the table, a silent communication that sent your pulse racing.

As the night wore on, the game grew more intense. You faced dragons, solved riddles, and navigated treacherous dungeons. Every time you succeeded, Eddie's approving nod felt like a victory in itself.

Finally, as the game drew to a close, Eddie announced a break. The group scattered to stretch their legs, but you found yourself lingering near the table, tracing the edges of the map.

"You're good," Eddie's voice came from behind you. "Really good."

You turned to find him closer than expected, his presence overwhelming in the small space. "Thanks. You make a great Dungeon Master."

He grinned, a genuine smile that lit up his face. "I try. But you... You brought something special to the game tonight."

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment. "I just got lucky with the dice."

Eddie shook his head, his gaze intense. "Luck had nothing to do with it. You've got a spark, new kid. Something tells me you're going to fit right in here."

For the first time since you arrived in Hawkins, you felt a sense of belonging. "Thanks Eddie. That means alot."

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. "Welcome to the Hellfire Club."

In that moment, surrounded by the shadows and the flickering candlelight, you knew you'd found your place. And maybe, just maybe, something more with the enigmatic Eddie Munson.

[axel29-exe]

I'm watching supernatural for the very first time.

okay continuing from my last post on supernatural here's some of the things that i noticed or told my friend about.

the green screening still looks funky but it adds (screenshot below)

they really did an Actor AU

no early 2000's video program can do that AND GRAPHIC DESIGN IS THERE PASSION. (screenshot below)

Dr sexy is Dean's man crush.

Dean's obsession with cowboys is real, i love red dead redemption

(my friend said they wanted the chest tattoo) well you can't exactly get the rib ones. cause ya know. It's on your ribs.

WHY IS HIS PANTS PULLED UP SO HIGH??(screenshot below

CASS WENT KABOOM, BRO WENT MARANARA SAUCE.

HIT LIST, - John - becky for that fuck ass SA shit - John again for good measure

they really went international, to scottland.

Misha goated w/ the sauce

i can be ur angle or ur deivl

Another thing was that i was coming up with some theories BUT they were later disproven. my fav one is this:

The way I see it is that either Dean wasn't born with a full soul/ soul or he lost it or broke it in hell because he's been constantly eating since the start of the show. When he was with Cass at the striper club, he mentioned that it was the first time in a long time since he had laughed. which could also mean that because he lacks a soul, his body yearns for one and Cass's holy energy?? is substituting it a bit or that Cass has too much soul because ya know angel.

So his soul got taken when he took the fiery plunge and when he came back all his habits representing greed cranked up tenfold.

he fills his lack of a soul with human desires to feel something , so eating, drinking, sex, not sleeping . Just constant consumption that invokes human endorphins, because he's legit undead.

IT WAS A THEORY AND A BOY CAN DREAM but alas i was wrong.

anyway ill do another one of these shitposts later down my watching line :) enjoy this art of Cass and the many screenshots.

Dean w/ really high jeans

bro rlly said "zoom, enhance" and graphic design is in fact, their passion.

she has a green ring around her silhouette, i love the fuck ass green screens.

[itsjustrosee]

Alright because of all the support on my last post with Stiles, I figured I should write another 😚👍

Worried Sick Stiles Stilinski x fem!reader

Context: established relationship, Stiles comes to visit you when you don't show up to school

Warnings: none, just fluff

Wordcount: 1.1k

You had been in your room curled up in bed, tangled in blankets and stuffed animals all while you were supposed to be at school.

You had just gotten your period and your cramps left you nothing short of bedridden and on the verge of throwing up all day. You were experiencing womanhood at its absolute finest, to say the least.

Suddenly, the door to your room swung open, and a very confused and distressed Stiles entered your room. His expression softened once he saw you weren't dead or bleeding out, and a wave of relief seemed to wash over him.

"Not using the window to get in anymore?" You asked jokingly, rolling to your side to face Stiles who had now set down his bag and kneeled at the side of your bed. Being Scott's twin, you and Stiles needed to keep your relationship a secret. That's why when it came to hanging out, Stiles would always come in through your window rather than your front door so the both of you wouldn't get caught.

"Well, you gave me a key to your house for a reason right? Also going in through the window would've taken me too long," Stiles explains, his expression still slightly filled with worry as he placed one of his hands on your bed while the other tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"What were you in such a rush for?" You ask with a chuckle in reaction to Stiles's seriousness, snaking your hand out of your covers and placing it on top of his.

"Well you didn't show up to school and I was worried," He explains, his expression soft and genuine. "I thought something bad might've happened," He says quietly and slowly.

For any other boyfriend, his girlfriend not showing up to school shouldn't cause them this much stress, but considering all the supernatural shit Stiles has somehow managed to get involved in, he couldn't help but worry himself to death.

"I'm okay Stiles, really I am," You say, reassuring him, "Just on my period that's all," You explain, trying to manage a smile but your stomach felt like it was being turned inside out, so it probably came out as more slightly disturbing than comforting.

"Ok good, I thought it could've had something to do with that. Which is why-" Stiles says, relieved, as he gets up and grabs his bag before sitting down next to you on the bed. "I have come prepared," He continues with a goofy smirk plastered on that stupidly cute face of his.

You sit up lazily as Stiles begins to show you what he bought. He whips out a plastic bag from inside of his backpack with items ranging from Tylonal, Advil, and Mydol, (which you immediately snatched and swallowed), all the way to chocolates and a heated stuffed animal.

"I got confused when I saw all the... feminine products, so- um-" He explains while taking out yet another plastic shopping bag from his backpack to reveal at least ten different boxes of tampons and pads.

You pause and stare at the ginormous haul of items that Stiles has bought you and you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

You appreciated Stiles and his caring towards you more than anything, especially in moments like these. He always knew the right things to do and the right things to say, and you loved him for it.

Stiles, however, didn't take your silence in the right way. "I'm sorry- it's stupid I know, I bought way too much. I bet I still have the receipt somewhere, maybe I can still return it-" He asked, sadness and disappointment slowly creeping into his voice.

"No!" You reply quickly. "Don't return it, and none of this is stupid," You confirm before sighing for a moment. "Stiles, this is literally like the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me," You explain, turning to look at him while you say it, a smile slowly forming on your face as you do so.

"Really?" Stiles questions, his embarrassed expression being replaced by one of relief and pride.

"Really," You say while scooting over in your bed and patting the space next to you, beckoning him to join you.

Stiles lays down next to you, and you gladly roll over and climb on top of him, resting your head by the crook of his neck as you wrap your arms around him. The heat radiated off of his body as you listened to his heartbeat and the slow movements of his chest going up and down.

Stiles brought the covers over you and kissed your head before speaking once more, "You don't want to use the stuffed animal I gave you?" He asks with a chuckle as he wraps his arms around you, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your back.

"Nope, I think you'll do just fine," You say as you lift your head to look up at him.

Stiles takes this moment to lean down and kiss you gently. He kissed and held you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. As if with one wrong move you'd shatter into a million pieces, so he treated you with such care, holding you softly and closely to make sure you didn't.

Though the kiss only lasted a few moments, it made you forget all about the pain you felt in your abdomen and replaced it with butterflies. He definitely had a way of making you feel safe and comfortable whenever you were around him.

Once he pulled away, he looked at you with hearts in his eyes, "You're so beautiful, you know that right baby?" He said, his voice so faint that it practically made your heart beat out of your chest. He removed one of his hands from your back and placed it on your cheek and you immediately melted into his touch.

You could only let out a satisfied hum in response, you were too lost in his features to bother replying coherently.

Stiles let out a low chuckle as he kissed your forehead, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your head, stroking your hair as he did so.

"Get some sleep okay?" He said while wrapping his arm just a bit tighter around you, "I'll be right here if you need anything," He said softly.

"I know," You say, your words muffled slightly as you rest your head in the crook of his neck, "You're not goin' anywhere," You say with a smile as you place a quick kiss on his neck.

"Didn't plan on it," Stiles mumbles, about to fall asleep even before you do. But as your meds kick in, you can't help but slowly drift off to sleep as well.

Okay, I'm having WAYYYYYY too much fun writing these I'm sorry 😭

I finished majority of my finals so I'm going to be much more active again so keep sending in requests! I'm continuing to work on them

Also, I cannot thank you guys enough for all of the compliments and praise I've received on my last post with Stiles, it was literally so sweet of you guys. My inbox was literally filled with people praising my writing and y'all have no idea how happy that made me, like literally my heart almost burst.

[writing-whump]

Can you just hold me

Isaiah with mild food poisoning and Seline with emotional angst.

Isaiah had a lot of friends. Seline did not.

She didn't think it would be a problem. There were her projects, her writing, her carefully watched and hard-earned alone time.

A boyfriend who would find occupations without her and could socialize without making her tag along was good.

It made her wonder if couples were better fits if they were more similar or more complementary. Would she had been happier if he preferred staying at home, reading next to her quietly? Each in their own world, but close enough to touch?

Seline used to be a loner as a kid. First preoccupied with her blooming magic, that came to her once her brother was born and fueled it with his shadow, waking the witch in her.

A witch without traditions or legacy if incantations to learn from, he only connection to anything supernatural only through her grandpa. In a very human family, that was a challenge.

But as a kid, Seline managed to find friends open and curious and happy for her and with her about the magic and the freedom the lack of training gave her. She had not realised it could be a disadvantage. No one told her.

Where other witches learned songs and spells, reciting poems handed down over generations, she was making up her own songs. Or singing Disney songs from Lion King to rain to make it louder, to puddles of water to make it sparkle, the kitchen faucet to make the liquid curl in the air like a glittering snake.

In high school, she had become so engrossed with the magic, with the poems she could make into songs - brand new songs for entirely new purposes, depending on what she was thinking. There was no limit, nothing that couldn't be done or thought, if she could sing the right song to the place and the purpose and the person. Talking with other kids her age, that obsessed over dating, lipsticks and diets seemed entirely useless and boring to her.

Her mother almost had a hearattack on the day Seline told her with straight face, she was not interested in having friends. Such a waste of time. She had not needed them.

Looking back, it fascinated her how she could not need people so much as a teen. How entirely fascinated she could be with her own thoughts and worlds, only books and poems for company. What a little arrogant prick she was.

She started feeling lonely around her first year of university. A straight A student, she dreamed about the university experience, of the degrees her parents had, of being the exceptional smart kid as she always was. Except finding a faculty that would allow her to study what she was interested in was hard. A faculty that wouldn't just have you learn everything by memory, that would let you think and roam and wonder. Where things weren't set by hard facts.

But what could it be? And what use would it be for her?

At was at the time she found the covens. The witch coven in Vienna was designed for young witches from small packs and various families so they could learn and connect and develop their magic before they choose a pack of their own. Witches were very precious for wolves after all. The calming effect on the shadows, the ability of their touch to help instead of make it worse - a good exchange for getting their magic fueled by the wolf shadows.

That's where Seline got to know Felicity.

And Violet and Camille, yes, they were all very art oriented and magical and great. But it was mainly about Felicity.

They hit it off on their first meeting and Seline never felt so understood, so connected, so in synch with another person than with her. A witch with green coloured short hair and huge glasses, that loved digital art and painting, the storytelling in games. That had an amazing emotional empathy and the best sense of humor.

Seline was never this close to a person outside her parents. She never had a friend who understood what writing was for her the way Felicity understood it for her art. She never met anyone who loved the creativity of magic the way Felicity did. The freedom.

Cami and Via taught her about the rules, the expectations, the traditions and higher moral missions of magic and art. The ecosystem of the city filled with packs, how important they were to them.

But Felicity was everything. They spend two years texting each other everyday for hours, making calls on train rides, waiting at each other in the coven's art room, discussing movies. They collected each other's art, spoke about their biggest most secret feelings, their frustrations and fears and visions for the world.

Could you love someone so much, be so intensity tied up with them? Seline loved everything about that intellectual relationship, their hours long conversations, but also the unexpected emotional sharing.

Felicity held her up in her loneliness, in her semesters of fruitlessly trying out law school, in arguing with her parents about the right path, through her insecurities about not being the gifted kid after all and what she could be beyond it.

And Seline, who didn't have a close friend since she was 10, who had not needed or wanted to get close, who found most people stupid and boring, yearned for Felicity's company. She was sure that if she ever managed to fell in love, she would want it to be someone like that.

Things started to change when Seline found cultural sciences. After trying out three different faculties, reading through exam scripts of the most unusual subjects she never ever heard of, after visiting courses of different departments to get a feel for the subjects - she finally found it.

A faculty where you read texts and discussed them. Where they taught you thinking, not facts. Where you could research anything, if you could analyse it and find its practical use for everyday lives of people.

Seline loved it. Loved she could study writing and it's process of creation, bestsellers and why people liked them, the psychology of narratives in political campaigns as well as blockbuster movies. Her world opened each and every day.

Felicity still didn't find a faculty. She wasn't looking, really. She told Seline she just wanted to play games, be with friends and make art from time to time. And getting chosen by a pack would grant it to her.

Seline was a little...taken aback by that. There was so much to find out, to research. Places to travel to, books to write, presentations to make. At uni it was fun talking with people. It was fun getting to know the different perspectives.

Seline didn't know what went wrong or when. Just that they have started to feel...colder. Distant from each other. The day Felicity didn't text her the whole day, she kept glancing at her phone in anxiety every five minutes. There were days of silence after. Felicity ignoring her texts and only talking about herself. Felicity not talking about her like she was her best friend in front of Cami and Via. Felicity playing more games with other friends, too tired and overwhelmed with whatever Seline wanted to tell her.

Maybe that was alright. Maybe they simply wanted different things from life. That was normal. They had many differences between them too, after all. Felicity talked about how bad and broken the world was, when Seline kept seeing the light in it, the possibilities. There were topics in politics where they quietly told each other what they thought and why and then never mentioned it again, out of respect for the other.

And this was the right approach, right? They could still be friends despite the differences, if there was respect and tolerance, right? Even if there wasn't an understanding.

Seline's heart fluttered painfully in her chest, her grip on the seat in the tram tightening.

How sentimental she was being today, just because Mattew was at the gym and Isaiah still had uni. He left early for pack meetings, because of the recent trouble with the Starks.

He always had a mission. Always saving someone. Seline wondered sometimes if, at the end of the day, he would have anything left for her.

She walked the short distance from the stop to the shared apartment.

Many things changed since then. Felicity would sometimes tell her how good it was to live alone since 18. While Seline left home only around 24, very close with both of her parents. If it wasn't for the constant trouble and stress around Dylan not passing an exam or another, not doing his homework or boxing in the halls in school cause he couldn't take the sitting anymore...maybe she wouldn't have left. Or met Isaiah. Or Matt.

Seline reached her floor in a blink of an eye. Was it safe to think about these things? To reminiscent? It had been two years since then. Surely it wouldn't make her cry anymore to think of Felicity.

She cleaned up the shoes in the hall, hanging her coat. Went to the kitchen to take a glass of water, chest constricting. Too soon?

Can you really be reeling so much from a breakup with a friend this long?

The apartment was quiet. The drops of water from the faucet hit the bottom loudly until they stopped coming.

Seline went upstairs. Maybe it was good they weren't home. She could get emotional and cry in peace and be all the happier for them, when they came home.

She opened the door, eyes burning, and couldn't help but yelp at the sight. "Isaiah!"

There was her missing boyfriend. Stretched out on her bed, still in his outside clothes - how untypical of him - hugging her pillow close.

"Hey, Sel," he croaked.

"I didn't know you were going to be here so soon." She would have come faster.

Damn these stupid lonely yearnings. No way she would allow herself to need someone so much again. No way she would end up wanting him more than he wanted her.

"Shouldn't be. Still have classes." He turned to his side, hands wrapped around his stomach. "Had lunch with the Stark pack reprensetives. I think there was something wrong with the salad dressing," Isaiah said with a grimace, "my stomach's been messed up since then."

Warmth spilled over her chest like warm honey. Seline didn't want to show how much it touched her that when he wasn't feeling well, he went to her room, her bed, nose buried in her scent.

"How messed up?" She knelt onto the bed, looking him over. He was paler than usual, hair glued to his temples.

Isaiah swallowed heavily. "Had to go to the bathroom two times during one class. It was getting ridiculous." He let himself fall back against the pillows closing his eyes. "Also feel kind of nauseous," he said with resignement.

"Awwe, I'm so sorry." She tiptoed closer to lie down next to him.

Isaiah reached for her immediately, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his face into her chest.

"Maybe you could just let it happen," she cooed, dragging her fingers through his hair. "The sooner the bad food leaves your system the better."

Isaiah made a whiny sound at the back of his throat. "I thought you might have a magical cure."

She rolled her eyes fondly. "Not magical. Just drops and tea." Kissing his forehead, she wiggled herself out. "I'll be right back."

He groaned pathetically when she left him, face planting into the mattress. He stayed in the same position when she returned.

"Here, drink this." She handed him a small shot glass.

Isaiah's nose twitched as he straightened up to take it. "That's vodka."

"Best thing against bacteria from bad food multiplying in your stomach," she said with a shrug. "Mom always makes us drink it on trips to faraway countries, where the cuisine is too different. Shot of this in the evening, and you spare yourself all the stomach trouble."

Isaiah snorted, clearing the glass and shuddering at the taste.

Seline put the tray with glass of water, herbal drops, a steaming cup of mint tea and a bowl, just in case, onto the nightstand next to the black haired wolf.

"Okay, anything else you want to try? The tea or the drops?"

Isaiah curled back up on the bed. "I don't feel good. Could just hold me?" His cheeks actually went a little pink, the colour more visible against the sickly pastiness.

Seline couldn't help the smile. She changed into fresh fresh shirt and legins, resuming her position in bed. Isaiah curled up against her, his hair reached just under her chin.

Something about the physical closeness was melting her insides. No, things were very different now. Grateful relief spread over her, her skin singing at having his body this close, so in need of her comfort and touch. The best cure for her.

Felicity and her ended up fighting over the research topics of Seline's first published article. The project should was aimed to be published at the professor's online magazine and Felicity, Via and Cami insisted she should write something about the witches. The cause. That witches shouldn't be forced to work or pay taxes. That since their calling was the pack, calming the shadows, they shouldn't be expected to work like normal people.

Seline looked at Felicity's gaming from sunrise to sunset. At Cami's constant complaining of a terrible dark world, prejudices on every step, wearing the darkest glasses she could. At Via's depressive episodes, insomnia, her diaries turning all around which pack would finally choose her, how she would find the perfect wolf partner to take care of her and her hobbies. Her Saint witch hobbies, that should be celebrated, because they were worthy of celebration and concessions.

Just for existing.

And they insisted Seline of all people should write it.

Didn't have the patience for actually finishing your degrees, did you? Too busy playing games and crisizing everything you came across on the sidewalk.

Seline didn't realize how much she had come to resent that notion. That she had tolerated their differences, out of love, out of friendship. Out of unspoken agreement that they would not force each other's opinions on each other or push or try to convince the other of "their truths". Cause there was no one true, the universal truth. There were only angles of issues, different often contradicting perspectives that could exist at the same time.

Were they the whole time just tolerating each other instead of being accepting?

Was the respect not mutual? Or will friendships simply not work out, when the differences run too deep?

Was it a mistake in the attitude or in the people? Did they handle it wrong?

Or did Seline simply care more than they did?

That had been somehow the last drop. Seline refused to write about the witch cause. When Cami pushed, when Via pushed...when Felicity joined, as if expecting Seline to give in to her.

She send her "scientific" articles that attempted to explain how brainwashed Seline was by the system to not want to work for her own "kind".

Seline laughed at how contradictory, unclear and plainly unscientific the whole article was. She couldn't help it, somewhere between hysterics, hurt and the need to stand up for this. To try to explain that their way of life, their passive waiting for wolves to choose them, to play video games all day while you celebrate and comment on the internet, organise protests and force others to write about you felt very much like a completely and utter waste of time to her. Couldn't they see it too? Shouldn't they change their minds, if they think they can demand, censur and order her to write about such things?

There was certain catharsis and relief and saying those things. In finally voicing what had been slowly eating at her, bite by bite with every interaction, open book, at the sight of the video console and fast food on the table.

And she kind of hoped their friendship, their care, that they would give the effort to understand, to come to a standstill. That they could resolve this, clear the air. Survive such a fight.

Instead that was the end.

Felicity told her that was the last minus point for her. That it had been adding up too much, that they simply don't work out.

Seline had no idea what the other minus points were. She was biting her tongue so much as it was, trying to understand. Their perspective was different, they were from pack families, with witches for mothers and aunts and grandmothers. Who had fought for independence and right treatement, who had been caged and enslaved and hunted by wolves who wanted them for as magical calming batteries and not as human beings.

There was history of abuse and injustice that Seline wasn't part of. Wrath she had no one to inherit from.

That day, Seline told them that all they achieved was that she would never ever write anything for them. That she would leave even if she wasn't kicked out. She basically spat the words in their faces. There. Try to write it on your own. Oh whoops. You would have to actually achieve something first, not just exist.

She managed to answer in the moment. She cried only on the way home. And then back in her bad. And for a few months after. Not being able to think of it without breaking down. Locking it up in her heart, so she could move on and focus on other things.

Promising to herself she would never get involved with any wolf or witchy causes again.

Even after all that time, she felt a tear running down her cheek. Pressed against Isaiah like that, his bloated painful stomach against hers.

She didn't make a sound or move to wipe the tear away.

Isaiah still lifted his head with a quizzical expression. Still so pasty, nearly green. But he still looked at her. Still made the effort.

She shook her head, not being able to speak. A strained smile on her lips, her reaction at nervosity.

His hand went into her hair, carding through it. He wiped the tear track with his thumb.

He didn't ask. They never asked questions, only waited until the other wanted to speak.

Seline tighted her grip and he immediately went back to hugging her.

Mending something deep inside.

[thoroughlychance]

Some helpful tumblr jargon/references for our new friends:

Blorbo is a word you might hear a lot. Idk who uses this outside of tumblr, I know some people do, so I’m just gonna leave the urban dictionary definition here and move along.

Again, I think Spiders Georg is pretty well known, but I’m leaving this here anyways because it’s referenced fairly often in the way that the “free real estate” used to be where the guy’s face would just be slapped down somewhere out of context with no words and we’d all know.

Miette is… everything. We have all agreed that cats are little Victorian children. Miette is referenced often too, so… love her.

Ea-Nasir is the weirdest one, and the one it took me the longest to figure out. This is the transcript of a 3800 year old complaint tablet in cuneiform about Ea-Nasir the terrible copper salesman. This is the oldest recorded customer complaint in the world. People quote this one often without directly stating what it is, so if you didn’t know about it, you may not even realize there’s a reference there, or you’d skate on by and ignore it. It’s much funnier when you know the context, so… you’re welcome.

If you have any tumblr questions, ask me, and I’ll answer the best I can. Don’t be scared to ask. You’re welcome here. Hellsite is for everyone.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

In My Time of Dying | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ?)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, hospitals and death and fun stuff like that

Word Count: 2997

A/N: Surprise! It's time for season 2! And as an extra treat, I'm gonna publish episode 2 with this one since it's a little short. Happy reading!! Thank you guys for all the love and support!

You were completely pinned down beneath the side of the car that had been pushed into your lap in the accident. You clung to Dean still, afraid to move your upper-half and unable to move your bottom. You listened to the slowing rhythm of his heartbeat and willed him to stay alive for you.

Your eyes opened at the sound of Sam groaning.

“Sam!” you exclaimed. 

He groaned again, moving his head a little to the direction of the sound of your voice. “(Y/N)?”

Suddenly, the hinges were ripped off the driver’s side door to reveal the demon-possessed driver of the eighteen-wheeler that had struck the Impala.

“Back. Or I'll kill you, I swear to god,” Sam stated firmly.

“You won't. You're saving that bullet for someone else.”

Sam cocked the Colt. “You wanna bet?”

You looked on in fear before the demon poured out of the man, and he collapsed to the ground. You heard the sound of the gun uncocking, and Sam dropped his head back in relief.

“Oh my god!” you heard the trucker’s voice say. “Did I do this?”

“Dean, come on,” you whined. “Please.”

Sam called his brother’s name and told the trucker to call 911. He did so despite his panic. After what felt like forever, emergency services were to you. The EMTs had to pry you off of Dean, and you wailed in agony as they moved your sore body away from him. “No, please! I have to stay with him!”

“Ma’am, don’t fight us, please. We don’t want to hurt you more,” the EMT strapping you into a stretcher and neck brace said. She began to shout your blood pressure and vitals to the uniformed people surrounding you as you called out to Dean again. “Please! Just tell me he’s okay!”

No one would answer you.

“Is he even alive?!”

***

As soon as the doctors told you you could go see Dean, you leapt out of the bed as well as you could on your throbbing leg and bruised rib cage. Thankfully, that was as serious as your injuries got. You had no idea what the Winchesters’ situations were. 

You limped down the hallway to Dean’s room just down the hall from yours and took a sharp breath in horror. Wires were hooked up to every part of him. He was intubated, and machines steadily beeped around him. His chest was exposed with electrodes hooked up to it. His forehead had a deep cut running down the center of it, and his body remained lifeless. You tentatively walked over to his bedside and sat in the empty chair next to it. You held his hand tightly and kissed it repeatedly. “Dean, you have to come back to me, please.” Tears streamed down your face.

Sam walked in the room just after you did, giving you his puppy dog eyes at the sight of you holding his brother’s hand and Dean’s body. “Oh, no,” he said.

You dropped Dean’s hand long enough to hobble over to Sam and hug him as tightly as your damaged body would allow. “I’m so glad to see you, man. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Are you?”

“All things considered, yeah,” you replied.

A doctor entered the room behind you and Sam. “Your father's awake. You can go see him if you like.”

“Doc, what about my brother?” Sam asked.

“Well, he sustained serious injury: blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidney. But it's the head trauma I'm worried about. There's early signs of cerebral edema,” the doctor explained.

“Well, what can we do?” You looked between Sam and the doctor worriedly. 

“Well, we won't know his full condition until he wakes up.” The doctor paused. “If he wakes up.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “If?”

“I have to be honest, most people with this degree of injury wouldn't have survived this long. He's fighting very hard. But you need to have realistic expectations.”

Your chest felt like someone was squeezing the air out of you. You began to hyperventilate as you made your way back over to Dean. Using his bed for support, you eased yourself back down into the chair and picked up his hand again.

Sam looked at you sadly before exiting the room, presumably to go see his father.

“It’s gonna be fine,” you muttered. “John ‘ll know what to do. You’re gonna wake up, and I’m gonna tell you everything. You have to come back to me, so I can tell you.” Tears streamed steadily down your face. “You have to come back, Dee. You’re my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you, man. I… I need you here. I need you.” You brought his hand up to your lips and just held it there as you sobbed. After a while, you drifted off, crying and holding onto Dean tightly.

***

It had been hours of sitting next to Dean and praying to a god you didn’t believe in that he’d wake up and this would all be over. You needed to tell him the feelings you’d been holding in for the better half of a year now. You needed him to know how much he meant to you.

You just needed to talk to him. And so, you did. “Dean, I’ve never told you this— in fact, I feel weird saying it now— but you matter more to me than anybody else in my life has. You just… you make my day better just by being in it. And I hope I do the same for you.

“Y’know, I never really hated you. You frustrated me so fucking much, but I could never hate you.” You drew in a breath. “I figured out that the reason I thought I hated you was because you challenged me. You told me you found me intimidating, but you never treated me like I was. That’s the difference between you and most other people. You’re fearless. Completely. It scares me sometimes, honestly. But you make me stronger, Dean. And I just… I hope I make you feel half as much as you make me feel. There’s so much I have to tell you when you wake up. I probably won’t say any of this to you while you’re awake— y’know, vulnerability and all that— but… I just needed to say it in case—” Your throat caught. “In case I never see you again.”

***

Another hour had gone by of you sitting with Dean. You refused to move from your spot to eat or drink or go to the bathroom. All that mattered was that you kept your eyes on him. You told yourself that if you could still feel or see him, then he was here. And that was enough.

You stared at his peaceful features. You remembered for a moment what he’d looked like sleeping, and you could almost see it now. However, the wires and tubes obstructing your view kept you grounded in the horrible reality that was the present moment: you and Sam may be leaving without him.

Your heart rate picked up as that thought crossed your mind and began to race even more as Dean flatlined.

“Help, help!” you screamed. You raced out into the hallway. “Code Blue, room 202! Code Blue!” 

Doctors and nurses immediately responded to your call and rushed behind you into the room. You watched in horror as they began to try and resuscitate him.

Sam had apparently heard your cries and ran down the hallway to you.

“Sam, he flatlined, he—” You buried your face in his chest, and he guided you into the room against the far wall. 

“Still no pulse,” a nurse said. You couldn’t bear to watch as they shocked his lifeless body.

Sam suddenly stiffened against you just as the frantic beeping of the monitors quieted. 

“We have a pulse. We're back into sinus rhythm,” the nurse said.

You let go of Sam and breathed deeply as you turned to his brother. You couldn’t get to him due to the doctors and nurses still fussing about, but you smiled briefly at the fact that he was still here. You looked up at the younger brother. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I just thought I heard something,” he said looking around confused. “It felt like Dean.��

You furrowed your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”

“Like, he was there, just out of eyeshot or something. I don't know if it's my psychic thing or what, it— But do you think it's even possible? I mean, do you think his spirit could be around?”

You shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed of the things you’d admitted to Dean’s unconscious body. “Anything’s possible.”

“Well, there's one way to find out.” Sam began to leave Dean’s room. 

“Where are you going?”

“I gotta pick something up. I'll be back. Let me go tell my Dad.”

***

About an hour later, you still sat holding Dean’s right hand. You couldn’t let go now that you’d almost lost him a second time. Sam reentered the room. He was clutching a brown paper bag with an oblong object in his arms. 

“Welcome back,” you said. “What’s that?”

Sam seemed embarrassed. “I, uh, almost don’t wanna say.” He pulled out a Ouija Board.

You snorted. “Seriously?”

He ignored you and looked around the room at nothing. “Hey. I think maybe you're around. And if you are, don't make fun of me for this, but um, well, there's one way we can talk.” He sat the box and board on the floor in front of Dean’s bed. You looked on eagerly.

“Dean? Dean, are you here?” He put two fingers on each hand on the planchette. Moments later, it moved to “YES” on the board.

“Sam, don’t tell me you’re doing that,” you breathed out. “Or do, I don’t know which answer I want.”

“It's good to hear from you, man,” Sam laughed. “It hasn't been the same without you, Dean.”

The pointer began to slide around the board. “Dean, what? H? U? Hunt? Hunting? What, are you hunting?”

The pointer slid back to "YES."

“It's in the hospital; what you're hunting? Do— Do you know what it is?” Sam paused and gained his composure. “What is it?”

The pointer slid across the board too fast for you to read from your position next to Dean’s body. 

“A reaper. Dean. Is it after you?”

You watched with bated breath as the pointer slid to “YES.”

“If it's here naturally, there's no way to stop it,” Sam murmured. “Man, you're, um—” He got up from the ground and began to pace.

“No, no, no,” you said, looking over to Dean’s peaceful features. “You’re not fucking leaving me, dammit. There’s gotta be a way.”

“Dad'll know what to do.” Sam rushed out of the room, leaving the Ouija board on the ground.

You slowly stood and moved over to the board. You immediately missed the feeling of his hand in yours, even if he couldn’t hold back. You sat before the board and let out a shaky breath, placing your hands on the planchette. “Dee, you still here?”

The planchette slid to “YES” before returning to the middle of the board.

You huffed out an anxious breath. “Did you, um, did you hear what I said earlier?”

It slid back to “YES.”

“Oh, God, um, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you until you were awake again,” you rushed out. “I didn’t— I’m sorry— Can you—”

“S” “L” “O” “W” “D” “O” “W” “N” the board spelled out.

You laughed shakily. “Sorry.” You paused. “Do you— Do you feel the same way?”

The planchette hesitated before sliding over to “YES.” A smile you couldn’t contain spread across your face. “Well, I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you die now.”

Sam returned moments later carrying his father’s journal. “Hey. So Dad wasn't in his room.”

“Where is he?” you asked.

“Who knows? Maybe there's something here.” He tapped the journal before leafing through it. He stopped on the page that said “Reapers.” 

“How’s this supposed to help us, Sam? We already know we can’t kill ‘em,” you stated.

“I know, I know, I just… I thought maybe there’d be something else here. A way to… bargain with ‘em or something.”

You smiled at him sadly. Not knowing what else to say, you told him, “I know he appreciates that you’re not givin’ up on him, Sammy.”

***

Hours later, Sam had poured through almost every page of the journal. He paced around the room and began talking to Dean’s spirit. “Dean, are you here? I couldn't find anything in the book. I don't know how to help you. But I'll keep trying, all right? As long as you keep fighting.

"I mean, come on you can't, you can't leave me here alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that.” He stopped and stood over you, looking down at his brother. “Dean, you gotta hold on. You can't go, man, not now. We were just starting to be brothers again. Can you hear me?”

***

You had even slept with Dean’s hand in yours through the night. Sam had gone in and out of the room a few times, but never John.

“Sam, what do we do, man?” You brushed a hand over your eyes, feeling exhausted and fueled by emotion all at once. 

He shook his head. “I’m thinkin’, okay?” he snapped.

“Sorry,” you muttered after a moment. 

“Me, too,” he said. 

Suddenly, Dean shot up and gasped, choking on the tube in his throat.

“Help! I need help!” you called into the hallway. 

***

“I can't explain it. The edema's vanished,” the doctor explained. “The internal contusions are healed. Your vitals are good. You have some kind of angel watching over you.”

“Thanks, doc,” Dean said. 

Your stomach sank knowing Dean didn’t remember what you’d said to him while he’d been unconscious, but you felt comforted knowing he felt the same way. You’d tell him when he was out of that crummy hospital gown, that somehow, he still managed to make look attractive.

Dean turned to his brother. “So, you said a Reaper was after me?”

You and Sam nodded.

“How'd I ditch it?”

You shrugged. “We don’t know. You really don’t remember… anything?”

“No. Except this pit in my stomach. (Y/N), something's wrong.”

The three of you turned your head to a knock at the door. John limped in for the first time you’d seen him since the accident. You fought the urge to start yelling at him about how he hadn’t come to see his son.

“How you feeling, dude?” John asked his son.

“Fine, I guess. I'm alive.”

John smiled sadly for a reason you couldn’t place. “That's what matters.”

“Where were you last night?” Sam was angry.

“I had some things to take care of.”

Sam scoffed. “Well, that's specific. Did you go after the demon?”

“No.”

“You know, why don't I believe you right now?”

John half-smiled despite the situation. “Can we not fight?” he pleaded. “You know, half the time we're fighting, I don't know what we're fighting about. We're just butting heads. Sammy, I— I've made some mistakes. But I've always done the best I could. I just don't want to fight anymore, okay?”

Sam cocked his head to the side. “Dad, are you alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm just a little tired. Hey, son, would you, uh, would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”

Sam left you and Dean with John.

“I, uh, have a thing. At a… place,” you mumbled awkwardly, leaving the room. You stood outside and waited for Sam to return, bouncing on your heels and thinking about how and when you were going to tell Dean how you felt for the second time.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by John putting a hand on your shoulder. Strangely, he pulled you into a hug. “I’m happy I ran into you in Jericho. Thanks for watching my boys.” And with that, he left. You watched him retreat back to his room for a moment before heading back in to see Dean. 

“Hey,” you said awkwardly.

“Hey,” he responded, seeming a little out of it. “What’re you nervous about?”

“I feel like the timing’s really bad for me to tell you,” you responded. "Especially with your dad and his cryptic thing he did just now."

“Well, now you definitely have to,” Dean half-smirked.

You took a deep breath. “While you were… out… I told you something.”

He looked at you expectantly.

You huffed out a quick breath. “You remember that stupid pinky promise I made you make? You told me I confuse you, and you promised to tell me why someday. Is… Are you? I mean— Jesus, I’m never like this—” 

Before you or Dean could continue, you suddenly heard Sam screaming, “Help! Somebody, help!” from down the hall. You and Dean jerked to attention and looked at each other briefly before leaping off the bed and running down the hall. When you reached the doorway, John was being taken away from Sam and Sam was shoved out of the room.

A nurse tried to shove you and Dean away as well. “No, no, no, it's our dad. It's our dad!” 

She stopped pushing you and allowed you to stay by the door.

“C’mon, John,” you muttered. “C’mon.”

“Okay, stop compressions.”

Your heart sank watching Dean’s horrified face as they called the time of his father's death.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[nerosdayinanime]

midnight city(M83)

[samwinchestermydude]

For Spn Artists and anyone who draws

[flugame-mp3]

what do you fucking mean that's how charlie dies. THAT'S HOW CHARLIE DIES??? i mean i know the show has a penchant for killing off every character who's not a winchester brother or an angel of thursday but good god. what the fuck. charlie was such a good and enjoyable recurring character, and she had such a fandom impact that i've seen, and she's only around for THREE SEASONS?? (sidebar: it's amazing she has the presence she does for only being around for a couple episodes in the long run!) but: was this necessary? and she just dies offscreen after her skills are utilized to progress the plot of decoding the book of the damned?? oh my god. what in the actual fuck. i'm finding myself getting genuinely very upset at her death. she did not fucking deserve that. and i can absolutely see why the fan response to her death is what it is now. completely fucking unjustified and throwaway and useless.

[spnintheyearofourlord]

Okay Dean “You know I am not much for prayin’ ‘cause in my book it’s the same as beggin’” and “I prayed to you, Cas, every night” Winchester, I see you.