#meanwhile Sam comes in as second

[divineyetinpain]

Save me 1.6 winter outfit Sebastian….save me!!

[brainfilehasstoppedworking]

Bro, Nekomaru is like. On Takaaki's ass for my favorites list rn. And Monomi and Taka are just watching in "Also my absolute FAV but not first place but also not second or lower" ranking

[buckyalpine]

Hello Shay ! I’ve been loving the civilian!reader fics, and I had an idea for a fic like that, but with a twist 🫣 reader is bucky’s sweet civilian gf, literal definition of sunshine, basically a lover, not a fighter. She’s a ballet teacher at a local studio (hint hint wink wink). And she lives with him and the team at the tower. One night, while the team is out on a mission, Hydra ambushes the tower and tries to take the reader hostage. And when they learn about it, they rush back home in order to save her. Meanwhile, Bucky and Tony check the footage just to see his precious sweet girl absolutely kicking ass. And I mean hardcore, like she even does the entire widow thigh-neck move. And everyone is like??? And Bucky’s just absolutely fucking HORNY bc “hell I’ve been in between those thighs so many times, you’re telling me I could’ve DIED???”

okay YESSSSS we live for a badass gf who appears to be nothing but sweet sunshine and killer on the inside. Fluffy fluffy and smutty smutty

-

"Be back soon, darling" Bucky cooed, kissing you again and again while everyone boarded the jet, getting in a few more pecks before having to leave on a mission.

"C'mon lover boy, the faster we get going, the faster you get back to your sweetheart!" Tony yelled, shaking his head watching Bucky look a you with puppy eyes, not wanting to leave his sunshine behind. "He's so down bad, I swear"

"Can you blame him, she's so cute" Sam smiled, watching the two of you cling onto each other for a few extra seconds, your form hidden, engulphed in Bucky's thick arms. "Look, you can't even see her when tin man hugs her"

"I'll miss you baby" you kissed Bucky's pouty lips, caressing his scruffy cheek before letting him run off, your cheeks heating up when he blew you another kiss before the doors closed.

"You're a little sap" Nat teased while Bucky blushed, strapping on his gear as the engine roared to life, rumbling as they took off. Bucky had 0 shame in everyone knowing how much he loved you and it started from the day he met you. He got called out immediately, questioned over the dopey smile he had on his face, the blush on his cheeks instantly giving him away.

Soon after you'd started dating, Bucky wanted you closer to him and he didn't have to ask Tony twice; his room was moved to a floor above so you'd have more space to live together. The last thing Bucky wanted was for you to get hurt because of his job. He felt more relaxed knowing you were in he safety of the compound on days where he was away.

"Who would've thought Bucky would be the romantic type"

"I did" Steve groaned, having seen Bucky's flirty side for years but he knew this was different. He hadn't seen his bestfriend like this before, clearly in utterly and desperately in love with you.

"It's adorable" Sam laughed while Bucky continued to smile, scrolling through his phone looking at pictures of you. His camera rolled was filled with various images of you baking, cuddling, sleeping, doing the most mundane things in the world, each making his heart flutter. He felt a pang in his chest, momentarily worried about if you were safe without him, the same anxiety he always felt whenever he had to leave you.

-

You stretched across the sofa, sipping on some hot chocolate and putting on your favorite comfort movie, deciding to have a relaxing night to yourself since the compound was empty. You didn't like when Bucky had to leave but you knew it was part of his job, slipping the fuzzy throw blanket over you shoulders before hitting play.

It had hardly been a few minutes before the screen went black making you blink, wondering if you'd sat on the remote by accident. Suddenly the rest of the lights turned off, a blasting sound coming from the entrance before you heard rushed footsteps nearing you.

Your heart started to race, having no time to hide or think, coming face to face with a number of masked men all towering over you. One grabbed you, pulling out a camera and hitting record, shoving it close to your face with a sinister smile.

"Look who we have, soldat"

-

The jet hadn't been flying for long, a sudden beeping alarm from the security system alerting Tony to check the cameras. His eyes grew wide, seeing the Hydra logo take over the screen before switching the live footage from the hacked system.

"Guys! There's been an attack on the compound!" Tony shouted from the computer, everyone rushing to see what came on screen, billows of smoke emitting from the main wing. Suddenly the screen went black, replaced with a man swearing a black mask, walking around the common room.

"Welcome Mr. Stark" His voice was thick with a Russian accent, the video panning to show the other agents infiltrating the tower. "Where is our soldat"

"You stay the fuck away from my girl" Bucky growled, his heart hammering in his chest, nearly crying when he saw someone grab you and shove you into a chair.

"She's precious to you, isn't she. We'll see you soon" he laughed, before the stream cut off leaving Bucky wanting to scream in frustrating, anxiety clouding all his thoughts, just wanting to get back to you to protect you.

"We have to go help her!" Bucky paced up and down while Tony rerouted the jet, speeding back to save you. "How the fuck do I know what's going on, there has to be something" He pleaded, hating that he no longer had eyes on you.

"Hold on, let me get into the back up feed" Tony tapped away at different keys, getting into the security system, selecting the camera for the common room where you were being held. "Here, I got it! I-Holy shit..."

The sound of screaming screeched through the speaker but it wasn't coming from you.

No.

"B-Barnes, you're girl just killed someone with her thighs" Tony stared at the footage with wide eyes while Bucky and the others watching in awe as your legs wrapped around one of the agents' heads, snapping his neck before flipping over and attacking another one of your assailants.

Bucky nearly choked, watching the men drop to the floor like flies, your arms and legs holding onto the men with a vice like grip until they fell, hardly breaking a sweat each time.

"Do you understand how many time's I've been in between those thighs, you're telling me she could've killed me?!!" Bucky practically moaned, seeing you fight, all his anxiety melting into lust, his cock straining against the thick material of his tac suit.

"Jesus Bucky, you're gonna poke an eye out" Sam's face scrunched up while Bucky adjusted himself, biting his lip to keep from making a sound, his tip leaking, breathing out a sigh of relief seeing you perfectly safe.

"Can't help me, look at her. Better count me out for movie night, m'gonna spent the whole night fuckin'-

"Okay, got it, you're a ridiculous, horny, pervert, and y/n probably won't walk for a week, will you please put that away" Sam shook his head, walking away when he tent in Bucky's pants got worse.

"I'm sorry, we've been housing a Hydra killer all this time?" Tony shook his head as the jet landed, still in disbelief over what everyone had just seen, both impressed and 100% scared of what else you were capable of. "You sure know how to pick em' Barnes"

As soon as the jet hit the floor, Bucky was sprinting off into he compound, running to find you, relief flooding his veins when he saw you sipping on your tea, seated on the couch again. You jumped up from your spot, jumping into your boyfriends arms, clinging onto him while the others also entered, glad to see you were okay. They got to work, clearing up the room, rounding up the few agents that were knocked out for questioning while also giving you and Bucky some privacy.

"Babygirl" Bucky hugged you tightly in his arms, burying his face into your neck, inhaling your soft scent, hoisting you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist. "Are you okay doll, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine Bucky" you reassured him, pecking his soft lips, letting him check you over before feeling satisfied you were okay, not finding a scratch on your body.

"Everything okay Buck?" you cocked your head noticing your boyfriends shift in demeanor, his soft baby blue eyes darkening into something else, biting his lip.

"Baby, I had to hold back from pulling my cock out on the jet and touching myself, you know how much that hurt? How hard I was the entire time, struggling not to jet my dick off watching how sexy you looked" He walked you up to your shared bedroom, his erection shamelessly pushing against your clothed core, not bothering to hide it one bit. "Where have you been hiding all that princess"

"Not hiding Bucky, just-never needed to do that" You shrugged shyly, squeezing your thigs around his waist playfully, making him groan as he dropped you on the bed.

"Can't wait to keep my face between these pretty legs that could kill me" He groaned, slicing your clothes off with his pocket knife before diving in without a care in the world, eating you like a man starved, tapping your thighs to wrap around his head.

"C'mon doll, squeeze em'" he moaned, humping against the bed feeling your muscles flex, his eyes rolling back, nearly cumming against the mattress at the strength he could feel, knowing you were holding back from hurting him.

you could kill him if you want.

Fuck, he was going to cum so fast.

-

"Oh god! Bucky!! PLease! D-DOn't STOP"

"That's it gorgeous, so good to me, so fuckin' pretty. won't last baby, gonna cum for you!"

"They're going at it like rabbits, didn't you sound proof their room after the first incident?"

"I did. This is after the sound proofing"

"Gonna fuck your thighs next baby, you got my cock so hard, almost creamed my pants like a teenager watching, you, oh shit-shit-m'so sensitive, keep clenching around my dick, that's it-fuckkk"

"Jesus christ, it's been an hour"

"Did you forget he has the super soldier serum? They're not gonna stop any time soon"

"I'M CUMMING JAMES"

"Gonna fucking cum for you y/n, OH FUCK YESSS you're so sexy when you fight baby, m'gonna fuckin' cum again, I can't stop"

"He's really gonna go all night, isn't he"

"Can you blame him?"

[jackles010378]

Confessions of the night...

Dean winchester x Y/n

No warnings, just pure fluff 💚

When it's Sam's turn to hook up and bring a women back to the motel room, you find dean sleeping in his car and invite him to sleep in your room.

Dean sat in the Impala, his mind racing with a mix of emotions. He had never been one to shy away from a good time, but this time was different. Usually, it was him who brought girls back to their motel room, but tonight it had been Sam who had hooked up. And it left him feeling a bit out of place.

After successfully getting rid of a wendigo, Dean, Sam and y/n went to the bar nearest the motel to let of a little steam. Y/n called an early night and left the boys at the bar. Dean wanted to walk y/n back to the motel but she told him to stay with Sammy and have fun.

Dean had caught the eye of a few women in the bar, but none had peaked his interest. What he didn't expect to see was Sammy playing tonsil hockey with a pretty brunette on his way back from the toilet. He stood frozen for a second but then had a proud look on his face as he thought to himself 'that's my boy'. Dean pulled his jacket off the back of the chair he'd been sitting in, momentarily interrupting the make out session between his brother and the girl sitting on his lap. He slid the room key over to Sammy saying "don't do anything I wouldn't" with a wink and a smirk.

As Sam and the girl disappeared into the motel room, Dean made up his mind to sleep in the Impala. Taking a swig from his trusty flask, he settled into the backseat, hoping the familiar scent of leather and oil would soothe his restless thoughts.

Meanwhile, Y/N, was making her way to the ice machine. Dressed in a t-shirt (that she had stolen from Dean) and shorts, she was surprised to see Dean sitting in the Impala in the dimly lit parking lot, she wondered if he and Sammy had had a fight after she had left them at the bar. She could sense his unease and decided to approach him.

"Hey, Dean," Y/N called out softly. Dean looked up, surprised to see her there. Y/N gestured towards her room. "You look like you could use a decent night's sleep. Why don't you come crash in my room? I promise I won't bite."

Dean hesitated for a moment, but the offer was too tempting to resist. He followed Y/N to her room, taking in her easy smile and the warmth that radiated from her. Settling in on the spare bed, y/n handing him a beer, Dean found himself opening up to Y/N in a way he rarely did with others.

As the night wore on, the two of them talked about everything under the sun - from hunting to childhood memories. Dean found himself drawn to Y/N's easy laughter and the genuine interest she showed in him. And before long, he found himself confessing his fears and doubts about their dangerous way of life.

Y/N listened intently, her eyes full of understanding and compassion. She reached out and took Dean's hand in hers, she moved over to sit by his side, the feeling of her by his side sent a rush of warmth through him. In that moment, Dean knew he had found someone who saw past the tough exterior he presented to the world.

As the night turned to early morning, Dean and Y/N found themselves inching closer together. Their shared confessions had forged a deep bond between them, one that neither wanted to let go of. And as the first light of dawn peeked through the window, Dean leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Y/N's lips. "So much for sleeping huh" y/n said as they broke away from each other, foreheads resting upon each other.

The kiss was soft and fleeting, but it spoke volumes of the emotions swirling between them. Dean pulled back, his heart hammering in his chest as he searched Y/N's eyes for any sign of regret. But all he saw was warmth and affection, mirrored in her gaze "took you long enough winchester" y/n said with a smirk on her face.

In that moment, Dean knew he had found something real and worth fighting for. And as he held Y/N close, he let go of his doubts and fears, embracing the possibility of a new beginning. Sam might have been the one to bring a girl back to the motel room, but tonight, it was Dean who found something truly special with Y/N.

Taglist:

@nescavaneckdaily @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @angelbabyyy99 @cheynovak @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Pathology Murders

Summary: When the reader and the boys stumble across a gruesome scene, they get the feeling that the monster they're hunting is of the human variety...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 5,800ish

Warnings: language, angst, lots of mentions of gore/death, trauma, accident, fluff

A/N: This fic was inspired by this imagine (which makes an appearance in this one shot) and also by the horror movie Pathology!

________

“What the hell…” Dean and Sam looked around the abandoned house, pausing like you had when they got to the kitchen. Your boys weren’t wimps by any means. They’d seen some serious crap. Done some serious crap. But that kitchen? 

It took Sam all of three seconds to step out of the room and upheave his greek salad from lunch.

Meanwhile Dean took it all in before his eyes landed on where you were trying to work the scene, fighting back another dry heave. 

“You alright?” he asked. You knew he was concerned. You weren’t one to puke up your guts either. But the poor soul on the kitchen table, or rather what was left of him…twisted wasn’t even the right word for it.

“Not particularly,” you said, pointing at a glass jar that housed a pair of kidneys on the stove. “Not all the organs made it into jars. Pretty sure the liver is in the sink.”

Dean cautiously took a step inside, swallowing thickly. Unlike you or Sam, who had your own experiences with hell, Dean’s had been far more…interactive. Sam’s soul was battered around by Lucifer but it’d been more psychological than physical. You’d spent an unpleasant night with a hellhound in the same cage and while it hadn’t been fun, you’d been able to stay in a corner and out of harms way. Dean though…Dean had been sliced and diced and hacked and every other possible horror, imaginable or not. And then he’d performed the acts himself. You never blamed him for giving in, for breaking. You’d told him time and time again he was, and always would be, a good man.

Some days, more often lately it seemed the older he got, he seemed to believe you.

“Whoever did this performed an autopsy on this guy. While he was alive,” said Dean, leaning over the body to get a closer look. “Huh. Anybody see a heart around here?”

You surveyed the bloody room, finding more than a few peculiar shaped body parts but nothing resembling a heart. Sam finally made his way in, taking a deep inhale as he got used to the gore before him. “I got nothing over here.”

“Could be a werewolf,” said Dean, cocking his head as he straightened, brow furrowing. “Or a witch.”

You knew he wasn’t buying that though, neither of you were. You tore your eyes away from the search to watch Sam’s expression flare up with a strange look of familiarity. “Sammy?”

“I think a person did this,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes.

“No shit Sherlock. Someone used a knife or-”

“No, jackass,” said Sam, shooting Dean a harsh look for a brief second. “I mean I think this was a human, like an actual human. They were just talking about a cold case like this on a podcast I listened to during my run last week.”

“You and your fucking serial killer obsession,” muttered Dean. Sam’s eye twitched, the tension rising in the room. “It’s fucking weird, Sammy.”

“We hunt monsters, dumbass. How is that any different?”

“That’s our job. You don’t see me watching murder documentaries like a certain someone in my free time.” Sam got closer to Dean, Dean taking one to match, both boy’s jaws clenching. 

“Hey,” you said with a snap of your fingers, the pair reluctantly turning towards you. “Dean, plenty of people are interested in cold cases and as long as Sam isn’t a serial killer himself, his hobby is fine. Sam, Dean just gets concerned that you don’t take enough of a break from hunting but he can’t come out and say that. So hug and make up. You’re on the same side.”

They both grumbled and gave each other a half-assed embraced but it made you smile regardless. 

“So what’d your murder podcast say?” asked Dean, walking around to the other side of the cut open body. Sam’s face soured. “That good, huh?”

“They called them the Pathology Murders. A string of five victims about ten years ago that went unsolved. The killer performed live autopsies like you said about this guy earlier. The only lead they ever had was that the killer must have medical training, like a doctor, based on what they did to the victims. Oh, and all the murders took place in the Seattle area.”

“Which downtown is only twenty minutes from here,” you said, crossing your arms. “Was the heart missing at the other scenes?”

“I’m not sure. They could have skimmed over that,” said Sam. Your gaze followed Dean’s, his green eyes laced with uncertainty. “I can do some research back at the motel. You guys could check in with Seattle PD, see if the case files have anything useful.”

“We should double check that it’s not our kind of monster and if it really is a person-”

“We’re not working this case,” said Dean. Your eyebrows shot up, Sam’s face already frowning. “We do not investigate serial killers. Save it for the police.”

“Uh, what the hell is going on? You would never let a killer, monster or human, stay on the loose,” said Sam.

Dean’s gaze shot to you and quickly away, his eyes turning sharp as they zeroed in on Sam. You scoffed, Sam cocking his head in question.

“It’s because my mom was murdered. By a serial killer. Isn’t it, Dean?” Dean’s lips pressed into a thin hard line and you shook your head. “They caught her killer which you know. What does that have anything to do with-”

“You caught the killer, you did that,” said Dean, Sam completely lost. He knew your mom had been killed but not the gory details like Dean.

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing then?” he asked. “Y/N has experience with this sort of thing then.”

“Why don’t you explain to Sammy just exactly what you did to ‘catch’ her killer then, sweetheart. Go on. I’m sure he’d love to hear it.” You glared at Dean, feeling an unpleasant prickling in your eyes. Dean didn’t back down as you teared up though, instead focusing on Sam. “She let herself be bait. She let herself get caught by the son of a bitch. She almost died because she doesn’t see when she’s going too far with serial killers. The same thing happened on that Tulsa case five years ago.”

You could sense Sam had shifted very quickly to being on Dean’s side of this argument. You’d been young and reckless with your mom’s killer, barely a day over eighteen. That was years and years ago. You’d learned since then to use more sense. Tulsa…well your plan as being bait would have worked if your former hunting partner hadn’t been more focused on getting some ass that night than watching your back.

“Yeah, that’s how we met, Sam. Not working a case. No, Y/N was fucked and if I hadn’t been driving back from Jody’s that night and saw the fucking asshole grab her, she’d be dead. Wouldn’t you?” Dean snarled. You narrowed your misty eyes at him, Dean lifting his chin. “We will make sure this isn’t our kind of deal and if it is in fact a run of the mill serial killer, we are getting the fuck out of here, understand me?”

“I fucked up once. Once,” you breathed out. You swallowed thickly, wiping off your face with your jacket sleeve. “Just how many times have you been kidnapped Dean in the five years that I’ve known you? I’ve been taken once. You? How many times have I cut you loose? Taken out the monster with a knife to your throat? A gun to your head? How many times have you gotten lost in a case? Gone on a rampage? I never realized we were keeping score.”

Dean’s gaze fell to the floor, his hand running over his jaw, searching for the right words.

“Sam, go back to the motel and research. Dean and I’ll do the fed schitk and get the files we can. Whoever’s behind this, I’m going after them. You two can do whatever the hell you want,” you said, storming out of the room and out of the house.

“You look pretty,” said Dean softly a few hours later as you exited the motel bathroom in your fed suit, a light blue button down blouse with your charcoal gray suit jacket and pants. You ignored him as you dug through your duffel for your pointed black booties. Professional but also you knew for a fact you could run and fight in them. You growled in frustration when you couldn’t find them though, hearing Dean clear his throat behind your back. You glanced over your shoulder, following Dean’s gaze to where he’d set them down by the end of the bed.

“Thanks,” you grumbled, slipping them on and pulling up the side zipper. Dean was sporting his navy suit today, the one he looked extra hot in. You ignored that fact as you tucked your gun into the back of your pants, fixing your suit jacket over it.

“Y/N.” You sighed, giving him a look that you really didn’t want to do this right now. He took a long breath, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Sam quietly slinked out of the room into his adjoining one. Most of the time the three of you shared but when you could swing it, Sam got his own next door to give you and Dean some privacy.

Privacy you didn’t necessarily want at this moment.

“You do good cop, I’ll be the hardass if it comes to it,” you said, shoving your phone in your pocket. You tried to walk past him for the door but he caught your hand, stopping you after a few feet. “Dean.”

“I do not, and have never, thought you were weak. But serial killers are a blindspot for you. Sam and I both have them. This is yours.” He lowered his head, like he was fighting the words that were coming out. 

To your surprise, he dropped your hand and stood. 

“Be careful on this one, sweetheart.” He walked past you to the motel door, cracking it open and pausing. “We should get going.”

“You sure I’m not going to lose it? Get too carried away and get myself captured?” you said, unable to stop from poking back after his earlier insinuations. Dean’s shoulders rose and fell, one hand going to the doorframe to grip it as you watched the back of his head lower.

“Y/N, don’t you know by now I’m an idiot that’d rather lose you because I’m a dick than find you in the hands of some monster like whoever did that to that poor guy? Don’t you know I know you’re stronger than me? Don’t you think I realize how hard it is to be with someone like me?”

“You don’t stop Sam from doing dangerous things,” you said. “You don’t bring up the past to him.”

“Yes I have,” he said quietly. “And convincing Sam to stay in a motel room where it’s safe to research has never been hard thankfully.”

“You don’t treat me with the same respect though,” you said softly. “It hurts to know you never will think of me as being as capable as he is all because I’m your girlfriend.”

Dean shook his head, straightening his back. “You are more than capable, sweetheart. But sometimes…I just want to be a man that protects his girl. I don’t want to be scared of failing you for once…because if that monster got anywhere near you…”

You took quiet steps over to him, staring at his broad shoulders as they sagged.

“Eventually everyone I love dies or has something awful happen to them. Maybe I don’t say it the right way but fucking hell, all I want is for those things to not happen to you.” He spun around, green eyes full of worry. You nodded, taking his hand and lacing your fingers together. He squeezed them gently, the warmth of it pleasant.

“Our job is dangerous, Dean. We hunt the monsters, supernatural or not. I love you but you don’t get to keep me locked away.” You ran your thumb over his scuffed up skin, still healing form last week’s hunt. “That said…I promise not to get so angry if you promise to just say you’re scared for me. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, a flicker of a smile on his face. “I just have a bad feeling about this one.”

“Then we’ll be smart, okay?” You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And don’t call yourself an idiot. I don’t like it.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “Let’s go figure out what the hell is going on.”

Two Hours Later

“This guy’s a fucking psycho,” you said into your phone while Dean came outside with a bag of burgers and fries. “Apparently he sends the hearts to the victims families in a little box with a bow.”

“Sounds about right for a guy who cuts people open for fun,” said Sam on the other end. “I’m gonna pour through the records you just sent over.”

“Alright. Dean and I should be back in fifteen-”

“Why don’t you guys have a date night? I got this for a few hours.” You bit your bottom lip, Sam’s silence going on. “Come on, Y/N. You guys should talk about Dean’s protectiveness and your stubbornness.”

You wanted to argue that fact but sighed, closing your eyes.

“Any suggestions on how we find that line when our job is to hunt killers?” you asked.

“Maybe remember that he’s your boyfriend first, hunting partner second. Most boyfriends wouldn’t want their girlfriend near a serial killer either, no matter what their job.”

“Don’t have good points, Samuel,” you said as Dean took a seat next to you on Baby’s hood. “We’ll be back in two hours.”

You hung up and dove your hand into the bag of fries, smirking when Dean presented you with a chocolate milkshake. He grinned as you dipped the fry in it and tossed it back, giving him a big thumbs up.

“I love you,” you said, Dean smiling as he dug out his burger. “I always love you, even when we fight.”

He glanced at you, landing a gentle kiss on your lips in the next moment. He barely moved his lips, letting them linger instead. He moved back only an inch and nodded. “I was a dickhead earlier. All because I’m afraid of finding you with a serial killer standing over you with a giant ass knife again. I don’t know why I can’t just come out and say that shit in the moment.”

“Because you’re human,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “And you’re so much better at talking to me than five years ago. The old you wouldn’t have even been able to say that to me.”

“I try,” he said, letting you kiss him, your own a tad more forceful than his had been.

“That’s all I ask for,” you said, Dean’s phone going off at that exact moment. He sighed as he took it out, Sam’s name appearing. He tapped it onto speaker and took a bite of his burger. “What’s up Sammy?”

“Guys, I think I figured something out. All the victims were patients at Mercy West hospital back in the day and this latest guy? He was a patient there last week.” You and Dean shared a frown. “Yeah, I know. The cops investigated all of the hospital staff there back then but they never came up with anything. They thought maybe a doctor was behind it but he died in a car accident between the second and third vics.”

“It could have been him and he had a partner. Definitely is someone with access to records so they have to work there,” said Dean as you held up a finger. “What?”

“I could have sworn I’ve heard about this hospital in the news before. Something to do with a boat accident?” you asked. You heard Sam typing loudly before he hummed.

“Yup. They made national news about six months ago when seven of their medical students died in a boating accident. Explosion apparently when they got boozed up and had a bonfire on the boat. The bodies were so bad they couldn’t identify the remains,” said Sam. Dean took another bite of his burger and swallowed. “Already checking through the police files. Shit.”

“Shit what, Sam?” you asked, dunking a fry in your milkshake.

“Shit as in the boat accident wasn’t an accident at all. There was definitely an explosion but they found damage on the bodies indicating some injuries occurred before death. Like being carved up alive. They don’t want the public knowing the killer is still active in the area.”

“It’s gotta be someone linked to that hospital. Only question is why can’t the police figure out who?” asked Dean.

“Good question,” said Sam. “I’m going to keep digging, see if there’s a connection between the two we missed.”

“Thanks Sammy. We’ll be back in twenty to help,” said Dean, hanging up. He glanced at you, biting the inside of his cheek.

“This isn’t a monster,” you said quietly. “At least, it’s a human one.”

Dean polished off the rest of his meal quietly, the air still for a few beats. 

“When you get too worried about me on hunts, you put yourself in danger,” you said, slowly sipping from the shake. His heated gaze was on you as you handed him the drink. “You have to trust that I’m strong enough to do this. Careful and capable. We both need to work on that.”

“Alright. But do me a favor? Stick close to me or Sammy on this one. You’re just…” You waited, let him find his words. He took the drink and finished it off, shoving the trash in the bag. “You just got over that shoulder injury. Your punches don’t hit as hard as normal right now. I don’t mean that in a bad way, just-”

“Okay,” you said, finding his hand, slipping yours inside. “Now let’s figure out who this bastard is.”

He hummed, letting go of you for a brief moment so he could toss the garbage away. You slid inside the passenger seat, Dean back and behind the wheel after the blink of an eye. Approximately ten seconds later you were pulling out of the parking lot and on the road, headed down main street and for the motel.

“So I was thinking this guy does autopsies on victims right?” said Dean, turning the radio down low on a soft rock station. You glanced out the window on the dark night, a rumble of thunder overhead. “But the cops can’t find him. Well, isn’t there someone that sometimes works at hospitals and for the police that would be able to fuck with a body after the fact and hide traces of their involvement?”

“A pathologist. I was thinking that too but wouldn’t that have been their first look? I mean they literally call them the Pathology Murders,” you said, waiting for the the light to turn green. “It could be someone that knows someone at the department covering for them. Stranger things have happened.”

“Maybe. I get the gist this guy works alone though. I only clocked one set of boots at the scene this morning,” he said, the bright green light illuminating the dark interior.

“Same. It’s absolutely someone associated with that damn hospital-” you said, Dean’s arm shooting in front of you in your peripheral. A millisecond later, something slammed into the right side of Baby, your side. Your lap belt tugged on you hard as your body lolled to the side, weightless for a moment before gravity reared it’s ugly head and slammed you down. Your head smacked something hard and it all went dark.

You could hear Dean asking a paramedic a million questions, not a single one concerned about himself. You opened your eyes to find yourself in the back of an ambulance, Dean lying on a stretcher beside you. He could tell you were awake and struggled to reach over to you but couldn’t. Instead he thrashed his head back against his pillow in defeat, straining against the straps that held him down.

“Sir, I need you to calm down,” said the paramedic as you blinked slowly at Dean. You knew something was wrong with you, with both of you, but you weren’t quite sure what that was yet. You struggled when you saw Dean upset. You wanted him to feel better. “You need to relax, she’s seeing you panic and that’s making her do the same.”

Dean stopped as he took in how your heart rate had skyrocketed, how scared you looked. He sighed and forced himself to stay calm. You saw him relax and heard him say it was okay. Neither of you enjoyed the feeling of being tied down, especially when the both of you were in plain view of one another and couldn’t reach each other. You tried to speak but couldn’t as you felt how raw your throat was. 

“We’ll be at Mercy West in just a few minutes,” said the paramedic to Dean as you half-listened. 

“No, take us somewhere else!” yelled Dean suddenly, fighting again. The paramedic sighed as you both started struggling once more. You didn’t have much of an idea of what was going on but if Dean didn’t want to go there, it wasn’t safe. 

“I’m going to give each of you a sedative and by the time you wake up, you’ll be in your hospital beds feeling a lot better,” he said gently. 

“No, don’t you touch her,” said Dean as you started to get very sleepy. The last thing you saw was Dean shutting his eyes as you finally remembered what had happened.

If Sam didn’t get to you soon, you were screwed.

Your eyes wearily opened under bright lights that made your head hurt. You winced and turned away from it, limbs heavy and still. Dean’s voice echoed somewhere, to your left maybe? You forced your eyes open again, Dean strapped down to a metal table with metal drawers behind him, the look on his face like he was screaming at you. You blinked, the ringing in your eyes loud and obnoxious, droning him out.

“Get up, fucking get up!” Dean shouted so loud you shook your head, a splitting headache cracking over you. “Y/N get out of here!” 

It took only a moment to discover that unlike Dean, you weren’t restrained in what was most likely the hospital morgue. Something was wrong though. A sedative? No. You were becoming more alert if anything but your arms were growing more tired, head becoming too heavy to lift.

“Something’s off,” you tried to say, the words caught in your throat, unable to be voiced. Your eyes flared wide, Dean’s drifting past you.

“Someone took a long time to wake up,” said a voice to your right. Suddenly a hand was under your head.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Dean snarled, your head set on a…stand? Something to keep it elevated and from rolling to the side. You tried to move but the message wasn’t getting to your body, your eyes glued on the handsome face with a just slightly off smile leaning over you.

“You were in a nasty accident, Agent Carlson. Unfortunately for you, your head trauma was too severe and you coded in the ER. Meanwhile Agent Manns in his grief unfortunately succumbed to his injuries. At least that’s what the autopsy report will say,” he said, inspecting what felt like a cut on your temple. “Such a shame. It won’t be my best work but you’re not the first law enforcement to cross me. Sadly no one will be able to discover your remains once you’re accidentally incinerated as John and Jane Doe but it’s good practice.”

“Let her go you fucking psycho,” growled Dean when the doctor moved out of view and returned with a pair of shears. 

“Psycho? I’m Dr. Thomas, ER Trauma physician and part-time pathologist. I’ve saved far more lives than I’ve taken, Agent Manns,” he said, snipping through your blouse. 

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Dr. Thomas bagged your shirt in a plastic bag nearby, doing the same with your pants and boots once they’d been removed.

“Paralyzing agent. Hard to come by but it has it’s advantages. No messy straps or ropes in the way,” he said, lifting your arm as you watched helplessly, cold metal against your skin as he cut through your bra straps.

“I swear to god I’m going to rip your spine out of your fucking face. If you touch her-”

“Not my style,” said Dr. Thomas, pulling away the fabric, sending a chill down your back. He gave you his focus again, a smirk on his face as he put two fingers to your neck. “Your heart is hammering away, isn’t it? Biology is fascinating that way. It’s so strange how an emotion such as fear can cause physical reactions in our bodies.”

“Get the fuck away from her!” shouted Dean. Dr. Thomas’ smile towards you dropped when he looked at Dean. He sighed and set the shears down, walking out of view.

“You’re really starting to irritate me,” he said, the distinct sound of tape being ripped from a roll filling the room and then Dean’s cries became muffled, only quiet thumping as he struggled coming from him now. Dr. Thomas appeared again wearing another smile. “Sorry about that. It’s always the men that get all squirmy. The women always live longer. Now, one could argue that’s because women have on average more blood in their bodies than men but I’ve gotten a fairly large sample size over the past decade to believe they’re psychologically stronger and therefore last longer.”

You tried hard to move your hand when he held up a scalpel near your face but nothing worked. 

Fuck if you could move anything you’d be shaking harder than a tree in a damn hurricane. Dean struggling right beside you with a front row seat was not helping.

“Now I like to explain all of my procedures to my patients beforehand. While you are paralyzed to a degree, you will still feel things. That’s perfectly normal.” You were wide eyed, Dr. Thomas chuckling. “The procedure typically takes me around thirty minutes. However, you’ll die from the blood loss or shock after roughly seven so don’t worry about that aspect. Considering you were in an accident less than an hour ago, I suspect it’s more like four or five for you which is unfortunate for me but it is what it is. Perhaps Agent Manns will give me more time.”

He lowered the scalpel to your shoulder and dug in hard to the skin, dragging it inward towards your chest. Your scream was caught in your throat as he did it on the other side to match.

Dean was shouting and thrashing on the table beside you but you couldn’t even turn your head to look. Dr. Thomas started talking about incisions and procedures and then you felt something completely unnatural against your arm, another shout trapped in your lungs. Forget the brave face. You would have been full on wailing if you were capable of it.

Crack. Snap. Shudder. Rip. It was around the time that Dr. Thomas held up something dark red and sticky looking that your body decided passing out was the best course of action. Unfortunately, it wasn’t doing that for some reason and you were stuck on the edge of consciousness, terrified and wishing something would come along and smash your head in to end this.

A loud bang shot out and something heavy smacked your leg, something else skirting against your side. 

“Dear god,” whispered Sam. Your eyes were locked open as you heard Sam rush over, staring down at you for only a split second before he moved to Dean. 

That was not good. You were far more injured that Dean, somewhere on the verge of death if you figured. Sam would have stopped to help you first.

Unless you were beyond saving.

“Sweetheart,” said Dean, grabbing one of your blood covered hands in both of his. Fuck he was crying. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You were so totally fucked. He looked over to Sam, Sam staring back with an open mouth. They couldn’t fix this. Shit, shit. You were going to die cut open like a Thanksgiving turkey. “W-What about Cas?”

“Dean,” said Sam, an air of resignation in his voice. “He’s in Kansas.”

“Jack then.”

“He’s with Cas. He doesn’t know how to-”

“A spell, a cure, something! Take her upstairs to a fucking doctor!” shouted Dean. 

“De. Half of her organs are…” said Sam as you got light headed, Dean’s hand running over your head. Dean found your face, his chin wobbling. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Then we sit with our girl,” said Dean softly, tucking a hair behind your ear. “And you fall asleep, sweetheart and when you wake up again, you’ll feel all better. I’ll come find you someday. Okay? Just close your eyes and try to sleep for me.”

Dean lowered his head, kissing your forehead as he fought back the tears that wanted to spill over. Sam took your other hand, squeezing it gently as you tried to do what he asked.

“Bloody hell, of course a Winchester took out a nutter like that. I’d have thunk he deserved more than a bullet,” said a familiar voice. 

“Rowena?” both boys echoed. She didn’t respond though, Sam’s hand dropping yours as a flash of red hair moved in front of you. You stared up at her, her hands cradling your cheeks.

“Dean, let go.” He did and about two seconds later you were shot straight upright, body in one piece, full of feeling and horror as you wrapped your arms over your chest, looking all around. 

“What the hell was that?” asked Sam while Dean shrugged out of his fed jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders, buttoning you up before he picked you up and was cradling you in his arms.

Rowena faced him with a hand on her hip, your own gaze falling down to where a dead Dr. Thomas lay on the floor, blood oozing from the back of his open head.

“Do you boys still not see me as a friend?” she asked, an undercurrent of hurt in her voice. You were shaking in Dean’s arms, clutching to his shirt with your too long sleeves. 

“You’re the queen of hell. Why would you stop a death?” asked Sam. She rolled her eyes and approached you, resting a hand on your arm.

“Because I’m the queen of hell and I do as I please, Samuel.” You wanted to say thank you but all you could manage was a few jumbled words as you buried yourself in Dean’s neck. “She’s in shock, quite bad. Best to take her home and let her rest.”

“Thank you Rowena,” said Dean, walking past her, stopping near the entrance to the room. “Next time you need something, just let us know and we’ll help.”

“Of course. I’ll take care of this mess. Oh and Y/N, dear?” You managed to lift your head, grateful to find Sam was right on Dean’s heels. “This lad is going to be spending a lot of time on the receiving end of what he gave out up here down in hell. I promise you that.”

You nodded, giving her a thumbs up. Dean kissed the top of your head, his hold on you tight.

“You’re going to be alright, sweetheart. Just give it some time.”

“How’s that feel?” asked Dean for what felt like the twentieth time back at the motel. You’d showered, took another another shower, took a bath, took another shower and currently were wrapped up in a mess of Dean’s pajamas on the bed with a big towel in your hair. 

“Better,” you said, your voice back with you once you’d gotten out of the hospital morgue. Sam was off relaying what he’d found to the local police. Apparently Dr. Thomas had worked on a few cases for the county but his sister it turned out was a hot shot detective who’d been covering for him for years. It was how he’d found out about you and Dean investigating.

Honestly that woman would be better off going out like her brother. She’d covered up a lot of murders for her brother. It’d be a miracle if someone didn’t take her out before then. Not that you particularly would mind that. 

You patted the bed beside you, Dean taking a seat and pulling you into his lap. He removed the damp towel and nuzzled the top of your head with his cheek, strong arms wrapped all around your body.

“So we really nailed that whole careful thing, huh?” you said. Dean chuckled deeply, inhaling the scent of your damp hair, a pretty lilac and vanilla blend you knew he liked. 

“How do you do that? Make me laugh when I don’t feel like ever laughing again,” he said, tightening his hold.

“Because I’m hilarious,” you said, closing your eyes, wrapping your hands around his forearms. “You might not understand this but what you said when I thought…you made me feel safe even when I was scared that was it. You were a guy protecting his girl tonight, even if it’s not the way you meant it.”

“Meant every word,” he whispered, breathing slowly. 

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize for not stopping it. There’s no way we saw that coming.”

“Okay,” he said, draping his legs over yours, leaning back against the headboard with you. “How’s that feel? Comfy?”

You smiled as you rolled your eyes at him, tucking in closer. “I got you, Winchester. I’ll be alright. A chocolate milkshake and order of fries wouldn’t hurt though.”

“You’re hungry? After all that?” he chuckled. 

“Yup. Ask Sam to pick some up on his way back,” you said, tilting your head back, kissing under his jaw. “Our date got cut short after all.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You couldn’t talk earlier,” he said, taking your hand, lacing your fingers together.

“I’ll have nightmares, I’m sure, and all the other crap we get. But right now in this moment, with you, I’m okay.” He smiled, holding your body against his.

“I love you so much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if you do get kidnapped by serial killers.” You whacked his leg, Dean’s laugh rumbling against your back.

“Love you too, ya dork.”

_________

[bromcommie]

tbh I still think Brock Rumlow was an interesting character and upon further examination way more unsettling a villain than most to me because like. Let’s be real, the second you lay eyes on Robert Redford as Pierce monologuing in his pristine suit and glass office high up in the sky he just screams Evil Politician! at you. You can see it coming a mile away. Meanwhile Rumlow is….Just Some Guy. On the surface, he’s just some side dude. He’s not enhanced, he’s not in some major position of power, he’s just someone who’s really good at what he does and seems dedicated enough to the work and functions well with his team. He respects Steve, might admire him even, but not so much that he gets starry eyed like everybody else. He’s lighthearted but focused, he’s no nonsense, he’s the everyman Steve can relate to way more than spooks like Natasha or Fury.

And okay, maybe what Rumlow does for a living is beat intimidate and kill people, but it’s not like that’s the primary objective, right, because SHIELD are the good guys and this is what Steve does now, too, anyway; except that Steve doesn’t really use any weapons other than the shield, he holds back, he doesn’t carry a gun anymore which is usually fine since he’s dangerous enough without it. But when that leaves him vulnerable, he’s covered: Rumlow’s got his six, and he does it well, and he earns some of his trust. This is familiar to Steve.

And maybe Rumlow’s a little too good, fine, maybe he shoots a guy in the head within the first fifteen minutes of the movie when he doesn’t necessarily have to and then cracks jokes immediately after but that’s alright too, because that guy had Steve at gunpoint and that guy was Bad whereas Rumlow is One of the Good Guys just doing his job, right. Rumlow’s joking around because he’s used to the violence, they’re all used to it, and this is just how it works. They’re just soldiers doing the grunt work and following orders, and this is familiar, too.

Except that they’re not soldiers and this isn’t a war, except that the work is for an intelligence agency whose job it is to hoard and steal information and monitor civilians and orchestrate and sabotage and meddle in internal and external state affairs. Except that the Good Guys, in reality, are extremely grey at best. Except that many of the Good Guys turn out to be Nazis on top of everything else, and it’s not that far of a stretch.

But when it’s all starting to unravel, you’re still thinking well maybe some of these guys didn’t know. Maybe they didn’t do it out of individual belief, and if faced with the right choice, they can be redeemed.

That is until you realize that Rumlow maybe didn’t respect Steve and what he did so much as what Steve could do if only Steve weren’t “weak” in other ways, if Steve had chosen the right side. That it not being personal is less a cop out and more a taunt the same way just following orders has always been, for Rumlow and many many men that came before him and will continue to come after. Until the vault when, by the most charitable of interpretations, Rumlow looks at the Winter Soldier letting himself be smacked around and crying and getting shocked like he’s maybe a little unnerved (if not just downright fascinated) by the whole thing, but not enough that it really changes anything for him, because the end justifies the means and it’s not really his problem, anyway.

Until Sam shows up and Rumlow looks at him like a bird of prey and says This is gonna hurt with a fucking smile on his face, and then you think: shit, man, obviously. How was it not clear from the start.

To me, what makes someone like Rumlow a good villain, even a side one, is not that he’s straight up Insane & Evil™️ or suffering from Tragic Backstory Syndrome or all hopped up on magic superstrength juice or whatever, but precisely the fact that he’s Just Some Guy with a cockroach survival mentality who operates well within the established system and just so happens to be really good at his job - a job that he might’ve even joined thinking it was for a good cause, or because he had something to prove, or simply because it gave him one hell of an excuse to be a bully. Because he either wholeheartedly believes in HYDRA or he just doesn’t give much of a shit either way so long as he gets his due in the end, and both are just as bad.

Because when you strip away all the grand scale superhero theatrics, you’ve seen this before. You’ve seen Rumlows in your school and in your neighborhood and in the military and the cop car patrolling your street. They’re the ones who sometimes say or do somewhat offputting shit but you figure it’s fine because they’re otherwise real nice or charismatic or normal looking, or maybe they work a job that’s framed as helpful or protective or inherently good despite the power dynamics at play, or they share your background and interests and you chat about the weather being crap this time of year.

And every time one of them turns out to be a violent, hateful piece of shit, you’re still somehow surprised then, too, when you really shouldn’t be.

[del-thetiredwriter]

Yandere NRC staff x fem reader

Warning: yandere stuff. I don’t know what to write here

Another year has passed. You just completed your second year at NRC. All your friends' families had come to celebrate their children. Seeing them like this made you think of your family. Even though your friends and teachers did their best for you, you couldn't help but miss your family. Crowley hadn't told you about your return home in two years. After all, when you asked him about it, he would either change the subject or run away instantly.

You were on your way to the principal's office with a tray of tea and snacks. They were holding the year-end meeting as the Staff of the NRC. You were about to knock the door but you paused when you heard Crewel’s shouting.

"HE DID WHAT!" Crewel shouted.

"Do not scream. Calm down a little. Besides, I think we all predicted this would happen. You know how everyone looks at Y/n. So it is not surprising that a marriage proposal came from Briar Valley.” Trein calmly said.

Marriage proposal? to you? You couldn't understand what they were talking about. You put your ear close to the door and silently listen to the conversations.

“Still, we have to think about what to do. One year left until y/n becomes fourth year. During this time we have to think about what we can do about not only Malleus Draconia but Kingscholar, Al-Asim and others. After all, I don't think we're strong enough to block them all." Sam continued.

“Well, dear Headmaster , what are we going to do now? I hope you have a plan for that too. Because I'm not too keen on giving Y/n to those filthy dogs." said Crewel in a sarcastic tone.

“Oh really why do I do all the work?” Crowley groaned.

“You managed to keep her with us once. Now do it again.” Trein said.

Keep you with them once? Were they talking about you?

“But it was different then. All I had to do was destroy the way back,” said Crowley.

You couldn't believe what you heard. Your hands and legs began to tremble and you fell to the ground. The strength in your legs was gone in an instant.

With a bang, the door opened. You saw Crewel sensei. When he saw you like that, he immediately squatted down next to you.

“Puppy are you okay? Are you hurt?” He said worriedly.

He tried to take the broken pieces of cups from your hand, but you backed away.

"Don’t , Don't come any closer!" you shouted in fear.

Crewel looked at you worriedly. Meanwhile, the others came to the sound. They were all anxiously trying to calm you down.

“Y/n honey, let go of that one. You will hurt yourself.” said Crowley.

Looking at their faces made you nauseous. How could you be so stupid?

“How could you… how could you do this to me! My family, my home, you took everything from me!” You shouted.

At that, all their faces darkened.

“Y/n sweetie , how much did you hear?” said Crowley, smiling.

"Is this important?"

"Understood"

Then you heard some spells and you fell asleep.

“Great, more work” Crowley sighed.

"I guess we'll have to look at memory spells before marriage proposals "

[copperbadge]

Hey Sam!

I recently purchased a second hand bread machine, and I know you like to bake! (I got King Authur's Flour per your recommendation.) I was wondering if you have any recipes or tips and tricks for bread making? I don't have an oven in my apartment so sadly that's not an option for me 😔

Without an oven, a bread machine is a great acquisition! You can often also make rice, oatmeal, and sometimes even yogurt in a bread machine, depending on the model. If the machine didn't come with a manual, try googling for it, or googling the model name and "recipes" to see what else people have done with theirs. It's great you bought KA flour, because materials really do make the difference -- good flour and yeast are key. Freshness can matter with yeast so buy something with a long expiration date, and keep the yeast somewhere cool, dry, and dark.

For bread making, there are two main things I always think about: you are nurturing yeast, which is a living thing, and you're forming gluten (presumably, if you're not cooking gluten-free). The yeast wants to have food and be warm, so you want to use pretty warm water (most machine recipes say something very specific like 115-125F or similar, but it should be warmer than your skin and not so hot it hurts your skin, that's how I measure it). Sugar helps feed yeast, so often there will be sugar or honey in a recipe even if it's not a "sweet" bread. If you're using older yeast, adding a bit more sugar can help it work. Meanwhile, protein helps support gluten formation, so milk or milk powder are common ingredients often listed as optional but which are very helpful. If you have a stove, you can even make milk bread, which is one of the best, fluffiest kinds -- google "hokkaido milk bread" for recipes. Nearly any bread recipe that doesn't have a super long rise or need to be shaped can be made in a bread machine, but often (especially on the King Arthur site) a recipe will include special tips for adjusting it for a machine.

Specifically for bread machines, the bread can stay warm in the pan for a bit, but the longer it cools in the pan the more likely it is to form condensation, which leads to moisture on the surface of the crust in contact with the metal. That dries out pretty quickly if you leave it out for a bit, but moisture reduces the shelf life of homemade bread a LOT (moisture feeds mold). Your best bet is to remove the bread as soon as it's cool enough to handle -- it used to be the hardest part of making machine bread was getting it out of the damn pan, but they may have gotten better since I had one -- and wrap it in a tea towel or leave it out to cool completely before putting it in a package of some kind. I used to keep mine in the fridge because without preservatives it can mold quickly. These days most breads I bake included a few spoonfuls of King Arthur Bread and Cake Enhancer, which is a mild preservative and worth every penny -- it makes the bread softer, with better crumb, and it stays good for longer. There are other brands you can get cheaper on amazon, probably, but I've only ever used KA so I can't speak to their efficacy. It's generally not sold in stores.

Okay, two last things: one, I always put the bread machine on the floor when I was making bread in it, because it rocks back and forth a bit when kneading and I have had machines "walk" off the counter before. The floor or a wide table are best. Two, bread is difficult and even a machine for making it isn't perfect, so you may fail when you first start out. Even if you don't fail the first time, you may not get a good loaf at some point, and that's the nature of yeasted breads. Don't take it personally -- and don't give up! After a while, you start to notice if something seems "off" but it takes time to learn that sense.

Happy baking! I hope it goes well for you.

[nevertheless-moving]

unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self. 

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and— 

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic,  being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life. 

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal. 

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell) Scene from the Uberwald Grand Sneer

[its-time-to-write]

This may be a bit of a strange idea (Feel free to ignore this request)

But since your about Jaime Tartt baby fic. I had the thought of Jaime trying to give reader a break takes the baby in a stroller to training with Roy and Roy is just kind of like WTF and other hijinks ensue like maybe someone flirts with Jamie with the baby or roy gets left with the baby at somepoint or Reader is freaken out cause the baby is gone. IDK just an idea that has been stuck in my head since I read your baby fic

Dude this request was not strange AT ALL. It was actually nice because it was similar to something I wanted to write, and I haven’t been able to do that because I’ve been doing requests. THANK YOU.

i’ll still be right next to you my dear

Your daughter Bea is five months old. You’re still sleep-deprived, but less than you were a month ago. Jamie does his absolute best as her dad and your husband, but the weight of it still falls to you. Things have gotten considerably less tense, too, since you moved out of the flat and back into your house. It was weird at first, both you and Jamie walking on little eggshells around each other. 

The tension was broken with an all-hands-on-deck moment at 1am, when Bea had a stomach bug or something, and you two had no choice but to just laugh in resignation at the sheer enormity of the mess she made. There go the beginnings of sleep training. 

Bea had her own schedule, one that involved being an early bird like her dad. She would wake up five to ten minutes before his 3:30 alarm went off, and it got to the point where he barely even set it anymore. 

Jamie would get out of bed, throw on some pants, change her, and then zip through his morning routine. He’d put her back to bed, give you a half-awake kiss, then be out the door before Roy could knock. 

(Roy made that mistake early on, waking Bea. You thoroughly chewed him out in an exhausted rage. Jamie says it’s the closest thing he’s ever seen to Roy crying).

Anyway, at 3:55 this Saturday morning, Jamie kisses you, says, “I’ve got Bea, so sleep in,” and is gone before you even know what’s happening. 

You flop back on the pillow and are out in seconds. 

—

“The fuck is this?” Roy says the moment Jamie steps out the door, pushing a happy Bea in her jogging stroller.

“The fuck does it look like?” Jamie replies. “Her mum needed sleep, so Bea’s joining us for training.” He leans over the stroller to look at his daughter and coos, “Isn’t that right, angel?”

Bea makes a delighted gurgle and Roy grunts.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me the great Uncle Roy is daunted by a silly wee baby?” Jamie says, grinning. “You are Bea’s favorite.”

Roy glares at Jamie. “Don’t fucking lie to me, everyone knows Sam’s her fucking favorite. She even likes fucking Isaac better than me.”

Jamie pouts. “Don’t listen to him, Bea. We know you love Uncle Roy, even though he’s being a twat.”

Roy just grunts and looks at Bea. “You know how I feel about you, kid,” he says. She babbles. She knows. 

“Alright, come on. Suppose the stroller gives your dad some extra weight while he runs.”

Jamie grins, and starts jogging down the street.

—

You wake up to the sound of silence. No Bea, no Jamie. Just birds chirping and the sun shining. You squint at the clock. 8:37am. You reach for your phone and see a selfie from Jamie of him, Bea, and Roy marked 7:02am with the caption, headed to breakfast! 

You now have a hazy recollection of Jamie saying something about taking Bea when he left, but it felt like a dream at the time. The silence makes more sense now. 

You smile and send heart emojis. I love you! you type. 

love u 2, Jamie replies. Then: I hope that was for me not Roy?

You shake your head. That boy. He thinks he’s a comedian.

You roll out of bed and stretch. Time for a nice, long shower, then a good coffee from Jamie’s complementary espresso machine. You’re not gonna lie, there are certain perks to being married to a footballer.

—

Meanwhile, Jamie and Roy have stopped for breakfast at a café that Roy says fits in with Jamie’s diet. He says no coffee and Jamie makes a disgusted face and replies you’re not the boss of me, which is why they’re letting Bea decide if Jamie gets coffee or not by seeing who will get her to smile first. 

Jamie wins, of course. It’s part of being a dad. 

They’re sitting at a table outside till 9am, Bea out of her stroller and in Jamie’s arms. They’re on their third cups of coffee and Bea’s draining her bottle of formula like there’s no tomorrow. Jamie is in the middle of stroking Bea’s nose (a miniature version of yours) and watching her eyes blink slow, when two girls walk up to their table. 

“Ohmygod, no way, is that your baby?” one girl asks. 

Jamie looks up and gives a polite, perfunctory, “yeah,” and turns back to Bea. Roy’s sitting back in his seat, ready to watch this unfold. 

“It is like, so totally adorable. There’s something so sweet about a baby, don’t you think?” the other girl says, putting her hand on Jamie’s shoulder. He shifts away as politely as he can. 

“I just think that like, men with babies are so much hotter than men without babies,” girl 1 continues, oblivious to Jamie, who has shifted Bea onto his chest and is displaying his left hand as conspicuously as possible. He taps Bea’s back with his ring finger in what he hopes is an absentminded manner. 

Roy holds back a snort.

“Especially single dads,” says girl 2. “Soo hot. I’ll give you my number if you ever need a babysitter.”

She’s barely done speaking when Jamie blurts out, “I’m married.” He looks so harried that this time Roy can’t hold back a laugh. The girls turn to him with a glare, then back to Jamie. 

“She doesn’t have to know,” says one of them. 

“Pretty sure she does,” Jamie replies. “And anyway, I ain’t interested. Have a good morning.”

Bea, the angel that she is chooses that exact moment to start burping. 

The girls give her a disgusted look and turn away. 

Roy looks at Jamie, eyebrows raised and a ghost of a smile on his face. “Nice fucking move with the ring finger,” he says. “If it were me, I’d’ve fucking given them a different fucking finger.”

“That’s where you and me differ, granddad,” Jamie replies, wiping spit up off his vest (waterproof, thank god), “I’m a gentleman.”

Roy rolls his eyes and shakes his head. 

— 

The windows are open, the laundry is spinning, and you’re dancing around the house. You love Bea, but god you also love good rest. And a clean house. And Jamie Tartt. Man, you love him. You can’t believe he took Bea out for the whole morning and knowing him and Roy, they’ll be out until at least 11am. You smile. That gives you time to head to the shops and pick up some flowers, which will make you feel like a civilized human being, one who has her life together and can take care of her child and her husband and maybe, just maybe, one who is in the mood to get laid tonight. 

—

Jamie and Roy are strolling through Richmond, passing by shops and enjoying what feels like the first lovely day in ages. Jamie hasn’t heard from you since you asked is this shirt clean or dirty? with a picture near the washing machine. He knows Saturday cleaning is like a ritual to you, one you picked up in high school and carried on through college. You have a system and you take your time, windows open and music playing. He can picture you spinning around the house putting things away, and that mental image is enough to make his face split into a smile. He remembers the Saturdays you spent before Bea, you cleaning and dancing, and him, well, not helping but certainly dancing with you and promising that he’ll give you more dirty sheets to wash if you’d just take a tiny little break? In the bedroom? With no clothes on because they need to be washed, wink wink?

It usually worked. 

You’d lay in bed for precisely ten minutes afterward, take a no-nonsense shower, then kick him out of the house. He’d be gone for an hour, buying you that chocolate you liked and whatever flowers he thought suited the day. There’s a good thought. He should get you flowers, a reminder of their early days of romance. And maybe, just maybe, Bea can sleep soundly enough that they can revive other traditions, too. 

“Roy,” Jamie begins.

“No.”

“Oi, you didn’t even let me finish!” he says indignantly.

“Fine. What do you fucking want.”

“It ain’t for me,” Jamie says, “it’s for Bea. And my wife. I want to get her flowers, but it ain’t easy to push the stroller and look. Can you take Bea around the green? I’ll come find ya when I’m done.”

Roy stares at Jamie, and Jamie is sure he’s going to say no. But then Roy walks around to the front of the stroller and crouches down in front of Bea. 

“If your dad fucking goes and gets flowers for your mum, do you promise to be alright for twenty minutes? I know I’m not fucking Sam or Isaac, but Phoebe thinks I’m a good uncle. She’s a proper fucking dweeb, but a good judge of character.”

Bea just stares at him. Roy slaps his thighs and stands up. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Jamie grins and says, “Bye, Beatrice. Be good for Uncle Roy.” He gives her a kiss on her forehead, a boop on the nose, and is gone, weaving through Richmond, man on a mission. 

“Your mum’s a fucking saint for putting up with him,” Roy says to Bea. Bea says nothing. She’s fallen asleep. Roy shrugs and starts pushing her in the direction of the green. Better asleep than crying. 

—

You’re showered, dressed, with just a touch of makeup, and you’re on your way to the flower shop. There’s this little one you and Jamie used to go to. You know the owner a little, but you suppose Jamie knows her better because he’s been in more. She’s about the age of his mum, and has a soft spot for him. He overpays and always leaves one flower for her. He hasn’t had the time to be over since Bea, so you say hello and show her some baby pictures, and then some of Bea and Jamie. You both laugh over your favorite, Jamie passed out on the couch, mouth open, wearing gray sweatpants and a single sock, with Bea on his stomach in a gray onesie and a single sock. She’s drooling on him and his hair’s a mess, but you think it’s adorably hilarious. Like father, like daughter. 

Now, you’re perusing the flowers. It smells wonderful, the warm weather diffusing the fragrances through the shop. You turn a corner and bonk straight into a man with his back turned to you. You open your mouth to apologize and he turns, and out comes, “Jamie?”

He smiles and you peer behind him. “Where’s Bea? Oh my god Jamie, did you lose our daughter? She had better be close by, I swear to god, Jamie Tartt, how do you lose an entire baby, especially one as noisy as Bea?!” 

You’re oblivious to Jamie’s attempts to interrupt your rant, so when you pause for a breath he says, “love.”

You turn to face him, from where you were trying to stand on your tiptoes hoping for a glimpse of Bea’s stroller. 

“I didn’t lose her. She’s with Roy. D’you really think I’m that irresponsible?” 

He looks so hurt that you realize what you’ve been saying. Your hands fly up to your mouth. Of course Jamie wouldn’t lose Bea. He loves her. He looks at her as though she makes the stars shine. 

“Babe. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and then I wasn’t expecting to see you without Bea, and I thought I’d surprise you by getting flowers before you both got back, and-” you stop. Jamie is gently holding your face and smiling, no longer hurt. 

“Babe,” he says, “love of me life and best mum around, it’s ok. I know whatcha mean.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Bit funny we had the same idea, innit?”

You smile. You’d been so caught up in your split-second worry about Bea, you didn’t even realize what was happening. 

“Guess some things don’t change,” you reply. “You pick out any good ones?”

Jamie places his hand over his heart. “Love. I only pick out good ones. I picked you, didn’t I?” You laugh at his sparkling eyes, and put your hands on his waist, pulling him close. 

“Pretty sure I picked you,” you reply. 

Jamie hums. “That’s a fuckin lie, and you know it.”

Your feeble retort is cut off by his lips on yours. 

—

You and Jamie walk toward the green, hand in hand. He’s holding bright yellow daffodils in the other. 

Jamie spots Roy first. “Oi!” he yells, “look who I found!”

You wave, jog over to Bea, and crouch down. “Hi baby! I missed you! Did you have fun with Uncle Roy?” Bea babbles at the sound of your voice. 

“Oh good,” you reply, “he is your third-favorite uncle, after all.”

Roy nods. “You fucking get it. Jamie tried to feed me this fucking bullshit that I was fucking number one.”

“Jamie!” you say. “Everyone knows it goes Sam, then Isaac, then Roy.”

Jamie puts his hands up defensively. 

“Honesty,” Roy says, “Such an admirable quality. Remind me again why you’re with this fucking prick?”

You pretend to think for a moment then say, “For his money.”

Jamie says “Oi!” so you quickly amend, “And his smokin’ hot body.”

Jamie nods, satisfied. “That’s better.”

Roy is looking at Jamie in disgust. “You two are so fucking adorable, it’s fucking disgusting. C’mon Bea. I see Sam over by that bench. Let’s give these fucking idiots some time alone.”

You and Jamie turn to each other. 

“He said we’re adorable,” you say, grinning. 

“He said we get alone time,” Jamie says, grinning back. 

“Roy!” you call, “how much time do we have?”

“Three hours!” Sam yells back. “I want to walk Bea to my restaurant!”

You and Jamie turn back to each other, giddy. 

“You know what that means,” you say. 

“Sex,” he replies immediately. 

You laugh and grab his hand. “C’mon, babe. Let’s enjoy our alone time.”

As you walk away, Jamie says, “Oi, need to tell you about these girls who were trying to flirt with me. But don’t worry, I gave them the finger.” He holds up his ring finger and you slap his arm. 

“This is why I love you.”

“Really? And here I only thought you were with me for my money,” he replies. 

“And your hot body. Don’t forget that one,” you say. 

“How could I forget?” he says. “When we get home, let’s put it to some good use.

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 1566

—-MDNI—-

A/N: My first Supernatural fic so I hope it doesn’t suck ass. Only proof read by myself, so pls let me know of any errors so I can correct! Also I know at this point in the series Dean is more serious, however I love pre-Hell Dean so imma bring some of those vibes in here. This is also posted on my AO3.

——————————————————————

Please Read the below first:

Prologue

Chapter 1

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 2

The journey to the bunker was pretty uneventful, with Sam and Charlie chatting amongst themselves in the front of the car whilst both myself and Dean sat miserably next to each other in the back like a couple of criminals who’d been arrested. The chains on my handcuffs jangled as I rubbed my sore knuckles; the skin raw, bruised and red from either my own blood or - most likely - Deans. As I did, I could feel a red hot glare burning into the side of my face from the older Winchester, as though he was in disbelief that I even had the audacity to feel any pain or discomfort right now as dark red scabs formed on his nose and cheek. We pulled up next to the bunker, and I didn’t get much chance to look at the surrounding scenery as the moment we were parked, the golden retriever duo up front hopped out, slammed their doors shut and threw ours open, Sam gently yet firmly grasping my elbow and pulling me to my feet whilst Charlie did the same for Dean. We were marched into the building and we soon arrived in what I assumed to be the kitchen. Sam pushed gently on my shoulder, urging me to take a seat at the table to which I obliged with Dean following suit and taking a seat opposite me. We stared each other down from across the table for a few moments, the atmosphere growing thicker by the second as his brilliant green eyes pierced mine.

“Enough the pair of you!” Charlie exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Look, I’ve got some things to say before we release you both back into the wild. It won’t take long,” she sighed and rubbed her temples. “I wanted to introduce you guys to (Y/n) because I thought you would get along! With your shared interest in hunting, bootcut jeans, rock music and most importantly - pie.”

Dean and I shot each other a quick glance before looking away again. Charlie continued.

“You’ve had one disagreement, and even though I was impressed by the performance it definitely didn’t warrant the carnage. You’re both adults, so act like it and stop bickering like children. You’re going to be living and working together now so you’re both just going to have to suck it up and move on.”

Sam stepped forward; “I agree with Charlie. (Y/n) you have no idea how much of a help you being here is going to be. We’ve been going around in circles for months and we really need a fresh pair of eyes. Plus you get free food and board, if that helps,” he grinned slightly trying to lighten the mood. I humoured him and softened my eyes, raising my eyebrows in acknowledgment to the pros of staying here.

“Right,” he clapped his hands together, “we’re going to remove the tape and you’re both going to be civilised. You promise?”

I gave Dean one final long, hard stare before nodding.

”Good,” Sams soft cool fingers grazed my cheek as he pulled up the corner of the tape, gently peeling it back until it was removed and I could finally take a deep breath. Meanwhile, Charlie approached Dean and in one swift movement ripped the tape from his mouth in under a second.

“FUCK!” He cried out as he tenderly touched his now extra sore swollen lips. I couldn’t help but smirk.

“Right, I’m going to go and get (Y/n)s belongings from the motel room she’s staying in and check her out then I’ll be right back with all her stuff. I’ll see you guys later!” And before I could even protest for her to take me with her, she’d turned on her heel and hightailed it out of the bunker, leaving Sam to undo our cuffs and set us free.

“That bitch,” I sighed, huffing a strand of hair out of my face. Sam knelt before me, that kind look in his eye ever twinkling.

“(Y/n) I promise you that you're safe here. It’s warded to the teeth and full of everything we need to survive. We’ve got you,” he patted my knee before taking my hands in his, using a small key to finally undo the cuffs right before they clattered to the floor. I leant down to pick them up, and by the time I’d sat back up to place them on the kitchen table, he was already beside Dean doing the same for him. His own cuffs removed and rubbing his wrists, he stood, looking from me to Sam a few times before speaking.

“Well I’ve already suffered enough today so I’m going to spend time coming up with a better excuse as to why I look like this,” he gestured to his beaten face and turned to leave, mumbling a quick ‘see ya later’ to Sam before leaving the kitchen. Sam stood awkwardly for a second, before declaring that he was going to get some lunch for everyone and also scurried away, leaving me completely alone in alien territory. I was still sat at the table as I began to look around.

This place was a dump.

How did these grown ass men live in conditions like this? The dirty dishes were piled so high that it was a surprise they hadn’t toppled over yet. Empty beer bottles cluttered the table and countertops, the bin was overflowing with bulging bin bags dumped right next to it without being taken outside and the smell was starting to make me feel a little nauseous. How does Sam expect us all to eat and live together in conditions like this? It was like living with a couple of wild animals. After a few silent moments to myself I released a breath I’d been holding whilst I pondered. I ran my hands through my hair and laughed at myself in disbelief. I’m gonna have to clean the fucking kitchen. Without giving it a second thought and running the risk that I’d change my mind, I scooped my hair into a high ponytail using the bobble on my wrist and pushed up my sleeves, finding a pair of rubber gloves under the sink. Let’s clean this bitch.

*

In the space of about an hour and a half (a gruelling hour and a half), I’d washed and dried the dishes, putting them away in their respective places, taken out all the trash and lined the bin with a fresh bag, scrubbed and disinfected every surface and had even mopped the floors. The smell of rotting trash was dissipating and the urge to claw off my own skin had gone. I’d propped the mop against the wall and stepped back to admire my hard labour when I heard a door open and close, the entering footsteps heading my way. Sam emerged into the kitchen, a stunned look on his face as he walked to the table slowly, placing about 6 bags of ‘groceries’ on its surface. His mouth opened and closed a few times like he was searching for the right things to say.

“You’re welcome,” I cut in, hoping to help him find his words.

“Yeah, thank you! I’m sorry, I didn't know what to say - you really didn’t have to do this. It’s embarrassing that you were even put in a situation where you felt you had to,” he grimaced a little, only now realising what a horror show it was that they were living in. “But seriously thank you, I really appreciate it,” he smiled and I couldn't help but smile back. Sam was sweet and easy to like - unlike his Neanderthal brother. I felt like I could trust him.

I peeled my gloves off, threw them in the bin and approached the kitchen table where Sam was pulling out a case of beer.

“Here, you deserve one of these,” he said, handing me one. The bottle was nice and cool on my hot fingertips, my warm skin instantly relishing the coldness.

“Thank you,” I smiled before popping the cap and taking a long, well deserved drink. I savoured the moment, genuinely appreciating Sam’s gesture. Although all nice moments comes to an end, and soon Dean was striding into the room bold as brass, seating himself at the table and helping himself to a beer without so much as a hello. It wasn’t until he’d drained half the bottle in one gulp that he realised the kitchen was clean. He grinned and looked at his brother.

“Hey, nice job Sammy! It looks great in here, I owe you one,” he raised his bottle as if making a small toast whilst Sam’s eyes flicked to mine.

“Uh, Dean… this wasn’t me. You need to thank (Y/n) for that,” Deans grin faulted slightly as he looked between the two of us before it returned. I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows in suspicion. His forest green eyes pierced into mine as he almost purred his next sentence.

“Well, Sammy, it looks like we’ve bagged ourselves a maid. Does she cook too?”

I slammed my bottle on the table, much like I did earlier. Only Sam flinched.

“I’m not your fucking maid,” I snarled, resenting that shit-eating grin on the older Winchesters lips. He chuckled, the sound coming deep from within his chest as he rose to his feet.

“Sure thing sweetheart.”

——————————————————————

Taglist: @creative-writing92 @suckitands33

——————————————————————

Up Next:

Chapter 3

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XII)

Chapter 12 : Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again

Hi! Here is new chapter! This one is… interesting… Whiskey is very dangerous, indeed…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2527

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body        love what it loves. Tell me your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

Mary Oliver, Dream work, 1986

You ended up at your place with Andrew. After that awful dinner you both needed some emotional support.

You didn’t talk about the meal though. He didn’t mention how Frank had hurt you, you didn’t talk about how Andrew deserved better than Sam.

That was your final conclusion after the evening. Andrew deserved better than her. You didn’t know all the details that had drawn him away from a professional career in music, but you knew that it had been a tough decision to make for him. The way Sam made it sound, Andrew had simply given up. And yet, his eyes still lit up every time he talked of music.

You sat down on your couch with a bottle of whiskey, getting lost in thought as you replayed the conversation through your head. You had noticed how Sam had stopped listening the second you had started talking about your job, about music… about things Andrew loved. And perhaps you were too busy grieving for him, but was Frank the same with you? Because Andrew deserved someone who listened, someone who actually cared…

What did both Andrew and Frank saw in Sam that you didn’t? The question was relentless, spinning in your head again and again, a fly trapped under a glass trying to escape. What did you lack that she had?

You watched Andrew as he downed his first glass of whiskey. Neat. No ice or anything. He didn’t flinch, merely let out a long exhale as he let his head fall back onto the backrest of the couch.

“God… that felt good. I needed that,” he sighed, pouring himself another glass while you drank yours as well.

You winced slightly at the burn of the liquor, but silently asked for more anyway.

“What’s next on the list of things to ruin?”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“I reckon we haven’t really ruined anything yet… but… I guess not much until the New Year. You’re still coming to their party?”

“Of course,” you sighed. “We need to make a plan for this. We need to ruin something and then save the day.”

“We should ruin the champagne.”

“And replace it with another excellent one? Good idea. That could work for you.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know… Maybe help Sam. That would impress him.”

“Hmm… a knight in shining armour? Ruin her dress and you fix it?”

“Oh…. That’s nice! You’re very good at this Andy, that’s a little scary!” you joked, nudging him. “I could give her my dress, and wear some disgusting clothes instead. The self-sacrifice will make him grow fond of me.”

“I’ll make sure to have the worst change of clothes in my car.”

“Perfect.”

“They said they wanted to organise the party in some sort of club…”

“Hmm… I bet you love the idea.”

“I’m already panicking at the mere thought.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

You thought yourself silly for offering such a useless argument, but Andrew didn’t seem to think of it that way. Instead, he gave you a grateful smile.

“Why are we doing this again?” you asked, question aimed the ceiling as you sighed, Andrew shifted by your side.

“Because we love them.”

His voice sounded like a lie. It was true though. It had to be, somehow…

You drank again, tried to think of something else, let silence settle instead. It was okay. Silence with Andrew felt comfortable, like the world shushed under a blanket of snow. Natural. Slow.

And outside the world kept on turning, as if you weren’t in pain, as if you weren’t grieving. Wasn’t that a strange truth? Frank had left, and the world hadn’t stopped with him. You wished you could feel it spinning again, look at the rest of the world and feel its beating, and be part of it once more. Maybe, if someone listened to you, and understood you, and made you feel safe again… if you could be yourself with them…

“I’m glad you listened to the record,” Andrew spoke after a while and another emptied drink.

“I loved it.”

“It’s one of my favourites. My father listened to it often when I was a child.”

“Is he the one who made you love music so much, your father?”

Andrew nodded.

“He was sick when I was a child. Bad surgery on his spine. He never recovered.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He was a drummer, back in the days. And even after everything changed he just… I don’t know. No matter what we said to each other, how angry we were, how much we argued… we’ve always had music in common. Even when we couldn’t communicate properly, we would put on a record, sit in silence and listen to it, and then we’d discuss it, and things would get better.”

You knew that he was blinking tears away, heard him sniffing. He wasn’t looking at you and you were still staring at the white ceiling. It didn’t matter. Perhaps it even made it easier.

“I just… I didn’t… I made a choice, back in the days, you know? I wasn’t being a coward or something, I just… I didn’t want to tell other people’s words; words that I didn’t care about, I wanted people to listen to me. I wanted to make something that was true and earnest. I wanted… I wanted for someone to listen to me…”

He sniffed. You reached across the couch for his hand, easily found his fingers. He held your hand so easily, like it was obvious, like your hands were meant for that gesture, for holding onto each other. His so large, yours so small in comparison…

“I thought she used to listen, but I don’t know anymore. She wasn’t listening tonight. She hasn’t listened in a while. Do you think…? Do you think she ever listened to me? I had so much to say that I couldn’t express, I didn’t know how, I still don’t know how… I wanted her to listen… God I wanted for someone to listen, just once… just once…”

You tightened your hold on his hand, and you hoped that he would understand what you meant by this simple gesture. That you were listening now. That you listened. That you understood him. That you were there…

“Thank you.”

His voice was a mere whisper, but it was enough.

You struggled with your own tears as you spoke again, your voice shaking.

“I don’t understand why Frank needed to wait for me, and not for her. What… I feel like I’m lacking something…”

“You’re not.”

You felt his stare on you now, but you kept your own gaze set on the ceiling.

“You’re not lacking anything, stop it. Frank is the one who left…”

“Because he saw something in Sam he didn’t see in me. And I don’t know what it is. And I’m scared… I’m scared that I thought he cared about me, and he didn’t. I’m scared to have built my life on that kind of lie. And the worst is… I still want it. I want the life he promised me.”

You were surprised when Andrew let go of your hand. But then you felt his palm cupping your cheek, the brush of his thumb drying your tears.

You finally turned to him, he gave you a sad but soft smile.

“Don’t cry over him. Please, don’t cry.”

You sniffed, let him caress your skin for a moment longer. It felt reassuring, anchoring. Soft and tender. Safe. You felt safe with him…

You shook yourself, moved to the bottle of whiskey again.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t cry,” you nodded, drying your face on your arm. “Let’s get hammered instead, that was the deal!”

Andrew silently agreed by handing you his empty glass for a refill.

“Tell me something silly,” he requested.

“Something silly?”

“Something about… your college days. Those are always worth a good laugh.”

“It’s good craic,” you agreed with a chuckle. “Alright… I’ll tell you a couple of stories. But you’ll have to tell me some as well!”

“Fair enough.”

You exchanged a smile, united your glasses with a cling.

And then you talked about yourself. And he listened.

Your head was spinning, you weren’t sure anymore if it was because of the alcohol or how much you were laughing.

You let yourself fall back into the sofa, holding on your painful stomach, tears in your eyes and on your cheeks. God, you hadn’t laughed so hard in… you were about to think ‘since Frank’ but you couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard with him.

“There was this one time,” Andrew went on. “I was playing with a band… Alex thought it would be hilarious to hide my guitar… I was so fucking panicked, I fell down the stairs leading to the stage and almost broke my neck…”

You doubled over with laughter, and he followed you close.

“How did you pay him back?”

“I told the girl he fancied he couldn’t read music, and she went on to teach him…”

You were hysterical at that point.

“And then…” Andrew choked on his own breath, and it took him a moment to recover and speak again. “Then, he was too afraid that she would push him away if he said anything, so he pretended he didn’t know and let her teach him all over again…”

You were both laughing too hard, the alcohol blurring your senses and making the stupid jokes and silly stories funnier than they ought to be. You looked at the bottle of whisky, admired the empty part of it, felt the burn of its effects on your cheeks.

And you looked at Andrew who was drying his cheeks, his long fingers spread across his stomach. He took off his glasses, they were wet with happy tears. He put them down on your coffee table and leaned into the couch again, slouched and comfortable, with his cheeks flushed with the liquor you had been drinking through the evening. His hair was held back in a messy bun, that had only become messier along the evening.

Damn, you couldn’t help the thought when it crossed your mind, because he was so bloody handsome…

He felt your stare on him, turned his attention fully to you. Focused and expectant, as if he knew you were about to say something incredibly interesting. And this black shirt he had on…

There were butterflies in your stomach and stutters on your tongue while your heart was pounding. You didn’t think. You didn’t think at all, you only felt, and wanted and easily yielded… and perhaps it was just the liquor, you would blame it on the whiskey in a few hours, but for now, you weren’t thinking about tomorrow morning. And for the first time in three months, you weren’t thinking about Frank at all either. Instead, you were thinking of Andrew, of how gentle and warm he looked sitting with you on your couch, how inviting his lips were, how you longed to touch his hair and his beard and him and…

… and then your lips were on his.

You felt him raising his eyebrows, but when you leaned closer and let your fingers find their way to his cheeks, the brush on your cheekbones told you he had closed his eyes too. And there you were, kissing him, and he was kissing you back, your mouths moving in perfect unison somehow, despite a first kiss and too much alcohol. He pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, while his other hand came up to cradle your face. The long fingers soon moved to your hair though, pulling you closer while he deepened the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck in a slow, lazy movement while you kissed, gasping for air every now and then, but your lips always connected again after a mere instant. You weren’t sure for how long you kept on kissing, too long for it to be meaningless, and yet you refused to think for now.

When you at last opened your eyes again, Andrew blinked at you, seeming a little shocked, and you weren’t sure if it was a good sign or not. You felt dizzy… dizzy with his scent, something of wood and a tinge of spices. Dizzy with his taste still on your tongue, a mixture of whiskey and something that was just him. Dizzy with the burn of his beard against your skin, with the heat of his body against yours.

Dizzy with him…

“Y/N?”

The way he whispered your name, his words a little slurred because of alcohol, and yet it sounded so good, tender, like he cradled the vowels and the consonants in his mouth, with tenderness in the way he spoke it out loud…

He cleared his throat, but didn’t let go, his hands on your waist and in your hair still, and you held onto him for a moment longer, admired how your kisses had reddened his lips.

Why did it feel so good to hold him? Why did it feel so good to kiss him…

“Erm… You… you kissed me.”

“Yeah… yeah, I did,” you whispered, refusing to pull away, remaining in his arms and your lips only centimetres away from his.

“You… I mean… We…”

You felt him leaning closer again as he took a deep breath, felt the brush of his lips on yours… but just when you were about to lean in, he pulled fully away, moving further away on the couch.

“Wait… what’s going on?”

You blinked up at him, regretting his brown curls between your fingers and the warmth of his breath against your mouth. But then your brain kicked in again, and your eyes grew round as the realization of your own movements sank in.

You had kissed him. You had kissed Andrew…

Holy…

“God, I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I… I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. God…”

“It’s alright,” he reassured you, but it was obvious that he was shaken.

“That was so out of line, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s okay… I… I think we’ve both had a little too much to drink.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think it went to my head.”

Why was your heart aching when you thought he regretted it. He should have regretted it. And you ought to regret it too…

“Frank and Samantha…” you mumbled under your breath, thinking out loud, but Andrew caught your words and nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, we… they are the ones we want.”

He slowly nodded, ran his hand across his face, as if to clear his head.

“You… you were just drunk. Just drunk…”

He looked at his watch.

“God…it’s almost 2 a.m. We should go to bed…”

You nodded again, but stopped him when he pulled out his phone.

“I have an extra bedroom, you can stay if you want.”

“I can take a uber.”

“It’s late. You can stay, if you want to.”

Slowly, he nodded.

You let him head to the bathroom, and hid inside your bedroom, resting your back against its wooden surface as you closed it.

What the fuck was that?

[imaginesbymonika]

Red lights.

Plot: If guilt had a name it would be Dean Winchester.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x sister!Reader

Warnings: mention of violence, mention of Demon!Dean, needles, blood, fluff in the end but only a bit

Everything happened so fast. So very fast.

The red lightning, which emerges from the lamps above you turns the bunker into a place you're unable to recognize. This whole situation has been feeling like a never-ending nightmare for a while and now it was also looking like one. Dean has always reassured you, that while the world around you was filled with ghosts and demons he would always look out for you. And you never questioned him. However, right now, you were hiding from him as if he turned into one of those monsters he swore to protect you from. You look up you can notice it in Sam's eyes. You're not the only one terrified of your oldest brother.

"Smart, Sam. Looking the place down. Doors won't open. I get it." His deep voice is echoing through the empty and cold hallways. "But here's the thing. I don't wanna leave. Not till I find you two."

Your relationship with Dean has always been different from the one you have with Sam. While the younger brother actually feels like a brother to you, Dean has always meant more to you. After all, he practically raised you since you were a little child. However, at this moment, while his hammer was destroying the door, you tried your best to still see him in all of this. He may be a demon, but underneath all of that hatred your brother had to remain… right? But it becomes much more difficult with every second that passes. You take a deep breath.

"Y/N.", Dean suddenly says and Sam instantly pushes you behind his bigger body. "Oh, come on.", you can see how a fake pout emerges on his face:" I just want to talk to my sweet little baby girl." For a moment he lowers his weapon as he stares you down through the shattered wood:" Don't think, that I won't also kill you. I can still sense my love for you, however, it is not enough for me to save you. But if you help me kill Sammy, I might make it quick for you." There's a ringing in your ears. "Don't listen to him.", Sam whispers but his voice is muffled and feels unbelievably far away.

Dean has never ever threatened you. Even when you were much younger and he had earned a beating from John, because of something that you did on his watch… he never ever threatened you before. It was something that seemed impossible to you. But now it had happened and it filled you with an unknown emotion.

"Come on.", Sam speaks and clutches your hand, bringing you back into reality. You two rush through the red hallways and after a minute or two you stop. Sam takes a deep breath and when he turns around to face you, his eyes widen in fear. You don't even have time to properly react before he pushes you to the cold ground. And when you look up, you make eye contact with Dean. His hammer sticking to the wall. It was hurled with such an immense force that it makes your jaw drop.

"Oh man, looks like I missed.", he says softly:" Can I try again?" There is a sincerity in his voice that makes your skin crawl. You nearly throw up. Meanwhile, Sam's knife is close to his throat. So close, it's almost making him bleed.

"Do it!", the oldest brother angrily hisses, his spit dripping down his chin. But Sam's arm just drops after a few seconds. You shut your eyes, not knowing what is about to happen next before you unexpectedly hear Castiel's voice. "It's over!"

You sit on the floor next to the door, your back is leaning against one of the shelves while you observe how Sam pushes yet another needle into your oldest brother's forearm. A weird emptiness has been filling you up for a while now, and while you should be happy that Dean is back at the bunker… you can't help but feel drained. "Are you okay, Y/N?", Castiel asks, and when you eventually tear your eyes off Dean's unconscious body you only nod.

Sam sighs:" He almost killed her." Castiel's eyes widen in shock, as his head snaps towards him. "He did what?" You want to defend Dean, but before you can answer someone groans. Castiel notices how you quickly get up from your spot, and softly nudges you to stand behind him. His grip on his knife tightens to the point where his knuckles are white. Meanwhile, Sam was slowly opening up the bottle with the holy water.

Dean lifts his head and when you notice his black eyes you can't help but feel sick. You quickly turn around and throw up into the corner. Sam and Castiel exchange a quick but worried look. The blackness quickly fades and when his normal eyes scan the room he takes one final deep breath. "You look worried, fellas.", he jokes, but no one laughs. You turn around at the sound of his voice, before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Without waiting a second longer, you snatch the bottle out of Sam's hand and toss the liquid into Dean's face. A pleased sigh escapes your lips when you acknowledge that there is no smoke. "Welcome back, Dean!"

"How is he holding up?"

Sam, who is entering the room looks over at the angel. "Well, he is still a bit out of it, nevertheless, he is doing better." You look up from your book. "The whole thing really took a turn on him- he… he just feels really guilty." The last word leaves Castiels lips as a whisper as if he was hoping you wouldn't hear it. But you did.

A knock on the door catches Dean's attention and he shifts on his bed before sitting up straight:" Yeah?" He expected to see either his brother or Castiel, however when he makes eye contact with you his jaw clenches. "Hey.", you say and slowly walk into his room. You sit down on the edge of the bed. A soft but tired smile emerges on your lips and Dean mirrors it. "Hey."

"I just- I just wanted to check in with you.", you explain and your brother nods. A silence falls over the two of you and you clear your throat:" Remember- Remember when we were younger… you came back from a hunt and you were hurt and John was… god knows where. We didn't have anything in the fridge except for some eggs and cheese."

At that Dean laughs:" And you made me that god-awful omelet? Of course, how could I ever forget about that? My arm was broken and I had the worst stomach pains on top of that." Once again you both sit in silence before Dean runs a hand down his face:" I am so sorry, Y/N." The sound of his voice breaks your heart and you move closer to him:" It's okay, Dee." He just chuckles dry. You know that he won't ever believe you.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Marvel

Dumb, Dumber and Dumbass by tempestaurora

As Coach Wilson peered out the window in the living room, May said, very quietly, “You didn’t realise your brother worked at Peter’s school?”

“We all make mistakes!” Sam hissed.

Then Coach Wilson was leaning back and a figure in a hoodie and jeans stepped through the window and into the living room, and Peter’s heart sank into his stomach like a rock. Sam’s brother was, true to story, scarred from head to toe. He could see the puckered skin on his hands, the burns across his bald head. But that wasn’t the shocking part—the shocking part was that he’d already seen it before: he’d seen it when a certain vigilante’s suit had been destroyed three nights before, and Peter had walked with him back to his backpack to loan him some clothes.

“This is Wade,” Sam introduced.

Sam Wilson had two brothers: one was Peter’s gym teacher, and the other was fucking Deadpool.

OR: A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Family Dinner, during which Peter and May meet Sam's family. Meanwhile, Tony sends constant text updates about his search for whoever graffiti-ed Avengers Tower.

Death Before Inaction by hppjmxrgosg

"Fuck off, Nicky.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Hasn’t anyone ever told you spider-napping is illegal?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “You can’t hold me here, I know my spider-rights.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “God, you guys are so old. What are you? Like 27?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Scale of 1 to 10, how upset would you be if I told you I banged your mom?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Or, I got my grubby little hands on the spider-man time line and fucked around a little bit. Not much (everything) changes.

DC / Star Wars (Crossover)

Obi-Wan in Gotham by hoebiwan (+ podfic)

Obi-Wan falls through a hole in the universe and ends up in the Batcave.

Clone Wars

the war has just begun by unintentionalgenius

The first problem was that the Supreme Commander didn’t give them enough warning about what they were stumbling into, when they were ordered out into it. Someone above General Kenobi’s head sent the men planetside in standard-issue gear, without thermal clothing or heat packs or sleeping kit or enough food for more than a single day. They had no extra ammo, no tents, no heavy artillery. They had barely any warning.

The second problem was that Supreme Command underestimated the strength of the enemy; it was supposed to be an easy enough job, holding the planet long enough to route the Seppies and then right back to the ship, leaving a contingent of troopers stationed there to retain what they’d won.

The third problem - the real problem - came when they let themselves become surrounded and the Separatists cut their supply line. Cody’s partially at fault for that one; a better Commander would’ve seen it coming. A better Commander would’ve had more backup plans, been prepared for more contingencies.

Being cut off from re-supply would’ve been a problem before the snow started.

Then the snow started.

I've never made it with moderation by Trixree (+ podfic)

He’d known how some of the men are with younglings—known from Waxer and Boil how sharply those attachments can form with little ones. Hell, the men were raised to be protective, so much so that Obi-Wan has often wondered if their protective drive was not written into their very atoms, some intrinsic part of their DNA.

It wasn’t something Obi-Wan had ever questioned. He’d thought he had understood the scope of it. In reality, he hadn’t understood a thing.

Not until Kamino.

Or: Not all that dive from cliffs make a running head start. Sometimes, the Fall is only a natural progression.

Standards of Professionality by Trixree

"Are we going to pretend I didn’t just find you fucking your General, vod?” Rex hisses over private-comm.

Cody doesn’t even turn his head to look at him. Rex can hear the smile in Cody’s voice when he replies, “No, because I am not fucking my General, Rex’ika. I am fucking Obi-Wan. We are professionals.”

5 times Cody and Obi-Wan struggled to maintain plausible deniability regarding their affections for one another + 1 time they decidedly Did Not.

The Hunger Games

Lover & Loner by amateurwordbender

Haymitch once told him that he’s a survivor. It hadn’t been a compliment; he’d slurred out the words in pity after finding Finnick shaking apart from a panic attack.

Jo’s a survivor, too.

(Finnick and Johanna, from the moment they meet to the bitter end)

Original Works

for the want of a jewel by FormlessVoidbeast

With his country fallen to the unstoppable tide of the Dread Warlord, a terrified king sends a peace offering of his own flesh and blood in the hopes of buying leniency.

When Prince Damian of Miska is accepted as the symbol of his country's surrender and immediately wedded to the Warlord, he expects his fate to be both painful and humiliating, and his death inevitable. To his confusion, the Warlord and his terrible Warlock seem to have no interest in abusing that which they have claimed as their own. As Damian finds his feet and gains friends in a new land, he begins to question everything he once thought was true.

But some jewels were never meant to be sold, and the consequences of Damian's sacrifice are more far-reaching than anyone expected.

[sstan-hoe]

— 𝐺𝑖𝑓𝑡 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑌𝑜𝑢 —

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 — bucky barnes × fem!reader

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 — “it’s not much, but i got you this.” / “i could marry you right now.”

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 — listen there is nothing here but fluff, fluffy Alpine

𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒 — ignore Sam in the picture 😂 follow, comment and reblog!

𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒'𝑠 𝐷𝑎𝑦 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡

Today was Valentine’s Day and your feelings were all over the place, you had a special gift for Bucky. For weeks you thought of something and Bucky was a hard one, but something crossed your mind.

To prepare Bucky for it you made him breakfast and put on forties music.

Slowly the eyes of the super soldier opened as the soft music hum reached his ears from the kitchen to the bedroom.

A smile placed on his lips as he recognised the song. Turning out of bed he whisked his blue henley from the floor and went to the bathroom.

Meanwhile you had Alpine sit on the couch as you tried to tie her new collar around her neck. It was a red leather band with a silver heart shaped pendant hanging from the middle. 

The pendant alone wasn't very extraordinary, it only had a little B engraved in the middle of it.

A noise from the bathroom had your ears picked up. Bucky was awake which meant he would come down any second. You fixed Alpine and looked into her blue eyes, "make sure he sees it," pointing your finger at her nose.

Alpine flipped hair tail into your face as she jumped from the couch. Huffing playfully you walked back to the kitchen to finish the table.

A few minutes later Bucky strolled in with a big smile, "good morning beautiful," he greeted you and pulled you into a deep kiss. His beard stubble tickled your skin causing you to giggle.

"Bucky! Come on, I made breakfast," you scolded as he tried to distract you. Gripping his hand you guided him to the kitchen table.

It wasn't long before Alpine jumped on the table and nuzzled her head against Bucky. He instantly scratched her neck, that was when he noticed the new collar.

"Oh, did my beautiful girl get a new collar?" He said in a baby voice and inspected the pendants.

As he traced the edges he noticed that the pendant opened. It revealed a picture of him and Alpine – taken by you. His eyes shot up to you already holding a red box with a bow, "happy Valentine’s Day Buckeru, it's not much, but I got you this."

Carefully he took the box from you and opened it. Inside the box was a necklace with heavy chains and the same pendant as Alpine had.

He took the chain from the box looking at it and gently opened the pendant. With wide eyes he laid the box down to wrap the necklace around his neck, "that's us in the Alp!" he told his cat excitedly.

Alpine purred in agreement and bumped her head against Bucky's cheek.

"I could marry you right now," Bucky blurted out and gave you the most beautiful smile. "Let me buy a wedding dress first," you winked at him.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Princess & The Playboy (Part 5)

Summary: While meeting Dean's parents went smoothly, the reader's may be a different story. Meanwhile, Dean confides in Eric he knows a secret of his that sheds light on Eric's past actions and the boys set their plan in action...

Masterlist

Pairing: NFL Quarterback!Dean x Pop Star!reader

Word Count: 6,500ish

Warnings: language, family trauma/angst, kidnapping

A/N: 👀

_________

Dean POV

I woke with a jerk, eyes flashing open as a small surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. I sighed, closing my eyes as glimpses of a nightmare ran through my mind. I was honestly surprised at how long I’d gone without one.

I wondered if Y/N ever had that recurring dream about not being able to get to Max in time like I did with Sam. I turned in bed, scooting closer, searching for her warm body to curl up against. When my arm reached out to find her though, all I discovered were cold sheets. My eyes popped open again, the clock on her nightstand showing it was almost six in the morning.

I was due to get up in half an hour but Y/N could sleep in. Given how she’d told me just last week she was a night owl, my thoughts wandered to not so great places.

Either she was missing or she was so stressed about her parents visit she was losing sleep over it. The fact she lived in fucking Fort Knox led me to believe it was the later.

I stretched in bed before wandering over to the closet, smiling at the previously empty side. I stayed over most every night, even if the most intimate thing we did was a cuddle. We hadn’t officially said I had a drawer or anything like that but I had a space in the closet for some personal items. Mostly it was fresh underwear and socks but Y/N had hung up a few things that hadn’t belonged to me. Just things she thought it’d be “nice to have” around.

Including a dope ass robe that looked way too freaking comfy on the chilly morning. I threw it on and wrapped my arms around myself, humming as the fleece warmed my cool skin. I wasn’t exactly a robe guy and suspected this thing cost more than some people’s rent, but it did feel damn good.

I trudged through the dark house, ears perking up as I made my way towards her home gym. Piano notes filled the air and I saw light spilling through a cracked door, a soft melody breaking through the quiet.

“Endless,” breathed out Y/N, smashing her fingers against the keys, her eyes closed, face contorting like she didn’t like that sound. “Endless,” she sang softly again, moving her fingers to a lower note, her face less critical. 

I didn’t want to disturb her and tried to close the door. Unfortunately, it was enough to prick her spidey senses because next thing I knew, a hardcover notebook was smacking me in the forehead.

“Oh my god!” she gasped, covering her hands with her face as she shot up. I rubbed my temple and picked up her papers, Y/N moving my hand away before I even straightened up. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” She guided me to the couch in what looked like a studio, taking off quickly and returning in less then thirty seconds with a small first aid kit. “I’m fine, I swear.”

She ignored me, dabbing a cotton ball with alcohol before lighting pressing it against the cut. I winced, Y/N frowning as she found a butterfly bandage and stuck it on. 

“I am fine,” I said again, taking hold of her cheeks, smiling sleepily before pecking a light kiss on her lips. “I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. I shook my head, pulling her to sit in my lap.

“I’m not. You’re kind of a badass. Plus with an arm like that I’m thinking we get you in as backup QB. If you ever got sick of singing, I got a job lined up for ya.” She didn’t smile like she usually did when I teased her though. “What’s wrong? It’s one little bump is all. No biggie.”

“I woke you up early and you need your sleep and now I’m sure you have a headache on top of that and I have my stupid parents coming in this afternoon and you’re not going to be to stay over like normal because god knows what they’ll say and I’m so behind on the next album already and-”

I put my hand over her mouth to stop her, Y/N blinking as tears welled up in her eyes. Fuck, she ripped my heart out when I saw her like that. 

“Listen, listen,” I shushed her, Y/N wearily watching me. “I am fine and I’ll tell you if I’m not. You are exhausted, honey. You have not caught up from when you were on tour for half the freaking year. I want you to go back to bed and I’ll talk to Eric, make sure your morning gets cleared. All I want you to do is get some sleep. Someone from your team can grab your parents and entertain them until tonight where I will come over to have dinner with you and then I will stay over like always. You’re not going to worry about any other shit. Promise?”

She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around me in a deep hug. “My parents stress me out whenever they visit. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t say sorry,” I said, pressing my lips to her ear. “I just want you to get some sleep. Now do you promise?”

“Promise,” she mumbled, burying her face in my neck. She sighed softly and it was only a few beats later I realized her breathing had evened out, fast asleep. My girl really was at the end of her rope. As gently as I could, I carried her out and upstairs, tucking her into bed before changing. Downstairs, I filled up my thermos with coffee and made Y/N some pancakes she could reheat for lunch later.

“Good morning,” said Eric quietly. I glanced left, his body drenched in sweat, most likely from the gym. “You’re up early a lot.”

“My day starts at eight on the dot, sometimes sooner. I get fined if I’m late,” I said, taking a mug from beside the sink and filling it up for him.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a long sip. “You guys get Tuesdays off, right?”

“Yeah but I normally work it and review game film. Gotta set a good example for the team.” I wrapped up the pancakes on a plate, putting a sticky note on top. “I turned off Y/N’s phone. She needs to catch up on sleep. I know she’s busy but please let her sleep late today and cancel any morning meetings she has. And make sure her parents stay away until this evening. She’s worried about them and I told her I’d be here when they get here.”

“Can do.” I nodded, washing up the pan and taking another sip of coffee. “Dean.”

I turned around from the sink, Eric leaned back against the counter. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry again for how I treated you before. Y/N’s always deserved someone good. I’m glad she finally has that with you.” 

“Thank you,” I said, holding out my hand to him. Eric shook it, a quiet beat passing. “Do you think you and Sloane have a chance of working things out?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t even want her forgiveness. I just want her to know my reasoning and that I regret it. I just need her to know that I never thought she was weak or incapable and especially that I didn’t string her along. I always loved her. Even if I fucked it up for good.”

“I’m no relationship expert but why didn’t you go to her in the hospital?” I asked, Eric taking a seat at the island with a sigh. “Like, is there any possible reason you could tell Sloane about why you left?”

“You blamed yourself for your brother’s abduction when there logically was no reason to. For years you did.” He stared me down and nodded. “Now imagine that feeling of guilt but you know you fucked up. The intel was bad and you were distracted and imagine Sam or Y/N were taken, beat to hell, every inch of skin battered. And it was 100% your fault. Your job was to protect them and you screwed up. Would you be able to walk in that room and sit there, your mistake staring right back at you?”

“Were you abused as a kid?” Eric’s eyebrows shot up fast before his jaw clenched. 

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” he snapped. 

“Survivors often blame things out of their control on themselves because they’ve been conditioned to,” I said, raising my chin. Eric closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“You did a background check on me,” he mumbled.

“I didn’t use Sloane for it if it makes you feel better. No one knows except me and I plan on it staying that way. I wanted to know who the fuck you were was all.” Eric nodded, inhaling sharply. “Does Sloane know about your dad?”

“No and it doesn’t matter. I screwed up-”

“You probably ran away because you’re conditioned-”

“I’m a fucking solider, Winchester. My sack of shit father has been dead and gone for a very long time. I did not run away from Sloane because of some childhood trauma crap. I was a shitty person. Case closed.”

I stepped closer, looking down at him with a hard face. “Y/N and I were barely adults when we got our trauma and it’s still inside us. Don’t you fucking dare try and say it had no effect because it did. It made you a protector. It also made you expect Sloane to do or say awful things to you when you did go in that room. You’re smart enough to know I’m right.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Eric grit out, shooting daggers at me. “I wasn’t there when she needed me and that’s that.”

“Do you know why Y/N let me in? Because I talked to her, because I was vulnerable. Big bad bodyguard and you’re too scared to tell the girl you love all your secrets.”

“So what? I tell her and nothing changes so what’s the fucking point? I still hurt her.” I grasped his shoulder, shaking my head at him.

“Buddy, we both love two badass strong women. You’re right, Sloane could tell you to fuck off. Or she can finally understand and maybe forgive you. A guy like you isn’t the bad guy, no matter how much you tell yourself.”

Eric lowered his head, his shoulders rising when he breathed deeply. “I can’t. I’ve never told anyone. Shit, my own sister doesn’t even know.”

“Well you can practice with me if you ever decide you do want to,” I said, patting his back. “Take care of Y/N for me today.”

He hummed, Sloane waiting out front by my SUV when I left.

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked. Sloane rubbed her eye, opening the car door.

“I was working on understanding Y/N’s security protocols,” she said, still rubbing her eye.

“At six in the morning?”

“I wake up early. Is that a crime?” she snapped, her eyes red rimmed. I glanced back at the house, Sloane glaring at me. “What?”

“You overheard me talking to him, didn’t you.” She kept my gaze, only a slight tick of her jaw giving her away. “You’re in jeans and a t-shirt today.”

“So what?”

“So maybe your outfit choice doesn’t have to be the only change you make. You could talk to him-“

Sloane held up a hand. “I am not talking about this with anyone, including you. Understand?”

“And the world thinks I’m the emotionally immature one around here,” I mumbled, sliding into the passenger seat. Sloane slammed the door shut and I winced. I could only hope the rest of the day turned around.

Late Afternoon

“Winchester.” I blinked my eyes, noticing the conference room was mostly cleared out. Benny waited by the door as I grabbed my playbook and quickly followed after. “You alright, man?”

“Yeah. Just need to get some sleep,” I yawned, my phone buzzing in my pocket. My agent was having a field day today, fending off offers left and right from companies wanting to capitalize on my recent popularity. Thankfully Brad was a good guy and he knew what I was and wasn’t willing to endorse. 

And any mention of Y/N meant they got an automatic rejection. No questions asked. I wasn’t about to profit off the fact people knew she was my girlfriend.

My phone buzzed again and I reached into my pocket, surprised to see Eric calling. “Uh, hey. What’s up?”

“What time do you get done with work?” Eric asked. I shrugged, waving for Benny to go on ahead of me back to the locker room.

“About an hour. Why?” Eric sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“Listen.” The phone got quiet for a moment, faint footsteps in the background. But then I heard it. Heard it loud and clear.

“Liars and cheats and oh you dirty, dirty sneaks! Like I’m the stain on your perfect life making it bleak!” Y/N sang loudly through the phone, her voice raw while her fingers slammed piano keys.

The noise dissipated, Eric clearing his throat. “Good news, she wrote a song for her record this morning. Bad news, her parents showed up early on their own and they had a massive blowout. I guess they saw the cake you guys made for Max and freaked.”

“...You wouldn’t call me with this unless you were concerned, would you.” 

“Girl’s always used music to process her feelings. But she’s sort of bawling in there and I’ve promised in the past to not interfere when it comes to her parents.” I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. “She’d rip my head off and probably yours if we went in there and talked to her. She’ll either be calmer in an hour or be halfway through another song.”

“I’ll be there in forty five,” I said, heading for the locker room. “Don’t tell her.”

I could feel his hesitancy on the other end. “Did you say not to tell her you’re coming over?”

“Yeah. Let her stay in her studio. I need to talk to her parents. Alone.” Eric was silent for a beat and then another. “Tell me the truth, buddy. Does Y/N exaggerate about her folks or do they say some fucked up shit to her sometimes?”

Eric breathed heavy, a door closing, the sounds of the outdoors surrounding him. “They already don’t like you. Her mom called you a man whore and her dad flipped that she wore your jersey the other night. So I guess you got nothing to lose.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they like me. But they will change their act if they want to be part of their daughter’s life. They can’t hurt her like that everytime she sees them.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you, kid,” said Eric, opening a car door. “I’ll pick you up at the stadium.”

“I distinctly recall you hating my guts.” Eric scoffed, a sliver of a smile on my face. “Oh, I forgot. You loved me from the start, right?”

“Don’t push it, Winchester,” he said. “Get back to work. I’ll see you in a few.”

One hour later I was bouncing my knee in the passenger seat of my truck, Eric pulling into Y/N’s driveway. If my conversation with him over the past twenty minutes was anything to go by, Y/N had been far too kind regarding her parents.

They’d blamed her for Max’s kidnapping. Said it straight to her fucking face when she was eighteen years old. She was a kid and they told her it was her fault. Seven years later they told her they wished she was the one that was dead and they were burying. Called her a brat and diva for being upset on the day of Max’s funeral. Blamed her for paparazzi invading their moment. Blamed her when she tried to talk about Max or hear stories from when they were kids, told her not to speak his name, not when she screwed up his life. The day they “buried” her brother, their relationship had been done for good. They had no problem taking her money though, playing the warm set of parents when they needed to. 

Y/N was not about to be forced to hide in her own home just to get away from people who clearly didn’t give a rats ass about her.

A strong hand gripped my shirt collar as Eric parked, my gaze shooting over my shoulder.

“Hey. I fucked up because I was too protective of Sloane. I don’t want that to happen to you,” he said. I nodded, Eric still leery. “She still loves them, Dean.”

“I know. And if she hates me for what I’m about to do, then she hates me. But her parents need a wake up call and I’ll be the bad guy. Like you said, they already hate me so no harm no foul.” 

“They’ve been by the pool,” said Eric, dropping his hand. I slid out and gave a nod to a few of the security guys in the shack I recognized. I walked around the side of the house, nerves flaring up like this was a freaking super bowl for some reason. Sure, I’d like it if Y/N’s parents were friendly and she had a good relationship. 

But she didn’t deserve their shit. I just hoped it didn’t turn into a screaming match immediately.

I inhaled slowly as I found the older couple relaxing under the umbrella on the patio. 

“Hi, I’m Dean Winchester,” I said as I approached, both their heads turning toward me. “Y/N’s boyfriend. I think the three of us need to talk.”

“Excuse me son but I don’t think we have anything to discuss aside from the fact you're not the kind of man we want dating our daughter,” said her father. I sat down in an open chair at the table, leaning forward with a smile.

“See that’s funny. You think you have a right to have any say in your daughter’s love life. Regardless of the fact the media portrays me as someone I’m not or that your daughter is thirty two years old, you think you have the right based on what? That she’s your flesh and blood? As if you gave an actual shit about her. It’s just us, no need to pretend.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” said her mom, voice on the edge of something dangerous I didn’t like. “Who the fuck are you to say that crap? Of course we love Y/N-”

“There you go being funny again,” I said, narrowing my eyes, looking between them both. “I would never blame my daughter for something that wasn’t her motherfucking fault. I wouldn’t wish her fucking dead or call her names or forbid her from speaking of her missing brother. I certainly wouldn’t snap at her for making a cake to celebrate her brother. If you two really hate Y/N that much, just stay the fuck away. I’m sure she’ll keep giving you as much money as you ask for.”

To my surprise, they didn’t get angry. Y/N’s mom simply stood and wandered off towards the pool, holding a hand over her mouth. Meanwhile, her father closed his eyes, lowering his head.

“At least you have the decency to not lie about it,” I said. “You people are fucking disgusting to come into your daughter’s life like nothing’s wrong when you’ve hurt her as much as those kidnappers did. He was her little brother. She knows she was late to pick him up. You have no idea how hard she’s working to start to feel like it was simply something out of her control.”

They were both silent, still not looking at me.

“Where the hell were you two? Why wasn’t it your responsibility? Why not the parents of Max’s friend? The police? The damn kidnappers? Why’d it fall on the shoulders of an eighteen year old girl? Because you’re weak people, that’s why. It’s why you keep blaming her. You have no idea how lucky you are she’s strong. Telling her you wished it was her in the ground? She might have followed up on that, you morons. She deserves to be able to remember Max openly. She deserves to believe he’s still out there somewhere, even if you don’t. She deserves parents better than you two. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here sooner to say it to your faces.”

I stood up and headed for the back door, her mom making a sort of hiccup sound.

“We never forgave her for not picking Max up on time,” she whispered, lowering her head. “When she gets…I get so angry at her when she wants to bring him up.”

“So much of our lives changed because she wanted to sing. Our privacy. People always offering fake tips about Max. It hurts so much and we keep blaming Y/N for that pain,” said her dad. “We know we shouldn’t but we don’t know how to stop.”

“Try some fucking therapy,” said Eric, walking around the near side of the house, my eyes darting to his. “This is your official notice. You are both banned from this property and contacting Y/N until further notice. Pack up your things and you will be escorted to your hotel.”

I stared at him wide eyed, Eric raising his chin, ignoring me. 

“Now!” he barked. Y/N’s father rose slowly, something steely about him.

“My daughter ask you to do that? Because I’m not leaving without her wanting me gone,” he said. Eric stepped closer, getting in his face.

“My job is to protect Y/N from threats and I am sick of you two coming in here every year and fucking breaking her heart. Get some damn therapy and deal with your shit or never, I mean never, fucking contact her again. You want something, you deal with me. Now get the fuck out.”

Roughly five minutes later Eric and I watched them both be driven down the driveway, my eyes still stuck on him. 

“Keep staring like that Winchester and I’ll think you have a crush,” said Eric, giving a satisfied nod when the gate closed again.

“You said you’re not supposed to interfere with her parents.” Eric shrugged, giving me a smirk.

“She wants to fire me, she can. But those assholes send her spiraling and I’m sick of standing there and watching it. Kiddo was a fucking shell for months after what happened the day of the funeral.”

“I thought I said I had it handled.” Eric spun around and headed back for the house. “Eric.”

“Just cause you can do something on your own doesn’t mean you have to,” he said, opening the door, holding it open. I slid past him into the foyer, Eric patting my shoulder. “Go take care of her. I’ll face the music later.”

“Doesn’t seem your style to hide,” I said, Eric spinning back around to head out, pausing in the doorway. 

“I have an appointment…therapy,” he said quietly. “Probably going to be a waste of time.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Eric shrugged. “I’ll put in a good word with the boss for you.”

“Just focus on taking care of her. I can wait,” he said, leaving and pulling the door shut. I closed my eyes and ditched my bag by the base of the stairs, walking quietly down to the studio.

I knocked once, poking my head inside, frowning as I found the room silent.

And Y/N nowhere in sight.

I flinched when a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, a small body hugging me tight. “Y/N, we should-”

“The team in the shack texted I should watch the security video in the back. I heard the whole thing.” Her head burrowed between my shoulder blades, squeezing me hard. Soft, mumbled cries filled the air, my heart aching for her. Slowly, I turned in her embrace, her face hiding away in my chest when I came to face her. I gently shushed her, one arm around her back, one around her shoulders as I tucked her head under my chin.

“I’m sorry I upset you but I’m not sorry I set them straight. You don’t have to put up with people that won’t take accountability for their actions. So be mad with me and Eric but we saw how much it hurt you. We don’t regret it. The only-”

“You think I’m mad at you guys?” she whispered, raising her head, puffy, red rimmed eyes staring back. A quiet laugh slipped past her delicious lips, her head shaking as she laughed harder. “You’re such a goof, Winchester. That was…that was what they needed to hear. Thank you for saying it when I couldn’t.”

“Maybe they’ll get some help for themselves and things can get better,” I said, even if I didn’t believe they would. I’d happily be proven wrong but I wasn’t counting on it. Y/N shrugged, not seeming to have faith in the idea herself. “Can you play me something?”

“I just wrote two new ones,” she said, catching my head shake. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Nothing particular. Just want to sit and listen to you poke around if that’s alright.” She smiled, taking my hand and leading me inside. She left me at the couch and wandered to the piano bench, rolling her shoulders with a heavy inhale. 

“You like rock and grunge,” she said, tapping a key, her head cocked as she did it over and over. “Think I could pull off a few alt rock songs?”

“You can do whatever the hell you want to, sweetheart. Pretty sure you could throw bagpipes in a song and make it go number one.” I caught her smile as her fingers started to dance, hips starting to sway in her seat.

“Normally I come up with music before the lyrics,” she said, something rhythmic and heavy in the air. “You know people think because I’m the pop princess that’s all I listen to. Never would think Metallica inspired a good number of songs on the last album.”

“You partial to Zeppelin?” I asked, her smirk stronger, the puffiness around her eyes going down.

“Everyone loves Stairway and for good reason but I’m a Kashmir girl,” she said, my eyebrows raising. “Surprised?”

“No. Think I fell in love with you a little more is all,” I chuckled, getting up and taking a seat on the edge of the piano bench, watching her fingers move quickly, a hint of both songs coming through. “I am sorry about your parents, sweetheart. I wish things were different.”

“Me too,” she said, flurrying her fingers before abruptly pulling back. “But I won’t ever completely forgive myself for Max as long as they’re in my life. At least how they are right now. S’like Sloane said, even if you're strong, sometimes you want someone else to be strong for you.”

She bumped my shoulder, a coy smile sneaking onto her face. My hand found hers, clasping them together. “We take turns and it’ll work out how it’s supposed to.”

Her head rested on my shoulder, nodding once. “I don’t want to be sad anymore today. Do you want to go out to dinner?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” I said, kissing her temple. “People will probably take pictures of us though.”

“I really don’t care anymore,” she said, squeezing my hand. “If I want to go out with my boyfriend, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“That’s my girl.”

Sam POV

“Eek! Y/N and Dean went out! In public!” squealed Cecilia from the kitchen island, showing her phone to Sebastian’s event planner. The woman in her mid-thirties gave the phone a passing glance, probably wishing she could plan a party for one of them instead of fucking Seb. 

He was even more of a dick whenever it got to close to him hosting one of his stupid ass parties at the house.

But the piece of shit’s desire to mingle with the rich and famous on a regular basis meant Max and I had a real shot at our plan working. I worked at the end of the island, near the open planner with a tentative guest list, my back blocking the camera.

All I had to do was slip the piece of paper from my pocket into the planner and hope the event planner added Y/N and Dean to the list without too much thought. 

Without getting caught of course.

And assume that the super detailed planner lady would just go ahead and invite two of the most popular people on the planet right now willy nilly.

That was all assuming Max didn’t get caught in his part of the plan. Or too hurt. Or dead.

Shit, we really were laying it on the line for this one.

A few moments later, we all heard the loud thud, our heads snapping towards the front of the house. I moved fast, taking the split second opportunity to place the paper in the planner. Then I was off the second Max groaned, playing the role of concerned friend. 

Sebastian knew how close we were, that we considered ourselves brothers. Even if we were both scared shitless about the consequences of breaking a rule, he knew I’d abandon my “job” duties to go to him if he was hurt. So I rushed through the front hall to where a few security guys were already surrounding a grunting Max on the floor.

“I’m fine,” grit out Max, even though we could all see the growing bruise on his cheek. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to hit his head. He tried to sit up, a few of the security guys urging him to stay down. Ironic considering they were the ones they’d kill us if we ever got caught.

“What the fuck…” said Seb, coming out of his office, staring at the scene before him.

“He fell down the stairs, boss,” said a guard, Max brushing the guy off and sitting up, wincing a bit. 

“I said I’m fine,” said Max, his movements proving that was a lie. He was hurt. Hopefully just bumps and bruises. But that was key.

If we wanted a believable story, one of us had to get fucked up in the process. And unfortunately for Max, he was beyond shitty at rock papers scissors and had to take the fall. Literally.

“He needs to rest,” I said, forcing my way into the crowd, helping Max to his feet with another wince. I didn’t wait for a response and started taking him towards our room, Seb’s tsk making us both freeze.

“Andy, make sure he’s alright and then Max should rest the remainder of the day. Sam, I trust you can complete all unfinished chores yourself?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” I said, reluctantly letting Andy take my place and help support Max. I watched them disappear down the hall, Seb turning to another guard, Frankie.

“Explain yourself.” The guard stared at Sebastian, his thick swallow heard loud and clear. Sebastian stepped closer, until his nose was jammed right against the young guard’s. “Why the fuck did you punch my house staff in the face after he fell?”

I stared at Frankie, Sebastian smirking when he saw my face. 

“His knuckles are scrapped, Sam,” he said, turning back to Sebastian. “Question is why the fuck do you think you can touch my fucking property?”

“The guy doesn’t respect me,” said Frankie, finding his voice. “Doesn’t laugh at my jokes, don’t call me sir.”

“He knows his role and abides by it. You on the other hand need a reminder,” snapped Seb. “Sam, dismissed.”

I quickly went back to the kitchen to finish my vegetable prep. On the one hand, Frankie was about to have a world of shit thrown his way which normally I’d feel bad about. On the other, I hated his guts and he’d hit Max for no damn reason so he deserved what was coming to him.

“Take a tylenol in six hours and ice that ankle,” said Andy, patting Max’s shoulder from where he looked him over. We shared a quick look before Max headed for our quarters, the event planner shaking her head.

“That’s why I always say you need a stair runner on those grand staircases, be damned the design.” 

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” said Andy with a role of his eyes. Cecilia eyed me up and down before looking at her phone.

Weird…

“What do you think about maroon?” asked the planner to her just as I caught Seb storming across the hall to his office.

Yeah, today was not about to be Frankie’s day.

It was late when I finally finished with the chores. I was a better cook than Max so I normally handled dinner and prepping snacks and lunches. But doing all of Max’s cleaning on top of all of mine meant I was exhausted and starving for my own dinner.

“Sam.” I turned my head in the dim hallway, Sebastian sitting in his office, sipping on a glass of what I guessed was very expensive whiskey. “Come in here, please.”

I swallowed. The last time I had a late night conversation in that office, I was being branded by the poker in the fire place. God, if he was going to kill me hopefully it’d be fast.

I entered the room, pulling the door shut when he waved his hand. “Yes, sir?”

“How’s Max?” I clasped my hands behind my back, lowering my gaze. 

“I haven’t seen him yet. I’d assume he’s resting.” 

“You’re a hard worker, Sam. Always appreciated that about you. Max too,” he said, standing with his glass. He spun slowly, taking a sip. “You know what I like most about you boys though?”

Oh God. I was so dead.

“You’re loyal,” he said with a grin. “Sure, it took us a little bit to get there but you were young men. I made plenty of mistakes when I was twenty too. Now…now you boys know your place and I haven’t done a single thing to either one of you since. That’s the kind of trust I know we have. It’s loyalty. Something I seem to be lacking with some of my men.”

I raised my head, Sebastian finishing off his drink. 

“Frankie’s…no longer with the operation. That kind of boy wants my head. All he sees is how to get rid of me. And I won’t say I liked the way he looked at my daughter.”

Okay. Good news, Frankie was dead and buried out in the woods out back. Bad news, Sebastian was in one of his killing moods which normally didn’t stop at one body. Mob bosses were like that.

“It’s too bad you and Max aren’t suited for this kind of work. You’re the kind of boys I could trust to be successor,” said Seb, refilling his glass from the bottle on the desk.

“That’s very flattering of you sir,” I said, his chin raising.

“Those are my issues to deal with though. You and Max on the other hand, I can promise that even when I step down and am long gone, you’ll always have your places in this organization. You were a big investment and it’s paying off. I don’t want all that effort to go to waste,” he said, clasping my shoulder. Fuck, I could literally taste the bile pooling up from my gut.

“Thank you sir,” I said quietly, fighting back a shake when he ruffled my hair.

“If only Cecilia were a man. This kind of work doesn’t lend itself to women…although she does have enough rage inside her to handle it,” he said, walking over to his desk, my eyes widening for only a split second when I saw the planner there. “She fucking slipped that singer and Dean Winchester’s names on the guest list. Can you believe that? The balls on that kid.”

Fuck. It didn’t work. It didn’t-

“I guess it’ll make her happy though,” he sighed, cracking a smile when he looked at me. “And I wouldn’t mind meeting Dean Winchester. I bet I could get him to sign my jersey in the game room.”

“I know how much you enjoy the LA Wolves. I know your work is…stressful,” I said carefully, Seb allowing it. “Perhaps Miss Cecilia wouldn’t be the only one to get some happiness out of the guests.”

“This is why I like you, Sam. Always looking out for the big guy,” he chuckled, nodding his head. “She practically begged when I asked her about it earlier so I suppose if I get a benefit out of it too that’s a happy accident.”

I forced a smile, Seb humming to himself. 

“Alright. Go and tend to your friend. I have work to do.”

“Yes sir,” I said. I was quiet in the house as I made my way to our room, closing our door with a quiet thud. Max sat up from the twin mattress, a shiner on his eye and some bruises covering his arms and legs but otherwise in one piece. “It worked.”

“It worked?” asked Max, a smile growing on his face as I nodded. “It fucking worked!”

“Yup. Now we just got to hope they accept,” I said, kicking off my shoes. “Although…we may have a problem with Cecilia. Dickface confronted her about the names, thought she slipped them in. She covered for us. The way she looked at me in the kitchen earlier, I think she knows I did it.”

“The kid is smart and knows her dad’s in the fucking mob. Maybe she’s got a gut feeling something’s not right. Let’s just hope she keeps her mouth shut until after the party,” said Max. I tried not to worry about her right now. I think she knew enough to not say anything.

“So now we just wait for them to accept a random ass invitation to a party for a guy they’ve never heard of.” I sat down beside him, Max still all smiles.

“Have a little faith, Sammy. We made it this far. Who knows? Two weeks from now we could be free men.”

Free or dead. One way or the other, I had a feeling our stay at the Sebastian household would be coming to an end very soon.

_______

A/N: Read Part 6 here!