#file this one under 'jokes that only I find funny'

[superfamiblog]

Tokimeki Memorial/Heartthrob Memorial (Konami, 1996). English translation patch by translated.games

[yawnderu]

K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part II

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

Simon scores a date with his favorite medic

Or

Simon has to be under her watch after getting a knife to the gut.

"Oi, doc." Simon calls out and you sigh softly, gaze drifting from your patient report to him, his unmasked figure lays on the medical bed, gauze wrapped tightly over his abdomen, keeping his newest injury guarded from anything that could rub on or mess up the stitches.

"Why'd they call you K-9?" One of his thin, eyeblack stained eyebrows lifts as he looks at you, already feeling bored from having to stay still for so long, movement limited by the patched up stab wound on his stomach.

"Long story." You dismiss him, looking back down at the patient report you were writing for him. His medical file was interesting, indicating no pictures of him should ever be taken, as well as additional personal and professional information.

"You got surgery in 2020, what's that about?" You didn't notice any bigger scars whenever he was injured, having already seen his naked torso and part of his legs.

"Curious 'bout me, doc?" His tone is slightly teasing, the smug bastard thinking he's funny by asking that. A single eye roll is enough to get him to speak, a deep, gravelly chuckle escaping his lips before he answers.

"Took a nasty gunshot to the leg, was fadin' fast." He lays back down, gaze drifting towards the ceiling as he thinks about it. He was so close to death himself, only three years ago.

"Thought it'd be more interesting." Your bluntness never fails to make him double take. It's not passive aggressive or mean, just... way too honest. More than he's used to.

"I'll get a proper grand injury just for you, lass." You roll your eyes again, taking a sip from your coffee to hide the way the corners of your lips are tugging up. It's amusing, really, to find out how much Simon has changed throughout the years. Price told you he used to be much more quiet, though after 4 years of working with the task force, he was able to open up, getting more and more used to interacting with a team rather than being a lone wolf.

"That's not necessary, I can give it to you myself if you'd like." Your gloved hand presses on the scalpel on your white coat before going back to writing his medical report, tone laced with subtle humor.

"She can joke." He taunts, trying to sit up before a sharp hiss of pain escapes his lips. You frown, the report taking way too long to finish because you keep getting interrupted.

"Hold on." You walk up to him, hands holding onto his strong back before you try to help the behemoth of a man sit up. His calloused hands hold onto your forearms, a few low, deep groans escaping his lips at the strain his flexing muscles are causing to the fresh injury.

"Fuckin' hell." He mutters and you look up, eyes focusing on his pained expression for a second too long. Simon isn't ugly, really, but when his face is all scrunched up in pain, sweat gathering in the form of clear specks all over his eyeblack stained skin? He looks almost majestic. You get your head out of the gutter, placing some soft pillows behind his back to help keep him up without much strain.

"You should be healed up soon enough, got lucky the bastard didn't stab that deep." You shrug, looking back at the tiny coffee maker in your office before you look back up at him, his brown eyes already staring back at you, pupils blown, as usual.

"Want some coffee?" He shakes his head politely, eyes closing in pain as he tries to get into a more comfortable position.

"A cuppa would be nice." You flick his forehead softly, tired eyes drifting towards the clock on the wall. 0100, yet you simply nod and grab your phone from the desk.

"Try not to die while I'm gone." The door closes behind you before he can reply, brown eyes closing as he sighs when you're gone. He doesn't even know how it all started. Simon is a man of discipline, a soldier, a Ghost, yet the way his heart quickens and his cock hardens whenever he's with you is something he can't control, as if a parasite made home in his brain and is using his body as a vessel, ridding him completely of any self-control.

You come back 10 minutes later, a tray with a cup of hot tea and food placed on his lap, the almost comforting warmth quickly spreading through his legs and body.

"Thank you." He moves the spoon around the cup of Earl Grey, letting the sugar mix in for a hot minute before he takes a sip from it, nodding his head once in approval. He was starving, really, but he tried his best to eat slowly, ignoring his hungry stomach begging him to wolf it all down. His eyes drift back to the tray, attention caught by the singular orange left there.

His hands fumble for one of the knives in his clothes, finding all of the straps were removed by you and placed too far away for his injured body to reach. He looks back up at you, admiring you in silence and truly taking you in. The way you lift your glasses every once in a while even before they can slip down the bridge of your nose, the way your hand fiddles with the pen and your lips turn into a small pout whenever you're not sure how to describe something in the report, the way you look so angelic under the dim lights of the infirmary—

"What are you lookin' at?" You don't even bother looking back at him, feeling his stare on you for the past two minutes. He has such an intense gaze that makes you feel as if he can see through your soul, yet it never intimidated you.

"Nothin', bird, nothin'. Peeled you an orange."

[PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

[starryluminary]

♪ Jane Doe - Alicia Keys

The EX Files finally!! The episode where Cody and Noah face the consequences of their actions (the consequences they frankly don't deserve)

I hope this is coherent. I had to add and change some things last second to tie it together and I reeeeally hope I managed to have it read well

Notes about this episode under the cut! (There’s extra detail I couldn’t fit in the doodles and needed context for future episodes, so skimming them is recommended!)

* (It’d be funny if Noah had a black eye this episode from Sierra’s backhand.)

* It starts off with Sierra crying and Courtney and Heather making Cody comfort her, which he does reluctantly.

* Cody's not entirely sure what to say to try and calm her down, but she retorts with “Whatever… it’s not like you're in love with him.”

* Sierra looks back at him… and he’s frozen. He doesn’t know how to respond.

* Sierra can take a guess, though. “…No you aren't.” She harshly grabs him by the arms and yells at him, desperately, “NO YOU AREN'T!!”

* Heather grabs Sierra and Courtney grabs Cody to separate them. Cody promptly runs away and Sierra promptly gets yelled at by Heather (not because she cares, but because Cody being injured would make him a liability.)

* On Team Chris’s side, Alejandro, Owen, Duncan and Tyler are huddled discussing the incident. Owen tries his best to be on Noah's side, defending him, but Alejandro twists the story to paint Noah as the one in the wrong. Owen doesn’t want to admit he’s making sense. Duncan is completely against Noah, backing up Alejandro. Tyler however doesn’t participate until Noah gets fed up of the not-so whispering and storms out of first class.

* Cast regroups for the challenge rules and Noah joins Cody's side, quipping something I can’t remember. Cody quips back. Sierra pushes Noah to the ground in response, pretending to be in on the joke.

* The “Courtney throwing challenges” bit is replaced by Tyler watching/paying extremely close attention to Noah to determine if Noah’s situation is sympathetic or immoral. Noah gets more mad the longer the episode goes on cause Tyler isn’t exactly subtle.

* Cody finds the cloning pod and makes Alien Cody like in canon. [I’m making him a bit more curious and a bit less initially threatening, like he has Cody’s thoughts and opinions and feelings.] Alien Cody approaches the real Cody slowly, and Sierra finds them. She’s shocked at first: “Two Codys?” Then she starts wondering, and asks the Alien Cody a question. “Do… you love me?” Alien Cody sticks its tongue out at her and scurries away.

* Once Sierra and Cody are alone together, Sierra tells him she’ll forgive him. Cody is confused. Sierra explains. “Obviously Noah got into your soft, easily manipulated mind, and that was wrong of him!” She grabs Cody’s face. “But don’t worry.” She leans in and puckers her lips. Cody looks at her horrified. “I can fix it.”

* Before Noah and Cody find each other, Noah finds Alien Cody. He thinks it’s the real one at first, approaching it casually. He then notices the messy hair, green tinted skin and the eyes (which I’m making entirely black cause these are pencil drawings with no color) and becomes more cautious towards it. “You’re not Cody. What… are you?” ET finger touch.

* Duncan sees this from afar and yells at Noah: “Are you *seriously* messing with Cody right now?!” Noah tries to respond: “I’m not! This isn’t-“ Alien Cody interrupts him with a growl directed at Duncan. He charges towards him with malicious intent and Duncan punches him, making him explode into goop. Noah does not falter. “Way to kill our winning ticket, idiot.” Duncan does not hesitate. “I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you.”

~ *[Events of the comic]* ~

* Team Amazon makes it back to Chris with an artifact first and win the challenge. Cody looks back at Noah (whose team was only slightly behind his own) sympathetically. Noah looks back with understanding. I want to say Sierra’s slightly too loud and exited about NOT the Amazons winning, but of team Chris losing. Tyler (who’s paying way too much attention now) notices and comes to a conclusion.

* Owen gets voted off this episode for being dead weight, and he and Noah hug before he jumps. Owen tells Noah to “win for him” and Noah replies that he makes no promises… but he’ll try.

Sorry that’s. Like a lot. The story kinda got away from me

[luveline]

for baby blurbs :))

( feel free to ignore this if you don’t like the idea )

ok so this could be for Steve ( or eddie I don’t really care) but he surprises you when you’re at college and like the r and Steve were long distance before

p.s I love you and your writing sm you’ll never understand how much love I have for your writing hope you had a great night/day <33

long distance boyfriend Steve putting cough guy and all other lackluster boyfriends to shame!! tysm for ur request ily ♡ fem!reader

It's been a really long time since you saw your boyfriend. You and Steve had been long distance before. Now that you're at college it's double what it had been, and it feels impassable sometimes.

Of course you've met him, and you know him, you've spent stolen weeks together that always feel like they exist outside of time, and at the end of each one it's harder to say goodbye.

Still, he's only ever a phone call away. Miles and miles and miles, but you're very connected. Which might be why you're in such a tizzy today. He hasn't answered the phone once. You'd tried this morning before he went to work and he hadn't answered. You'd tried his place of work and his bubble best friend Robin had answered, saying he was a little busy and to call back later. You had, and nobody answered at all. Finally, at 7PM, you'd called his house phone and met the same blank wall. You want to cry.

You get scared all the time that he's going to find someone else. How could you? He's handsome in that awful, chest-aching way. Each time you see him in person is agony, to realise and remember how softly gorgeous he is with his huge brown eyes and his silky hair. He's kind, and he's funny, and he's effortlessly charming. You can't imagine the amount of interest he garners.

You sniffle to yourself, stressed beyond words. College sucks and work sucks, and the corner store hadn't had anything nice to drink so now you're thirsty and missing your boyfriend who might not be your boyfriend much longer.

You live in a small house with some other girls, and as soon as you open the door one of them calls out to you. "Hey, Y/N! Did they have it?"

"No," you say morosely, slipping out of your shoes. At least your roommates are nice. "It's okay though. I'm just... uh, I'm gonna call Steve again and then cry myself to sleep."

There's a wave of girly giggling at your joke.

"Laugh it up," you mumble ruefully.

"Would you come in here, first?" Mellissa asks. She's the tall one who always makes you desserts when she has extra. "I need help."

"Sure."

You hang your coat up on the rack and rub your sore eyes. You hadn't cried so much as teared up on the way home, and it's hard to be upset around other people. You shake your hair out and turn the corner into the kitchen, eyes on your skirt as you walk in.

"Guys, do you think this skirt makes me look like a weirdo? I liked the pattern when I got it, but now I'm thinking it makes me look like a carpet."

"It's nice."

You look up so fast your neck clicks audibly.

"I don't think you look like a carpet," Steve says, hands braced either side of the counter behind him. He snorts like he's thinking about what you've just said in more detail. "How do you come up with this stuff?"

Any nonchalance he's enacting slips away as you rush forward. He meets you half way, and he slides his arms under yours to steady you as you collide with his chest.

"Oh my god," you moan, sounding remarkably close to tears in seconds. You force your face as deeply as you can into his neck and cling to him like he might slip away. "Are you real?"

Your roommates all laugh, and Melissa shushes them. You listen to them file out of the room, cooing and awing, but your attention is quickly stolen (rightfully) by Steve's hands. He has big hands and they feel huge as they spread out over your shoulders, glueing you tight to his front.

"You're here," you say, and then you really start to cry.

"I'm here." Steve sighs at your shaking. He starts to sway you slowly from one side to the other, hand patting a gentle rhythm. "Sorry I didn't call. I thought it would be a good surprise... 'Til your roommate told me you've been worrying about me."

He pulls your head out of his neck and meets your eyes. You look back and blink tears out of your lashes so you can see him clearly, starving for his details. He looks exactly as he had the last time you'd left him, bar a small, almost minute cut under his chin. You bring your hand up to touch it carefully. He's always been sloppy with a razor.

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm not going anywhere," he says, imploring. "You know? You should know by now the only reason I'm missing your call is because I'm on my way to you or dying in a ditch somewhere."

You laugh wetly, wiping your sticky face with the back of your hand. "Don't say that."

"It's true."

Your movements turn urgent because you really want to kiss him now but you're all gross and wet. Steve gets the memo and shakes his sleeve over his hand, holding the fabric over the bottom of his palm to wipe your eyes, your nose.

"Sorry," you mumble.

He shushes you and closes the gap, forehead sliding against your own, nose tips touching as he forces your head back. "Don't be sorry," he says, words hot against your lips. You ache for him to kiss you.

"I really missed you," you say.

Steve kisses you before you can burst into renewed tears. It's urgent but he's never not a gentleman. Any attempt to deepen the kiss that you make is met with a breathless laugh and his pulling back. He nips and kisses and dedicates himself to your lips, hands and arms lifting you upwards until you're impossibly close.

"I missed you," he says, breaking the kiss. It's like he can't help himself, because he wades back in immediately. "Too." Another stolen kiss. "So much. So much."

Eventually, his lips move to your cheek and yours to his. You stand there breathing in each others skin and clinging, though your arms loosen over time as reality sinks in. He's here. He's real.

"How long are you here?" you ask, knowing the answer's gonna break your heart.

"I got ten days for you, if you'll have me. Already checked with your roommates. They said if I buy you all dinner one night for my share of the rent then it's okay."

You grow dizzy with joy. Ten days.

"You don't have to do that, really," you say, hands moving frenetically up and down his back.

"I want to. Thank them for keeping my secret."

You gasp and take a half step back. Steve follows you, like a twin star chasing it's counterpart. "They knew?" you ask.

"I needed your address."

"How'd you even talk to them?"

He takes your shoulder into his grip and shakes you mildly. "I have my ways." You gawp. "I waited until you were in class n' called your phone until one of them answered. I'm surprised they let me in."

You giggle, the sound laden with a contagious joy that has your boyfriend smiling and trying to kiss you again. You laugh into his mouth, and he laughs back. The sound tastes sweet.

[0kayblue]

Blood Trail

Blood Trail

Your most recent mission was to rescue the President's daughter, it was supposed to be a simple rescue mission in and out. Things go from bad to worse quickly once you seek shelter in a barn.

 [PART II] 

Main Character Relations: Leon Kennedy x Reader 

Word Count: 5k (a little over) 

Angst, mentions of violence, knives, hand to hand combat, guns, needles, pills, blood, and previous NSFW affairs

A/N: HELLO ALL!! If you can’t tell by the terrible summary this is set in the re4 setting. I’m biased. I’ll probably be going on a break after this, but enjoy!!! I send my love and hope you are all doing alright. 

Search and rescue, that was the name of the game and you were damn good at it. Even if you were flipped around and upside down, you knew how to find things. It was a skill that most in your field wished they had and spent hours trying to learn. Committing to memory how to identify what tracks belong to either what animal or vehicle. Trying to teach themselves what to look for and when to look for it. 

You shined when it came to tracking people. You could quite possibly find yourself over the moon when you spotted boot prints. You could tell a lot about someone based on their footprints. How someone moves is a very telling thing; how far apart each footprint is, the density of each step conveying the urgency in their stride. They told stories and it was up to the observer to translate them in the best way they knew how. 

It took an understanding of people and a bit of a sixth sense. It’s where rookies and professionals alike messed up, but not you. You weren’t always one hundred percent correct, but you always ended up in the right direction. It gained you respect, rank, and a reputation. 

So, as you sat in the back of a police cruiser studying the way the two police officers interacted with one another you put together a mental file on each of them. They seemed quite laid back and easy going individuals that didn’t take much of anything seriously. Joking and laughing- you had no clue what about- like they weren’t on clock. It was a nice change and caused you to smile lightly; it was nice to bask in a partnership that wasn’t so grounded in solemeness. 

You glanced at Leon who rested against the window, staring rather dramatically out of it lost in thought. You rolled your eyes before nudging him gently, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mumbled audibly enough to not draw attention from the officers in front. 

Leon scoffed at the nickname that you gave him the moment you met him months ago. He had a love-hate relationship with it because he knew it was supposed to knock him down a peg; but it fell from your lips in such a flirtatious way that it sparked a warmth in his stomach. Adjusting subtlety, his eyes locked with yours, “What, Princess?” 

Of course he didn’t let ‘pretty boy’ slide and upon seeing how the staff treated you like royalty- and how you had a number of them eating out of your hand- he bestowed you the title of ‘Princess’. There really wasn’t a thing you could do about it and you were more than willing to accept your karma if it hadn’t bit you so hard in the ass in the bedroom. The way it made you squirm under him only stroked his ego. 

It was only predictably natural for two flirtatious agents to find themselves tangled up in the sack once or twice. Although in the particular case of you two it was becoming a more common thing. The palpable energy between the two of you could start a fire. It was fun and loose with no serious title, the way close relationships between agents were recommended to be. 

“You think we could switch roles with these two? I’ll be the funny one.” 

“You can’t be the funny one, I’m the funny one.” His tone dry with a little smirk to match. 

“Damn, really? You could have fooled me.” Little giggles creeping from your throat as you said it, causing him to chuckle. 

“Why am I always the one who draws the short end of the stick?” One of the officers cuts through the moment with laughter, speaking in English for one of the first times since picking both you and Leon up. 

Your eyes left the ocean of blue as your attention turned back to the officers in front of you, fully focused now that they were ready to talk. His eyes stayed on you though, a flower that he’s been neglecting sunlight continuing to bloom.

———————————————————

This was not how this was supposed to go, it was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be an in and out type of job; find the target, save the target, and get the hell out of dodge. 

Breathing in as much air as your body allowed your hands found your knees and trailed down your legs, trying to keep them from shaking. You stood turning to Ashley as you did so, “Are you okay?” You asked concerned, approaching her cautiously as a hand found her shoulder. Your hand pressed against her shoulder with a light firmness as you rubbed her shoulder and then her shoulder blade. 

Ashley Graham, the President’s daughter, the target; a sweet young woman whose adult life was starting off more than just rough and bumpy despite the cushy life she has had. 

Her typically chipper and welcoming persona was gone and all that remained was a scared little girl who just wanted to go home. 

Ashley shook slightly as she tried to catch her breath, wanting to lie, but she couldn’t as she shook her head. You just nodded and continued to rub in between her shoulders and give her time. 

She’s been here longer than you have, she’s seen more than you have; and you only hoped that it hadn’t ruined her outlook on life forever. 

“Take a minute. We should be safe where we are, for now at least.” Leon said as he boarded up a makeshift door in the average sized barn you tried to take cover in. 

“You wanna take a seat, dear?” You asked her as you guided her to a sturdy enough looking chair that sat tucked under an even less sturdy looking table. You smoothly guided her to the seat as your hand left her shoulder, “Is there anything I can do to make this easier?” Your eyes locked with hers to convey your genuine concern for her well being. 

Ashley was a victim. She was someone who didn’t deserve this and it wasn’t fair, but unfortunately it was the cards she had been dealt. Regardless of the paycheck you cared for every victim that you tried to save and Ashley was no different. Trying to make her as comfortable as possible was your primary goal. 

As you reached for the aid kit that was firmly strapped to your thigh, you could hear a drained sigh escaping Leon’s lips over the crisp sound of velcro separating. He was your next concern, but you had to focus. Opening the neatly organized pack that had an assortment of different first aid items like ointment, pills, and bandages on one side and on the other side had syringes filled with morphine and sedatives. 

Ashley’s face turned up at the needles, but you just smiled, “Those aren’t for you, unless you are under some severe pain. You aren’t, are you?” You asked, your tone smooth and gentle. 

“No.” She shook her head, “I just have a headache.” 

You pulled out the little bottle labeled tylenol and got her two of the little red tablets, “Can you take pills without water? What about scratches and cuts, anything we need to bandage up?”

“I don’t like to, but I can.” She affirmed as you handed her the pills, you sent her a warm smile. 

“I don’t either.” You admitted, watching her struggle to take the pills. “That should help, if you need more don’t hesitate to ask, okay?” 

She nodded and you put a hand back on her shoulder, “Take a breather, collect yourself, we will step forward when you feel strong enough to continue.” Ashley sniffed, trying to hold back a flood gate of tears you crouched down to force her eyes to connect with yours, “I know this is hard, but I need you to know that you are going to be okay. Leon and I are going to get you out of here, okay? I promise.” Ashley shut her eyes tight as she took in a deep shaky breath. 

She felt guilty at the feet of your unconditional kindness. She felt as if she had doomed you for failure. How could you promise a happy ending without even knowing half of the story? Something was inside her, something beyond her control; a plague coursed through her body that could turn her into something that sent ice through her veins. Made her so unsure of who she ever was. 

“Ashley.” You called for her, causing her to open her eyes. “It’s okay to cry.” She turned away and slowly she started to feel it; she started to cry. “Can I hug you?” 

“No!” She choked out as she flinched away, “N-no…can I have a moment? Please?” She begged as your brows furrowed together in concern. 

It wasn’t unusual for victims to want to be left alone to cry; to hide. But this felt different. Ashley wasn’t one to hide away from people, she was one to ask for help. To seek comfort in those she trusted. Either she didn’t trust you or something bigger was at play. She trusted you; that much you knew or she wouldn’t have taken the pills from you. She may be a little on the naive side, but she most certainly wasn’t stupid. 

You nodded even though your stomach turned, “Okay, I’m going to go check on Leon. I’ll be right over there and-.” 

“I know! Okay, I know.” Ashley snapped at you, causing you to raise an eyebrow. This put you on guard, but you turned your back and went to Leon. Something was wrong and you were counting on your counterpart to fill you in on the details. 

Approaching Leon you studied his features and how he carried himself. It was off and it was odd, usually Leon was well kept regardless of the hell he was going through; but he seemed disheveled. His posture was slacked, but still stressed and he was pale. The bags under his eyes visible from a mile away and a dark shade of purple accompanied them. You leaned against the wall next to him and you could barely pick up on a trace of him regardless of the fact that you were standing right next to him. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” You asked with a playful smirk, being who you always were with him. You’re own way of telling him it was okay. 

“I lost you.” His voice came out like gravel, low and gruff. You barely heard the sentiment, but it was there. If you weren’t working you would’ve pondered on it, even blushed, but you were on the clock. You had learned your lesson the hard way about relationships on the clock. 

“I found you, though.” You tried to send the same amount of sentiment back regardless of the cool composure you maintained, “It’s what I do. I told you, I’d be okay and I was.” 

He wasn’t pleased with your answer. Leon knew you could hold your own, he knew that you would find him; but that still didn’t settle his stomach. This time had to be different.

“Look how far you got without me, though. You got Ashley and we met up, so I’d say we are back on the right track. Although,” you paused and lowered your voice, “Something is off.” Your gaze found Ashley. 

“That gut of yours.” He remarks with a smile. A sight to behold that causes you to relax slightly. “Whatever the hell is going on here goes deeper than we think.” He swallows harshly as he tries to fight a cough from escaping from his chest. A thick substance that he carelessly writes off as mucus lodges itself in his throat. 

“So it appears. I’m worried about Ashley. I don’t know the girl personally, but from what I’ve seen and read, the girl I’m helping isn’t the girl I studied.” 

“Saddler-.”

“Who?” You cut him off, the name rings a bell as some of the people you killed out of defense mumbled it as they fell to become one with the earth below them. 

“Creepy guy, he’s got portraits everywhere.” You nodded and he continued, “Ran into him when I got Ashley out of the church. He said he injected her with a gift. The same gift those brain dead puppets have out there.” He explained, conveniently leaving out the part that he was also given the same gift. That the same plague was bestowed upon him and that slowly he was turning into the things you killed with sympathy. 

He didn’t want you losing focus. 

“Interesting, that changes the game.” You started second guessing your choice in giving Ashley the Tylenol. “A cure?” 

“Not that I know of. I crossed paths with an ex-cop turned lab technician, or whatever, if anyone knows it’s probably him.” Leon said, trying to choke back another cough. 

“Did this mystery guy have a name?” You tread lightly with concern while Leon turned and coughed. 

“Luis Sera.” He managed to get out through the violent coughs that shook through his chest. Your hand found his back and you hit him lightly, encouraging him to cough up whatever was causing him trouble up. He could practically feel your questions with each gentle but firm hit. 

“You okay?” He shook his head as he turned away, covering his mouth with the fingerless gloves. The leather scent of them makes it harder to get a gasp of fresh air. 

Worry started to course through your bloodstream as you started to rub his back as soothingly as you could. “Leon-.” You were cut off as his coughing ceased just as quickly as it appeared. 

As he stood upright and pulled his hand away noting the faint color of red before wiping his hand on his pants. Playing it off by reaching for his gun, hoping to all things holy you didn’t see. 

You didn’t, your eyes stayed trained on his face. Looking for any sign that could slightly convince you it was just a fluke; maybe he was allergic to something in the barn that caused him to have a coughing fit. 

Whatever it was, it was enough to send you into a course of action, “We’ve gotta find Sera.” 

Leon just gave you a nod of approval while you turned to Ashley. He watched you tread lightly with a sense of urgency, that damn gut of yours. He closed his eyes tight as he began to feel dizzy. The walls of the barn started to close in while he just stood there trying to compose himself. Eyes still closed, his heart beat racing, his veins starting to show black under his skin. His head pounding, the room spinning, an unfriendly heat surging from his chest, to his feet, to his hands. His eyes opened, but he was  unable to see a thing; blinded by a deep red that faded to black. The only thing he could make out was a threat. 

“Ashley.” You called lightly trying to keep your concern below the surface, “I hate to break what you’re going through up, but we’ve got to move.” Ashley sniffed, before turning to you. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she looked better. Almost how you would expect her to look after crying if this had never happened to her, if an irreversible trauma hadn’t tainted her. 

“Okay, it’s okay. I’m ready.” She said with convection as she stood to meet you. Her blood ran cold when she saw a gun pointed at you with intent to kill. “Stop! Leon!” She shouted in desperation, signaling for you to duck. 

It was in the nick of time as you ducked, the sound of a bullet ringing through your ears; just barely missing the side of your head. You turned and stood upright quickly as you glared Leon down, “What the fuck was that-!” You damn near screamed at him before assessing the situation. You weren’t looking at the Leon you knew, you were looking at someone you had never seen before. “Ashley, hide.” You demanded, trying to keep your voice from wavering. 

Leon went to shoot again, but in a twist of luck  the gun harshly clicked. He was out of bullets and you needed to take advantage of the moment. Charging towards him you sent a harsh kick to his wrist while he reached for ammo with the other. The successful kick knocked the gun out of his hand, but he countered by grabbing your ankle. He yanked you by your leg closer to him, pulling you from the place you tried to plant yourself. 

You managed to break out of his tight grasp by swinging a punch towards his jaw. You stood on both feet while he turned with a pained hiss. When his gaze met yours a guttural growl escaped through gritted teeth. His chest puffed out, his jaw clenched, and his eyes clouded over. He was ready to fight. 

The sight struck the fear of God in you. It made you hesitate, it made you vulnerable; and he took advantage of it. He punched you damn near square in the face, holding nothing back. The force sent you stumbling backwards and seeing white. You kept yourself from falling by focusing on the white noise that rang through your ears. You couldn’t make that mistake again. 

You coughed trying to get some air as you saw him go for another hit. You blocked it and made a swipe for his legs. Trying to buy yourself time so you could figure out a way to de-escalate the situation. You were no match for Leon as far as hand to hand combat was concerned. You fought from a distance, you shot from a distance; foresight was your way of survival. 

As he fell to his knees you tried to put him into a chokehold, but the moment he found his footing you were off the ground. He flung you forcefully over his shoulders and onto solid ground. Your head pounded as you saw stars and swore that your skeleton was permanently imprinted into the ground. Your lungs struggled for air as he firmly pressed his forearm to your throat, straddling your hips. 

You squirm underneath him, kicking and thrashing, desperately searching for a way out. He grabbed his knife from its sheath on his chest. Tears beaded on your lower lashes as you used every ounce of strength in your body to push his solid forearm from your throat. 

His eye contact never faltered as he lifted his knife into the air; ready to take the final step and end this. 

“No! Don’t hurt her!” Ashley shouted causing him to falter. His grip on you loosening enough for you to move your head up enough to clamp your teeth into his flesh while you harshly thrusted upward to allow you some space to get away from him. You quickly tried to scurry away from him, but his attention quickly returned to you. He reaches for your leg and barely misses. You slip through his fingertips and the only thought on your mind is distance. You need to see this situation from a different perspective, it was your only chance. 

Quickly getting to your feet you finally reach for your gun. Despite the way your body shakes you hold the gun firmly, “Don’t make me do this, I don’t want to do this.” You plead, nearly falling to your knees, “Please.”

Leon just grunted as he stood upright, he was hesitant as he stared at you. You didn’t make a single movement thinking that he may have been blinded. Your voice reaches him, causing him to see glances of you between the vision of a monster. He was fighting a monster, he only saw a monster. It was trying to take Ashley, it was trying to take you. It was real, wasn’t it?

“Leon? Can you hear me? Can you see me?” You call out in a whimper you can’t hide. Lowering the gun you took a cautious step forward and then another seeing as he didn’t move. Ashley held her breath looking for anything to help her defend herself if this went south. 

“H-He’s got the virus…h-he can’t see a thing…” Her voice low as she slowly began to talk with a stutter full of fear, “I-I know, because I-I have it too…”

You couldn’t help but to wince, this whole thing was sideways in the worst way. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You could feel your heartbeat in your head as you whispered, “I know, I know.” 

Leon stumbled backwards in confusion as time and his senses meld together as he threw a punch at nothing.

 He sees a large heavy set man, his head replaced with a red wet pulsating organ; long sharp appendages sprouting from his spine and wriggling with malintent. The man goes to attack, but Leon dodges slicing a appendage off with his knife in the process. 

Watching him fight nothing made your heart break. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know how to help. He was suffering and all you could do was watch. It made you sick and you had to change that. You had to help him. 

“You’ve had these outbursts? How long do they last?”

“They feel like hours…” She admitted, truthfully she had no idea. It was like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. 

“Okay,” you start trying not to lose your temper, “how do you get out of them?”

“I-I don’t know…I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay, you’re okay. We’ll figure this out.” Your brain moves a hundred miles a minute as you try to connect the dots. You examine the room looking for an exit, running seeming like the only option. The only out was blocked though and boarded up by Leon only minutes before. 

Another way, there had to be another way. 

Your eyes find the table and your pack on the table. A lightbulb went off as you moved towards it slowly; careful to not alert Leon and keep him in the battle he was currently fighting. Quietly and carefully you pulled out a syringe filled with Amobarbital, a sedative that would send him to the ground. 

You tried not to shake as you started to explain your thought process to Ashley, “I’m going to corner and sedate him. If something goes wrong you need to hide until he comes to, okay? Careful though, don’t make any sudden movements, just stay as still as you can. If he leaves, do not follow.” 

Ashley nodded, finding a disregarded dumpster. She slowly moved towards it and climbed into it.

Her movements were gentle enough to not cause too much of a ruckus as you approached Leon from behind. As she reached for the lid, her palms sweaty and her hands shaking, she tried to pull it down. Crouching in the dumpster she almost made it until she slipped, letting go of the lid. A loud bang caused Leon to stop what he was doing and turned in the direction of the dumpster. Quick and powerful strides being made in her direction were quickly stopped when you started talking. Your tone is firm and demands attention. 

“Flesh and bone. That’s all you are, flesh and bone.” 

Leon turned sharply in your direction, cloudy eyes with the intent to kill. He charged at you with his knife pointing directly at your face. You dodged and he stumbled, but was quick to recover. 

“You remember that? That depressing conversation we had the night before we got here?” He went to throw a punch but you roughly kicked him in the chest sending him backwards. 

“What about the time you were so scared that you hurt me in training and you spent the rest of the night searching for my pulse?” You grunted planting your feet and punched him. You were pissed because this man was not the man that you had grown lovingly accustomed to. The man you had started to fall for. 

All Leon saw was a woman with a bloody knife who spewed memories from her throat. How could she have known that? There is no way she could have known that, but he fought regardless. With a broad stroke he knocked the side of her face with his own blade. 

You wouldn’t have noticed he hit you, if it wasn’t for the sting of your own blood rolling down your cheek. 

You successfully knocked the knife out of his hand as your other hand threw another punch to his jaw. You let out a small breath of shock before going to jab the syringe into his neck, but he caught your hand. He roughly pushed you backwards and against the wall. Your spine suffers as you let out a harsh wince of pain. 

“Fuck, Leon!” You try not to wail as his hand lets go of your fist and goes for your throat. Your free hand finds his wrist as his grip tightens. 

“How do you know that?” He barked the question with such intensity that it caused you to cower against him. “Where is she? What did you do?” 

“L-Leon…” You dryly strangle out, “Me. Look at me…” 

That woman’s voice turned to yours and slowly her features started to become yours. His grip around your throat loosening, starting to become unsure of what was reality. 

“Please…” you begged as you started learning to breathe again, “I know- I know it’s hazy.” You regained your grip on the syringe while the hand still attached to his wrist pushed forward. Your fingers find his index and middle finger and you pull them to your pulse, pressing firmly down so he could find it. So he could feel the pleading beats, identify the blood that coursed through your veins. 

You were pure and untampered and he started to see clearly. Glassy doe eyes peering into his eyes while his calloused fingertips felt the smoothness of your flesh. Your breath hitching in your throat as you saw particles of him returning. 

“(Y-Y/N)?” He stutters out, like a whimper still unsure, but questioning. You nodded and for a moment you thought you saw a light at the end of the tunnel. You were ready to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness. 

But you always paid the price. The sound of wood breaking as a body slammed through the boarded up doorway. A tall, dark, greasy man stumbling through trying to catch his breath caused Leon’s grip on you to tighten. 

The oxygen leaves you quicker than it took you to breathe in. 

“Am I interrupting?” The man asked, causing Leon to lose his focus and you took advantage of the moment to stab the syringe harshly into his throat. Your thumb harshly pushing down on the plunger as you injected the sedative into his bloodstream. He let go of you, causing you to fall to your knees as harsh coughs rake through your chest. 

Leon sways slightly as he pulls the empty syringe from his neck. He blinks, the barn becoming clear to him now. Falling to his knees he looks at you, the utter terror on your face makes his blood run cold. Your wide eyes,  blood trailing from your cheek and down your neck, and the way your body trembles is the last thing he sees before he goes unconscious.

It takes a minute, but you crawl over to him and pull him into your lap. You find his pulse and he seems stable as you let out a shaky breath that you’ve been holding. You curl around him, tears pouring down your face as you try to keep yourself under control. The nightmare was over and you have never felt as sick as you did now. 

“Miss?” The man calls for you and you fist Leon’s shirt holding his body to yours before glaring daggers at the man.  

“Luis Sera?” You ask him, your voice low as it wryly escapes from dry lips. He saw all he needed to see to know that you were with Leon. 

“Sí.” He confirmed. 

“I need a cure.” 

———————————————————

Leon bumped shoulders with some agents, but he couldn’t care less as he ran down the hall and down the stairs. He was on his own mission and if he took a single moment you could be gone. His heart raced as he took the stairs to the final level of the building and out the side door. His eyes scan the dimly lit parking lot for your frame and he finds it against your car. He sees you reach for the door handle and he calls for you, “Hey!”

You are startled slightly, but you turn to look at him. You send him a warm smile and a little wave as he jogs to your side. Normally he’d send you warm regards back, but he was upset. 

“Slow your roll there, pretty boy. You’ve seen the way these people drive through this parking lot. Without a care in the world, granted I’m not one to talk.” You joke, your tone is light and airy. Your relaxed posture is a clear juxtaposition of his own.

“You’re transferring?” Your brows knitted together as your once small smile turned to a frown. 

“They told you, huh?” 

“They did.” His heart broke, having no choice but to believe it now that you confirmed it. 

“I was going to tell you over drinks this weekend.” You defend yourself with a shrug. 

“They also told me that you left out the barn incident in your debriefing.” An uncomfortable silence fell over the both of you as he looked at your bandaged cheek. He shut his eyes in pain, having trouble coming to terms with the fact that he could’ve killed someone he cared so deeply for. It was only a moment of relief though until the image of you so frightened of him appeared behind his eyelids. You were so scared, you were so scared of him. He shook it off with a deep breath as he opened his eyes, “If you’re leaving because of that, because of what I did, I swear to you that I will never work with you on a mission again.” 

Your eyes softened and you wanted to reach for him, but couldn’t. “Lee, no, that has nothing to do with the transfer. I trust you with my life.” 

It took everything in him to not wince at your words. How could you say that? How could you possibly mean that? After everything, you still genuinely trusted him. 

“Then why-?” 

“Because I felt like it was something they didn’t need to know the details of, so I wrote it off. Got in trouble for it, but they connected the dots from yours and Ashley’s reports. It’s all they needed.” 

“I…” He started, he had so much he wanted to say. He didn’t know where to start, he didn’t know how to handle this. “I don’t understand.” You just smile at him. His heart melted, but couldn’t bring himself to return your smile. 

“I don’t either.” You reassure him, “They’ve got a couple loose ends to tie up and they want me to finish the job, so I took the position. It’s only supposed to be temporary or did you even let them get that far before running out here?” 

He didn’t, he just left. Which he shouldn’t have, but hindsight was something he was still working on. A short laugh escaped him before admitting it to you, “No.”

You giggled as your hand went to cover your growing smile. You both soaked up this sense of normalcy for a minute, basking in the glow of each other. 

“You are something else, Kennedy.” 

“In a good or bad way?” His tone was flirtatious as he relaxed slightly. 

“A bit of both, just how I like it.” You gaze at him through half lidded eyes. He wanted to touch you, he wanted to pull you to his chest and kiss you so deeply that he would still linger on your lips as you drove home. 

He didn’t, as a fear of your rejection crept up his neck. He hasn’t laid a finger on you since you both had gotten back, not wanting to trigger your fight or flight reflexes. It was a miracle that you didn’t start running the opposite direction when you saw him. He’d let you come to him, he refused to force himself upon you. No matter how badly he needed to feel you. 

“When do you leave?” 

“Next week.” It hurt to finally confront, “Why? You want to throw me a going away party in the break room?” You joked, trying to cover up the pain in your voice. 

“Absolutely.” He said with a smile and you just rolled your eyes. 

“I’ll pass, but if you want to go out for drinks?” You ask, raising a brow. 

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.” He chuckled, his brain beginning to stumble over the word temporary. “How long is temporary, by the way?” 

“Hey, we have to have something to discuss over drinks.” You didn’t want to break it to him now that temporary meant almost two years. Your lips form a tight smile that didn’t fool him, but he understood. 

“Right.” An awkwardness starts to clog his throat, “You also didn’t mention Ada in your reports either.” 

You sighed, refusing to look at him as your stomach turned into an empty pit, “I’m afraid that’s another topic I’ll have to save until I have some alcohol in my system.” His brows knitted together and he sighed. Every conversation starter leads him to a dead end. Every excuse to spend more time with you coming up short. 

“I understand.” He didn’t, but he was willing to be patient. He owed you more than just his patience. 

“Listen, I’ve gotta get going. I’m meeting an old friend for dinner and breaking the transfer news to them as well. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” You go to open your car door and he just watches you run from him. Unable to move or speak as he prepares himself to wallow in the depression of your absence. 

“Tomorrow, Princess.” Your heart flutters at the nickname as you crack a smile. You get into the car and start the engine. You roll your window down and take a final look at him, your chest blossoming despite everything. 

“You still have stuff to do so don’t start something you can’t finish.” He smiles as you put the car in reverse and back out of your parking spot. “Goodnight, dear.” You shout from your window before rolling your window up and driving away from him. Leaving him in an empty parking lot while he waved you away. Leon let out a heavy sigh as his hands found their way into his pockets. 

His thoughts ran wild as he tried to think of a way to fix this.  

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's 12 Days of Ficmas: Day 6 Christmas Lights (Mark Hoffman)

Day 6 is here and we're already half way through 12 days of ficmas. I only decided to do this the day prior but it's going so fast.

Notes: Minors DNI, SFW, fluff, No specific descriptions or pronouns for reader used. This one is really short but I like how it turned out never the less.

"Oh come on Mark, don't be such a scrooge"

You said as you proceeded to hang the small strand of Christmas lights up in his office at the precinct.

"I'm not being a scrooge, I just don't want all this Christmas shit in my office"

He replied from his spot sitting as desk with a stack of paperwork in front of him.

"Hey maybe all this "Christmas shit" will help you get closer to finding the jigsaw killer"

I grinned at him, knowing exactly what I was doing. He gave me an unimpressed look and rolled his eyes.

"Ha Ha, very funny. Like you haven't made that joke ten times before"

He deadpanned, as his eyes continued to scan over the paperwork in front of him.

"I mean hey if you need help to get rid of the paper trail, I have a great shredder in my office"

I said, working my way steadily through the strand of lights while pinning them with thumbtacks to the wall.

"Yes I know about your shredder but I have my own thanks, your not even supposed to be involved like this. I thought I told you to stay out of it?"

He questioned, setting down the file he was looking at and opening up another one.

"Mark there was a jigsaw trap on our dining room table the other night, I think we're past the point of me not being involved, there!"

I said as I finished hanging the end of the strand then flipping the switch to cut them on. The soft white and red glow of the lights added such a cozy feel to Mark's dungeon of an office.

"That's why I told you to stay at work an extra hour, I didn't mean for you to come home to a trap on the goddamn table"

"Mark do I ever listen to what you tell me to do when it comes to work?"

"No but one of us still has to hold out hope don't we?"

He deadpanned again, before sighing and throwing down another file. I picked it up to see what it was about.

"Didn't Strahm already make you look over this file?"

"Yeah, but you know how Strahm is. Especially now that he's getting suspicious of everything. He's driving us all fuckin' nuts"

"Too bad he's too caught up in everything else to see what's right under his nose huh?"

"Too bad? So you want me to get caught?"

"Well I could use the house to myself for a few nights. Let me have some me time ya know?"

Mark snorted at that, standing up and rounding the desk to meet me where I was standing in front of it. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we both gazed at the Christmas lights.

"Yeah sure "Alone time", by the time I would come back the whole house would be covered in this bullshit"

I rolled my eyes and playfully elbowed him in the side at his comment.

"You have to admit Mark, the Christmas lights aren't THAT bad"

He snorted again, bringing me in closer to him with his arm still wrapped around my shoulders and brining his other hand up to rest on my hip and move me in front of him so my back was to his chest.

"Ya know maybe you have a point, They aren't the worst thing in the world huh?"

It was my turn to snort.

"No Mark, Not the worst thing in the world at all"

[ddejavvu]

oh mother of fuck u have no idea how out of place it feels sending u something about nsfw but ik that u do that here so im sending u this (my apologies😀) & running away 🏃‍♀️🏃🏃‍♂️

but i think a concept thats kinda funny kinda spicy is hotch & bau reader having a professional relationship surface level, but under that hotch having like.,,., a embarrassingly large crush on them and one night just,,, j🅰️ckin 0ff to the thought of them and then struggling to make eye contact with them the next day at work cause the night before is all he can thing abt lmfao 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

baby don't feel out of place i literally get the horniest shit in my inbox every single day

this post is 18+, minors dni.

"Come in." Aaron's brow furrowed as his fingers tightened slightly around the pen in his grasp. He hadn't remembered calling anyone in to see him.

The door to his office cracks open, creaking slightly on the hinges as you make yourself known, "Sorry to interrupt, sir. I was wondering if we could go over my performance review earlier than we'd planned?"

Right. Your performance review. It was scheduled for three in the afternoon, but here you were at 9AM.

"I suppose so." Aaron felt something stirring below his gut as you turned to shut the door behind you, your pants shifting around the globes of your ass. He'd imagined squeezing that same flesh just last night, imagined how each curve would feel while they were squeezing his cock.

He'd been so lost in thought that you'd settled into your chair in front of his desk without him noticing, and his stationary eyeline just happened to be right where your neckline landed when you sat. Your shirt was low-cut, still professional, but definitely not a turtleneck. It gave him the slightest hint of cleavage, and he felt his cock twitch in his pants, stirring to life.

"Are you sure this is okay?" You ask, as he clears his throat, shuffling through papers to find your files.

"It's fine, Y/L/N." He dismisses, sending you his version of a smile, "You saved me from having to do more paperwork."

You let out a sympathetic giggle at that, settling back into your chair as he shuffles through the papers.

"Well I'm sure you know we've had minimal issues with you," He glances teasingly over the stack of papers, "There's not many problems here to discuss."

"Sir, if you're going to bring up the time I sassed that detective," You start, bringing a thumb up between your lips as you gnaw on the nail there, "I sent a formal apology to their department and it was cleared, I promise it won't happen again."

Aaron's eyes trail your movements, the way that your soft, plump lips bend under the weight of your thumb. Your teeth show as they scrape against your nail, and your voice comes out muffled as it moves around the finger in your mouth.

You take his silence for sternness, and nervousness brews in the pit of your belly, "I'm very sorry, sir, I know it was unprofessional."

He blinks, snaps out of it, and realizes he's hard beneath the desk. He scoots forwards slightly, locking eyes with you again and shaking his head, "It's fine. I hate to fuel your fire but he deserved it. Just try not to do it again."

"What if I do it again and just don't get caught?" You raise an eyebrow cockily, leaning forward to joke with him. The sight makes his stomach bottom out, and he feels the urge to lean forwards, not back like he should.

"As long as I don't have to deal with it, that's fine." He lets himself laugh, delighting in the soft smile it spreads over your face, your eyes crinkling at the edges, "You're a good agent, Y/L/N, I'm glad you're with us."

"Me too." You beam at him warmly, "Thank you, Hotch."

He wants to correct you. Aaron, he thinks, you can call me Aaron, hell, he'd let you call him daddy if you really wanted to, but he stays silent, only nodding with a kind smile on his lips.

"Do you want me to send Prentiss in now?" You stand, taking the papers he hands towards you over the desk. He deliberates, he knows she's next in line for a review, but his pants are tight and he's gripping the arm of his chair so hard his knuckles are turning white, so he shakes his head, "Not quite yet. I'll get her in a little while, I just need to finish first."

He gestures towards the paperwork he'd been working on when you came in, but he knows damn well he needs to finish, not finish. You nod cheerily at him, bidding him a good day. It's a sentiment that he returns, and he watches with rapt attention as you shut the door to his office and race down the steps, a bounce in your step that makes your chest shake.

He keeps paperwork held conveniently by his side that just so happens to cover the bulge in his pants as he closes the blinds to his office. He's sure Rossi will understand the correlation between you leaving and Aaron shutting himself in, but right now he doesn't care, all he cares about is fucking his fist hard enough to pretend it's your cunt.

[kyokutsu-sama]

Punishment

"You behaved very badly today Y/n and I'm not happy with you"|Shunsui x reader Tw: Nsfw content below the line An: This man is the most honored Daddy in Soul Society and no one can convince me otherwise😫🤭 I missed writing for him😮‍💨

-------------------------------------------------------

"Did you send for me captain?" You said, opening the door of his office in the first division

"Yes, come here" He called you closer and you approached the table

You thought he would probably want to do something more like he always did, but just seeing the look in his eyes made you change your opinion. He looked a little serious and that was unusual for a man like him, maybe he was like that after the little argument you two had a few days ago and in which he ended up making another one of his jokes just to have the last word that made you stopped talking to him since then. Not only did you put him aside, you also didn't follow his orders, which led him to take “certain actions” to reverse that situation. He knew he had messed up but the cold way you treated him was killing him.

"Why didn't you give me the files I asked you for two days ago?" Shunsui said looking at the table and then at you

"Your lieutenant didn't deal with the matter? I thought I told her, I must have forgotten" You crossed your arms and looked at him

"I didn't ask her, I asked you to do this, my dear Y/n" The way he said your name sounded sarcastic and made you shudder a little

"But I thought I was clear when I said I wouldn't do it, or could it be that you don't understand a no?"

Shunsui looked down and laughed a little for no reason, you almost asked him where the joke was but he was the type who found everything funny even if it was a serious situation.

"You are a woman like no other, no seriously, you contradict the orders of your dear captain and your--"

"My what? You are just my captain, or maybe you also work overtime somewhere else. Oh, I'm already forgetting that my captain is a drunk and that he doesn't do anything other than spend his nights drinking and fucking everything with his jokes" You said facing his words and seeing that he seemed to be laughing even harder which made you almost punch him

"Actually I do other things besides drinking, you know, but you don't ask me about that" He said without laughing this time

"Like what ? Fucking somebody else, for example?"

"For example… I usually think about punish you for speaking that way and for disobeying me" He got up from the chair and came face to face with you

You looked at him but didn't say anything, his presence was doing things to you and you scolded yourself for making it so obvious in your eyes. He may have looked like an idiot, but he knew how to read people's eyes like no one else and what your gaze carried was exactly what he wanted to read.

"And tell me then, captain, how are you going to punish me? I rather said, how are you going to achieve this? It's just… I'm not at all interested in what you're planning to do" You whispered next to his face and he smiled

"No? Oh what a shame, I thought you liked it when I did that" He said, brushing his lips next to your ear and passing one of his hands under your skirt making you shiver

You felt shivers from head to toe, you wanted so badly to back away but that damn touch, those damn lips and that damn man weren't helping. That man was a danger, a sin and… an idiot

"You behaved very badly today Y/n and I'm not happy with you" He whispered as he kissed your neck, he wasn't even doing much of anything but you almost came right there just with the sound of his deep voice

"Why ? I thought you liked it when I played the bad girl" You teased

He smiled and walked away from you, sitting down again, admiring your confused and excited face at the same time. You were so mad at him because you knew he always find a way to turn the game in his favor and get his little victory.

"Come here Y/n"He called you after deciding what he was going to do with you

You sighed a little reluctant but went to him and placed yourself between him and the table, watching him look at your skirt and then at you, who looked away feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment and hatred at the same time. He smiled and started running his hands down your legs and kissing the skin of your thighs, you took one hand to the edge of the table and grab it, feeling the heat build up in the middle of your thighs.

"You have no idea what you do when you walk around wearing that skirt, do you?" He said between kisses

"You're nothing more than a pervert to be looking at my legs like that" You said making him giggle

"If you saw yourself in the mirror more often you would understand why"

If he was trying to boost your self-esteem like he always did, then he was succeeding once again. His hands came up and grabbed the waistband of your panties and it was at that moment that your heart started beating faster and your breathing stopped. You closed your eyes as you felt the fabric slide down your legs. The slow way he was doing everything was making you even more frustrated, you wanted him so bad and he was just there taking his time. Maybe that was also part of his punishment?

"You don't seem to be that mad at me, do you? Otherwise you wouldn't be dripping on my fingers" He said caressing your flesh with his fingertips and making you squirm a little

"Shunsui, you son of a…" You were about to finish the sentence but you let out a little moan when you felt his thumb brush your sensitive bud

"Sometimes I am, I'm sorry Y/n-chan"He said in a fake lamenting voice and giving a smile

You tilted your head and moaned when start thrusting his fingers into you, the heat in the room seemed to have increased. He passed his other hand through the knot of the fabric you were wearing and opened it, cooling your skin that was dripping with sweat.

"Do you want to come?" He whispered as he continued pushing his fingers even deeper

"Yes, please" You whimpered and he laughed

He removed his fingers and sucked them, he lowered his pants and slapped his thigh to order you to sit on his lap. You held his shoulders and placed one knee on either side of him and hid your head on his shoulder while he ran his hands down your back. He slid the fabric off your shoulders and removed it revealing your breasts and you blushed when he caressed them, he couldn't explain which part of your body he liked the most because you were so beautiful in his eyes and when you were upset he found you even more beautiful and cute even if you wanted to kill him.

He sucked them and you arched your back to give him more access to your skin, he took one hand to his cock and started touching himself while running his soft lips over your skin. You felt his tip sliding through your pussy and teasing your wet entrance, you moaned at the sensation and moved your hips a little on top of his lap, showing your need for him.

"You're in a hurry, aren't you?" He said, grabbing your chin and brushing his lips with yours. "Be patient" He said, kissing you for the first time since you entered there ,It was just a little kiss, but it made the butterflies in your stomach more restless.

"Shunsui please" You whimpered in his ear putting your arms around his neck and pressing your body against his

"Shhh, let me take care of you" He whispered before entering you slowly and eliciting moans from you, he already missed hearing those wonderful sounds you made

His dick went deep inside you, making you feel your hot and viscous insides tighten around him while your legs trembled. You tried to move but he stopped and you whimpered.

"Don't move Y/n, just feel it"

"Please" You begged as you dug your nails into the skin of his shoulders

"I didn't want to do it but this is your punishment"He said stroking your hair

Okay, you were going to kill him once and for all. Just staying there warming his cock was painful, especially when you were so wet and ready to take him like other times but your actions had consequences and here you both were. He sighed heavily enjoying the way you were tightened around him and moaned in his ear, he didn't like having to put you in situations like that but what could he do when you had ignored him for days and didn't even look at him? And all because of a simple joke that was nothing more than a joke.                                   

It's been a while since you were there on his lap without moving, his hands grabbed your hips, keeping you pressed against his body so that you didn't have the temptation to move even a little.

"I can't take it anymore... fuck" You moaned and he smiled 

"Do you want it so much, petal?" He asked, lifting his hips a little and making you moan again

"Yes, yes... give it to me"

"You're not going to break the rules again, are you?" He moved his head from his shoulder and looked into his longing eyes for him

You shook your head in denial and he kissed you, you held his cheeks and kept him close so you could feel his tongue swirling against yours. You were almost going crazy with just his lips, everything about him was captivating especially his natural charm that made your mind go in circles. He placed his hands on your waist while you began to ride him with all the accumulated desire that you were feeling since the beginning

"You like that, huh? Do you like feeling my cock going deep inside you?" He said letting out a small growl

"Yeah, I-I love it ahhh" You said completely breathless and between moans

"What a good girl" He smiled before smashing his lips against yours

Both of your moans were being muffled in each other's mouths, you bit his lip as he grabbed the flesh of your butt and let out a heavy sigh, feeling you ride even faster. You were so close to coming, the walls tightening more and more.                                                         

"Don't come, love...not yet" He ordered and you nodded

You rolled your eyes when you felt his fingers rub your bud in quick and circular movements while you took his dick, he was testing you but even though you were hanging on by a thread you held on as best you could.          

"Come to me my beautiful girl" He ordered kissing your neck

You moaned loudly for him, feeling the cum running down your legs and all over his dick that was still inside you and that only moments later you could feel it pouring inside you and filling you. He loved seeing his cum dripping out of you and the way you looked so beautiful even with your hair disheveled and sweaty.

You laid your head on his broad and panted chest as you tried to breathe properly again.

"You really get everything you want, don't you?" You said and he smile

"I just want to have you, is it wrong?" He replied and you looked at him

"If you weren't an idiot sometimes you would have me more often"

"Yes, you're right" He chuckled

[logolepzy]

What we can't say ༉‧₊˚.

pairing : spencer reid / derek morgan

genre : fluff , one shot

word count : 1.7k

summary : the team has to fly out to Spokane late into the night for a case involving 3 missing girls, but their hotel couldn't accommodate the last minute request entirely, leaving two members having to share a bed.

this is my first fic so im open to suggestions and feedback!!

The team slouch in their squeaky leather chairs, while Hotch leans on the side table, trying to keep himself up and awake. They had all been called in late into the night for a case involving 3 missing young girls and were requested to fly out to Spokane as soon as possible, hopefully to find the third victim in time.

“Alright, before we land, let's do a quick brief on what we have so far regarding the case.” Hotch yawned, slipping his thumb under his manila folder and flipping it open.

Everyone scans through their folders along with him, trying to keep up, and fighting a quick power nap they desperately need yet have no time to spare for on the jet. 

Derek had started to doze off while going over his file when Emily tapped his shoulder. Derek suddenly jerks, taking his weight off his hand and shifting it onto the armrest.

“Hey man, we're about to land. Don't make us leave without you.” She teased, nudging her shoulder into his, and bringing her attention back to the ongoing discussion of everyone bouncing theories off of each other, composing a game plan for when they land.

Reid sat across from Emily and Derek, fidgeting with his fingers, running them along the window trim. He never saw Derek as the kind of guy to chase after someone like Emily, but with his chronic flirtatious personality, even the baby genius FBI profiler couldn’t figure him out. He couldn’t help but examine Derek’s behavior towards the others, taking notes of the important details that just might give him a clue on his feelings towards him.

The jet finally lands, and the team makes their way to the hotel they managed to book last minute. They reach the front desk to check into the hotel, and find out they were able to accommodate three bedrooms, only two of the rooms had two separate beds. They scoot to the side of the reception to make way for other customers and begin discussing who will be sharing the one bed-room.

“Well, how will we be doing this?” Rossi smirks and scans everyone's face to humor himself at their reactions at the fact someone will be sharing a bed tonight.

“Right off the bat, I think it’s safe to say me and JJ would love to share.” Emily chuckled, glancing at JJ and exchanging a smile with her.

Reid stays quiet. He had been used to being the last choice all throughout his childhood, which always seemed to come back up in his adult life, but he had grown used to it. So he sat there, waiting for a groan of complaint, until he heard someone mention his name.

“I can share with Reid, I don’t mind.” 

He glances up and sees Derek grinning at him, arm reaching out and patting his shoulder, and letting out a small giggle.

Reid was confused as to why Derek was so willing to share the same bed as him. For an activity so intimate, he assumed Derek would clarify he was taking the floor or perhaps waiting to trade places with someone, and yet he didn’t.

Everyone heads to their rooms sluggishly dragging along small suitcases packed enough for at least two days and start to get settled, preparing for the rush of work they will be facing in the morning.

Derek swipes their room card across the reader, waits for the click, and budges the door open, allowing Reid to walk through before him.

“This is a decent room for having one bed.” Derek joked, inspecting the room from left to right, top to bottom.

Reid was too fidgety and flustered to come up with a funny quick response, especially not when he’s facing the fact that the man he is infatuated with chose to lay in the same bed as him. 

Derek sighs as he noticed how Reid was behaving, he could sense unease within his friend, and he was starting to feel it too. He continues to make his way around the room, examining the quality.

Reid blankly stares out of the window, tracking how many blue cars he can spot out in the spotlight of the streetlights, checking if he can find the moon and gauge the phase of it. Was it a waning gibbous or a full moon?

He jolts as he feels a palm press onto his right shoulder, whipping his head around to end up directly staring into the eyes of Derek, inches away from his face.

“Woah there!” Derek forced a laugh, trying to keep the mood light.

“Oh! Well- I uh, I was just um-” Reid muttered. He was barely able to spit those words out, so he gave up, dropping his head to the floor, scratching the shoulder of his shirt.

“You haven’t spoken since we’ve gotten off the jet, is something wrong?” Derek interrogated, wanting to ease this everlasting anxiety he could just feel rising within Reid.

“Everything is alright. You don’t have to worry.” 

“You can never seem to go more than 2 hours without talking.” Derek took a couple steps back to sit down on the bed. “Something’s gotta be up with you, man.” Derek’s tone had dropped, he spoke in a low concerned voice, causing it to become a rasp.

Reid’s head stayed low, keeping his hands busy, hoping it could distract himself enough to bring him to another scenario. Another timeline where he wouldn’t be in a ruinous state of shame and humiliation. Another timeline where he could have spoken up before Derek and gotten to sleep on the floor with Emily and JJ. Not a time when, in the midst of being called onto an urgent case hours past his usual bedtime, he was chosen to share a slightly dingy, coffee stained mattress with Derek Morgan.

“It’s just, uh, this case is quite stressful. The last minute call as well, trying to rush to this hotel shortly after I had fallen asleep. Y’know.” Reid continued to anxiously fidget with the hem on the bottom of his shirt.

“Well, yeah, I understand that, but you were acting just fine on the plane. It was only once we got to the hotel when you started acting strange.” Derek kept his gaze on Reid, spotting out all his nervous tics and fidgets.

“Everything is alright, Derek, I promise.” His head rises as he speaks, then he turns to wash up in the bathroom and switch to proper bedroom attire.

Derek raises his eyebrows and scoffs, he tried his best, if Reid wasn’t going to give it up right then and there, he had to let it go.

A couple of minutes go by, Reid sits on the cold porcelain toilet seat, counting the total numbers of tiles on the bathroom floor. His emotions were still running high, and he was yet to face the grand event of sleeping next to someone he has feelings for. He shook his face, pushed the slick walnut strands out of his face, and then stood up.

Reid slowly twists the bathroom knob, creaking the door open. Once the door is fully ajar, he spots Derek already sat comfortably on their bed, scrolling through the best channels he could find at this hour. He’s wearing a long sleeved cotton button up, colored dark blue, paired with some classic black sweatpants. Reid took gentle steps towards the left side of the bed, sliding under the thin cover, hoping Derek wouldn’t notice and try to strike up some before-bed discussion.

Derek finally settled on a channel, some old 90s family sitcom he used to watch with his sisters, and got nestled under the covers. He glanced over at Reid, knowing he wasn't asleep, just wanting to examine his behavior. Was he shaking? Was he still fidgeting? Could he get a good night's rest before their case tomorrow?

The restless agent lay motionless in bed, only letting his shoulders rise and fall as he took in subtle deep breaths. Too afraid to look back, he could feel Derek’s stare pierce the back of his neck, trailing down his spine. His mind was clouded with a steep mountain of anxieties, thoughts slurring together as his restlessness became fatigue. He was hung up on the possibility of being critiqued, in such a vulnerable state of unconsciousness, unknowing to external issues. His nightmares had come back for the first time since Las Vegas just a few weeks ago. He wondered if Derek would comfort him if he were to wake in a cold sweat, heart beating rapidly, unable to stop shaking. He practically started praying for a response anywhere equivalent to that, if the situation were to occur at all.

Reid’s eyes flutter open, his eyes immediately landing on the digital boxy bedside clock to check the time

4:29 a.m.

He knew the rest of the team was likely still asleep, so he decided to rest his eyes once again, hoping to get an extra hour or two of sleep. He makes an effort to bring his hand up to rub his eyes when he feels another weight sitting on top of it. Laying on his back, as still as he could possibly be, he shifts his head to glance down at his hand, seeing Derek Morgan’s fingers interlocked with his. His palm blanketed by Derek’s. His eyes widen, and he feels his entire body tense, his mind shifting from groggy and hazy to ruffled and delighted.

He continues to lay still, feeling his cheeks start to burn up, spreading down to his fingertips. This was not accidental, Derek meant to do this.

Suddenly, he hears Derek groan and shift around harshly, swinging his head over to face Reid, still gripping Reid’s left with his right, and spots him simply staring at the ceiling.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were going to be up this early.” Derek mumbled while lightly smirking, still being slightly out of it, not noticing he had continued to cling onto Reid throughout the night.

He surveyed Reid’s body language, he could sense there was still some tension, but he was glad it had been eased before the case. 

Unclasping his hand from Reid’s, he turns over and sits on the edge of the bed, checking his phone for the time. He still left a smirk on his face, remembering how he comforted Reid in the night, even though he might not have remembered it. He was still cared for by someone who loved him.

[ilovesjamesbb]

Please Don't Leave Me (Pt. 14)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mature themes, violence

Dark. Cold. Alone. The only words that went through her head. The only sound in the basement was the constant dripping, of what she didn't know. Water, gas, blood. Everything was a blur. 

Everything was going well until it wasn’t.

“Christian, we are gonna be late to dinner, Warner and Madeline are gonna be waiting for us.” I called into the bedroom. I heard no response and I huffed. He was always doing something and I never knew what it was. 

“Christian.” I called again but as I made it into the bedroom he wasn’t there. What the hell was he doing now? I walked to the other side of the apartment and I saw his office door was open. Great, he's working… I pushed open the door and the chair I expected him to be in was vacant. I was about to leave the room when I saw the desk drawer hanging open, a key in the lock. That’s weird. I was going to just shut the drawer and leave but I looked down to see photos of me. Photos before we met. Photos of me at the grocery store. At the club with my friends. Me at SHIELD, Fury with his hand on my shoulder. Photos of me at the coffee shop I visited every morning before work. What the hell? I then looked to see a file that read…

HYDRA - MISSION 1677

I picked up the document with shaky hands and opened the first page. 

TARGET: Y/N L/N

My breath hitched. 

FEMALE

DARK HAIR

DARK EYES

SHIELD SPECIAL FORCES 

PROFILER

What is this?

TARGET IS DANGEROUS. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

MISSION: TERMINATION

I looked down in the drawer to see if there was anything else and I saw two guns. It looked like there was a place where another gun should be but nothing was there. 

“I really wish you hadn’t done that.” Christians voice sounded in the room. I didn’t turn around. I knew there would be a gun pointed at me, the missing one. 

“I think we are gonna have to raincheck on that dinner.”

“What do you want from me? What is this?” I still haven't turned around. I didn’t wear my gun anymore, thinking I was safe to go on a date with my boyfriend. 

“It’s a mission. Nothing personal.” He said detached. I whipped my head around. 

“Nothing personal? We’ve been dating for almost a year. This isn’t personal? We’ve gone to galas, got an apartment, we..we had sex.” I said, realizing the magnitude of the situation. Tears started to well in my eyes. 

“Perks of the job.” He said menacingly. I didn’t know the man standing in front of me. This has all been a lie. 

“You really thought I loved you, didn’t you? Everytime I held your hand, got you flowers, everything I kissed you…�� He approached me, circling behind me.

“Everytime I made you scream my name…” I shivered as his breath hit my neck. 

“If you’re going to kill me, do it.” I said, eyes closed. He laughed. 

“Oh no, killing you wouldn’t give the satisfaction I crave.” He grabbed my neck roughly so that I could see his face. 

“Basement, now.” I didn’t move. I couldn’t. He started to choke me and pushed me forward. 

“I won’t say it again. Be the obedient whore I know you can be and get in the fucking basement.” I let my legs carry me to the basement door. I slowly walked down the stairs and my eyes never left the wall. There were shackles hung from the ceiling and two from the floor. I had never been down here before, it was always locked. Christian said it flooded badly and I didn’t find a need to go down there. A drain lay directly under the shackles. He was going to torture me. 

“What, I thought you liked a little bondage?” He joked again but none of this was funny.

“Put them on. Feet first and then hands.” I moved toward the chains and I couldn't do it. I needed to fight back.

“Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. There is no use fighting back. I will get what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?” I bite back bitterly.

“Intel. Lots of it. Access to SHIELD database. Everything, you name it.” That was his game. How could I have been so stupid? What was I thinking? I should have run a background check, something, anything.

“I won’t do it.” I said, standing my ground. 

“I hoped you would say that.” Before I knew what was happening he hit me with the butt of the gun. Immediate pain flowed throughout my skull.

“Shackles, now.” Still, I refused. The beating started and I couldn’t tell when it ended. I wish I could say I got numb to it but I never did. At some point I made it into the shackles, hanging from the ceiling. His face was in mine. 

“You can’t escape me, Y/n.”

Bucky could hear screaming and he shot up. It was y/n. She was fighting something. His senses were in overdrive. Nightmare. 

“Y/n. Shh.” I tried to call for her first knowing that waking someone from a nightmare can be dangerous. Nothing. 

“Stop! Stop, please! Christian!” She cried. At that moment I was so furious. Christian had hurt my girl enough. At this point she was gonna hurt herself. I sat up and I grabbed her wrists. 

“Y/n. It’s okay. You gotta wake up, doll. He’s not here.” Her eyes flew open and she tried to move away from me to the headboard. I have never seen her look so scared, it broke my heart. 

“That’s it, doll. It’s just you and me.” I tried to calm her down. She stopped struggling and she just cried. I wrapped my arms around and put her head to my chest. When she finally calmed down I realized we still didn’t have on our clothes. I went to reach to the floor to grab our garments and she clung to me. 

“Please don’t leave me.” Doesn’t she know by now that I would never leave her? 

“Okay, doll. I was just gonna grab us some clothes but I’ll stay right here.” She nodded content. She was still shaken up. 

“Nightmare?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Memory. It was a memory.” She sniffled, almost sounding detached. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She lifted her head to look into my eyes. She looked hesitant. 

“I wanna know all of your dreams and all of your nightmares. I’m here for you.” I said caressing her hair away from her tear stricken face. 

“It was the night I found out Christian wasn’t who I thought he was. The first night he tortured me.” I hummed listening intently. Hoping she would go on. 

“The worst part is the beatings and… the physical pain wasn’t even half as painful as the betrayal I felt.” Her eyes were welling up again. 

“He can never hurt you again, y/n”  She nodded. I knew he was still out there and I knew I was gonna kill him. I let her rest her head down. She wanted to talk more about it in the morning. As she fell asleep in my arms I vowed yet another thing to her. 

I would kill Christian Valentino and I would enjoy doing it. 

PLEASE COMMENT AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU WANNA SEE NEXT

[buffster]

Buffy vs Dracula (BTVS 5.01)

This is part of my ongoing Buffyverse Project, where I write notes/meta for every episode in an attempt to better understand the characters and themes of the shows. You can find the BTVS list here and the ATS list here. Gifs are not mine.

Really leaning into the camp with this one.

It’s clear from the outset that the writers are preparing for Riley to exit. Now that the drama of the Initiative is over, we are stepping right into the idea that Buffy and Riley don’t actually work as a couple. Riley has fallen asleep (presumably satisfied and relaxed after some sexy times) while Buffy lies awake. She sneaks out and does some late-night slaying. She satisfies him, he doesn’t satisfy her. 

When the gang hangs out at the beach for some relaxing, we also see that Buffy consistently holds back from Riley without ever mentioning it. When he says she throws like a girl she puts a little effort in and immediately knocks him over and ruins the ball. This puts forward the idea that Buffy is deliberately holding her Slayer self back from Riley. We’ll get more into this through the season.

The group begins a conversation about making life choices. Xander doesn’t have a steady future, Riley can’t focus his major, and Willow is still deciding what she wants to major in. It surprises me that she wants to take a drama class after all her fears from past seasons. I guess this is a sign she is trying to leave the old Willow behind. Giles has spent the summer archiving texts, labeling amulets, and generally preparing to leave Buffy behind. He tells only Willow that he’s planning to go, and it seems like that’s because he’s prepared her to be mini-Giles. 

Buffy is patrolling alone when she meets Dracula. He immediately causes her to question her power by labeling her a killer. He says her power is rooted in darkness. It appears this season will continue to explore what it means to be a Slayer. Anya, Willow, and Buffy (and Xander?) all find Dracula attractive. They discover he can read and control minds and appear in dreams. 

Riley’s restlessness is clear here. He doesn’t really like or fit in with the Scooby method of dealing with a problem. We see him pacing, distractedly muttering that the Initiative would be able to pull files on Dracula and give them all the information they needed in seconds. He visits Spike for information just to feel like he’s taking some kind of action. 

Riley picks up on Buffy’s attraction to Dracula. It’s made worse when she hides that she’s been bitten, and he finds out. He doesn’t think she’s under Dracula’s spell but is just transferring feelings of Angel onto Dracula. As we watch Buffy begin to get more and more curious about what it means to be a Slayer (and running from it less), we see Riley pick up on that part of her he can’t reach and get more insecure.

Dracula understands part of her Slayer side, and this curiosity draws her in.

A little inconsistency with Joyce this season. She’s lonely and invited Dracula in, which I guess we will blame on his mystical alure rather than her being naive. But there’s a little joke where she says something about wanting to give up on men altogether and Willow and Tara sort of side-eye each other, like she doesn’t know they’re a couple. But then next episode Dawn is writing in her diary and it’s pretty clear Joyce does know they’re a couple. Not really important, just something I noticed.

Giles being seduced by the vampires and Riley rescuing him was a funny scene. Also interesting, though, because Riley is laser focused on Buffy and not at all tempted at this point. But we know he’ll be in that exact same position later in the season...

Buffy is still under Dracula’s spell until she tastes blood. It snaps her out of her trance, because she might not be sure what her power is leading her to, but it’s not that. She’s not a vampire. She beats Dracula. 

Also...how many times did he come back? How did she know he was gone for good?

Xander: Damn it!.. You know what? I'm sick of this crap. I'm sick of being the guy who eats the insects and gets the funny syphilis! As of this moment, it's over. I'm finished being everybody's butt monkey!

Buffy’s decision to re-commit to Slayer training derails Giles’ decision to leave. She wants to know more about what she is. We’re pivoting away from past seasons, where all Buffy wanted to do was run away from her power. 

Annnnd....Dawn.

Character Notes:

Buffy Summers: She says she’s fought fanboys that called themselves Lestat.

Willow Rosenberg: When the gang is exhausted looking at Buffy and Riley’s exertion, she says they’ve put their finger on why they’re the sidekicks. She loves mochas and is starting to get addicted to them. 

Xander Harris: Xander was fired from flipping burgers “in like a day” and is now working construction. Anya mentions he’s been looking at sexy girls in tool belts.

Anya Jenkins: She hung out with Dracula a few times in her evil days. She once cursed someone by making them incredibly fat.

Riley Finn: He’s trying to decide whether to focus on psycholinguistics or cognitive neurobiology for his psychology masters. 

Tara Maclay: Her joke only lands with Willow, which makes her embarrassed.

Joyce Summers: Buffy suggests she get a pet. She says a cat is too pathetic and a rat too creepy. She says she’ll think about a dog.

Spike: He says Dracula owes him 11 pounds.

[tally-kiza]

A Kind Stranger

Summary: You're just the clerk of Arkham State Hospital's information desk. The days are long, the paperwork is innumerous, the people who approach your window are uncaring. But for whatever reason, you just can't help yourself from being moved when you are approached by one Arthur Fleck.

Words: 3223

“Wait!” you yelled, watching with fear as a man sprinted away from your window with his mother’s file clutched to his chest.

Not fear of him. Fear for him.

Arthur Fleck had approached your information desk shortly earlier with exhaustion painting every deep line of his face, introducing himself and requesting to read Arkham’s file of his mother, Penny. A file from 30 years ago, stored deep in the halls of Arkham’s basement. You hadn’t had the heart to refuse. His long, curly hair was greasy and unwashed, his ill-fitting clothes rumpled, and the bags under his eyes were heavy and dark, like he hadn’t slept in days. He kept his head bowed, hands stuffed in his pockets, and the quiet rasp of his voice was halting and unsure. This man had just looked so... deeply sad. 

As reluctant as you’d been to go hunting through decades-old records, you couldn’t send this poor man away empty-handed. If it was his mother’s file, he must’ve had an important reason for needing to see it.

Arkham Hospital’s basement’s organization system was a living nightmare. The room itself was dark with flickering and broken lights. Your footsteps and drips of something echoed through the cramped space. Nothing was ever in order, alphabetical or otherwise; it had taken you longer than you liked to finally find the box the file was stored in, with blooms of mold creeping up one of the lower corners. As you hunted, you were afraid this Arthur had gotten tired of waiting and must’ve left, but he was still patiently waiting at your window when you returned. Your footsteps announced your arrival. As you approached you caught a glimpse of him pushing his hair back and running his hands over his face as he faced your window.

Arthur hadn’t seemed bothered by the wait, almost as if he’d hardly noticed. He was clearly lost in thought while you apologized. As you rooted through the decaying box for his mother’s file, he’d asked a question: how someone could even end up in Arkham. You’d glanced at him; the shadows of his face looked heavier under Arkham’s harsh fluorescent lighting, his skin pallid. Well, some had hurt themselves, you’d responded. Some had hurt others. Or both. And some just had nowhere else to go. Arkham was the only safe place they had. 

Arthur had accepted this answer with the smallest smile tugging at his thin lips, not quite looking you in the eye. 

“Yeah... being in here is better than dying on the sidewalk,” he’d joked. His delivery was flat and cadence off but you’d smiled and quietly laughed anyway.

“That’s funny,” you’d mumbled down into the box, growing shy.

A drop of eagerness creeped into Arthur’s voice. “You know, I’ve been in here before, a few times.” 

You paused and glanced at him. “...Oh, yeah?”

“The accommodations left something to be desired,” his smile turned wry, like he was letting you in on a secret. And you suppose, in a way, he was. Most wouldn’t share something so personal. “But you can’t beat the views.” 

“Views? But there’s bars over the windows, aren’t there?”

“Exactly.”

Arthur’s eyebrows were raised, tired face almost expectant, as if trying to gauge your reaction. It was cute how hard he was trying to joke. You shook your head with a soft laugh. “Bars. Average Gothamite’s favorite place, I suppose. Oh, here it is―”

As you finally discovered Penny’s file, still intact and safe from the creeping mold, you hadn’t noticed the sparkle in Arthur’s green eyes, or his small wry smile growing more genuine. When you looked back up at him to show it to him, it was difficult to tell through the plastic grate but he’d almost looked... lighter in a way. Softer. Not by much―Arthur still looked pretty haggard, shoulders still heavy and still leaning his tired head against the grate―but the difference was plain.  You preferred this lighter look to him.

Penny’s diagnosis hadn’t shocked you as you read it aloud to him: you’d been a file-keeping clerk at this crummy window for years and had read files that were tougher to stomach than this. But you’d faltered when you reached a mention of the endangerment of her own child. Arthur. Coldness washed over you. Your eyes skimmed the rest of the first page quickly and caught bits of descriptions of the abuse he’d suffered as a child, too young for him to possibly remember, but severe enough to leave marks that would never heal. On the inside at least. And there were so many more pages.

Your heart grew heavy and sunk in your chest as you met Arthur’s wide, unblinking eyes staring into yours. He was as frozen as you were. 

You couldn’t let him see this. This man had looked so sorrowful and close to breaking already; you didn’t want to think about how reading this file would affect him. He clearly had little idea of what was in it. When Arthur questioned you, with a small, broken ‘what,’ you had fumbled and tried to make up an excuse as to why he couldn’t read the full thing. Something about rules and regulations, but your excuse sounded flimsy even to you. 

Arthur remained silent, still staring wide-eyed at you, then after a moment lowered his gaze towards the file in your hands on the counter. His jaw set. You’d barely registered his very quiet ‘sorry’ before he’d snatched the file out of your hands through the aperture of the window grate and bolted away. 

You shouted after him, stunned and scared, but he was halfway down the hall already. Arthur spared one glance back at you over his shoulder. Even through the grate and the distance, you could see the fear shining in Arthur’s eyes. 

He stumbled slightly as he turned back around, and sprinted around the corner out of sight. Your heart pounded in your chest. He was desperate. Despite barely knowing this man, you couldn’t stop yourself from following after him. 

The distant heavy slam of a door almost didn’t register to you. Almost.

You’d been stuck behind this dead-end window for years, unable to get employed as an actual therapist at Arkham. This minimum wage clerk job had been your best foot in the door here, but before you’d known it, three years had passed. All you’d ever wanted is to help a struggling person in need. That was your dream, the whole reason you’d wanted a career in mental health. But who could you have helped through a window, reciting information to? 

But Arthur could be helped. Something about him cried out for it, like he’d been reaching out for a little bit of kindness his whole life. In the way he carried himself, in the way he spoke, in his tense gait, in how he had seemed so eager to make you laugh―a complete stranger―in the fragile vulnerability wrapped around him like his tan jacket.

But you could reach back to him. Or you wanted to try, at least.

If you caught up to him first. 

Uncaring of who would man your desk, you dashed out of the side door and down the hall after him. Stragglers in the hall watched you with dazed confusion. You felt just as confused as to why you felt so strongly for this near stranger. Crossing the corner, you froze. Arthur wasn’t in this hallway. There’s no way he could’ve crossed the next corner so quickly, and every door on this level was locked to unauthorized personnel.The memory of that one distant slam of a door flashed in your mind. The stairwell, you thought, before darting to the heavy door. 

It slammed shut behind you. You were preparing to race down the stairs, but froze in your tracks. 

The echoes of agonized laughter bounced through the empty stairwell.

The voice was unmistakably Arthur Fleck. Your heart caught in your throat and you swallowed. Energy faded, replaced by unsureness. You creeped down the stairs cautiously, peeking over the guardrail to try to see him on one of the lower levels, to no avail. Arthur’s laughter pulled at you, pulled you down step after step. It shook you. How could laughter sound so much like crying?

You crossed a corner and finally saw him on the level just below. Arthur, looking so small, hunched over and clutching his mother’s file to his chest. Pained laughter shook through him, mixed with sobs, chest heaving with tears streaming down his face. A deeply private, vulnerable moment. Tears pricked at your eyes. You shouldn’t be here, you knew. This wasn’t a sight meant for a stranger. But now that you were here, you couldn’t leave this man to suffer alone. 

He seemed like he’d been alone for a long, long time.

But what could you even do...?

“Arthur?” you called out softly.

Arthur startled, making a surprised, scared noise and hunching over farther. He ran his sleeve against his nose. His voice was thick with emotion: shame, fragility, horror, and a dozen others you couldn’t place. “I― I’m sorry. I had to―”

―Was all he got out before laughter constricted his chest again and wrung itself out of him. It was a pained, wheezing sound; your heart squeezed. Before you knew it, the distance between you had disappeared, footsteps clinking on every step, until Arthur was right before you in arm’s reach. 

“Are...” You trailed off, unsure of what to say. Or what to do. 

You gently placed a hand on his shoulder, small and boney under your hold. Between guffaws beginning to sound more like sobs again, Arthur shook his head and choked out in ashamed defense, “I’m― sorry; it’s a― a condition.”

He took one small shuffle towards the next flight of stairs leading down, but didn’t retreat any farther. You vaguely remembered a condition that caused uncontrollable laughter from your studies, though the name escaped you. It had always looked painful. As painful as Arthur’s laughter seems to be now. His eyes were red and squeezed tight, face brightly flushed. Just as Arthur ducked his head and wrapped a hand over his mouth, you couldn’t help yourself. You wrapped your arms around him. In an embrace.

The embarrassment of hugging a near stranger was absent at that moment, though you shook with nerves and emotion regardless. So many times you had been in his position, distressed and suffering, and no one had ever been there to console you; you wouldn’t let this man struggle through the same. 

Arms around his back, every rib and vertebrae prominent and shaking under you, Arthur against your chest. His laughter faltered for just a moment as he froze; he inhaled sharply trying to catch his breath, before a new, albeit quieter attack seized him. Though he didn’t embrace you in return (and you didn't expect him to), his head fell against your shoulder. Echoes of laughter through the stairwell became muffled into you. Tears and mucus were staining your work shirt but none of that mattered.

“You apologized,” you murmured. “Don’t. I’m the one who’s sorry. I wish I knew what to say.”

You weren’t sure how much time passed like that, holding Arthur protectively until the traces of his muffled laughter and tears petered out. Until all that was left was a haunting silence. But he didn’t pull away. 

Neither of you said anything for a long time, as Arthur sniffled and tried to catch his breath. 

When Arthur finally pulled away from you, his eyes were downcast. Brows remained knotted, redness still colored his face. He was still hunched over his file, like an attempt to keep himself small so he couldn’t be noticed. Or hurt. His gentle, raspy voice was now raw and numb when he finally spoke. 

“I don’t... ...Are you real?”

Your eyes softened. “I think so, yes. As real as you are.”

Arthur didn’t react, didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Ah. You added on, “And you are. Real.”

The shake of Arthur’s head was almost imperceptible. He didn’t believe you. Your heart grew cold and heavy anew in your chest. Had he struggled to believe that? That he was real?

A moment passed. He gazed down at his file, the many pages containing pain you couldn’t have fathomed for him. You couldn’t read the look in his eyes. Steely anger and hollow vulnerability swirled around Arthur. Then he looked away and held the file out to you.

“...Here.”

Concern twitched on your face. Not quite taking it from him, you held one of the worn edges. After a brief pause, you said, “You can keep it... if you want to.”

“I don’t,” he whispered. 

You didn’t need to ask if he was sure. After such a painful episode, it was no surprise to you if he never wanted to read a single word of this file again. As if it was made of glass, you took it gingerly. 

Before you could say anything, Arthur spoke. “Why...?”

“Why what?”

For the first time since he pulled away from your embrace, Arthur looks at you. His pale green eyes were hollow. “Why are you nice to me?”

Caught off-guard, it took a moment to collect your response. But you didn’t shy away from his gaze. “Because there’s something good about you, Arthur. I can tell. ...Look, I’m just a clerk at a shitty information desk. Nobody asks me nicely for help. Nobody is respectful. Everybody just...” your tone grows more frustrated now, “makes demands. And treats me like dirt. Like they’re entitled to it, just because my job doesn’t mean shit. But you’re... one of the very few who... seem like you understand. You’re kind. That’s special, here in Gotham.”

Your face felt warm. Being this vulnerable wasn’t second nature to you; it was tough to get the words out. But all of it was true. Something about this man drew you to him, and you couldn’t make yourself pull away. Not in actions, not in words.

Arthur retreated into silence again; he stared at you as you spoke, expression impossible to read. Wet eyes searched your face, as if looking for lie or deception. When you finished, after a long moment, he hung his head. Brown curls flopped. He slid his hands into the pockets of his tan jacket and made a quiet lilting noise. Somewhere between amused and disbelieving, but still with an air that in his mind, Arthur was somewhere else entirely.

It was difficult to read him, difficult to figure out what was going through his head . Something about him felt fragile, as if made of glass. Yet he wasn’t transparent, like glass was. The vulnerable walls of Arthur’s heart seemed opaque, concealing―protecting―its contents.

Finally, Arthur sniffed and turned away from you, just slightly. The lower level of the stairs beckoned him. “I should go.”

“Oh... will you be alright? Do you have... someone you can talk to?”

For a moment, it looked like he was considering; something in his expression twitched. But then he shook his head again. You didn’t know which question his shake was reply was to, but you had a feeling it was both. 

Thunder rumbled distantly outside. It was muffled through the thick concrete slabs of Arkham’s wall, but the sound remained foreboding. And it was going to rain, you suddenly remembered. The news had been predicting a furious rainstorm today all week long. The thought of letting Arthur go home, however far home may be, all alone, in that rain... You would feel horrible if you did nothing. You felt horrible already. 

An idea sparked in your head, probably an unwise one, all common sense considering. After a moment of fidgeting, you made up your mind. “Arthur, I, um. I wouldn’t normally do this―”

Stuffing the file under your arm, you dug through your pockets to find a scrap piece of paper. Nothing. Your pockets were as bare as your heart right now. You made a noise of frustration and swore under your breath. 

At least you had a pen though, tucked into the pocket of your work shirt. Arthur’s paper-thin lips were parted when he turned back, a hundred questions running through his tired eyes. 

You grabbed the pen, before gesturing to his hand. “May I?”

Confused and almost dazed, Arthur gave you his hand; you held it tenderly in your own, palm-up. Not surprisingly, his hand was freezing, almost shocking you with the frigidity. Surely the cold seeping into this stone stairwell wasn’t helping any. The weight of his hand though was solid and real against you, sturdy fingers thin and stained with nicotine―a smoker, then. 

You held the tip of the pen to his palm, not quite touching yet, before trying and failing not to sound too self-conscious as you ask, “May I write my number on you? I don’t... ah, have any paper on me.”

“...Okay,” Arthur said after a moment, watching with wide, wet eyes the careful strokes your pen made against his palm, as you gave him such a personal part of you. The pungent smell of the wet ink curled around the two of you, the only sound in the empty stairwell the soft scratching of the felt tip against dry skin.

“Um, I still have work for another few hours, but you can call me later, when I get home? Around seven.” Anxiety setting in, you continued in a ramble, “If you want to, I mean. If you need someone to talk to. Or someone to listen...? I dunno. Whatever you’d like. Forgive me, if this is too forward.”

As the final number dried, before you let go of his hand, Arthur mumbled something you couldn’t make out. 

“Pardon?”

“I don’t even know your name...” 

“Oh. Sorry,” you flushed, and gave your name to him. Arthur’s hand finally dropped from yours. It didn’t slide into his pocket again just yet, hanging at his side. Not ready to pull away from you completely.

Arthur repeated it softly, just under his breath. It sounded special, in his gentle voice, and your heart thrummed. 

“Thank you,” Arthur said. “...You’re one of the only people who’s ever been nice to me.”

He shuffled to the stairs, murmuring a quiet, bye. 

You watched him go dolefully, and a part of you went with him. “Get home safe, Arthur.”

When he didn’t respond, with a soft sigh you turned away and pushed yourself back up the stairs, back towards your window, back towards your dead end. You never saw Arthur pause on the bottom step of the next flight for just a moment and bring the hand you penned your number on up to his chest. As if grounding himself. Or making sure he was real. Arthur still doubted that you were real, either. He didn’t know anything anymore, not after reading that file. The whole world felt muffled and dull around him. 

Arthur delicately traced a finger over each number. Though mostly dry, the ink left the faintest stain on the pad of his index finger. But this was real, Arthur realized. This was real. And against his better instincts, Arthur allowed himself a small, quiet moment of hope. Maybe this kind stranger was the first good thing to happen to him. For maybe the first time in forever. 

[rewrittenreality]

Midnight Memories

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 800

Warnings: Mention of panic attack, lots of fluff, little bit of spice at the end.

Summary: Based on S4 E2…Staying behind with Hotch turns into panic filled "I love you's."

A/n: Hello! It's been awhile! I promised a fic on V-day for my return from being gone, so here it is! Thank you for all the support on recent works of mine! I appreciate your patience!

The case was over, you had finally caught the unsub. She was leaving off where her lover had started. It was a brutal case, but it was finally over. The rest of the team had already departed on the jet back to Quantico. You, however, stayed behind to be with Aaron so he wasn’t alone on the drive home. 

It was midnight and you were reading over case files at the desk in your hotel room. Hotch and yourself decided to stay one more night to get a break. If reading case files counts as a break that is. A knock at the door pulled you out of your reading. You got up and opened the door to find Aaron standing outside your room. His stern look immediately turned into a soft smile at the sight of you.

The two of you had been in a relationship secretly for a while now. No one on the team had even suspected it. Which, to you, was funny considering all of you are profilers. As far as they were concerned, you just stayed behind to help Hotch because of his ears. 

“What can I help you with, Boss?” You joked, stepping aside to let him in. 

“Very funny.” Aaron rolled his eyes, chuckling as he walked into the room.

As you closed the door, you felt Aaron’s strong arms wrap around you. You looked up at him with a smile, leaning back against his chest. You hadn’t had alone time with him in over a week, it felt nice to be in his arms. You giggled when he placed a kiss on your forehead. 

“Missed you.” Aaron mumbled into your hair, running his hands down your sides.

“Missed you too, Handsome.” You smiled, turning around in his arms to face him. 

You reached up, grasping the back of Aaron’s neck to pull his head down. He smiled as you pulled his head down, lips connecting with yours in a gentle kiss. Aaron’s hands found their place on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to him. 

As the two of you pulled apart, you stayed in Aaron’s arms. He rested his head on top of yours, slowly swaying from side to side. You could hear his heartbeat, the calming rhythm melting your tension away. Everything in your brain was suddenly put aside. The warmth of Aaron’s embrace washing away your worries. You always felt safest in his arms. 

Aaron bent down slightly and swept your legs out from under you. He laughed at your sound of surprise, now holding you bridal style. He brought you over to the bed, laying down and placing you on top of him. Cuddles were Aaron’s guilty pleasure, something you learned very early on in your relationship. He would never turn down cuddles with his girl.

You laid there in comfortable silence, tracing shapes on Aaron’s chest while he rubbed your back. The sound of his heartbeat like a calming melody in your ear. As you laid there with Aaron, only one thought was going through your head. The thought of your love for Aaron. Those words had never been said between the two of you, both of you only ever thinking it. 

“Hey, Aaron?” You said, your finger now tracing a heart on his chest.

“Yes, Honey?” Aaron questioned, running his fingers through your hair.

“I love you.” You almost whispered, slightly scared of how he would react. 

“I love you too, Y/n.” He responded. Moments later you feel him tense below you.

“Aaron?” You sat up, looking at him with worry.

“What did you say?” He asked.

“What? I said I love you. And you said “I love you too.” Do you not love me? You said it back, do you not mean it?” You started to panic, your breathing beginning to speed up.

“No, Baby, no. I do mean it. I promise I do. I just didn’t realize how second nature it sounded coming out of my mouth.” Aaron was also now panicking, his panic brought on by yours. 

You sighed in relief, now becoming aware that you were shaking a little. Aaron reached for you so he could pull you back to him. He held your face in his hands, his hold instantly calming you down. He leaned forward and kissed you, silently letting you know that it was okay. 

“I love you so much, Sweetheart.” He smiled, kissing your nose gently.

“Are you sure?” You joked, making sure he knew it was a joke.

Aaron raised his eyebrow at you with a smirk. You knew the look on his face, it was his playful look. You squealed as he flipped you over, now hovering above you. You struggled to control your giggles. 

“I’m More than sure.” Aaron smirked again, kissing you passionately. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

[cerastes]

Something I find funny is that in contrast to other operators who are listed as having no prior combat experience, Mr. Lee's profile has the notatation (Self Declared) next to his.

Really shows how believable that lie is, especially compared to his 'raised to the point that she's basiclly his daughter' Waai Fu's 14 years of listed combat experience.

I like to think everyone can just fucking lie in their Files, like, what are you gonna do? Background check them? There's been occasions in which this has been done, but it's otherwise an expensive and laborious thing to do in Terra, I'd imagine.

I mean, not a lot of people notice this, but Ptilopsis straight up jokes in her own Files, since she's the one actually writing them:

Note her blood crystal density. 0.43 u/L.

Hell, this is Ifrit:

And this is an actual "Infection level: Mild" patient, Cuora:

She's closer to Ifrit-levels of ravaged than she is to anyone actually mildly Infected. We know Ptilopsis is actually pretty cheeky, so her passing her own Infection as mild and under control with those numbers is probably a bit of gallows' humor.

And we know Platinum straight up lied to the point where she's even called out on it, but they just accept it as is.

You can get away with a lot in the HR interview, apparently. Lee is like "uuuu uuuu uuuu I'm average Lung Men, I eat dim sun and play shitty game Runescape" and everyone's like "haha yeah uncle is so funny and harmless! Put that in his profile" meanwhile Waai Fu goes to HR for her interview and goes on a whole ass Andrew Tate tale about how, after being born, she beat the doctor that slapped her because she ain't ever taken no shit from no one and has 5000000 confirmed kills in street fights and everyone's like "alright man cool" and they just jot it down.

Keep in mind Aak also has "no combat experience", despite honest to god murdering people in the violent criminal underbelly of Lungmen and certifiably having been in scuffles. You can just say what the fuck ever you want. I insist, Talulah will one day roll up to Rhodes Island wearing shitty aviator sunglasses, insist she is not Talulah, her name is Candlelight, and she'll claim to have no combat experience whatsoever, "I'm just a newbie teehee pero :9 please take good care of me :)" and then, on her first deployment, she'll melt the flesh right off the bone of everyone that opposes her with Arts so advanced and refined that they'd make you cry into the arms of a shaman behind a waterfall.

On the OTHER hand, it's funny to me that Lee was the only Just A Guy that thought about lying in the interview, because both Shalem and Mr. Nothing actually just come out and say they have 7 years of combat experience.

[bitchinfawkseh]

Heaven Knows Your Name, I've Been Praying: Chapter 18

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Summary: Bela gets in the way yet again while they are working on a case.

W.C: 7627

Warnings: Sexual content and violence.

[A/N] boy do I have a surprise for you!

Masterlist | AO3

“So, how did things go with Mr. Warren?” Bela asked coolly as she shoved her way inside, not even caring to allow Dean to invite her in. She had a packed folder full of what looked like papers tucked under her arm. When nobody answered her question, she grinned and stopped just short of where Carlos was sitting. “That well, huh?” She mused. Dean shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. Bela grated on every single one of his nerves, and pushed all of his buttons – she annoyed the crap out of him. “If you say I told you so, I swear to God I'll start swingin’.” He growled under his breath. 

“I think we all should have a heart-to-heart.” She began. 

“That's assuming that you have a heart.” Dean retorted back. Bela pouted her lips together and set the folder on the wooden table. Her demeanour seemed quite apologetic, but then again, they couldn't trust Bela. She's fucked them over more than once in the past. 

“Dean, please... I'm sorry about what I said before, okay? I come bearing gifts.” Bela said. Cheryl raised her brows and tucked her phone into her hoodie pocket. Her promise of a gift piqued all of their interest, but they didn't know if they could trust her. Sam marked the page of the book he was reading and set it down. “Such as?” He asked. 

“I've IDed the ship,” Bela smirked. Carlos cocked a disbelieving brow, “Really?” 

“Yes,” Bela looked Carlos up and down as if she were checking him out or sizing him up before opening the folder. “It's the Espírito Santo, a merchant sailing vessel, with quite a colourful history. In 1859, a sailor was accused of treason. He was tried aboard ship in a kangaroo court and hanged. He was 37.”

“Which would explain the 37-year cycle.” Sam breathed as he dawned on the realization. 

“Aren't you a sharp tack?” Bela cooed. She flipped through the file before plucking out a printed photo. “Here's a photo of him.” 

Sam inspected the photo as she handed it to him before his eyes widened in surprise and he showed Carlos the picture. “That's the guy we saw last night,” Sam said. 

“You saw him?” Bela asked. Carlos nodded and glanced up at her, only staring at her blankly. He thought it was quite funny that she outsmarted Sam and Dean on multiple occasions, but he couldn't let that on. “Yup,” Carlos replied nonchalantly. “Except he was missing a hand.” He added. 

“His right hand?” 

“How did you know?” 

“The sailor's body was cremated, but not before they cut off his hand to make a hand of glory,” Bela explained with a deep sigh. Dean grinned and let out a tiny chuckle at the thought of his joke. He had it locked and loaded, but when Cheryl sent him a raised brow, he decided not to say it. It was like she somehow knew it was a distasteful sex joke. “Right, so, uh, hand of glory? That sounds pretty dirty.” Dean opted to say instead. 

When nobody laughed at his joke, he deflated. Sam's lips thinned and his brows knitted together, “Dean, the right hand of a hanged man is a serious occult object. It's very powerful.” He deadpanned. 

“So they say,” Bela said coolly. Cheryl raised her brows and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it. “Which officially counts as remains. So we find it, burn it, and we're done.” Cheryl added. 

“Yeah, but it doesn't explain how the ghost is choosing his victims.” Sam sighed. 

“I'll tell you why. Who cares? Find the hand, burn it, and stop the bloody thing.” Bela hissed. Dean crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Bela intently, trying to figure out why she'd bring this information to them. It certainly didn't benefit her, but maybe they should trust her. “Why are you helping us?” Dean questioned. 

“Because I know exactly where the hand is.” 

“Where?” 

“At the Sea Pines Museum. It's a macabre bit of maritime history. But I need help.” 

“What kind of help?” Carlos asked suspiciously. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––– 

Shopping, Cheryl loved to shop. So, when she had to go find a fancy dress and matching heels, she was over the moon with excitement. She settled on a simple black satin dress that puffed out at the waist and stopped just shy of the knees. It had spaghetti strap sleeves, but they were so thin that it might as well be a strapless dress. For shoes, she got simple black kitten heels that had a little tule bow at the counter. She felt effortlessly beautiful, and she looked forward to surprising Dean with her outfit. He was her date to it, after all, Carlos was going with Bela, and Sam was going with Gert. Now that she thought of it, this was her and Dean's official first date. Technically, anyway. 

Cheryl smoothed out the skirt of her dress before tucking her small clutch into her side. They were waiting on Dean now, Bela was in a floor-length dress and had on a necklace with obnoxiously large gemstones, and Carlos was in his own tux – because he owned one, funnily enough. Bela sighed loudly and rolled her eyes, “What is taking so long? Sam's already halfway there... with his date.” She called out to Dean. His voice echoed from the top of the stairs, there was a hint of insecurity in his tone. “So not okay with this!” He yelled. Carlos snorted before saying: “What are you, a woman? Come down already!” 

Dean groaned loudly, and finally, he descended the stairs sporting a tux that made Cheryl swoon. She sucked in a breath as her eyes settled on his form. Cheryl noticed that his bowtie was lopsided, but she found it cute. When nobody said anything, Dean outspread his arms and glanced down at the floor. He hadn't even noticed what Cheryl was wearing yet. “All right, get it out – I look ridiculous.” 

“Not exactly the word I'd use.” Bela hummed as she pushed a chair into the table. Dean's brows furrowed in confusion and he pouted his lips together. “What?” He asked. Cheryl opened her mouth to speak, to compliment him, but Bela spoke before her. 

“You know, when this is over, we should really have angry sex.” She grinned. 

Cheryl's face fell and her stomach tied into a knot. She didn't blame Bela for saying that, she and Dean weren't public with their relationship yet – but she couldn't help but feel insecure. Dean, having finally noticed Cheryl, swallowed hard and frowned. She looked too beautiful to be upset, she had even curled her hair – and he knew that took a lot of time because she always said that it did. “I'd rather not, let's go,” Dean said quickly before marching towards the front door. Cheryl followed suit, then Carlos and Bela. 

Thankfully, Bela rode with Carlos in his truck – it allowed them to get to know each other since this was the first time that they had met. But, that didn't stop Cheryl from being silent on the way over to the museum. Her entire body was turned away from Dean. Her knees were pressed together and the skirt of her dress fell neatly over her thighs. She looked sort of like a princess. 

Dean shot her a quick look and his lips thinned, he knew she was upset, it was wafting off of her – and it wasn't hard to guess why. “Don't pay attention to what Bela says, she doesn't mean it.” He said in an attempt to soothe her obvious worries. 

“I'm sure she did,” Cheryl sighed deeply, “I'm just getting into my head, don't worry about me.” She whispered. 

“Cher, I want you. Not Bela, not any other chick. You.” Dean started. Cheryl went silent and she pursed her lips together, she squeezed her clutch tight. She really wanted to believe him, she did believe him. “I'm scared that you're going to get tired of waiting to have sex with me. And it's not that I don't want to do it – I'm just… scared to. What if I can't please you?” 

“That may be the craziest thing you've ever said, Cher.” He snorted. 

“Dean,” She pleaded. She was being serious – she was terrified that she wouldn't be able to please him or make him feel good. 

Dean frowned and gripped the steering wheel tight, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Simply being with a beauty like her would make him feel good. “Babe, it isn't just a one-way street… I want to make you feel good too, I am going to make you feel good. You don't gotta worry about pleasing me, because just being with you pleases me. No matter how long it takes, I'm gonna be here, and I'm gonna stay even if it's bad – and I doubt it will be.” He told her. Cheryl was looking at him now, he could feel her eyes pressing deep into his soul – searching for honesty. “Really?” She exhaled finally. 

“Yeah! I mean, like, look at you. You're gorgeous, you look gorgeous right now. I'd be crazy not to wait – I'd be especially crazy to not wanna make you feel good.” Dean exclaimed. Cheryl's lips parted before they spread up into a wide smile, and her heart soared with relief. All previous worries she had about being intimate with him were gone, she now knew that he was here to stay. Here to be her boyfriend – not a hookup. She scooted a little closer to him, and he took the cue to hold her hand. “Well… I'm ready then.” Cheryl whispered. 

His brows shot up, “Are you sure? It's only been a few days since our talk…” 

Cheryl nodded, “Si, I am sure. I… trust you. I trust that you will make me feel safe, I want to do it with you. I don't want to be held back by what my Father did to me anymore, I want to be free.” Dean rolled into a parking spot in front of the busy museum and pulled the keys out of the ignition. He leaned into her, and his lips ghosted over hers. “Thanks for trusting me,” he whispered, “I'll always make sure you feel safe, always.” He said before he gently pressed his lips to hers. 

Cheryl smiled against his lips and let her eyes fall shut, he was so understanding – so kind and careful with her, she wondered if he was like that with his past girlfriends. Reluctantly, she pulled back from him but still had her forehead against his. “We should go,” she whispered, “before they get suspicious.” 

“Just one more…” Dean pleaded softly, nudging her nose with his. Her lips were soft and tasted of strawberries – presumably because of the lip balm she bought at the store the other day. Her breath was minty fresh, but even if it wasn't, he wouldn't care. Cheryl nodded slowly, “Okay,” She agreed. Tentatively, their lips met once again. This kiss was more heated than the last, a little sloppy and some tongue here and there. Cheryl only now realized that she had broken one of her first date rules; she was making out with Dean in the Impala before their date even started. 

Now they walked in through the open doors, arm in arm. They could get off with simple stuff like this, maybe even hand-holding – tonight they were posing as husband and wife. Carlos had gotten Cheryl a fake wedding ring from a pawn shop, and the ring that Dean wore all of the time would work just fine. Cheryl leaned into Dean to whisper to him: “We're supposed to be husband and wife, Mr And Mrs Rosen. So act as such.” 

Dean grinned wide. “Don't you think we're moving a bit fast?” He said teasingly. 

“Shut up,” Cheryl laughed. She glanced around the room full of rich people in fancy gowns and tuxedos, she felt quite out of place. Even when she was married to Carlos and had to attend real events like this, she felt out of place, like some poor outsider who didn't know which fork was meant for the salad. 

Dean nudged her side to grab her attention before pointing to a far corner of the room where Sam was dancing with Gert. “Would you look at that? Sam, a boy toy.” He mused. Cheryl couldn't help but laugh, Dean was effortlessly charming and funny. It was one of the many things she appreciated about him. “Dean,” she began to scold playfully, “focus, he's only doing his job. Let's go find the hand.” 

“Alright, alright.” He sighed.

 They perused around the museum, moseying around all of the people and waiters and waitresses with trays of drinks and food. There were men dressed in full black suits stationed at every door, and there were two of them posted at each bannister of the stairs. Dean sighed and his lips thinned in annoyance, “I don't think we're going to be able to waltz upstairs.” He whispered to Cheryl. She nodded slowly and glanced around for any way around the men, but when there were none, she groaned. “Oh, cariño, I feel faint.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and her eyes fluttered shut. Dean's eyes widened and he quickly grasped her arms as if preparing for her to fall. “What? Faint?” He asked quietly. Cheryl nodded and pouted her lips together before falling into Dean, he thankfully caught her. 

Dean, who suddenly became aware of her plan, flagged a guard over. “My wife, she's not feelin’ too hot – is there anywhere she can lay down for a bit?” He asked hopefully. The guard took one glance at Cheryl, noticing her pale complexion and her sullen face before he nodded. “Follow me.” He ordered, and he led Dean (who was carrying Cheryl) up the stairs. 

The guard thankfully didn't stick around, he left them alone to allow Cheryl to get better. “Bela said that the hand is in room two-hundred thirty-five, and it's in a locked glass case with an alarm,” Cheryl said as she kicked off her heels. Despite them being kitten heels, they were still quite uncomfortable. Any sort of high heel was uncomfortable. Dean noticed this, and quickly offered to go get the hand himself: “I've got it covered if you just wanna wait here for me.” 

“Really? Oh, gracias, cariño. You're such a sweet man.” She doted. Dean flushed and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. For some reason when her accent got all heavy and she called him a Spanish pet name, he got all blushy like some schoolboy. “Uh, no problem, babe. Just wait here, I'll be back.” 

And so, Cheryl was now waiting for Dean to come back with the hand. While waiting, she decided to sprawl up on the sofa and look through the photos on her phone. She usually didn't take pictures, a few of them were quite old, except for the recent ones of her and Dean. One of them in bed together, her lips pressed to his cheek and Dean grinning ear to ear. Another one showed them simply smiling in the Impala for the picture, and the last one was just of Dean marvelling at a large ice cream sundae he ordered. Again, she never really took photos, but she made the mental note to start taking more. If they couldn't find a way to save Dean, she wanted to remember his face, smile, and eyes. She'd hate it if she forgot his eyes, so green and comforting. So beautiful. 

Ojos de angel. 

Angel eyes. 

Cheryl pinched the sheer fabric of her pantyhose and rubbed it between her thumb and pointer finger. Thinking about him dying made her heartache and her knees weak. The kind of fate that those who made deals faced was unfair and torturous. 

Her phone pinged in her hand, it was a text from Carlos that read: Did you find the hand yet? Cheryl sighed and began to carefully type out her response on the keypad. When it came to speaking and reading English, she was a pro now, but writing – she was still quite bad at it. Yes, Dean is grabbing it. 

OK, Carlos sent back. Finally, the door cracked open and Dean snuck back inside with the decayed hand wrapped in a handkerchief. Cheryl hopped off of the sofa and fisted her skirt out of nervous habit. “Good… you got it. We can put it in my purse.” She offered. 

“Yeah, thanks.” He murmured. Cheryl nodded and snatched her clutch off of the small coffee table and tossed it to Dean. Once it was tucked away, Cheryl picked up her heels off of the ground and padded her way towards him. 

“Let's go then, I'd like to get out of here.” She sighed as she reluctantly put her heels back on. Dean passed her clutch back to her and offered her his arm, which she gratefully accepted. “You know what I could use right now?” Cheryl hummed. 

“What?” Dean asked. 

“A nice hot bubble bath… in a tub deep enough that the water covers my knees and boobs.” She replied. Dean grinned at the thought of her wanting something so simple. A bubble bath, it was a little cute. “A bubble bath, huh? I'll keep that in mind…” 

“If you find a hotel with a tub big enough, maybe we can bathe together.” She suggested shyly. Dean only paid attention to her as they descended the stairs arm in arm, he did not care about the rich people mingling around them. “A bath together… that sounds hot.” He commented. 

“I was thinking romantic.” Cheryl smiled. 

Cheryl glanced through the crowd of people for a restroom, she wanted to freshen up and adjust her pantyhose. They were chafing – it was making her go insane. Finally, she spotted the women's restroom and exhaled a sigh of relief. “I'm gonna pop into the washroom really fast, meet you at the Impala?” She glanced up at Dean just as he quickly placed a kiss on her cheek. Cheryl flushed and Dean nodded, “Okay.” He said hoarsely. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––– 

Cheryl set her purse on the counter and turned on the tap, wetting her hands before squirting some soap onto them and lathering it. She was very precise with how she washed her hands, her Mom taught her how to do it properly and passed on her fear of getting sick. In her head, she sang the happy birthday song twice. 

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. 

Happy birthday dear Cheryl, happy birthday to you. 

She used her name when she sang this song while washing her hands, it's what her Mom taught her to do. The bathroom door swung open and heels clicked against the floor. “Oh, Cheryl, how are things?” Bela asked coolly once she noticed her. Her eyes flickered down to Cheryl's clutch on the counter before they focused back on her. Cheryl smiled out of nothing but politeness, “Good, we're heading out now. Carlos told you we got the hand?” Cheryl asked. 

“Yes, yes he did…” She sauntered over to the second sink next to Cheryl and began to touch up her makeup in the mirror. “He's quite the character, Carlos. Quite handsome too.” 

“Oh, believe me, I know.” Cheryl snorted. She rinsed the soap off of her hands and flicked the excess water into the sink before turning to get some paper towels. 

“So, you and Dean, huh?” Bela smirked. Cheryl flushed almost immediately and spun around to face her. She wondered what might have given it away – what made her think that. “What?” Cheryl breathed. 

“You're together, are you not?” 

“Um… no, what gives you the idea?” 

“Just seems like it. My mistake.” Bela smiled. She patted her lips with the pad of her finger before leaning back. “Well, I ought to be going. See you around, Cheryl.” 

“Yeah… see you around, Bela.” 

After Cheryl was finished in the washroom, she rushed outside to the Impala. The air was frigid, it left goosebumps on her skin and made her fingers numb despite the short walk. Thankfully, Dean already had the heat blasting for her and the Impala was toasty warm. Cheryl let out a content sigh and her eyes fluttered shut, “Oh, it's so warm.” 

He smiled, “Yeah, I knew you'd be cold.” 

“You're such a good boyfriend.” 

“Only the best for you, babe.” 

–––––––––––––––––––––––– 

Sam and Carlos were already in the room when they got back. As soon as Cheryl was able, she kicked off her shoes and let out a deep sigh. Sam quickly sprang up from his spot on the sofa, “You have the hand?” He asked hopefully. Cheryl nodded and tossed her clutch at him, which he caught thankfully just as Dean shut and locked the front door. “It's in there,” Cheryl said as she fluffed up her hair. She inspected her reflection in the mirror for a moment and continued to mess with her hair. She didn't care about how it looked now, they were done for the night. They didn't have to go anywhere else. 

“Um, Cheryl, it's not here.” Sam wavered. Her eyes widened briefly and she spun around to face him, it was there – she watched Dean put it in there. “What!? Sure it is!” She exclaimed. Cheryl rushed forward and snatched the bag from Sam's grasp, and sure enough, it was empty. She gasped and rocked back onto her heels, “Dean put it in here – I watched him!” She shouted. 

“Well, it didn't just grow legs and walk away!” Carlos huffed out. Cheryl threw the purse down onto the floor and threaded her fingers through her hair. He was right – it didn't just disappear. The three men began to ask her a series of questions, what she did, who was there, et cetera. And then, she realized. “Bela,” Cheryl hissed through clenched teeth, “she was in the bathroom with me – she must have swiped it! God, I'm such an idiot!” 

“Cher, don't say that – she's a conniving con artist bitch.” Dean quickly said. 

“Yeah, this isn't the first time she's gotten one over us – we'll find another way.” Sam comforted. It wasn't Cheryl's fault, they wanted to make sure that she knew that. Bela was a con artist, she didn't care about the people she hurt or killed. She only cared about herself and money. Carlos patted her back, “It's okay, Cherry.” He murmured. This time, Carlos wasn't able to make her feel better. She still felt stupid. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––– 

Cheryl hadn't bothered to change out of her dress and pantyhose, she only laid on top of the unmade bed curled up into a small ball. She was utterly humiliated, and she didn't think she was a good hunter. Cheryl glanced at the clock on the nightstand, it was right around the time when Dean would sneak into her room. Midnight. As if right on cue, the door creaked open and Dean slipped through the small crack before closing it again. 

When his eyes landed on her, he raised a questioning brow. “You haven't changed yet?” He asked quietly. Cheryl shook her head and reluctantly pushed herself up to a sitting position. “No,” she whispered, “too lazy, I guess.” She added. He went silent and only nodded, standing at the foot of the bed like a confused child. He was hesitating – hesitating to ask something – hesitant to climb into bed with her. 

“Do you… want help?” Dean finally asked her. 

“Help with what?” 

“Changing.” 

“Oh…” Cheryl flushed and looked at her bags full of clothes on the armchair in the corner. Neatly folded on the top of the bag was a fresh sweatshirt, pyjama pants and underwear. She swallowed before slowly nodding, she wanted Dean to help her. The idea made her heart pitter-patter and her stomach tie into a knot. “Si, por favor.” Cheryl whispered as she slid off of the bed. 

Cheryl stood with her back to him, facing the wall and waiting for his next move. When Dean's fingers gently grasped the zipper in the middle of her back and dragged it down, she sighed. Dean was just as nervous as she was but for different reasons. He worried that he was going to make her uncomfortable – make her feel unsafe. He'd never want to put her in a situation like that. He dragged his gaze down to her strapless bra as the dress fell to the floor discarded. Dean now had her in her underwear – the woman of his dreams, literally. But he didn't intend to make a move on her, not when she was so upset. So vulnerable. He wouldn't take advantage of her like that. Dean curled his fingers under the hem of her tights and dragged them down to about her knees before he let her kick them off herself. 

Cheryl smirked faintly and tucked a fluffy strand of hair behind her ear. “I can't sleep in a bra, Dean…” She whispered tauntingly. Yet again, he asked: “Are you sure?” Which made her sigh, she appreciated him asking all of the time, but sometimes she wished he would just do things like the regular Dean Winchester would. Without missing another beat, Cheryl turned to be face-to-face with him and reached back to unclip her bra, letting it fall to the floor. “Stop asking me that. I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable.” She hummed as she snuck her fingers under his shirt to toy with the hem of his sweatpants. Dean swallowed hard and his pupils dilated as soon as they landed on Cheryl's breasts – full, beautiful, begging for him to grope and touch them. They were big – so they sagged a bit, nothing unusual, but fuck, just looking at them made him hard. 

Dean's lips crashed into hers, and he felt up every inch of her bare body presented to him. Her back, her waist, her boobs, her thighs, it all. He groaned against her lips when she pressed herself right against his hardened cock, and Cheryl grinned. “Already?” She whispered before he attacked her again with breathless and needy kisses. 

“It's just – fuck – it's just what you do to me, baby. Fuckin’ look at you, you're gorgeous.” Dean said huskily. 

“So are you…” 

“I'm not the one with great tits here.” 

“Take off your shirt then, let's put that to the test.” She purred against the skin of his mouth. Dean pulled back from her and yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Cheryl smirked, “Pants too.” 

“Yes ma'am.” Dean breathed as he tugged his pants down and kicked them away. He'd waited for this moment for so long – looked forward to it – hoped for it, and it was about to happen. 

Their mouths were on one another within seconds, their hands on each other's bodies. It was just the two of them, appreciating each other, caring for each other, adoring each other. Dean caressed her cheek and gently swiped her hair off of her shoulder so he could pepper kisses along her sensitive neck. Cheryl sighed pleasantly and he relished in it, he couldn't wait to hear what her moans sounded like – were they anything like his dreams? 

“Do you have a condom?” Cheryl breathed, her breath hot against his ear. Dean grinned into her neck and nodded slowly, he always had condoms – that was a silly question. “Yeah, in my room.” He replied huskily. 

“Go get them, I'll be waiting here for you.” 

“Oh… will you?” He smirked and groped her ass cheeks. Cheryl giggled softly and pressed a chasting kiss to his lips. “Hurry up. Don't keep me waiting.” She said. As if Dean would ever make her wait for him. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––– 

Cheryl fell back against the plush pillows and her hair fanned out across them. Dean gently traced his hands down her stomach before hooking his fingers under the band of her cotton panties and dragged them down her thighs and tossed them away. She was now in all her glory before him – beautiful and waiting for him to touch her. Dean let out a heavy breath and his eyes zeroed in on her wet cunt. “Fuck, babe…” He groaned as he climbed on top of her, pinning her to the mattress with his weight. Cheryl cupped his cheek once he was face to face with her and traced his lips with her thumb. She was a little nervous – but it was a good kind of nervous. The kind that had butterflies and the clenching of the heart. 

She spread her legs wide and urged him closer to her by hooking a leg around his waist. “We have to be quiet, can you be quiet?” Cheryl whispered against his lips.

“Can you?” 

“Depends how good you are.” She smirked. Dean also grinned and teasingly traced her inner thigh, slowly inching up closer to where she needed him most. Finally, he cupped her pussy and dragged his fingers through her folds and over her clit. Cheryl sucked in a sharp breath and her brows furrowed at the wonderful feeling. Her reaction only made his stupid grin widen, “So wet, for me?” He asked as he gently pecked her lips. She nodded fervently and moaned softly when he swiped over her clit again. Oh, that sound. The sound of her moaning for him, God, he wanted to listen to that sound all of the time. 

Dean continued to toy with her, watching intently as Cheryl writhed in pleasure underneath him. Just watching her like this had him rock hard – his dick was straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs – begging to be touched, begging to be inside of her. Cheryl let out a whine and tossed her head back, “Stop teasing me and just fuck me!” She said, exasperated. Her plea was a little too loud, it had them stop for a moment and listen for any signs of Carlos or Sam being awake. Thankfully, a loud snore sounded from the next room over and they both sighed in relief. 

Once it was safe, Dean smirked. “Needy,” he says as he kisses her, “but, if you want me to fuck you, then I guess I have to.” 

“Por favor…” Cheryl begged. He knew what por favor meant, she was saying please. 

Please, please, please. Chanting it like a prayer. He wanted her to say his name like that – over and over. And soon, she was. She was saying his name like that, chanting it over and over. Like a prayer. 

“Dean,” Cheryl gasped. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he continued to thrust into her, slow and deep. Dean wanted to enjoy this, he didn't want it to be fast – he didn't want it to be forgettable. He didn't want to treat her like some slut, he wanted to show her he cared. Dean let out a tiny moan when her walls throbbed around him, he had been trying to be quiet, but it was just so hard. To stifle his moans and hers, he smashed his lips into hers and increased the pace of his thrusts. Cheryl breathed him in, she wanted to feel him, feel all of Dean. Not just the physicalities, but him. 

His heart, his soul, his love. She wanted to feel him. Two hearts beating a thousand miles per hour, yet somehow they were in unison. His, hers, his, hers. Dean's, Cheryl's, Dean's, Cheryl's. 

Cheryl lifted her hips to meet each of his thrusts, and the bedframe creaked with fervour. They were nearing the end, she knew, she could feel it. Dean was growing sloppy, becoming more vocal and his hands fisted the sheets. Thankfully, he was wearing a condom so they didn't have to worry about a baby, they could enjoy their time together. She crossed her legs over the small of his back and moaned against his lips. “Come, I want you to come.” She panted. Cheryl's brows knitted together and she squeezed her eyes shut as he repeatedly hit that sweet spot deep within her. God, it felt good. He felt good. “Come for me, cariño…” 

And so he did, but not without making sure she did first. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––– 

Now, they both lay in bed all sweaty with nothing but the sheets covering them. They were much too hot for the blankets. Cheryl had her head on Dean's chest, she was listening to the beat of his heart and tracing little shapes on his skin with her fingertip. They were silent for a long while, only trying to catch their breaths. Cheryl snuck a glance at the clock, it was just a little past one in the morning. 

Dean was warm, she liked that. “I had fun, did you?” Cheryl asked finally. 

“Yeah – I mean, hell yeah,” Dean said quickly. He rubbed her shoulder back and forth and smiled faintly. He did like it, his dreams couldn't even compare to the real thing. It was amazing. “Did you, uh, feel safe?” He asked. 

“Yes, I did. Thank you.” 

“Don't thank me, jus’ doing my job as a good boyfriend.” He chuckled softly. 

“I guess so, I still appreciate it,” Cheryl whispered. Dean nodded slowly and began to thread his fingers through her hair, gently playing with it. “Can't wait to do that a-fucking-gain. You're awesome in bed.” 

“I barely did anything… you should wait until I finally blow you, I get nothing but compliments.” She snorted. 

“Well damn, babe. You got me all excited now.” He grinned and waggled his brows. 

Cheryl rolled her eyes playfully and smacked his chest, “We're not going again tonight, I'm tired.” 

“Okay, okay, tomorrow?” 

“Maybe if you're on your best behaviour, now I'm gonna go pee before I fall asleep. I don't want a UTI.” Cheryl sighed as she reluctantly climbed out of bed. She plucked Dean's discarded shirt off of the ground and pulled it over her head. He caught a glimpse of her tattoos before – but he wasn't focusing on them. He saw the faded and blown-out red axe on her hip, and the small lilies on the side of her ribs. Dean didn't think to look for the tattoo she said was under her breasts. “Stealing my shirt, huh?” He grinned.

“Isn't that what a girlfriend is supposed to do?” 

“Yeah, guess so. You gonna steal my boxers too?” 

“Can I?” 

“Go for it, girls are hot in a guy's boxers.”

Cheryl smiled and put on his boxers before jumping into bed to plant a quick kiss on his lips. “Am I hot in your boxers?” She asked in a breathy whisper. Dean nodded fervently and set both of his hands on her ass, he liked how it felt. “Yeah – hell yeah, fuckin’ sexy.” 

“Mmm, good…” She kissed him again before slinking away. “I'll be back, just gonna piss and wash my face.” 

“Don't keep me waiting.” Dean winked. 

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Cheryl smiled. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––– 

 Dean inspected a ship in a bottle carefully, he angled it around and closed one of his eyes so he could peek inside it. He always wondered how they got the ships inside of the bottles. Cheryl was to his left, Carlos to his right, and they were both talking about the pattern of the ghost; he killed those who had spilled their families' blood. Now that they knew who the ghost went after, they could confirm their safety. None of them had murdered their family members, and they could say that with confidence. 

Frantic knocking began to sound at the door, and it soon turned into pounding when they didn't answer fast enough. Carlos groaned and pushed himself up from his spot, “I'm comin’, I'm comin’,” Carlos huffed as he opened the door. When it was none other than a panicked-looking Bela on the other side of the door, he was quite tempted to slam it in her face. She raised her hands pleadingly, “Please! Just let me explain!” She begged. 

Now, Dean circled Bela like a hawk ready to kill at any sudden movement. Bela sat in one of the chairs drawn to the middle of the room, her hands in her lap. “I sold it. I had a buyer lined up as soon as I knew it existed.” She said. Dean clenched his jaw as he made it behind her back, and he discreetly made a shooting motion with his two fingers above her head. She fucked them over and made Cheryl feel stupid. As far as he knew, she was no better than dead. 

Sam cocked a brow and folded his arms over his chest, “So the whole reason for us going to the charity ball was…?” 

“I needed a cover,” she shrugged, “you were convenient.” 

Sam sighed, “Look, you sold it to a buyer. Just go buy it back.” He also wanted nothing to do with her, he had the same feelings about her as Dean. Bela's lips thinned, “It's halfway across the ocean, I can't get it back in time.” 

“In time for what?” Cheryl finally asked. Bela hung her head and closed her eyes as she sighed deeply. Now this was straight-up karma. “I saw the ship.” She confessed. Dean's brows shot up and he scoffed, “You what?” He began to chuckle and slowly shook his head, “Wow, you know, I – I knew you were an immoral thieving con artist bitch, but just when I thought my opinion of you couldn't get any lower-” 

“What are you talking about?” She interrupted. 

“We figured out the spirit's motive,” Cheryl began smugly with her arms crossed, and Sam raised a photo of a period-dressed man for Bela to see, “this is the captain of our ship. The one who hung our ghost boy.” She said. 

“So?” Bela scoffed. 

“So they were brothers. Very Cain and Abel. So now our spirit, he's going after a very specific kind of target – people who've spilled their own family’s blood. See first there was Sheila who killed her cousin in the car accident, and the Warren brothers, who murdered their Father for the inheritance. And now you.” Cheryl shrugged. Bela paled and her jaw went slack, so that's why the spirit chose her. “Oh my God…” She breathed. Dean smirked and began to circle her again, taunting her. “So who was it, Bela? Hmm? Who'd you kill? Was it Daddy? Your little sis, maybe?” 

“It's none of your business.” She spat. 

“No? Right. Well, have a nice life – you know, whatever’s left of it,” he slapped her on the back and made his way to the door, he plucked his jacket off of a hook, “let’s go, guy's.” He huffed. 

Dean also took Cheryl's coat off the second hook and handed it to her, just as Bela jumped to her feet with wide eyes. “What?! You can't just leave!” She exclaimed. 

“Watch us,” Dean growled. 

“Please,” Bela begged, “I need your help.” 

“We don't owe you shit, why should we?” Dean asked with a scoff. Bela didn't reply, she only hung her head and fiddled with her fingers nervously. He was right, they didn't owe her anything, but she still needed help. 

Carlos’ lips thinned into a straight line, he felt bad for her, pity, almost. “You do realize you sold the one thing that could save your life?” He asked. 

“I'm aware.” She replied sadly. 

“Well,” Sam sighed and he looked at both Cheryl and Dean before continuing, “maybe not the only thing…” 

–––––––––––––––––––––––– 

The moon rose high in the sky, full and reflecting a light luminous glow. The five of them surrounded a grave where they had five tall candles lit and flickering with two small bowls in the centre. Cheryl had drawn a pentacle with white chalk around the setup, and put some herbs into one of the bowls while Sam poured some thick red liquid into the second bowl. 

Bela huddled into her jacket and silently cursed herself for not wearing a warmer jacket. Dean was leaning against a bigger gravestone, a Glock in hand. She shivered and glanced at Carlos then Dean. “Do you really think this is gonna work?” She asked. 

“Almost definitely not.” Dean sighed. Thunder crashed and it quite quickly began to pour, the wind whistled painfully and cut through their clothes. Cheryl gasped and shivered, she hated the cold, and she hated it even more when her hair got wet when she wasn't washing it. Dean stood up straight and glanced around, clutching the gun tight in his hand. “Sammy! You better start reading!” 

And so he did. “Aziel, Castiel, Lamisniel, Rabam.” Sam called upon them before continuing to chant in Latin. Carlos knew Latin among many other things, he and Sam had made sure this ritual was the real deal before they used it. Carlos and Sam were both the smart ones. The rain somehow grew heavier and thunder boomed. Cheryl gasped as a familiar heavy feeling in her heart and ringing in her ears set in. Before the phantom even made itself known, she knew where it was and that it was here. “Dean! Behind you!” She screamed over the pouring rain. Dean's eyes widened and he whipped around just as their ghost boy dressed in pirates clad materialized. So her ability to sense ghosts really did work. 

But before he could do anything, the ghost had whipped him back by some unforeseeable force and knocked him into a far tomb. The phantom persisted, however, he wafted over to Bela and placed one of his cold dead hands on her face. Bela began to cough up water – a lot – and she fell to her knees, clutching at her throat desperate for air. Carlos grunted and glanced back at Sam, his curly locks now sopping wet. “Read faster!” He yelled before he sprinted over to kneel next to Bela. He set either of his hands on her arms, helping her through her heaves. 

Thankfully, the rain was starting to die down and Bela wasn't coughing as much – but the spirit was still here. A loud creak like an old door opening sounded and the pirate's eyes narrowed. He slowly turned, only to be face-to-face with his brother. The one who hanged him, who betrayed him. His nostrils flared and he clenched his jaw, “You hanged me!” He boomed. 

“I'm sorry.” That was all his brother said. 

“Your own brother.” 

“I'm so sorry!” The ghost grit his teeth before charging his brother with a primal yell. As the two collided, a giant splash of water engulfed the two of them before they disappeared. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––– 

Dean and Sam were packing up the last of their things in the main room quietly. Dean made sure to hide the box of condoms he bought this morning by putting a t-shirt over it. Now that he and Cheryl were having sex (great sex, by the way), they had to be safe – they didn't want a baby, after all. A baby right now may be the worst thing that could happen. He knew she wouldn't get an abortion being Catholic and all, unfortunately. 

The front door swept open and in strolled a much better looking and well-rested Bela. She grinned, “You boys should learn to lock your doors. Anyone could just barge in.” 

“Anyone just did. Did you come to say goodbye or thank you?” Sam asked. 

“I've come to settle affairs.” She said before tossing them each a stack of money and then one each for Cheryl and Carlos. “Ten thousand, that should cover it. I don't like being in anyone's debt.” 

“So ponying up ten grand is easier for you than a simple thank you?” Dean asked. Bela smiled faintly and Dean scoffed before shaking his head. “You're so damaged.” 

“Takes one to know one. Goodbye, lads.” Bela hummed as she turned to leave them. 

Sam sighed and focused his attention on the stack of money she gave each of them. “You have to admit, she has style.” He said. 

“I suppose,” Dean replied. 

“Hey, where are Cheryl and Carlos anyway?” 

“Dunno, said they'd be back soon though.” 

~

Cheryl passed the blunt back to Carlos and exhaled slowly. “So, Alejandro wants us to come to New York? He say why?” She asked. 

“Said he's super busy with surgeries and needs help getting rid of a ghost in his new house, nothing serious,” Carlos answered before taking a drag. Getting high was one of their favourite things to do together – plus, they weren't sure if Sam and Dean were cool with it. Cheryl nodded slowly and bit her lip hard, he was her best friend – her partner in crime – literally. She couldn't resist not telling him about her and Dean any longer. 

“Dean and I are dating… we have been for two weeks now…” She whispered. Carlos’ eyes widened and he coughed on the smoke that he inhaled – so bad that he began to turn red. Cheryl gasped and smacked his back a few times, hoping it'd help. “It's not that shocking! You're so dramatic!” 

“Uh, yeah it is. You managed to keep a secret from me for two weeks?” 

“Yeah… I'm surprised too.” She trailed off. Carlos narrowed his eyes and swiped his tongue across his lips as he stared at her. She had a boyfriend – and he hated the guy, but if she was happy, he was happy for her. “So… what have you guys done?” He asked. 

“Well… normal couple stuff, I guess? I don't know what you're asking.” 

“Have y'all fucked?” He deadpanned. 

“That's none of your business!” She hissed. 

“Oh! So you have! My, my, Cherry, look at you!” Carlos teased. Then, he got an idea. A wonderful idea. 

“Why don't Sam and I go up to New York? And you and your boyfriend have alone time?” He waggled his brows and grinned. 

“You'd do that for us?” 

“I'd do that for you, not him. But, yeah.” 

“Carlos… gracias…” 

[echo-rambles]

Fuck it- it's fine!

words: 1830 summary: inspired by the general vibe of bad idea right? by olivia rodrigo. tags: past established relationship, ex-boyfriend bang chan, best friend felix, suggestive content but nothing explicit note: first ever reader insert fic I've written! that's probably why it's pretty introspective and there's not much chan. I just wanted to get the feeling of writing reader insert so I hope it's not too terrible! please enjoy~

-o0o-

To be completely fair, you were the one who messaged him first. Could it be seen as slightly desperate? Maybe. But in your defense, you were pretty drunk and left unsupervised.

That doesn’t mean it’s not a complete shock to your system when you wake up the next morning and notice that he messaged you back. Which, ok. What an absolutely wild turn of events seeing as how he’s meant to be the mature adult of the relationship. (his words, thrown out midst argument) 

Once you blink away the hungover fog and wade through the low lying panic, you find it a little funny, actually. Your text, the first between the two of you in months, is embarrassing and filled with a few too many emojis- it’s the epitome of a drunk text to your ex who you might have been missing at the peak of your intoxication. 

The funny part is that he had texted back, playing into your theatrics. Maybe it’s not funny in a haha way. Maybe it’s funny in an ironic sort of way. The guy that once told you that you’re incredibly impulsive and never think things through, replying to you and not even scolding you. 

Ok, so maybe he was a little bit correct and you are impulsive, because the next thing you know your fingers are tapping away at your phone screen and you're replying to his reply as if this is something the two of you still do. There’s been a whole lot of maybes filling up your head far too early in the morning, but maybe this could be something you two do. Like, maybe it can become normal again. 

>I hope you’re drinking water to combat all the vodka you must have drank to use seven whole emojis in a row. 

<I demolished an entire water bottle when I got home last night but sadly it wasn’t enough to save me 

You’ve crawled your way out of bed and are in the middle of trying to wash up to feel human again when your phone buzzes. Thankfully you’re alone in your bathroom or else it would be embarrassing how quickly you check who the new text is from.

Before you can unlock your phone and reply to the notif saying something about ‘RIP you should’ve drank three…’ another message pops up, staring at you from the lock screen, half of the message fading off in an ellipses. 

You still have his contact saved. Somehow that’s the first thing you think, so incredibly belatedly. In your defense you thought deleting it would be stupid, seeing as how you share friends and what if Felix was in trouble and the only way anyone could reach you was through your ex-boyfriend? It’s a flimsy excuse but you clung to it at the time. 

For a while his contact was changed to HEARTBREAKER, all in caps with broken heart emojis book ending it. At some point you changed it again, hating the reminder the name would elicit every time you scrolled past it. It just made you feel bad, to be honest. Not in a guilt way, but in the way of it settling all weird in your stomach. 

So now he’s filed under a very polite and professional Bang Christopher Chan. It feels safer this way. The least amount of intimacy possible. 

Looking at it now, knowing that there’s multiple messages attached to it because you were drunk and then half asleep and he’s apparently a child who can’t just ignore you- it feels like a stupidly personal inside joke. Which is stupid. It’s his name. 

>I know this is last minute, but I was wondering if we c…

This is not something you can read by yourself while still hungover and sleepy. Absolutely not. Any sort of question he has will have to be dealt with once you’ve consumed a sufficient amount of caffeine. 

“What do you think it says?” You ask, a little bit later after your second cup of coffee. 

Felix barely even moves his head from where it’s resting against the table. He’s clearly just as hungover as you are, but you feel like you’re in the middle of making a very bad decision and you need a second opinion. You shimmy your phone under the seam where his forehead meets the wood. 

With a little pout and deep groan, he’s shifting around and waking up your phone to stare at the lock screen. The silence stretches on as he stares, blinks, and blinks some more. With a start, he’s sitting up straight, pulling the phone closer. 

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk to him-”

“I’m aware of what I said! But that was also like, months ago, and we’re both totally over it-”

“It felt like you two went through a divorce, I don’t know if a few months is long enough-”

“I’m over it!” You proclaim, a little loudly. A little desperately. “And he is too if he’s talking to me.” 

Felix says your name, with that specific tone like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. So, like a normal, emotionally stable adult, you completely ignore him and instead scoop up your phone. Suddenly the nerves over wondering exactly what Chan wanted to ask you have been replaced with a confidence only born from needing a distraction. 

Finally, you read the text he sent. 

>I know this is last minute, but I was wondering if we could maybe grab lunch? Or, if you’re still too hungover for lunch, maybe something later? 

Oh. Definitely the beginning of a very bad idea. 

<you paying??

>Of course I am >When was the last time you paid?

Uncalled for, but also completely fair.

<then sure count me in

It all feels way too easy. Like the last few months have just been- what, erased? Ignored? Boxed away so you can talk about it later? But hey, that’s a problem for the future version of yourself. 

“Did you just agree to spend time with him?” Felix asks, because of course he does. Are you really that predictable? 

“Maybe.”

Shaking his head, Felix sits back in his seat. “You know I love you both, but I don’t know if this is a great idea.”

“It doesn’t have to be romantic! We’re just meeting up, like friends do.” The silence is practically palpable. “We can be friends! We’re both adults- we can totally be friends.” 

Felix gives you possibly the most pitying look you’ve ever seen on his angelic little face.

-o0o-

Ok. Maybe you can’t be friends. The two of you started off as friends, definitely. You built your whole relationship off of being friends. But somewhere along the way something got all gummed up. Being together dissolved into months of barely even talking to each other. 

You were hoping that could change tonight. After getting all dressed up- because you wanted to feel pretty and you couldn’t remember the last time you got dressed up, thank you very much Minho. With his judging eyebrow and the way he clicked his tongue when you told him about the text messages and your dinner plans. Just because you were meeting up with someone who you used to give hickeys to had nothing to do with the dress you wore. 

(it absolutely did but no one had the right to know.)

It started off as just something casual. Stilted awkward conversation as you both tried to remember how to be civil around each other. It came a lot easier to Chan, as always. But you missed this. You missed being in the same space as him and hearing his voice and god Felix was right, you’re so incredibly weak. 

You wanted to try and be friends again so badly. But you were absolutely lying to yourself, big time, because the second that he smiled- that small little smile where he ducks his head and bites at his lip, oh you were gone. 

Currently you’re being pinned to the wall with his tongue down your throat and you can’t really think straight. 

Somehow you went from a casual get together to this. Attacking each other's faces like starving animals who haven’t eaten in weeks. It’d be embarrassing if it weren’t for the way Chan is so clearly feeling the exact same things you are. Your hands are running through his hair and his hands are anchored to your hips, and he still tastes the same. He still makes the same little noises when you drag your teeth along the edge of his jaw. 

It’s so fucking familiar and you already feel like you could drown in it. 

You should probably talk about this. The making out, yes, absolutely, but also the last few months and the texts and him asking to see you out of the blue. It should be talked about, right? Except what would you even say? You’ll just rehash the same things you’ve been saying. You felt ignored and he felt suffocated and you could never find a way to meet in the middle because you’re both stubborn. 

You should say something though, right? Right? 

The press of his hand against the dip of your waist, pulling you closer, has you losing any semblance of what language even is. Words? Who needs them? He’s hooking his other hand behind your knee and hiking it up, guiding you to wrap your leg around him, and really all you can think about is how you aren’t close enough.

You sneak your fingers up under the hem of his shirt, feeling the expanse of his skin, and the sound of the breathiest gasp leaving his lips settles along the curve of your spine. 

“Is this a bad idea?” You ask, once you remember how to use words. 

He stops short, as if he’s just remembered not only did he leave the oven on but he also left incredibly flammable items near it. A little shocked and worried and second guessing. Which, you’re not really sure what sort of reaction you were hoping for but you should have expected this at the least. He’s a chronic over-thinker sometimes. 

It’s fine, it’s cute even. When it’s not annoying you to no end. Sometimes you need his specific brand of cautious energy, a voice helping you recognize when something actually is a terrible idea because you didn’t realize before he pointed it out. Other times, like now, you already know the answer to your own question and you seriously do not need him to answer. It was rhetorical, thank you very much. 

“Um, well- I-” He stumbles over his sentence, breathing hard and face flushed.

“Nevermind, don’t answer that. Just kiss me.” 

Thankfully Bang Chan is very good at going along with your bad ideas. 

You can deal with whatever all of this means after. Right now, the both of you are wearing far too much clothing and you need to fix that immediately.