#very powerful and all that but i can not take sam's face in the second gif seriously i am so sorry it's so windy

[seasononesam]

1x01 // 5x22 | insp 

You coming or what?

Sam! It's not gonna end this way! Step back!

[r3ynah]

I Can be everything and anything, at once

A 27 years old Phantom was challenged to a bet, by his co-workers at the watchtower. Green lantern stated along with the the other heroes that If he could help every single one of them at least once in a month while not using any his powers and he also had to be physically and mentally there as he helps them. the cherry on top was that he needed to use his real identity instead of his ghost form in this mission.

If Phantom successfully conceals his civilian identity, while helping them, he gets to know everyone's deepest darkest secrets.

But if he loses, he must do everyone a favor and must keep it no matter how outrageous it is.

Ofcourse Phantom agreed, because he was no bitch, okay so maybe he is, he only accepts bets like this if he knows that'll he'll win. so yeah.

Besides, having no powers for this, is really a piece of cake, if you're a raging gender fluid that knows his way around makeup and can easily change the sound of his voice, to be honest the shapeshifting parts that he got from his powers are basically just add-ons.

Well what was he waiting for? afterall he needed all the blackmail he could get, not as Phantom but as Daniel James Fucking Fenton, this was an opportunity to go batshit crazy and he was absolutely stealing it.

The very first hero Danny approached to help was Wonder Woman, who thanked Danny who was now disguised as a woman wearing a long ass Red wig, and some clothes he "borrowed" from Jazz who just joked about Danny being her twin, and wished him luck.

"Thank you, young lady for your brave actions to help me." Wonder woman sincerely thanked the boy in disguise as she held both of Danny's hands as gratitude "may I ask the name of my savior? "

"My name's El, It's a pleasure to know you." Danny smiled a little wider.

The second was Flash, which Danny found completely amusing because of the way he helped the speedy hero, who tripped while patrolling around the city.

Danny who was now in a more gothic attire( thanks to Sam's help) caught the hero's wrist before he embarrassingly fell face first on the ground.

"You okay there sir?" Danny asked, as he kept a firm grip on the man's wrist to make sure he doesn't fall.

Meanwhile Flash who thought he was in those korea tv romance dramas only blue screened for a few seconds before finally get his shit together. "yeah- um- name's Flash, and you are?"

The hero tripped on his own words, making Danny amused as fuck. "James, it was nice to finally meet you"

Okay, about like three weeks in, and Danny managed to help almost everyone in the watchtower, and only a few more to go,( he didn't get why most of the heroes he helped either started to stutter or blue screen in their spot once they talk to him. like damn is this how all of you treat every civilian who interacts with you? that's just sad) but at this time, Dan and Elle found out, and were now demanding to join, with the excuse of basically being Danny but in alternate or clone form, which Danny had no choice but to give in, I mean he wasn't breaking any rules so technically this was alright.

Danny wanted to take a break so Dan took over this time.

currently Nightwing was observing the outside of the gala, Bruce was invited to, something about a bunch of drugs being hidden within the crowd, and was now being passed around.

He intently remained focused on his observation, while also keeping a conversation with Oracle and the others on the comms, he didn't realize that he was too far off the edge of the railing he was standing on, until he missed a step.

Nightwing would never admit that he let a quiet squeal to his siblings ever as he fell, he closed his eyes and braced for impact, he would never expect to fall into the arms of a man 3x bigger than him, he stared at the man, and the man stared at him. 'holy shit' Nightwing thought.

The man, chuckled making Nightwing internally scream. "When I wished for Desiree, to make someone from above to save me from this trash party, I didn't think it would be one of the birds of gotham, to come and fall for me let alone the handsome one."

Okay Nightwing was now full on red from blushing, he was put down gently by the man on the ground, before offering a handshake, once Nightwing accepted the handshake, Dan pulled the hand closer to his mouth then gave a quick peck on the back of the hand vigilante's hand. "My name's Dan Masters, it's a pleasure to meet you."

his siblings can eat dirt on how they were teasing Nightwing Right now, but this was fucking worth it.

And the last to have gotten help from Danny was John Constantine, Danny actually had a reason on why he saved John for last, and that's because John actually knows Danny's identity, so for this mission he asked the help of his daughter Elle.

Elle had helped John by fixing a ruined summoning circle, who also helped him negotiate with a demon, and somehow all day, Elle just stuck to Constatine's side, her explanation? 'He'll die without me' fair point John thought as he took the kid, to order ice cream and to hangout in the park.

"You know kid, you remind me of someone." Constantine stated while keeping his eyes on what's infront of him, which was just a bunch of trees.

Elle who sat next to him, still eating her Ice cream looked up at him and said. "Really?"

"Yeah like you two literally have the same aura and all just a little different, but I don't know who yet." He replied and ruffled the kid's hair. making the girl laugh.

"Hey John!" Danny greeted behind them, and then all the gears inside of Constantine's head began to work. he let out a groan as he realized the girl beside him was the clone of the man behind him, well he needed to kiss that secret of his goodbye. here on this spot right now or he'll die of embarrassment if he waited any longer.

"Danny, let's go on a date." Constantine stated, not facing the Man.

this comment made the Father and Daughter choke on literal air.

[bloggerspam]

Jazz is very nervous. 

She tries not to visibly fidget, sitting with Danny on his bed waiting for her new sister to pop in. It’s the first time she’s meeting the fabled Dani-with-an-i, and she wants everything to be perfect. 

She checks, for the fifth time, that there are enough cookies and milk (in a regular thermos) and that Danny’s room isn’t in too much of a clutter. She adjusts her clothes again, and breathes in and out in steady increments as slowly as she can so that Danny doesn’t notice.

It’s Saturday, and Danny is excited. She can tell, even if he’s acting like he doesn’t actually care what’s happening from behind the screen of his phone. He’s no doubt texting Sam or Tucker, trying to calm himself down. She knows this is important to him, that they get along.

It’s important to her too. She had to parent Danny ever since they were little and she knows now that it drove a wedge between them. As terrible as it sounds, if it weren’t for the portal accident, she’s not sure if they could have ever recovered. 

She still mother hens him sometimes, but she’s been more of a sister now, and it’s all so very new. She’s desperately trying to keep that precious role he’s bestowed upon her, and she’s afraid if this doesn’t go well she’ll lose both her little brother and her little sister. 

She checks the cookies and milk for the sixth time. 

A rhythmic knock of 4 beats tap on Danny’s window, and they both turn to see a very familiar face phasing through the glass. The newcomer hesitantly settles themself onto the floor, eyes glancing back and forth between Danny and her with wariness. Oh gosh, Jazz knew Dani-with-an-i was a clone, but she didn’t think they would actually look that much alike considering their different genders. 

“Hi! You must be Dani-with-an-i!” Jazz tries to inject as much chipperness into her voice as she can to mask her nervousness, but she’s not sure if she succeeds. 

“Must I?” Dani-with-an-i drolls. Ah, definitely Danny’s clone. 

“You must.” Danny slips off the bed and lunges at her, transforming into Phantom halfway through before they tumble through the room like little delinquents. The peals of laughter make all of Jazz’s anxieties go away. It’s nice. It’s lovely. 

She coughs loudly, to get their attention, and it’s gratifying to see Danny immediately pop up to face her. Dani-with-an-i takes a second, but follows along. That, too, makes her feel happy. 

“Cookie?” Jazz feels her smile turn into a grin as she holds up a cookie in each hand. The two Dannies share a look, before lunging at her.

From there it’s amazing. It’s like Dani-with-an-i has always been there, as the third sibling of the Fenton family. They’re laughing and learning about each other, sticking to lighter topics, as Danny has already told her about Dani-with-an-i’s entire history and current travel log. 

Two hours later, they’ve demolished the cookies and milk. They’re doing a sort of rudimentary medical check now, to make sure Dani-with-an-i is stable. She and Danny have been transforming back and forth, doing small scale tests with harmless powers. 

Jazz decides she should go downstairs to grab some real food for the two of them before their parents come home, so she gets up to grab the tray of empty glasses and cookie plate. She struggles a little bit as she tries to open the bedroom door with the tray in her hands to go down, only for the door to swing open for her from the other side instead. 

She comes face to face with her parents, right as Danny de-transforms behind her. 

It’s a blur after that. 

There’s screams, lots of screams. Get back here Ghost! comes up. Ghost scum and Specimen and a whole slew of other expletives are said multiple times. 

Danny’s room is trashed and the hallway suffers from burn marks and a lot of holes. 

They can’t be reasoned with.

They’re grabbing weapons, they’re shooting at Dani-with-an-i, they’re shooting at Danny.

Jazz tries to stop them, but Jack sweeps her away like a mosquito. She slams into the wall. 

“We’re going to rip you apart, molecule by molecule!” Jack growls, reaching towards Danny as he dodges the swipe. 

“Oh Jack, more specimens!”  She sees Maddie smiling widely as she aims for Jazz, her mother’s voice bringing shivers down her spine and causing her to freeze up.

This is, apparently, the worst case scenario. 

Thankfully, Team Phantom was prepared for this eventuality.

Danny tackles Jazz through the floorboards with a shout in ghost speak that apparently means something to Dani-with-an-i since she dives through the shared wall of their bedrooms. Something about the go-bags? Right. 

No matter how many times he’s done this to her, intangibility still feels weird. Jazz shuts her eyes until she feels them touch down in the basement. She’s shaking but she has no time to think about it--the second Danny lets go she grabs the keys to the Specter Speeder and rips open the door. There’s banging happening two floors up. They have very little time. 

She runs around tossing all of their parents’ weapons that have any sort of tracking functionality to them into the Speeder--she’s memorized where they’re kept. She can hear Danny messing with the portal to set it to self-destruct like they planned for in case things ever got really bad. He’ll input a code into the house system next, one that Tucker made to destroy everything digital. 

Just as she’s grabbing all of the thermoses she can carry in her arms, Dani-with-an-i appears with two bags slung over each of her shoulders, with a tote bag (the one Jazz keeps on her doorknob) stuffed with snacks. 

She hears the banging come closer.  The portal beeps twice, the minute warning bell Tucker programmed to count down the self-destruct, and the dread in her stomach builds like a crescendo.

“Danny!” She screams, grabbing Dani-with-an-i and jumping into the now cramped Speeder. 

Danny sets all the papers around the lab on fire, and jumps in, slamming the door just as the basement door bangs open. 

Jazz revs up the Speeder. The take off is a little bumpy, but the portal will be destroyed anyway. The Speeder can take a scrape or two. Judging by the sounds of blasts impacting the metal hull behind them as they finish passing all the way through the portal opening, it can take a couple blasts too. 

She can’t focus on anything other than getting far far away, but Dani-with-an-i whispers that the portal door is gone. She didn’t even know there was a window in the back of the Speeder, but apparently there is. 

She takes a breath, putting the Speeder on autopilot towards the Far Frozen as planned, and turns around to see her siblings.

They’re a little worse for wear, but they’re safe. They’re safe. 

She grabs them both into a tight hug and cries. 

===

This is chapter 1 of my fic for @invisobang 2024, read the rest here on AO3!

Inspired by this fanart and prompt by @impyssadobsessions!!

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Lost in the Woods (dp x dc)

"Why are we here again?" Tucker asked as he rearranged his backpack straps.

"Because you lost a bet and Gotham Woods are my best chance of seeing a real satanic ritual," Sam answered.

“Hey, no,” Danny protested. “We said no spooky business. This is strictly for fun.”

“Fun,” Tucker repeated, dryly. “This is how most horror movies start, you know. Camping in the woods at night.”

“I highly doubt there’s any serial killer out there,” the halfa soothed. “I checked the news. There are no escape convicts right now.”

“The Riddler’s out,” Sam refuted.

“Can you imagine that pasty twig-man willingly trudging through the woods though?” Danny asked.

“I probably go out more often than him,” Tucker conceded.

“Which means we’re all good,” Danny concluded.

The trio walked a bit further before reaching the spot they had brought the rest of their bags and dropped their heavy backpacks beside it. Tucker fell down beside them before raising a hand to chase away a mosquito that was buzzing around.

“I hate this already,” he whined as he tried to smack the bug.

“Get up,” Sam said as she nudged him with her foot. “We gotta get the tent up.”

With a groan, he stood up and they got to work on the tent. It didn’t take very long, thanks to Danny’s experience in pitching Fenton Work tents, which had come from the numerous times his family had gone camping.

“What now?” The halfa asked.

“Why don’t we walk around a little?” Sam suggested.

“Can’t we take a minute to breathe?” Tucker complained.

“It’ll be fun,” Danny encouraged his friend as he offered a hand getting to his feet again.

"I'm beginning to think you don't know what that means."

They grabbed some water and snacks before setting towards one of the closest hiking trails. It was supposed to be an easy quick walk, but as time went on the path became more and more wild and overgrown, they started doubting the way. By the time they had stopped, the path was now nonexistent.

“We’re lost,” Tucker said. “The sun is setting and we’re lost in the creepy satanic woods.”

“First of all,” Sam started. “I have a compass, and second, we have Danny. We’ll be fine.”

“Oh I see how it is,” the halfa dramatically said. “You guys are just using me for my powers.”

Before the goth could make a proper answer to that, Tucker shushed them both before dragging them towards some thick bushes. A few moments later they could see two men in long robes carrying a third, unconscious man in a black and blue outfit.

“Those goddamned bats,” one of the ones wearing cultist robes said as he struggled to carry the unconscious man’s legs.

“Shut up and move faster,” the other cultist said. “The Grandmaster said to get him to the Barn before sundown.”

“I’m trying my best here,” the first one said. “Those robes don’t exactly make it easy.”

“They’re ceremonial!”

“Right now they’re a ceremonial pain in my butt,” the first cultist retorted which made the other sputter.

As they moved passed the three teens’ hiding spot, their voices faded in the distance. The ensuing silence was broken by Sam's “Dibs on any skulls when we raid the evil lair”.

“Why can we never have normal vacations?” Danny mumbled as he let his face fall in his hands.

[prentissluvr]

but daddy i love him — sam winchester

cw : gn!empath!reader, light angst, fluff, some canon typical violence, demons, mentions of weapons, emotional manipulation/some emotional abuse in reader's past/presence, dean's kinda mean for a bit, kissing, food/drink mentions, poor editing, 11.3K words. listen to but daddy i love him by taylor swift. requested !

summary : you were raised sheltered from the world, but once you meet sam, you come to understand what freedom means. ౨ৎ . . . [ empath : has the ability to read and manipulate anyone's emotions. not the psychology kind lol ]

you’re not a demon, though you’re certainly no angel. in all technically, you suppose that you’re closer to a demon since they used to be human. not that you’d want to be put in the same box as any single demon, but you know that they feel some emotions. angels, you’re told, do not. to you, that’s quite a strange concept. someday, you’d like to meet one to see if it’s true.

and though you are not a demon, you’ve learned very well how to be like one, or at the very least how to feel like one. this is only helpful because your uncle, the demon who raised you (who is not your real uncle, nor related to you at all) wants you to be just like him. that implies being entirely uncaring and mostly unfeeling, with the exceptions for feelings being guiltless, hatred, annoyance, generally anything negative and parallel with aggression, and pleasure in the face of enacting pain or evil things upon somebody else.

having been surrounded by exactly that for as long as you can remember, you have no trouble pretending to be that way. in actuality, you find it totally impossible to embody it in truth. you, opposite to demons, are especially in tune with all aspects of your humanity. this does include the bad, but you’ve spent your life clinging to and longing for the good. plus, you don’t particularly enjoy experiencing the constant negativity that rolls off of most demons and right onto you. although your powers are geared towards other humans and you can’t read or manipulate demons’ emotions as easily, you learned to use your powers on them before anything else.

today, you accompany a crossroads demon, as per usual. your uncle has you trying a new tactic to aid in soul-collection. unfortunately for you, it's been working well and you have to pretend more often than not that your powers are failing you when they’re working just fine. you feel like a door-to-door salesman for guaranteed painful death and torture until one’s humanity is ripped away, all under the guise of pretty or petty dreams come true.

your accompanying demon, russell, is one of your least favorites. you don’t really like any of them, but unfortunately, russell is one of your uncle’s most trusted. you think it’s stupid, because you’re able to tell that he’s a coward and most likely not as trust-worthy as your uncle thinks. personally, you just find him annoying.

russell approaches the next house, knocking on the door as you lag behind. the man at the last house sold his soul in exchange to look ten years younger. not everyone exchanges their lives for such stupid reasons, but when they do, it makes you feel extra disgusted by the work you have to participate in. but for the sake of fooling your uncle, you pretend to enjoy it. someday, you might get away… you just don’t know what you’d do or how you’d survive.

the owner of the house opens the door, and the second she sees you and russell, dressed in suits and smiling all fake, her annoyance and skepticism immediately become apparent to you. your first order of business is to push that away and replace it with openness, curiosity, and a little bit of desire to get her to listen to you. since you “failed” at the first three houses and were successful at the last one, russell expects you to make this one work as well. it takes a bit of concentration to keep everything subtle and slow so that she doesn’t notice anything too strange.

when she greets you, she smiles a little and you know that you were successful. you let russell do all the talking as you continually feed the woman more desire and assuredness. little by little, you tug at her hesitation, pulling it away as russell gives her his pitch.

“anything you could ever dream of for the small price of your soul!” he lies about how small of a price it is and you mask your abundant discomfort. the more and better you do for your uncle, the more he lets you off of your figurative leash. the woman, mrs. hadley, as she introduced herself, is on the verge of saying yes. you’re seated in the living room as she goes on about how her one wish is for her young son to be treated well at school. you debate sabotaging the deal to save her, when the door bangs open and two men burst into the house, both sporting various weapons.

mrs. hadley screams and your concentration snaps. immediately, her fear and confusion wash over you, along with everything else that the two men and russell are feeling. suddenly quite overwhelmed, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment before remembering you’re under threat. russell curses loudly, and when you snap your eyes open, he’s halfway across the room as he sprints full speed for the back door.

“sam!” shouts one of the men, nodding towards you and the frightened mrs. hadley as he takes off after russell. the other man, now dubbed sam, points his knife at you and begins rehearsing a latin exorcism.

“i’m not a demon, i swear,” you say, slowly standing and putting your hands up in surrender. his eyebrows furrow in confusion. you also sense his urgency and protectiveness, but you don’t sense as much aggression in him as you’d expected. the rush of that which you’d felt before must have been from the other man.

“then what are you?” he asks, voice gruff as he slowly approaches, trying to carefully manuever in between you and mrs. hadely.

“i’m human,” you answer, honest but withholding the full truth. “i promise,” you plead, trying to gauge his reaction without actually manipulating his feelings. when sam reaches mrs. hadley, he holds his arm in front of her protectively. there’s still fear and utter confusion rolling off of her.

“wh–what the hell is going on?” she asks, voice panicked.

“it’s alright,” sam reassures, trying to be as gentle as possible. “you just can’t make that deal. it’ll get you killed.”

“what? killed, i– but it seemed– it seemed fine?” you can feel doubt creep into mrs. hadley as well as she questions why she trusted you and russell so much without any real reason.

“trust me, whatever they promised you, it’s not worth it,” sam emphasizes. mrs. hadely goes to speak again, but sam returns his attention back to you. “what are you doing with a demon?”

“i… they have me trapped,” you say in a half-lie.

he clenches his jaw, but most of his distrust subsides because he feels more concerned for mrs. hadley than you. he tucks his knife somewhere accessible, and turns to the woman to comfort her. he tries to explain without too much detail that she should never sell her soul to anyone, but that it’s best if she tries to forget this all. but it’s clear to both you and him that she’s just panicking more and more. you easily read the way that sam wants to help her and it makes you want to do the same.

you mean to just send mrs. hadley a touch of calm and comfort, just so sam can get through to her. but you yourself are panicked and overwhelmed, never having been in such an out-of-control situation, and your strong desire to help her comes out unfiltered and unhindered by your usual careful control when you deal with humans. suddenly, mrs. hadley is grinning from joy, even laughing a little. for a moment, this seems fine to you. you fixed her fear, didn’t you?

but sam turns even more confused and worried. this, in turn, confuses you and breaks your concentration, and she falls back into an even stronger fear as she realizes starkly that she’s been experiencing emotions that aren’t her own.

she bursts into tears. “what– what was that?” she cries. you feel quite overwhelmed by her strong emotions.

you frown deeply. “i– i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to– i mean, i was just trying to help. i didn’t want want you to feel so afraid. i can help, though, i promise. i just– i was distracted and humans can be so sensitive.” you begin to approach with your hands still in the air, but you halt when her fear spikes even more and sam’s hesitance returns in full. they don’t want you near. you consider manipulating both of their emotions, just to get them to allow you closer, but you think better of it at the last second. they might grow even more wary if they notice the change in their own feelings.

“did you do that?” sam asks.

you deflate in guilt. “i’m sorry,” you say again, filling your voice with sincerity, “i didn’t mean to scare you,” you look at mrs. hadley, then proceed carefully, “but i can help, just a little, i won’t do anything crazy– i– i can’t do anything crazy, i promise. and i can make sure that no one ever bothers you again. you don’t have to let me close if you don’t want me to, but i really can help. just to… to calm things down a little and– and leave a little room for you to process. or, of course, i can just go and you’ll never see me or that guy again.” you look between sam and mrs. hadley, trying to calm yourself so you can get a proper read on both of their emotions without overloading yourself with all the information. mrs. hadley is just about as confused and scared as before, but you think that sam’s reassuring presence is helping her. you’re not so sure that your words have done anything to help. sam himself is still hesitant, but as some of his wariness slips away, you think he might be willing to hear you out or at least let you go unscathed.

“oh, you’re not going anywhere,” comes a gruff voice from behind you, along with the kiss of cold metal on the back of your neck. it’s a gun, you presume. you slowly lift your hands back up, having forgotten about the other man’s presence when he disappeared to take care of russell. you turn your attention to his feelings instead of the other two in case you need to use your powers to try and save yourself. he’s got aggression, calm anger, and a whole lot of protectiveness practically spilling out of him. he thinks you’re dangerous. he’s not necessarily wrong, but you really aren’t a danger to them, not unless you have to be.

“i’m telling the truth, i swear. please, just– just let me go.” you keep your voice steady, but pleading, trying not to let on just how scared you are but also appeal to their sympathy. you’re in danger, something that you’re completely unused to despite the way you grew up all around it.

“and let you get back to those demon bitches? not a chance. what even are you?” the man’s voice is unforgiving as he digs the gunpoint further into your skin, pressing for answers. you wince.

“dean, wait,” sam interrupts, “i don’t think they’re trying to hurt anyone,” he says, trying to reason before dean gets any more violent.

“sam, they’re clearly working with demons. i think that qualifies as trying to hurt people. we don’t even know if they’re human,” dean counters.

you’re about to speak again in your own defense when a familiar voice fills your ears.

“it’s always you boys, isn’t it? i should have known that the winchesters would crash my little soul-collecting party,” your uncle drawls.

“crowley,” sam growls, and you’re suddenly flooded with his anger.

your uncle completely ignores sam in favor of dean. “i kindly ask that you let my sweet pet go, squirrel.”

dean turns around, pulling you with him. “so they’re with you?” dean asks, voice accusatory.

“they are. and if you don’t hand them over, i will knock you out cold without a second thought. your choice, of course, darling,” crowley quips. you’re highly confused. the three clearly know each other, but your uncle has never mentioned anyone like the “winchesters” before. dean grows even more suspicious of you, sam confused and worried, and you know very well that crowley is only barely covering up his total anger. he’s anything but pleased to have found you in this situation.

“tell me why, and i’ll hand them over,” dean bargians, not realizing just how much he’s pissing crowley off. your uncle doesn’t even wait to answer before sending dean flying across the room and grabbing your wrist.

“let’s go,” he grumbles, tugging you along with him. you glance back at sam, who moves forward, trying to stop crowley until he too gets flung into the wall.

“uncle!” you shout in protest. “wait, i need to–”

“absolutely not,” he shouts back, “what the hell were you thinking? how’d you mess up a simple deal so horribly?”

“i’m sorry,” you apologize, suddenly remembering yourself. he’ll only grow more angry if you continue to protest.

“damn those winchesters,” he grumbles to himself. as he drags you home, he continually complains about them, cursing that you got mixed up with them and pounding into your head that you should never, ever get involved with the winchesters.

⟢⟢⟢

honeybee cafe is just about the only solace that you have. it’s away from your uncle and the other demons, the place you always come when you’re allowed out without supervision. on top of that, it’s small and quiet, and you never visit during crowded hours. technically, you’re required by crowley to stay somewhere with other people so you can practice your powers on them. you picked this cafe for it’s cozy, quiet atmosphere, and the general lack of patrons from one to three pm. that way, you’re never overwhelmed by too many emotions. it’s usually just you, another regular or two, and the few workers. maybe it’s a little odd, but you feel secretly close with the people whose emotions you tune into over and over again. and you certainly don’t manipulate their emotions as crowley likely wishes you would.

you always sit in the corner furthest from the door, facing the rest of the small shop so that you can keep an eye on anyone who comes in or chooses to stay inside. sitting with your favorite beverage and a book you picked up from the library beforehand, you relish the comfort and warmth of the sunlight coming in from the window behind you. your room at home has no windows, and that just about kills you. you love windows.

only the soft tinkle of the bell on the cafe door interrupts the focus you lend to the book in front of you, and you look up on instinct. your breath catches in your throat as you immediately recognize the man who walks in. he doesn’t notice you, but you watch him as he orders a coffee. as he waits off to the side, you turn slightly, and you’re too late to cast your eyes down before he catches your gaze. his face lights up in recognition and surprise. he takes a step towards you before he’s interrupted by the barista’s call of his name. quickly, he takes the cup from their hand and thanks them before turning back to you. you weren’t planning on speaking to him, not after your strange first encounter and crowley’s warnings against him, but you feel an odd sort of relief when it becomes clear that he wants to approach you, to talk to you. he had left an impression on you when you’d met. he’d just seemed so… good.

his eyes flicker around the cafe as he comes closer, likely looking for signs of demons.

“i’m alone,” you assure him, smiling carefully as he gets close enough. he nods, slowly sitting across from you when you nod at the seat. “though i have to be back by evening or someone will come looking for me,” you explain, mouth forming a small frown as you think about it. he’s confused and concerned as he looks at you, and it feels sort of nice to guess that he’s maybe worried about you.

he seems unsure of what to say, so he just jumps right into it. “i never caught your name. i’m sam winchester, though i’m sure you got that before. can i ask… are you an empath? i did some research since we last met.” he gives you a tense sort of smile, not because he’s nervous, but just because this second meeting feels very awkward.

you nod and give him your name before anything else. “and yes, i am an empath,” you confirm, unsure if you should explain further or not. he seems to understand well enough.

he’s a bit more hesitant the next time he speaks. “and can you explain your… situation? you said you were trapped, and crowley seemed very possessive of you… but i thought i heard you call him uncle? whatever it is, i can help you get away from him, my brother and i have dealt with crowley too many times to count.”

his immediate offer to help and instinct to suggest you just leave crowley are both sort of overwhelming to you, but a part of you likes his words.

“oh. i– well, it’s complicated. crowley, he’s– he’s sort of my only family.” sam’s eyebrows raise a little in questioning. “we’re not actually related, or anything, but he raised me. he’s– well, he’s taught me everything i know and… i can’t– i can’t really leave. besides, he’s really not all that bad,” you try to excuse, suddenly feeling oddly defensive in a way that you can’t really explain. “and i get days to myself like this, i– i have my freedom, i just… before, i didn’t want you to think i was trying to hurt people, or that i like to, but uncl– crowley doesn’t really know… that i don’t like the things that he… that he asks me to do for him.”

suddenly, this wave of sad understanding rolls over you from sam, and you’re not sure why. his face doesn’t change much as he listens, but to you it seems like he thinks you’ve said something so sad.

“but it’s alright,” you quickly try to amend, “he thinks i’m weaker than i really am. that way he doesn’t suspect when most demon deals i’m a part of fail. i have to… i have to get some to work so that he thinks i’m trying, but i promise i try to hurt the least amount of people possible. and.. and he still lets me have my days out when the deals fall through. i botched two yesterday, but i’m still here, aren’t i?” you attempt at sounding lighthearted, but sam’s sadness doesn’t go away much. instead, you just feel compassion blooming from him as well.

“i understand,” he says kindly, “i didn’t think you were trying to hurt people. i believe you.” he’s completely sincere and you realize that that’s not something you’re too used to from almost anybody you talk to.

“thank you,” you sigh in relief, smiling and trying to show him that you’re sincere too. “your brother? dean?” sam nods. “he didn’t believe me,” you state.

sam cringes a little. “he can be like that. he–” he purses his lips, looking for the right words, “he doesn’t trust very easily. he’s very suspicious of people he doesn’t know.”

“i don’t think he really thought i was a person,” you say, starkly honest in a way that surprises sam for a moment. you don’t quite understand what his surprise was for, but he quickly shoves it away before you can ask about it.

“he’s– he’s working on that. i’m sorry he made you feel that way,” sam says, truly feeling apologetic.

“well, i didn’t feel that way. just him. i know that i’m a person,” you smile, trying to reassure him and wishing he didn’t feel sorry.

sam smiles back a little. “right,” he nods, “well, i’m still sorry he thought that way about you. he’ll come around.”

“thank you, sam. but you don’t have to feel sorry, it’s not your fault he felt that way,” you assure, completely sincere and trying to work out why sam would feel sorry about something he didn’t cause, nor that he agrees with. he’s already proved himself to be kind and believing enough.

“sure,” he agrees, trying to figure out the right way to explain what he means as he begins to understand how truly sheltered from normal human interaction you’ve been. “but i know how it feels to have someone doubt how human you are and that it’s not a good feeling. so i’m just sorry and empathetic that you had to experience that.”

you nod in understanding. “ah, well, that’s kind of you… you’re right. it wasn’t the most pleasant thing to feel, but i understand that dean was feeling sort of afraid and definitely mistrustful. you didn’t really find me in the most trustworthy position. but if i meet him again, i hope you’re right that he’ll come around. i really am just a person, but i get that i’m, you know, not one hundred percent normal. really, empathy’s a very human thing, mine’s just… exaggerated, i guess.” you look at him, head cocked to the side in confusion. “but you, sam? why would someone doubt how human you are? you feel things just like a human.”

sam gives you a half smile. there’s a tinge of bitterness when he answers, but the way he talks and feels makes it seem as though time as softened most anger or sadness. yet, it also feels as though he’s never really talked about this much.

“i used to have psychic powers. i’d have visions, these premonitions before people died.” he explains it as something so casual, and he’s trying to feel that way about it, but he really seems to care. “in a way, i was barely different from you. of course, i’m still not. we’re both people.”

“really?” you ask, curious, “i didn’t know other people had that sort of thing. and your powers? they’re gone now?”

“it seems like it. i haven’t had a vision in a long time,” he answers.

“you seem relieved by that,” you note. sam picks up on the tinge of sad disappointment in your voice.

“i am,” he answers honestly, “but not because it’s bad to have those sort of powers. i just didn’t really enjoy getting visions of people dying violently.” he gives you a tight-lipped smile to show you he’s okay being lighthearted about it all.

you relax. “right, of course. that must have been hard,” you give him a small, kind smile, “i can feel that it was hard. i’m glad you don’t have to go through that anymore.” you’re all sincerity, and sam smiles right back.

“can i ask what it’s like for you? to have these powers?” he asks, careful and kind. he wonders if you get headaches or terribly tired of feeling other people’s emotions all the time, but he doesn’t want to make you talk about it if you’d rather not.

you’re slightly taken aback by the question, and not because you don’t want to talk about it. you just never really have at all before. you realize the simultaneous oddness and loveliness of this conversation. not once have you spoken about your powers with another human before, much less one who has some understanding about them.

“well… i guess i’ve never really thought about it much. just because i’ve never known anything else. i honestly don’t remember much from when i was young, but crowley’s been teaching me how to use them for as long as i remember. it’s both better and worse with practice, i guess. and the way i learned was kind of odd.” you pause, unsure if sam wants to really hear about it all. but he gives you an encouraging nod and you feel genuine interest coming from him, so you continue.

“i started learning with demons, but they feel a whole lot less than humans do. and i can’t feel or manipulate their emotions as easily or strongly since my powers are geared towards humans. but since that’s how i learned, it’s decently easy now, though it technically takes more effort than it does for humans. now i’m practicing on people, and it’s sort of too easy. it takes much more control because i’m used to exerting more power on demons. and humans feel things much more strongly, and are much more sensitive to change. i’ve gotten much better, but if i’m distracted or overwhelmed, my control slips. that’s what happened with mrs. hadley.” suddenly, you remember her. “is she okay?” i made things worse for her, didn’t i? you think.

“she’ll be alright,” sam says. “she was shaken up, but she was doing much better when i left. don’t worry too much about her.”

you almost want to ask again, if she’ll really be okay, but it seems that sam will most likely give you the same answer he just did. “okay,” you relent. then you realize you did more explaining about how your powers work than what it’s like for you. “to really answer your question; it’s my norm, and i’m not sure what it would be like without them. but sometimes i think it might be nice if i didn’t have them. i would’t have to help the demons, and it can be… overwhelming. i’m used to the demons; their emotions are easier to tune out. but with people? well, they just feel a lot. of course, i’m used to my own feelings, but to feel that, plus everything else around me, especially when someone could be feeling so much all at once is just… it can be a lot. i’m learning how to tune it out, but honestly, i’m still figuring it all out.”

sam thinks you look a little embarrassed when you finish, and he certainly doesn’t want you to feel that way. “that makes sense,” he reassures, “i barely had any control over my own powers. i can’t imagine how difficult it is to be in control of something so complicated and fickle as emotions. most people can barely deal with their own emotions. being able to feel everyone else’s too can’t be easy at all.

you nod in simple agreement. “it isn’t. but i’m also glad for it. sometimes, unc– crowley has me use it for his, you know, demon things, and i don’t like that. but i think my powers are part of the reason why i’m able to hate it. i’m so connected to humanity, the good and bad in everything that people feel, that no matter how i grew up, i’ll always have empathy in its rawest form. and though i don’t get too many chances, and i mess it up sometimes, i can help others when i’m away from the demons. last week, there was this girl in here,” you smile lightly at the memory as you begin to recount it to sam, “she was smiling and nice to everyone, but i could feel how just sad she was. i paid for her drink and told her she looked pretty, and the way that it made her feel… i didn’t even have to use my powers. she was just so grateful and happy that she teared up. and i barely did anything at all. that’s what keeps me going,” you say, completely honest, “knowing that i can help and that it’s my choice when i do it.” you feel like some huge weight has been lifted from your chest. you’ve never said this all aloud, and certainly not for someone else to hear. but something about sam and his sincerity and goodness makes you feel comfortable enough to say almost anything at all.

sam looks at you with a sort of admiration and total understanding, and that alone is almost enough to overwhelm you. it seems like, in all your experience in feeling, sam is showing you more, all by himself and without even trying. to be understood, so fully in so little time, is not something you’d ever felt for yourself before.

“i know what you mean,” he says, and you absolutely believe him. you want to know him, more than you’ve ever wanted to know anybody. you want to know all about what he feels and why and what he likes and how he knows what you mean without being able to read your feelings like you can his. and you know that he feels just about the same way you do. he wants to know you just as much as you want to know him.

and so you talk and talk and talk until you realize that the sun is dipping low in the sky because you begin telling him how much you love windows. then it’s a sort of frenzy; you’re worried you’ll be caught and try to leave right away, but sam catches your wrist, his calloused hand so gentle on your skin. he asks for your number, but you don’t have a phone, so you tell him to come back at the same time next week if he can. then you rush out and he watches you go.

the next week, sam appears in the cafe doorway at 1:24 pm, and he looks all soft when you smile at him wide. before you have to go again that day, he hands you a cheap phone with both his and dean’s contact already in place. he tells you it’ll make things easier because he might not be able to make it again next week. he doesn’t know when he’ll be on a hunt or not. then he tells you not to call dean unless it's a true emergency; dean still isn’t sure about you.

when you go, you forget to ask him how to use it. so, when he texts you on thursday to tell that he’s on a hunt, and might not make it to your meeting spot on sunday, you’re very unsure what you’re supposed to say. figuring out how to use the phone itself isn’t difficult, but you’re unaware that your simple response of “that’s okay.” is a bit bare-boned and dry in response to his kindly worded message. over time, you get used to how sam talks over text and learn how to emulate it.

and when sam calls you for the first time, you’re completely taken aback. you’d seen people talking over phone calls many times, but you’d never actually done it yourself. you accidentally hang up on him four rings in, but he calls you back a moment later. your surprise is delighted when you hear his voice through the speaker. then you discover it’s just like a demon call without all the blood involved. you also discover that, while you can pick up on emotions from his voice, you can’t really use your powers at all through the phone.

he regretfully interrupts your long spiel about the different pastries you’ve tried from honeybee cafe, telling you he has to go. you ask why, confused that you can’t just keep talking since you’re now able to through the phone. you love talking to him, and you think he enjoys it too. then he tells you that he was just calling to see if you could meet a different day this week, like he asked at the beginning of the call, and that dean expects him to be doing research for a case right now. you ask why he didn’t just text like normal, why he’d call if he didn’t want to keep talking.

“i do want to keep talking,” he reassures, “it’s just that i don’t have the time right now, but i thought calling might be a little easier than texting this time around. but i can call you again later tonight?”

“okay,” you respond, happy enough with that solution. after that, you call him any time you have something to say. he laughs to himself, completely endeared when you call him to tell him that you saw a very cute cat, then hang up seconds later before he can even respond.

eventually, you come to learn that he can’t actually pick up most of the time, but he tries to as much as possible, and that calling is nicer when you both have the time to actually sit down and talk. as you get to know sam, you learn many, many things along with all the questions he answers about himself. 

most amazingly, you learn what it feels like to fall in love with someone fast, and what its like for them to fall right in love with you too. whatever connection that you and sam felt the first few times meeting each other very easily and naturally turns into love. there’s this tug between the two of you, pulling you closer to each other every time you meet. his hand brushes over yours and you smile at him brightly, and you constantly think about each other when you’re apart.

sam tries to take things slow, feeling a little bit like he’s taking advantage of you and your sheltered past. but you know what you want, what you feel, and what he feels too. he wants you just as much as you want him, and you see no reason not to give each other just that.

and it’s so glorious, because you don’t have to read his emotions to know that he loves you back. he makes it so abundantly clear with the way that he acts around you, the way that he looks at you, and the way that he kisses you. you’ve learned that you’d do just about anything for him. you’ve learned how to feel this wild joy that you didn’t know how to feel before.

and it’s true that you’ve learned other, less pleasant things. you hate aiding demon deals even more than you thought. you’ve begun to think that, maybe, almost everything crowley’s raised you to view as the facts of the world, aren’t nearly as true as you thought. you’ve learned that maybe you don’t really owe him so much for raising you or teaching you to use your powers, and you’ve thought the scary thought that he might’ve done it all just to use you. you’ve learned that you should be able to do anything you’d like without having to fear the king of hell’s wrath. that you want to, probably should, get away from crowley, and that feeling like you don’t have a choice isn’t healthy or good for you at all. you’ve learned that you’re still too scared, but you’d rather be with sam, and that every day you spend with him, you become braver.

you’ve also found out that loving in secret can be hard, and that you want to see sam all the time, not just the times when both of you can sneak away. apparently, dean’s still having trouble “coming around” to the idea of you. he doesn’t know that sam’s yours and you’re his. he’s worried that you’re manipulating sam in caring about you, but sam’s reassured you that his love for you is the realest thing that he feels. you couldn’t be more grateful for the fact that he trusts you so much. 

he trusts you so much that every weekend possible, he meets you in the cafe or the nearest motel and you spend hours just talking or laying in comfortable silence together.

he always books the room with the best view from the window and opens the curtains before you get there so that the sunlight bathes the room in warmth and light. today, the late afternoon light is especially pretty, tinted orange and casting a bright hue over yours and sam’s skin as you lounge in the bed together.

his arm is wrapped around your shoulders, both of you propped against the wall with several pillows. you hold his other hand, playing with his fingers and relishing in the feeling of his pretty nose against your cheekbone. because he can’t resist you, he likes to keep his face as close to yours as possible so that it’s very easy to kiss you. his lips will brush against your cheek constantly, and other times he lifts his hand from your upper arm to gently nudge your face closer to his so that he can seal his lips over yours.

you’ve already talked about lots of things today; the best toppings on salad, sam’s most recent case, the symbolism of rhododendron flowers in the book you finished three days ago, and surely more. but the last hour has been quiet, filled with more rustling of blankets, soft sighs, and occasional whispers more than anything else. you’re content, and sam is too, for the most part. often, you try not to be reading sam’s emotions, but spending so much time with him and being so close to him has put you almost irrevocably in tune with his feelings, and you can feel that something’s nagging at him. it’s both good and making him nervous at the same time, but you don’t say a word. you wait for him, until he’s ready to say whatever it is.

it’s when he presses another kiss to your temple that he speaks, voice a more steady volume rather than a whisper this time. “honey?” he says like a question, signaling to you that he’s got something to say, maybe something important that he wants to ask.

“yes, love?” you respond, trying to sound receptive to whatever it is he wants to talk about.

“i, uh, i asked dean if he’d try and meet you, and i managed to convince him. he– he doesn’t know that we’re together, love, but i told him i ran into you again. i think… i think he probably suspects that there’s more to it than that, but he hasn’t said anything about it and i’m taking that as a good sign. would you be okay trying to meet up with him?” he asks, careful and tentative. you can tell that he’s scared to interrupt the balance of things, but that he really wants this. you know how much he hates hiding this all from dean.

“of course,” you assure him quickly. you want the same as him. you don’t want to have to stay furtive and distant from sam so much. but you also have a question. “are we… going to pretend? you know, not to be together?”

sam’s face falls a little at that thought, and at the hint of sadness in your voice when you ask. “i don’t want to,” he starts.

“but you’re nervous,” you gently interrupt.

“a little,” he admits, giving you a small smile, “but i was going to say that it’s up to you. dean could… i don’t know, freak out and i don’t want you to have to worry about that if you don’t want to.” you nod at his words, feeling a bit embarrassed at your interruption. while you try not to let your ability to discern his feelings dictate exactly how you interact with him, you’re still learning that sometimes what someone feels doesn’t always let you predict what they want to say. and of course, he’s sincere about his concern for you, as always.

“well,” you consider his words seriously, “maybe we don’t have to tell him out right, but if he asks? we don’t have to lie?”

“of course, honey,” he nods, “i’d never lie about being with you if he asked directly,” he promises, sealing it with a chaste kiss to your lips. if there’s one thing you know, it’s that sam is proud of loving you, and one of his least favorite things it’s having to hide it. he wants dean to know, he just doesn’t want him to say something scathing to you or try to keep him away from you.

“okay,” you smile. you understand his hatred for hiding it and his nervousness well. you’d be more nervous than he is now about crowley discovering what you’re doing and who you’re meeting with when you’re out on your own. “but you don’t have to worry, sammy. we’ll try to keep him from asking unless he’s reacting well. if he’s still too suspicious, i’ll know and make sure we won’t act in a way that will make him ask. we have time,” you assure.

now sam feels conflicted, because he’s both relieved by your reassurance and sorry you’d have to hide that he’s yours and you’re his. then he’s suddenly hit by this desire to hide anything at all. he doesn’t want to hide from dean or let the way that dean feels get in the way of him seeing and loving you whenever he wants. he wants to show dean just how good you are and how good you are for him.

“thank you,” he says sweetly, “but i don’t want to keep hiding it from him, not for any longer. you’re too important to me for that.”

you want to melt right into him. “you’re important to me too, sam. really, really important. we’ll do this on your time, yeah? whatever you want.”

“yeah,” he smiles, “and we’ll do other things on your time, and others on ours,” he says assuredly. 

you give him a nod as he reminds you that he’s by your side as you build up the courage to get away from crowley. sam has always been cautious about the topic, never saying too much until it was you who brought it up. the first time you told him you’d been thinking about escaping crowley, about realizing you don’t owe him your service or that he doesn’t treat you well, you had felt this surge of pride rush off of sam and onto you. outwardly, he was gentle and quietly encouraging, and he’s been just that since. he reminds you that you should do things at your own pace, but he’s there to do everything he can to help you. the more time you spend with him, the readier you are to stay with him, and just him. unlearning the things that you’ve had beaten into your head for as long as you can remember is nowhere near easy, but it’s undeniably better with sam by your side.

and less than a week later, you’re nervous and wishing for that exact comfort as you wait for him and dean to meet you in the cafe. you sip on your usual order, glad for its familiarity. after ten long minutes, your head shoots up at the sound of the door’s little bell ringing, signaling the arrival of sam and dean. dean walks in first, eyes scanning the small coffee shop until he sees you. you try not to look too nervous as you stand and send him an amicable smile.

you glance at san as he comes up from behind dean, giving you a reassuring smile. the sight of him relaxes you a bit, though you’re so in tune with his emotions by now that his own nervousness immediately washes over you. as dean approaches you try to get a read on his emotions as well. he’s less hostile than you expected, moreso careful, defensive, and begrudging. there’s also a hint of willingness along with it all, and you cling to that. there’s even some trust thrown into the mix, though you assume that it’s reserved only for sam.

“hi,” sam says kindly as he and dean take the seats across from you. you sit along with them.

“hi, sam,” you answer, reciprocating his friendly smile. “hi, dean,” you then say, turning your head to look him in the eye.

“hi,” he echoes, voice gruff. he settles his elbows onto the table top, trying to look casual and at ease, like he’s the one in control of the situation. “let’s, uh, skip the pleasantries. sammy here tells me that we should be protecting you from crowley. i don’t trust you and i’m not convinced you even need protection at all, given that you were helping him with his little demon deals. i’m also not convinced that you’re not using your freaky powers to make him trust you.”

“dean,” sam hisses. you feel a spike of anger from him when dean uses the word ‘freaky.’

“it’s okay,” you say, smiling a little at sam. you honestly appreciate dean’s frankness. “i understand that. i know we didn’t meet in ideal circumstances. i might not trust me either if i were you. and i’m honestly not sure exactly how i can convince you to, but i’d be grateful if you’d let me give it a shot.” dean looks completely skeptical. “without my powers, of course,” you rush to assure him.

“and i’ll know that how? you can literally change the way that i feel. it’s not really a good look for you,” he points out, earning a glare from sam that he completely ignores.

“you’re not entirely wrong,” you acknowledge, “but that’s a lot easier said than done. first of all, the effects of my powers are only temporary. i can only use my powers on you when i’m around you and focused enough. aside from that, you’d most likely be able to tell if i did use them.” dean raises his eyebrows in suspicion, so you go one to explain further. “you’re aware of what i can do, and you’re rightfully wary about it. that means you’ll most likely pick up on even minute changes in your emotions that i make. when you’re aware like that, you can overpower me. my abilities are strong, but frankly, authentic human emotions are stronger. long story short, i can’t do much at all to you. and while sam’s less wary than you to begin with, he’s still aware enough that the same applies to him. either of you would know and be able to overpower my hold on your emotions if i tried anything. the most i can do is get a read on what you’re actually feeling.”

dean still looks skeptical, but you sense a bit of his unease being to slowly slip away. “how do i know you’re telling the truth?” he demands.

without a word, you send just a small wave of trust and comfort through him. for a moment, he relaxes, but just as quickly, his scowl deepens and his own distrust replaces your influence. your affect on his emotions is easily pushed away.

“that’s what it would feel like if i were trying to get you to trust me with my powers. that was about as subtle as i can be with emotional manipulation, and you still noticed. all i can do is tell you that you’re still skeptical, but a little less than when you walked in here. and i can hope that means that you’d be willing to hear me out. i really, honestly could use the help.” you add as much sincerity to your voice as you can, relying on almost all logic to convince him.

dean scowls even more when you mention his feelings and read them accurately, but he does seem to realize that you read a whole lot more than what you actually said aloud. he also can’t say that he thinks you’re lying. it was easy for him to pick up on your influence. almost immediately. “fine,” he grumbles. “no promises, though.”

you nod, relaxing a bit despite his words being less than kind. “that’s fine,” you accept. “thank you.” you glance at sam, suddenly feeling unsure. he gives you a sweet nod and smile and you take a deep breath before forging on. “i don’t know how much sam told you about my… situation. but… for a long time i just didn’t really know i had any other option than to stay with and help crowley. and you don’t have to believe me, but, for the record, i really don’t enjoy helping him. but i think that he’d freak out if i left. and maybe send an army of demons after me, which i do realize would be highly inconvenient for you…,” you trail off, feeling more and more nervous. you take a deep breath to recollect yourself and give your full explanation as to why dean should be compelled to help you. 

“but crowley’s also bound to find out that i’m holding my powers back and purposely sabotaging his demon deals. and let’s just say that nobody wants that. he wants my powers and i don’t know what lengths he’ll go to to get them. so… if you help me, you’ll be keeping my powers out of the hands of the king of hell, which means slowing down his demon deals and making sure i’m not doing whatever evil demon-y things you think that i might.”

you can see dean contemplating, sense his feelings shifting. he intertwines his fingers and looks at sam with a raised eyebrow. sam nods, his expression completely serious. dean turns back to you.

“alright,” he says, “this is nowhere near the worst deal we’ve ever made. we’ll take you with us, keep crowley and his demons at a distance, and you can get out of our hair and onto your own life once things settle down. sound good?” he asks the question like he’s already made the final decision.

“thank you,” you sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. it’s not perfect since he still doesn’t know that you’re totally in love with sam and he’s totally in love with you, but it’s a better start than just about anything else. then it suddenly hits you that you’ll really be walking away from crowley, and that scares you. sam manages to catch your gaze. he looks at you with a hint of concern, but also relief as well. you can see him asking with his eyes, should we tell him? it’s you that gives him an encouraging nod this time. if you want, you’re saying.

he gives you a smile, and you know it means that he’s going to tell dean, right here, right now. you’re about to smile right back, but your gaze catches on movement behind him. your face drops, and you feel the blood drain from it. you don’t catch sam’s worried look that he gives you before he twists in his seat to see what you’re looking at. everyone reacts just a little too late, and crowley slides into the seat beside you.

“well, hello boys! darling,” he looks at you pointedly before turning back to the brothers. “not quite the trio i expected to find today! or ever, considering the fact that i expressly ordered you to stay away from the winchesters, isn’t that right, darling?” he doesn’t even look at you, but you cringe away from him slightly. a wave of protectiveness rolls off of sam as he clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to pull you right away from crowley.

you avoid crowley’s question entirely. “what are you doing here, crowley?”

“crowley? what happened to uncle? you’re breaking my heart, darling,” he drawls, faking a dramatic offense. “just because it’s one of your free days doesn’t mean i can’t visit you, does it? especially not when i get a report that the winchesters are headed inside your favorite cafe. as your caretaker, i was very alarmed. these two are quite dangerous, you should know.”

sam looks at you carefully, wanting to speak up for you, but not wanting to say what’s yours to say or decide what’s yours to decide.

“i’m leaving with them,” you say to crowley, blunt and too scared to force out any words that aren’t simple. “i don’t want to keep helping you collect souls.” pride and relief wash over sam. it feels good to sense.

but crowley’s anger is the opposite. he’s red-hot mad. “after everything i’ve done for you, you’re going to try and leave with the bloody winchesters?”

“i never asked you to do anything for me. it’s not like any of it was ‘for me’ anyway. it was all for your own gain. sam’s done more for me than you ever did.” you let that last sentence slip out without trying, but you find yourself too angry to be in complete control of the things you say. angry, and afraid.

both dean’s and crowley’s eyebrows shoot up. “sounds like you’ve been spending time with dear sam now, have you?”

you swallow, biting the inside of your cheek before speaking. “i– i have. and i’ve learned much more important things from him than i have ever did from you. so you can just give this up and make things easy. i’m not going back with you.”

“i raised you,” crowley growls. “do you know how much i hate children? but i still raised you, taught you to use your powers and made you stronger than you ever would’ve been without me. what the hell could this giant twat have done for you that’s better and more important than that? and don’t dare say something horrible like love. have you never considered the power that you’d have by my side? clearly you learned nothing of loyalty! you’re completely thankless and a complete dimwit if you thought i was going to just let you go. i’m taking you back, whether you like it or not, and you’ll stay in your room until i’m positive you won’t set foot near dearest dean or your stupid, freakishly tall boyfriend. is that understood?”

“no,” you choke out, reaching for sam’s hand across the table. crowley looks like he’s about to explode. dean quickly puts his hand out to interrupt.

“we’re getting stares,” he says, “we can take this outside.”

“no,” sam counters, standing and pulling you up with him, guiding you to stand by his side. “we’re gonna go. and you’re not following, crowley, unless you want my demon blade shoved up your ass.”

“do i look like i care about stares?” crowley seethes, standing and grabbing your other wrist. you yank at his hold to no avail, and sam moves to break his hold as on you he continues to speak. “i will toss both of you winchesters and everyone else in this godforsaken place across the room until you’re all knocked out cold, if that’s what it takes.”

“let me go,” you insist, voice almost a snarl, right as sam tells him to get his hands off of you.

crowley ignores you, even as you struggle against his iron grip. “you first, moose,” he says through gritted teeth.

the second that dean steps closer to the three of you to intervene, crowley flicks his free hand and sends dean crashing into the farthest wall. a few disjointed screams ring through the cafe and spikes of fear wash over you from all the innocent civilians. sam’s anger grows by tenfold and all of it has you squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. you know that crowley wasn’t bluffing when he threatened everyone in the cafe, so you untangle your hand from sam’s and stretch your arm out in front of him before he can lunge at crowley.

“it’s okay, sam,” you say, voice surprisingly calm. you stop struggling and sam looks at you with such desperation and pleading that you almost want to let him fight. but you don’t want him or anyone else hurt. “i’ll be okay. and i’ll be back.”

“no, don’t do this,” sam starts. crowley doesn’t wait for you to answer as he begins dragging you away. you stumble more than once, looking over your shoulder to see sam start after you. “you don’t have to do this.”

“don’t, sam,” you beg. “it’s okay, i promise.” your voice raises to a shout to make sure he can hear you as crowley pulls you through the door and away from sam.

⟢⟢⟢

you know without a doubt that sam’s looking for you. that he’s pouring every minute into finding you, that he’s probably skipping meals and losing sleep because of it. but you also know that you won’t be easy to find. either way, you’re getting out. out of this godforsaken room with no windows and drab walls and out of this life, away from this fear. and you’re going to do it yourself.

it’s not easy, per se, but it’s not difficult either. just tedious and time consuming. it’s fortunate for you that crowley’s narcissism can blind him to certain things, like the fact that you’re much more adept at using your powers than he thinks you are, or that the demon guarding your door, hazel, hates him for giving her such a boring job. he doesn’t even think that you’re capable of manipulating his emotions, given his extra power as king of hell, and that’s exactly why it works when you do.

your escape plan is simple, though not foolproof. but it seems to be working so far. each time that crowley checks on you, you boost all of the hatred and annoyance in both your guard and him. this makes crowley snap at your guard constantly, berating her and blaming her for things she didn’t do. in turn, this makes her hate crowley even more, to the point that her rage no longer needs to be manufactured. hazel hates him more than enough on her own.

even more subtly, you’ve done your best to appeal to her, mostly by complaining about crowley through your shut door and lessening her annoyance as you speak. at first, she’d tell you to shut up, but now, she listens if you don’t talk for too long, sometimes even complaining back. 

but today, when she began complaining about crowley to you, unprompted, you decided you’d throw all of your effort into escaping. she’s particularly spiteful, all on her own, and all day, you boost that feeling, complaining along with her and building up the sense of comradery she’s starting to feel with you.

crowley stops by, and you can feel her anger acutely. you do as you’ve done every day, making him annoyed so he says something scathing. with the strength of her hatred, you’re impressed that she doesn’t say something back, something that would likely get her killed by his hands.

instead, she waits until he’s gone, and begins to mutter to herself how she’d love to cut that haughty smirk from his face. you lean against the door, making noise so she knows you’re there.

after a few moments, you speak. “you could just leave,” you suggest casually. she scoffs, trying to sound annoyed at you. truly, you can tell just how much she’d like to do exactly that.

“and risk getting hunted down by his minions? not a chance,” she growls.

“i hate him just as much as you do,” you remind her strategically. “if he’s not in charge, you wouldn’t have to worry about his minions, right? whether it’s now or later, i’m getting out and i’m making him pay. he doesn’t know that i have the power to turn every single one of  his demons against him. he thinks i’m weak, but i can topple his kingdom, and i will.” you infuse your words with venom and conviction, just how any demon would like. then you fill her with conviction too, making her believe your words easily. “all i need is to get out of this goddamn room.” to you, her silence is loud, but her feelings are louder. hazel grapples with her hatred and her fear and her utter spite. 

“i know you have the key,” you remind her. crowley would never bother to be the one to unlock it each time you need food. “we can both disappear, right now. crowley will get what he has coming for him, i’ll make sure of that.” you send her a wave of boldness and reassurance, confidence that this would be a good decision. it’s easy to feel when you tip her over the edge. a split second later, you hear the door unlock and come face to face with her determined expression.

“this isn’t a favor to you. it’s for me,” she says, voice low and harsh. “i’ll be waiting to see what you do to him.”

easily, you act just how you know she’d want, eyes and voice ruthless like how you learned to be growing up trying to convince crowley you were like him. “trust me. i’ll rip his kingdom apart brick by brick,” you snarl. she nods, and you brush past her, feet light and quiet as you make it out of the building without incident.

once outside, you break into a run, unable to stay calm enough to walk. clutching the small bag of belongings you took, you make for the road. it’s a bit of a ways away, but you reach the highway, panting and desperately looking out for a car that’ll pick you up and take you to the next town over. all you need is to get on the train and head for kansas. you have the way to sam’s bunker memorized.

too afraid not to keep moving, you walk along the side of the road, listening intently for any car or truck. the area is quiet, frustratingly slow, and the few cars that pass you by choose to ignore the thumb that you stick up in the air.

it’s practically torture, walking and walking and waiting. waiting for something to go wrong, for crowley and his demons to find you within mere hours of your escape. your anxiety builds as your hunger and thirst do, and you want to sit down in the grass when you pass an exit sign signaling another five miles to the town with the train station.

but you don’t think you can stop, even with your parched throat, heavy feet, and anxious heart. it’s a strange feeling; elation mixed with nerves so strong you think you could throw up.

you perk up at the sound of a rumbling car engine, but deflate in disappointment before it even comes into sight from around the corner. it’s headed in the wrong direction, straight back towards the place you want to get away from. for a moment, you wonder if you should try and hitch a ride anyway, in case they can drop you off in a different town with a train station. then the car comes into sight, its sleek black body reflecting back the mild sun of the afternoon. you gasp, an impossible hope entering your body.

it had taken you a moment to recognize it; sam’s never driven the impala to see you before, but he’s shown you pictures of his brother’s beloved car. praying it could really be him, you wave your arms in the air, heart beating wildly.

the car slows and breaks a little ways away from you, and before it even comes to a full stop, the passenger side door swings open, and sam comes running out. he looks nowhere but you as he runs across the wide road.

“sam,” you gasp, voice barely loud enough for him to hear. you match his pace, running to meet him. he practically crashes into you, enveloping you in his arms and sighing out your name. you hug him back just as tightly, pressing your face into his neck.

“i’m so sorry,” he breathes out, “crowley was hard to find and–”

“shut up, sam,” you grinned against his skin, the affection clear in your voice. “don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. it was my choice and i knew i’d be able to find a way out. and i knew even better that you’d look for me.”

he barely parts from you, just so he can gently place his hands on the sides of your face and really look at you. “you’re amazing. i–” he stops himself from saying sorry again. “i know that wasn’t easy for you, none of it. but you did it. you did it, all by yourself. i’m so proud of you.” 

your heart lurches at his words. they feel too good to hear, too sweet, too full of relief. tears spring into your eyes as you really realize just how difficult it all was, as you’re hit with exhaustion from the walk and the fear and the uncertainty of it all.

“thank you, sam,” you whisper. it’s true that you did it all for yourself, but it may never have happened without him. “you helped me. so much, sam. and i missed you a lot, and– and–” you decide that if you keep talking, you’ll cry. so instead of that, instead of trying to come up with something to bring justice to the way that you feel, you kiss him. you remember that sam knows how you feel because that’s how he feels too. and though you can’t quite show him that in the way you experience his own feelings, you can show him by kissing him, and kissing him hard.

he melts into you, his hands impossibly soft, yet steady and so sure on your face. he kisses you back with the same ferver, right there on the side of an empty highway with his brother likely watching. he doesn’t care, not about any of it.

when you finally part, breathless, dean clears his throat loudly, and you grin at sam a little bashfully. he grins back. you peek around his shoulder to see dean leaning against the car’s hood, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“while i hate to break up the lovefest, i’m not sure how long we’ve got until crowley sends that army of demons you mentioned. let’s hit the road, kids,” he calls out to the two of you. 

in the car, it seems clear that dean’s attitude towards you has improved significantly since your last meeting. maybe it was seeing the way crowley treated you, watching you give yourself up in defense of sam and the others in the cafe, or seeing sam this past week and a half and coming to understand how much he really cares about you. whatever it is, you completely welcome the hesitant sort of affection that begins to permeate dean’s wariness of you.

then, there’s sam, sitting all content in the passenger's side and unable to stay still. he keeps turning to look at you, as if he has to be sure that you’re really there, sitting pretty in the backseat of the impala like he’s imagined a million times before. the only thing keeping him from sitting next to you is the fact that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands and lips off of you, and that would be a bit too much with dean in the car. so instead, he smiles at you all soft and listens intently when you explain how you got out. he tries not to talk too much to avoid bothering dean, but you can tell that dean doesn’t mind one bit hearing the happy tone in sam’s voice as he talks to you.

and for you, to be flying down the highway and looking at your sam, your revelry, your wild joy, you finally understand what freedom really feels like. what it feels like when it’s yours.

[ultralightpoe]

Strangers - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Please don't hate me. I was reading a Midsummer nights dream when I wrote this.

Warning: Fighting, ptsd

Word Count: 3151

Part One : Avoidance

Part Two: Chaos

My main Masterlist

Enjoy!

((Please don't hate me. I was reading a Midsummer nights dream when I wrote this. ))

“You mean to tell me that you’ve combed through every inch of that footage? That you have tried tracking her suit and you’ve-”

“YES BARNES! YES!” The surveillance employee snaps, snatching the glasses off his face and rubbing the point between his eyebrows. Never, not once, had Eric Micheals raised his voice at a higher man. Let alone the Winter Fucking Soldier. 

But he didn’t know how else to say it. They combed through every piece of evidence, every second of footage and all the villages nearby. They. Found. Nothing. 

“How does someone just disappear? Are there any blindspots in the-”

“Even if there were blindspots in the footage we would have seen her somewhere.” Eric snaps, and Bucky feels his fists clench, an unnatural anger pounding in his chest. Rationally he knew that the kid was just doing his job, but he felt like he couldn’t breathe without you. “If she left that building then we would have seen her.”

“We combed through the building to find her-”

“Enough.” Steve sighs, stepping between Bucky and his target. “We know Y/n got out. But she apparently didn’t take a natural exit.”

“Then how did she-” Nat begins but Steve cuts her a quick glance to silence her, turning back to Bucky. “We’ll figure it out, Buck. She’s out there-”

“I know she’s out there.” Bucky snaps, rolling his eyes as his flesh hand travels to the ache in his chest. “I can feel her, she’s right here.”

“You can feel her?” Tony scoffs, shooting everyone else a ‘can you believe this?’ look as Sam steps forward. 

“Then we keep looking, keep brainstorming ways to find her.” Finally Bucky lets out a breath, walking to his pal with a calm expression. At least someone here was in his corner. 

- 

There was a thick feeling in your chest, one that you could not quite explain, but you knew it was there. Like a cord was wrapped to your ribcage and pulling, and no matter which way you turned or walked you just couldn’t seem to shake it. 

The woman you were staying with often watched you closely, watching as you shuffled around her home in an attempt to ease the pressure, if she thought it weird she didn’t say anything on it. But then again it was already weird enough that she had someone in her house making plants grow at the speed of light and not have a clue as to who she was. 

But that didn’t stop her from taking care of you. She fed you a hot meal morning and night, gave you a warm bed to sleep in and often carted you around town to help with her work. 

She sold flowers, and ever since you had gotten involved she had never ending line out the door to buy your once in a lifetime flowers. 

You felt powerful and endless, and though you had no clue who you were you knew you had never felt this kind of power before. And even with all that you still felt…. Empty. Like you were missing something very important. 

Never ending, the pressure in your ribcage only tightening more. 

Like today, walking behind the strange woman with a hand on your side, following her around the market as people all stopped to turn to you with shocked expressions. You understood their expressions, and had been shocked yourself when you saw how long your hair had been and the vines growing around your arms that you just couldn’t seem to shake. 

You looked like a goddess.

You just wish you remembered who you were. 

- 

It was not long before the people around you figured out that just a touch from you was a healing spell, and soon enough everyone was desperate to touch you. People calling for you as you pass, screaming out a name you didn’t know as the stranger who saved you snatches your wrist, jolting back when the gray of her hair darkens back to the original color and some of the wrinkles along her face disappear. 

You can only stare, blinking slowly as she snatches her hand away quickly. And though you had no memories you knew what you had just done was wrong. A wave of panic fills you and you find yourself yearning for something. The smell of black coffee and spearmint filling your senses as she mumbles an apology. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” She mumbles, the russian accent heavier from the adrenaline. “Come. Come. We go before they find us.”

“I want to heal.” You croak out, showing your hands before gesturing to the groups you had left behind you. “I can help-”

“Okay. Okay.” She mumbles, slowly leading you back to them, this time careful not to touch you. 

You try not to be stung by that, and that heavy feeling in your chest dampens more. You were missing something. 

- 

He had to find you, he knew something was wrong. 

If anyone were to hear him talk about it they would think he was crazy, but he felt it. The lack of energy and the heavy feeling in his chest. It was like he could feel your pain even while he was away. 

“Buck.” Someone calls and he has to turn to find Sam walking to him, a small smile on his face. That was another reason Bucky knew something was wrong, he had NEVER seen Sam so sprightly. 

It was like you had completely healed every single thing. Something he had never seen you do before, sure you helped in the med bay sometimes but even that was simple stuff that took most of your energy. He remembers all the times he had come in himself needing stitches. 

-

“You know I heal fast, right doll?” He laughs, watching as you blush and not make eye contact while you continue stitching him up. 

“This will help heal you faster, and I would very much appreciate it if you would stop getting shot so much.” You try to smile, eyes widening as he gasps out to scare you, realizing what he had done a second later. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry,” He laughs, reaching his flesh hand up to swipe at your cheek. “I had to, you know it. You’re so anxious and I’m not gonna die on ya dollface.”

“I’m not your dollface right now Barnes”

“You’re always my dollface, even when you’re mad at me.” He smiles from ear to ear. “What time is your shift over, we can head over to the diner later.”

“Oh, I’m just helping out right now.” You smile and he blinks. 

“You’re helping out? Doing all this and not getting paid?” 

“I’ll let you buy me dinner as payment.” You smile, giving him a wink and then walking off for your next client. 

It still amazed him how you convinced Stark to take public patients to allow better access to medicine and tech that the Avengers could provide. 

- 

“Buck? You hear me?” Sam calls, snapping his fingers. 

“What?” The soldier asks, blinking slowly as he tries to snap you out of his thoughts for a second. 

“I asked if you wanted help watering Y/ns plants.” Sam repeats himself, moving to grab another water canister as Bucky thanks him and gets back to working. His thoughts go back to the clinic you had been running, something he checked on everyday to make sure it was still running-

“Y/n.” He gasps, snapping to Sam. 

“What?” 

“Y/n. I know how to find her. I know how to find my girl.” Bucky laughs, dropping the water canister and splitting from the room with Sam hot on his heels. He dashes to the surveillance room, shocking Clint and Natasha on their shift. 

“What now Bucky?” Clint groans, turning on his hearing aid as Nat slaps his arm. 

“I know how to find Y/n-”

“Barnes, we have been through this. We’ve check-”

“Check the news for towns near the compound we rushed. Check for any healing activity.” 

“Healing activity?” An intern laughs. “Like ibuprofen sales?”

His metal arm is reaching out quickly to snatch the shirt of the intern, pulling him up. “You about to make fun of the one person in this building who made you a specialized medicine for your mothers chemo therapy?”

“N-No man-”

“Sir.”

“NO SIR!” The kid cries out and Bucky releases him, rolling his eyes as the kid dashes past. “The Y/n I know would find a way to help anyone near her. And if she can heal Sam down to the lungs then she has enough energy to perform some miracles.”

“You don’t even know if she ma-”

“My girl made it out. And my girl is definitely out there making a change so let’s go.”

- 

There were a lot of sick people here, from asthma to cancer to allergies. And they all wanted your help, which you were more than happy to give. 

Child to mother to stranger to another child. Over and over they all kept coming. 

You did what you could, touching their forehead or hands, some of them asked for a kiss on their head. 

You did as much as you could, and hadn’t even realized when you started bleeding from your nose until the strange woman ushers you away, still not touching you herself. 

“Melina.” Someone calls, and a younger woman with blonde hair appears before you, eyes wild as she taked you in. “Is it true.”

“Yelena.” The brunette stranger warns, and just like that you had two names but there was only one stuck on your tongue. 

“Bucky.” You blurt and both women snap their attention to you. 

“She is a god.” Yelena blurts and Melina shakes her head. 

“A curse.”

“I’m lost.” You murmur, but they don’t seem to hear you, too busy arguing over each other. 

- 

“She went through the earth.” Bucky smiles, looking at the basement where they had lost you. Now unflooded and easier to search it was clear how you had managed to get out. You had quite literally gone through the earth. 

It was like you had sunk through like a soft mattress, in a moment of panic you drew from the earth. 

“Barnes.” Nat calls, red hair appearing quickly. “We got a hit.”

“We did?”

“You won’t believe what town we found her in.”

- 

There was a heavy commotion, the sound of heavy wind and the next thing you knew everyone was dashing to hide, which made your instincts snap out. 

Turning to look you see some of the dust rising up before you blink and see Cornell there, a silent scream tears through you as you dash for shelter as well, bare feet scraping against the concrete. 

You had lost Melina and Yelena that morning, and now you wish you hadn’t strayed as you make a mad dash through the area, hearing footsteps follow you. 

A small thud is heard to your right, a soft curse of a man, and when you look back to see you find a taller male with metal bird winds dodging from rocks being thrown by children. He ducks from their rocks, calling for them to calm down before the kids all yell out and run, when he removes his arm you spot a look of shock over his face. 

Before you can even realize what you had done you see vines grow quickly, snatching him by the ankles and throwing him up before he could retaliate. 

He searches around for the source, spotting you with a shocked look. “Y/n, IT’S SAM!”

But you were already dashing, the bottom of your foot scraping before it heals in a flash as you dash up a fallen post before a blur of red hair fills your vision and you are lashing out once more to protect yourself. 

Cornell had come back for you, you knew it. This was the end of it all. 

The female is blocked by a tree and another figure with a bow and arrow is pulled into the dirt as you dash up the post and climb into an abandoned building, moving to find a space to hide.

- 

“Jesus, she’s gone wild.” Clint gasps, trying to take his foot out of the quicksand you had formed under him while Nat moves around the tree to help him. 

“This is my fault.” 

“You know I love you, but right now I’m gonna have to agree.” The deaf man gasps as Steve and Bucky speed to them.

“Which direction?” Steve asks, but Bucky is already passing, almost like he could already sense where you had gone. Steve follows close and Nat gives one more look to Clint before he shakes her off and turns to Sam for help. 

“We should have brought the witch.” Clint snaps, allowing Sam to coach him out. 

Steve and Bucky take cover by the wall, looking to the post you had climbed as Nat takes the lead, being the first to climb up.

“Never thought we would be hiding from Y/n.” Steve whispers through the comns. 

“It’s not Y/n, she was panicked and scared and mumbled something about Cornell.” Sam grunts. 

“She said Cornell?” Bucky blurts, a little louder than intended . 

“No. I just gave you misinformation for fun-”

“Shut. Up.” He snaps, using his metal arm as leverage up the beam to get to you faster. “Y/n!”

The ground beneath the building shakes a bit, and he hits the floor of the building to hold himself stable, taking a moment to review his surroundings. No gun in sight, and no weapons shown. You were an enemy but you were also still attacking. 

“Y/n!” He calls again, the ground shakes more. 

“Barnes!” Nat calls, lunging in with Steve. 

-

“Y/N!” Cornell calls, but you couldn’t stop, you were running. You were free and there was nothing that was going to stop you now. 

You were no longer his pet. 

A shot rings out as the forest branches tear at your skin, and you don’t recognize the pain until you step on the leg that had been shot and a scream tears through your throat as you hit the floor, pain filling your body. 

You try to silence yourself, you really do but there is nothing that could stop the sobs as you try to pick yourself back up, you had to do this. You had to save yourself. 

There is a blur in the corner of your eye and you were sure Cornell had caught up, so you pull the strength to stand and keep running. 

- 

Once you hear that name, the name you recognize as your own, you can do nothing but run. 

There are people running behind you, but you don’t risk a look back, and you don’t have enough energy to fight them so you focus on running. 

This was something you knew, you were going to be free. 

There is a blur to your right, and you realize that you are running against people with superspeed and can’t really fight that. So you turn to the left, only to be tackled by a figure you hadn’t even seen.

“Dollface.” Someone gasps out, the feeling of metal and flesh wraps around you in a soft embrace as they try to slow you down.  “Cornell is not here. Dollface I swear it.”

- 

The blur had caught up, holding out his hands to you in a calming manner, doing his best to ease you down from the very tightrope you had formed. 

“Cornell is not here, okay? I’ve got ya. I’ve got ya.” The stranger hushes you, getting closer and closer. 

You recognized it now, you knew him. This was your closest companion. He had saved you from Cornell and he had come for you. 

So you take a deep breath, turning to him with tears in your eyes as you try to calm down, trying to remember how you had ended up here in the first place. 

“You came for me…” You whisper, a sob escaping your lips. “I’m sorry I ran.”

“It’s okay.” The man holding you eases, letting go of you slowly. “We’re here for you dollface.”

“Thank you….” You cry, missing the confusion on his face when you turn away from him. “Thank you for coming back for me Stevie.”

“I’m Steve.” The blonde stranger smiles, rubbing your shoulders. “But my friends call me Stevie.”

“Stevie…”

- 

Bucky is at an absolute loss of words, feeling you rush from his grasp to jump into Steve’s arms quickly, a pang of jealousy crossing through him when he sees Steve wrap his arms around you and kiss your head. 

This can’t be real.

He doesn’t know what to think, he doesn’t know what to do. 

Everything in him is screaming to grab your attention and bring you into his arms, apologize for ever ignoring you and taking what he had for granted. To promise that he will never leave you again and beg you to forgive him. 

But you are sobbing into Steve’s chest and before he can act on his thoughts he catches Nat’s eyes. But when he was expecting a warning from his friend he was mistaken, instead he saw a devastating jealousy written over her face as she watches Steve hug you. 

There is another sinking feeling as he realizes, finally, why Natasha had been so firm on protecting him in this situation. 

“You both are so wrapped up in each other that you forget to breathe without each other. Codependency hurts more when it’s forcefully torn rather than willingly.” 

Natasha had gotten attached…. To Steve. 

- 

Tony is waiting at the landing pad when the quinjet arrives, nerves in his stomach rumbling. He hadn’t received a confirmation from anyone, and that was never a good sign.  So he was the first out, watching as the ramp door opened and his team was revealed. 

A relieved gasp escapes him when he sees you, curled into a blanket with vines covering your arms and legs, a bit of green smudging your cheek and the tips of your fingers. He takes a couple quick steps forward, ready to greet you, until he sees Natasha storm down. 

“What’s going on Widow?” He asks, only for her to rush past with Clint on her heels. Sam follows, rubbing the back of his neck with a saddened expression. 

Bucky walks up next, jaw tight and his fists tense as Tony looks at him. 

“Why aren’t you with Y/n?” He hated Bucky, but even he knew this was unsettling. 

“Ask. Stevie.” Bucky snaps, shouldering past Tony as he finally looks back to where you are holding on to Steve’s hand, just like you had the first time he brought you here. 

“This is a mess.” Steve whispers, leading you to the door. “A mess I don’t know how to fix.” 

(Next and FINAL PART here )

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[imagineteamfreewill]

Powerful Magic

Title: Powerful Magic

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff

Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, they’re forced into an impossible situation with no way out. 

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You aren’t expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but life’s been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been years since you’ve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someone’s way, which is often because he’s always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.

Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. There’s no sign of Sam or Dean.

Damnit.

“So, how’ve you been?” Jason asks. “You look good, Y/N.”

You nod. “Good, fine. How about you? Are you still…?” You don’t dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.

“Still in pest control. It keeps me busy.” He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, it’s not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you don’t remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, he’d done it at some point… Right? Or maybe you’d just gotten used to the stench.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. “I was looking for you.” He pauses. “Who’s this?”

You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesn’t smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that you’re always grateful for, even if it’s being wasted. You know that he’s amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. He’s always a little more protective when he thinks you’re getting hit on by some creep. You can’t count the number of times he’s pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that he’s stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t think you’re capable. Sam does it because you shouldn’t have to fend them off on your own. You shouldn’t have to be in that position, but because you are, he’s not going to let you be there alone.

“This is Jason. He’s an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is my…”

You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldn’t. You and Sam are just friends. It doesn’t matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesn’t matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesn’t matter what Sam said the one time you’ve seen him really, truly drunk. You’re just friends.

“—friend,” Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell it’s fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. “Sam.”

Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. “Sam. And… Dean?” He glances between you and Sam. “As in…?”

You cut him off with a quick, “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we’re really cutting it close on time.” His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.

“She’s right. Dean’s waiting on us, and we’ve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,” Sam adds. “Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.

With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you won’t, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?

Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards he’ll need to ditch soon.

You’re going to make this worse if you don’t relax.

You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you won’t run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks.

Before you can answer, Sam nods. “Yeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.”

Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and you’re careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?” Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags you’ve put onto the trunk’s false bottom. Though there’s plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam won’t be able to hear it through the backseat. 

You don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, that’s all.”

“Partner?” You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.

“Not like that,” you huff. “We were just… partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. He’s only got two bags in hand, but there’s a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.

“If that’s him, I can see why.”

“Be nice,” you tell him.

“Was he at least a good guy?” 

You shrug. “He wasn’t bad. Just kinda gross, that’s all.”

Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and he’s watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Did he say something to you in there?”

“No. That’s not why it was weird.”

“I gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If I’m gonna ride in the car with the two of you—”

“I hesitated, okay?” you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and it’s not the sun. It’s still cloudy from last night’s storm. “I went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.”

Dean is staring at you like you’ve just broken into song. “You hesitated?”

Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal. 

“Yes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, ‘This is Sam, my….’” You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

His face twists. “Oh. Rookie move, Y/N.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what did you end up saying?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t. Sam finished and said he was my friend.”

“And you want to be more than friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. I’m going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.”

You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Dean’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesn’t say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but that’s all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book he’s loaned you. It isn’t one you’re particularly interested in, but you’ve traded books for the trip. You’re fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you don’t take his.

The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself. 

Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, you’ll most likely end up at the morgue. You’re not really in the mood for a dead body. You’ll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look up from the patron log you’ve been carefully sorting through.

“Yeah, why?” You try not to seem surprised that he’s asking, considering he hasn’t said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.

“You’ve been quiet since we ran into Jason.”

You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. “I’ve been reading the book you loaned me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This is your ‘I made a mistake’ quiet.”

Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.

“I don’t want to press—”

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” you finally say, still not looking up. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.”

He’s quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.

“What?” you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s not it,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not offended, Y/N. I don’t think you could ever offend me.”

The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. “Oh yeah? Not ever?”

He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where he’s sitting. “Well, maybe if you—”

“No, you can’t take it back now!” you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.

You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.

“So, you and Jason,” he starts, and you close the logbook. There’s nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books you’ve finished.

“What about me and Jason?”

“Were you ever… together?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Like, dating?” Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, “Yeah, for a little while, right before we split.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hmm.” You open the book, silently hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. It’s a sore subject for Sam, so you’ve respected the territory, even though you’ve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually don’t mind, considering you’d have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if you’re lying.

“You said he almost got you killed,” Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.

You look up from the book and he’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and you’re in public. It’s not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.

After a second, you nod. “Yeah. He… He used me as bait, and I didn’t know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.”

You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes. 

“I promise to never do that to you,” he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. “I know.”

“I will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. He’s not smiling back at you. Instead, he’s staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.

“I know,” you gently reply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath your feet. 

What was that all about?

You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but it’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and he’s never asked about your past love life. Sam’s a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.

“Dean’s got a lead,” Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way they’d come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You don’t mind.

As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you won’t be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.

“Ready?” Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.

You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the “potions” you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. It’s one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels. 

There’s another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadn’t heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, you’re lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.

“What are you doing?” Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.

“She okay?” Sam whispers. 

“I have to…” You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that it’s dangerous and that you’re being affected by whatever spell she’s performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way. 

Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but it’s as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. They’re useless against the effects of the witch’s magic.

Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. It’s an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.

She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. You’re in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screaming—every hunter’s instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead. 

Chanting louder, the witch’s eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight. 

This is wrong!

She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step. 

“Y/N!”

Dean’s voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.

“That’s it,” the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. “It’s alright, dear one.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. You’re almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and you’ll be within her reach.

Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoever’s holding you. You’re torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witch’s eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.

“Dean,” you croak. You can’t see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if you’ve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. “Dean!” 

There’s a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witch’s shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then there’s a heavy thud.

“Sammy!” Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees. 

You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that you’ve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You should’ve been able to resist the witch’s magic.

Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.

“Y/N!”

Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, who’s laid out on his side. Sam’s eyes are closed and your chest tightens.

“Sam!” you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witch’s sigil.

Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.

“Sam? Sam, wake up,” you plead.

“He’s still breathing,” Dean tells you. “She knocked him out with whatever that was.”

“Please, Sam. Please, open your eyes.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding, and you’re crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.

“Thank God,” you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Sam’s hand comes up to pat at your back.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. “I think so,” he says after a second. “Did you get her?”

You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, “She got away, but she hit you with something. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,” he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Just give me a minute.”

After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but you’re on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything that’s even slightly out of character.

“We’ll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I definitely have a headache,” Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you don’t blame him. You’ve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.

“I’ll take first shift,” you tell Dean. “Clean up and get some rest.”

He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends,” Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Huh?” Your heart skips a beat. What’s he talking about?

“It would really suck staying up with me,” he clarifies. “If we weren’t friends, that is.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile a little before plugging in your phone. “You want some water?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. You’ve got your back to him, so he can’t see the way you close your eyes, but he’s caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.

“I’m fine,” you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. “Just tired. I’m gonna go get some ice.”

Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“You already took your shoes off.”

“What’s a little tetanus between friends?” He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. He’s fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.

Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. You’re already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.

“What happened back at the hotel?” Sam asks.

You know he won’t judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You don’t want to see his expression.

When you haven’t replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, “Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You’re glad you kept it on. There’s a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, “Whatever spell she was doing… It’s like it was directed at me. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I was just—”

You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. You’re blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel. 

“It’s not your fault,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. “She was more powerful than we anticipated.”

Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. “I know.”

“You’re still you,” Sam says.

“What?”

“You’re still you,” he repeats. “No matter how her magic affected you, you’re still you. You’re not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.”

Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. “How is it that you know exactly what to say?” You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.

When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, “Because I know you better than anyone else, and because I’ve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap I’ve been through?”

You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation you’d had months ago after he’d had a particularly awful nightmare. “That you’re still you,” you repeat. “And that we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.

You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that he’s had so many that a few hours in front of a screen won’t kill him at this point.

Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if you’re going to find the witch sooner rather than later.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.”

You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he teases, stepping into your line of vision.

You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Sam asks.

Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.

“We’re heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Except back to bed.”

You sit up a little more, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick?” you ask Sam. “I mean, I’ve seen you when you’re tired, but you look…”

“Like he’s been hit with a spell,” finishes Dean. “I’ve already told him that, but he says that the witch didn’t say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. You’re on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should stay here,” you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.

“I’ll be in the car,” Dean tells you, and you nod. 

You and Sam stand in silence until Dean’s gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.

“Be honest.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sam.”

He sighs.

“Sam.”

“I’m… exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but I’m scared,” he admits.

Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. “Why are you scared?”

“The witch didn’t say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,” Sam says. “If she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.”

You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. “What if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if there’s any kind of lingering effect we haven’t seen yet?”

Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. “We already owe her.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You’re my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Because I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.

Nodding, Sam replies, “Okay. Okay. I’ll… I’ll give her a call.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should rest. I’ll keep an eye on you,” you assure him. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Sam.”

He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell it’s only for your sake. “You always do.”

You get up to grab your phone from where you’d left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadn’t said something, or if you’ve just forgotten it.

“I’m gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Sam? Did you hear—”

Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that he’s dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.

He’s okay, you reassure yourself. He’s going to be just fine.

You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as you’re done. She’s nearby. 

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats don’t seem to help him at all. It’s hard to tell since he’s been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner. 

Dean’s pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and you’re in even worse condition. You’re pretty sure that if she’d shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.

Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Sam’s chest. He’s awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.

“Well?” Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. “Is he alright?”

She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days. You’ve seen him look like this before, but it’s never been this concerning. He’s never managed to look this ragged so quickly.

“It’s a siphoning curse,” she explains, adjusting the jacket she’s wearing over her black jumpsuit. 

“Siphoning?” Dean questions. “Siphoning what?”

“Life.”

You suck in a breath. It’s cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. There’s recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.

“Life?” you ask her. “But… Then…”

“I’ll die,” Sam finishes.

You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No. There’s got to be a way.”

Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.

“Tell us,” you demand. “Tell us!”

You don’t mean to scream—you really don’t—but it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesn’t react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Dean’s tells you that he’s awake and listening.

Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. “How long?” you croak. 

“A week, at most,” Rowena adds. “It’s likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.”

Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. “No. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?”

Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.”

You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.

“Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. It’s the first show of genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, and it’s not enough. “But this is beyond even me.”

“And if we killed her?” Dean asks.

“It won’t have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once it’s taken hold.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Go home,” Sam finally says. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. “We go home.”

“Bullshit. I’m not taking you home just so you can die!”

“Dean. Enough. You heard what she said.”

Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, “I need a moment alone with Samuel here.”

Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and you’re not even on the receiving end of his glare.

“I might be able to give him some more time,” she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Dean’s arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.

“One of us stays,” Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction. 

Rowena nods, agreeing, “Y/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.”

“I need to know what you’re doing before you do it. No funny business,” he adds.

She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.

You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and you’re able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Sam’s been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since you’ve been away from the bunker more and more often.

As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. He’s watching you.

“What?” you ask after a second.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadn’t initially registered. “I probably look a mess right now.”

“Not any more than me, I’m sure,” he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, “You’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“What?” Your voice cracks. You hate it.

“Without me.”

You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. “Don’t— Don’t talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. We’ll find something, Sam. You’re not going to die.”

“I was going to die eventually. Everyone does.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” he asks.

You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but it’s not enough to steady yourself.

“I don’t want to live without you,” you finally say, your voice trembling.

Sam doesn’t answer, and when you look down at him, he’s wiping tears from his own face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.

Maybe it’s just finally settling in, you think.

His chest shudders as he takes a breath and it’s enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than he’s shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesn’t ask you to stop, and for that, you’re grateful.

Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You can’t bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Sam’s life. It’s a complex spell, one you’ve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where he’ll become comatose, but it’s more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.

“You’ll have to move for the spell, dear,” Rowena gently instructs.

Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Sam’s lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl they’ve retrieved from the Impala.

She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.

Stay strong, you urge yourself. He can’t help it.

The glow of Rowena’s eyes grows so bright it’s blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.

You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.

“Sam?” 

“Sam!” Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. “Your precious brother will be fine,” she soothes, a small smile on her face. “The spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. He’ll look better when he’s awake again.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you? Just like that?” Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.

Rowena scoffs. “Don’t forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.”

You’re gentle as you check to make sure Sam’s still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.

“She’s right,” you say. “He’s still breathing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands. 

“Now,” she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. “I believe some payment is in order.”

Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. That’s when you know that he’s fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Sam’s life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.

“Go,” you quietly urge. “I’ve got him.” You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.

You carefully move Sam’s hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever he’s giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You don’t interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you can’t save Sam. Dean’s jaw is still clenched, and you know he’s doing the same.

“We—” He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. “Y/N, we have to find something.” His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Dean’s eyes.

You nod. “I know.”

“We’ll— I’ll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe they’ll know of another witch that can help us.”

You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna take him home,” you tell Dean, not looking up.

“What?”

“He said he wanted to go home. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Like hell you are!”

Finally, you look up and meet Dean’s eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. You’ve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but he’s never looked this afraid. He’s a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.

“We have to try, Y/N,” Dean says, and he’s staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. “I can’t just let him die. Not like this.”

You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isn’t one to prolong the inevitable. It doesn’t matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If he’s made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.

Even if it kills me too, you think.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.”

Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. “I’ll start calling. See what I can find.” He’s just looking for a reason to leave the room so you can’t see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you don’t argue. 

You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where he’d been standing, as he starts to leave. He’s made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone needs to be in the bunker. It’s better if he goes with me than with you.” Before he can argue, you continue, “What if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we don’t keep in the car? What’s your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and he’ll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Then you two should get going. The sooner you’re there, the better.”

You’d driven together in the Impala, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. You’re lucky that it’s getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.

Dean loads your backpack and Sam’s duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, “Drive safe,” and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but you’re not opposed. It’s nice to know that you’re not alone in this.

The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowena’s spell, he’s lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as he’s in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, you’re thankful.

You, on the other hand, don’t sleep much. You probably should, considering you haven’t slept in 24 hours, but your brain won’t turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.

He’s getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. You’ve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just don’t have the energy.

It’s not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You don’t have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when he’s grieving. You’re not sure if he’ll go off on his own or if you’ll be able to stick together.

When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Sam’s eyes. His face, which you’ve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowena’s spell seem to have been short-lived.

“Good morning.” He’s leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and he’s managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt. 

You try not to let your bad mood show. “Morning. How’re you feeling?” you ask.

Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much you’ve slept. You’re lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.

“Same as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?” asks Sam.

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension. 

“Ohio,” you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the time—it’s after eight, and you’ve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. “We’ve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. It’s about twelve hours.”

“We can take shifts.”

You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesn’t react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.

“I’m not letting you drive, Sam.”

“I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not risking it,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you don’t look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching. 

“Does it matter?” you finally ask.

He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you can’t look away.

“If I only have a week—”

“You don’t know that, Rowena cast that spell—”

“—then I want to spend it with you,” Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know it’s not worth it, not if Sam’s made up his mind.

He continues, “I want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesn’t see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. You’ve never felt this helpless before, not even when you’d been held captive for a week. In that situation, you’d known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.

“I want…” Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed. 

I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.

“What are you thinking?” Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.

“This is all my fault,” you reply. You can’t tell him what you’re really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. It’s really not that much better, if you’re being honest.

“Don’t say that,” he says. He squeezes you once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Sam—”

“No, I love you, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he does—he’s your best friend, of course he loves you—but it hurts to know that he’ll never love you the way that you love him. He doesn’t have time to love you that way.

“I love you too,” you say after a moment. “I don’t…”

I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as he’s not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people you’ve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.

I can’t do this. He’ll just feel guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sam asks, and you look away.

“Never mind. I should get dressed,” you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach. 

Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sam…”

“Please. I don’t want you to hide things from me because you think it’ll make me feel even worse. Trust me”—he lets out a wry laugh—“dying is the least of my worries right now.”

You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.

“That really doesn’t make this situation better,” you scoff. “I mean, come on, Sam! I’m about to lose the love of my life and he says that he’s not even worried about it? How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, ‘Oh, okay! Let me tell you all about how I’ve had a massive crush on you—”

You stop talking the second you realize what you’re saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists. 

Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m gonna shower,” you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, you’re locking the bathroom door behind yourself. 

Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret you’ve been holding so closely for years, but instead it’s only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Sam’s feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that you’re the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think you’re in? A hunter’s life doesn’t allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.

“Um..” Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a rat’s nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt you’ve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.

“You can say no,” Sam adds. “I can wait out here for you.”

Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when you’d been by the bed just a minute before.

It’s probably just the lighting. He can’t be dying that quickly, right?

He doesn’t speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I reacted to that poorly.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that,” you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You don’t dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since it’s too late.”

He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You don’t.

“Who says it’s too late? I know it’s not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.

“This is my worst nightmare,” you tell him. “I didn’t even know it was, but it is.”

“What? Spending time with me?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, and you look back at him. 

The bathroom is tiny. It’s barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. He’s taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.

“Finish what?” you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? He’s not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunter’s life. You don’t deserve that kind of happy ending.

Then again, it’s not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.

He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too. And it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way. You don’t have to pretend to try and make me feel better. I’m not offended.”

Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. “I love you, Y/N. I—” He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping it’s enough to let him know that you’re there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, there’s blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.

“I’ve always loved you,” Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.

“What?”

“I’ve—”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I heard you. I just don’t understand.”

He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that you’re making this difficult for him. He’s balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.

“You should sit,” you urge, and he shakes his head again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sam. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m not going to fall over. There’s no place to fall in here.”

“You could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,” you argue. “You could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldn’t have the chance to catch—”

You’re cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than you’ve seen him move in since the curse, and you’re so shocked that it takes you a second to process what’s happening.

Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you. 

When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.

“Sam,” you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. It’s shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.

“You kissed me,” you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss. 

“Sam,” you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.

Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You’ve always loved the way Sam looks—you’d be crazy not to—but it’s the first time you’ve felt it’s okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but he’s also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, or maybe he’s just that beautiful. 

Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. It’s definitely both.

“What?” Sam asks, impatience clear, though he’s not angry. “What’s so important that I had to stop kissing you?”

“You kissed me!”

“I know,” he answers. He leans into your space a little more. “I’d like to do it again.”

There’s heat in your cheeks now. It’s hard to tell if it’s from how he’s making you feel or if it’s from his proximity, but you’re not complaining about either of those things.

“Why?”

He gives you a look, one that asks if you’re serious, but you don’t rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

You gape at him. “So when you said that you’ve always loved me…”

“I meant it.”

Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.

“So you…” You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. “You like-like me?”

Sam’s eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. It’s almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like you’re a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.

“Like-like you?” he asks. “Definitely.”

He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. It’s something you’ve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but you’re grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if he’s not. 

Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if he’s just asleep.

“Sam?” you ask. He doesn’t respond, and panic replaces the giddiness you’d felt only moments before. “Sam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.”

You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm that’s still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isn’t any.

Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, you’re sweating.

“Please wake up,” you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but he’s just as comatose as he was before.

After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Dean’s number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Sam’s still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something happened, we were just—” You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what you’d been doing, but Dean beats you to it.

“You were what, Y/N? What happened?” He’s shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did,” you choke out. “This is all my fault.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!”

Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. You’re on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm you’d felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.

“He’s still breathing normally and I made sure he didn’t bump his head or anything—”

“You’re supposed to be taking care of him!” Dean shouts. “Where are you?”

“Ohio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.”

“I remember. I’m on my way.”

You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, he’s pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.

“How far away are you?” you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Sam’s breathing while at the same time listening for his response.

Dean answers, but you don’t hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like he’s been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. You’re flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.

“Easy,” you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. There’s no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes. 

Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” you question.

He rolls backwards until he’s flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Y/N! Damnit, what’s going on over there?” Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that you’ve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.

“He’s awake,” you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. “He’s okay. He’s alright.”

“He’s— He’s okay okay, or just okay?” Dean asks.

You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, and he listens for a second before answering, “I’m fine. I think it’s gone.” He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. “No, I’m not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and I’ll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?”

“Tell him I’ll text him the address,” you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.

“Jerk,” he says. He smiles wider at Dean’s response. You don’t have to hear it to know what he says.

Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.

“Are you really feeling okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I don’t feel tired, and I’m not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?”

You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when you’d made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.

“You look a lot better,” you tell him, beginning to smile. “Like nothing even happened.”

Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “I know I said it before, but I mean it.”

Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. “I know. I love you too.”

He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath. “Okay?”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay.”

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Sam’s shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one he’d been using to prop himself up.

The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.

“I hear that Samuel’s on the mend,” Rowena says in lieu of greeting.

“I’m cured,” Sam answers. “Or at least we think I am.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but I’m not a mind reader.”

You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, “He was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.”

“Did you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?”

Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No. We were just talking and then—” He stops.

“And then you what?” Rowena prompts.

Sam’s eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s smiling again, and you smile back. It’s contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why he’s smiling.

“We kissed,” Sam tells her, not looking away. 

“I see.” Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. “When it’s reciprocated by both, true love’s kiss is a very powerful form of magic. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.”

You grin. “We will.”

She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again. 

“We definitely will,” he says.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

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[spongek-squidge]

My Headcannons for which bachelor(ette) is the most intimidating on first meeting

90% self indulgent headcanons 10% canon, let me have my fun~

#1 Shane

We all expected this one

Gruff old alcoholic man is not a very trustworthy or comforting persona

Also he’s rude when first meeting people so that doesn’t helps

Only reason he doesn’t completely scare people off is cause he’s baby faced (this fact annoys him greatly)

#2 Sebastian

Emo boy who lives in his mums basement, smokes and owns a motorcycle?

He’s literally the kid everyone’s parents told them to avoid

No matter if you love that bad boy persona or not there’s still that intimidation around it, ya gotta admit!

#3 Haley

She’s very mean

Literally comes off as everyone’s Highschool bully when you first meet her

She’s also just intimidatingly pretty on top of that so…

Pretty much a tie with Sebastian tho, I only put her lower because pritty gurl

#4 Alex

He a buff mysoginstic boi!

He’s like chill when you meet him but the bias leaks off him like the sweat when he’s exercising in his bedroom

Literally just a highschool jock, you move into town and think Haley and Alex are gonna be the biggest asshat powercouple

In reality they’re just some confused queers with dual mummy and daddy issues

#5 Abigail

Goth gfs are inherently a bit intimidating ngl

Also she just has a lot of energy and an urge to fight, that’s a fairly intimating combination-

Also if she could drive a car she would have biggest road rage, she got those vibes about her

#6 Harvey

Okokok hear me out

Ik he’s a big sad wholesome man but he’s also a doctor and anyone who sticks with the education system that long is a bit intimidating ngl

Also he’s a very tall boi and if you combine that with my head canon of him being dad-shaped it can give off an unintentionally intimidating aura!

Also people just don’t like going to the doctors so that won’t help

#7 Leah

She works out and it shows

It’s hot af but also a bit intimidating ngl

But she’s too chill for that to put her further up the list so here she be!

#8 Elliott

He uses big person words that I don’t understand

Big people words intimidate me

Words are powerful

But also I could easily beat him in a fight so he’s lower down than Leah

#9 Maru

One of her favourite objects is radioactive ingots

Need I say more?

Most of her intimidation comes from Demetrius being an overprotective cockblock tho, so it’s not as much her as her father

#10 Emily

She gives off chill aunt/cousin vibes

However she is also high as a kite 24/7 and that level of zoned out can be a bit freaky, especially when she zones out staring at you

She’s fine tho, would never take drugs that make her act up in a negative way

#11 Sam

He is a golden retriever and you can tell from the second you meet him

Big smile constantly and no thoughts behind those eyes

Only intimidation he could ever possibly have is the skater boy stereotypes, but other then that he’s got no negative vibes whatsoever

#12 Penny

I’m sure we all saw this coming, but she’s really not intimidating at all

She’s a shy woman that just wants to teach kids and read her romance novels and I love that for her

If she needed to intimidate someone she’d have to summon her mum to do it for her, no chance she’s scaring anyone herself

[starry-bi-sky]

clone danny's accident in the clone^2 au

Im thinking about clone^2 danny's accident in this au. he doesn't have his halfa powers in this au. He has his scary eyes and the ghost sense and the ability to see ghosts - kinda takes up a psychopomp role with his ghost cases - and enough ectoplasm to trigger the ghost defenses in his parents' house. But he doesn't have his ghost powers or his ghost half. He's just very strongly liminal.

And im just mmmmm thinking about how that came to be. When I originally made the clone danny au back in the summer i couldn't think of how he had his accident without putting him inside the portal, and I couldn't put him inside the portal and have it turn on and then just say "oh! he doesn't have any powers. he got hit with the full concentrated power of the sun a dimension with just a scratch"

like - like i can't do it. i just can't. i need some plausibility in my aus or i hit road blocks and can't continue (see: my jason variant au and why that took so long to post). but i was at work today thinking about clone^2 au and it hit me like a lightning shot. I think said in the original clone danny post that maybe he got electrocuted by the on button on the outside of the portal. But i was never really satisfied with that answer - it felt too placeholder-y to me. too simple. Less plausible to me than I liked.

so, solution: he still gets shocked by the portal outside, but its from a wiring issue that he spots outside of the portal. My first thought is; the portal had a wire that was unplugged. His parents, essentially, forgot to plug it in. Or maybe in all of their excitement they accidentally unplugged it and didn't notice. It just sounds like the right amount of cartoonishly silly that the Fentons are known for. "We put a second "on" button in the inside portal" -> "we forgot to plug it in"

Danny notices it while he's showing Sam and Tucker around the lab and the two of them are checking out the portal. Something caught his eye from the corner and while Sam and Tucker were talking, he went over to investigate. If this were canon, this would be just before Sam tells him to put on the hazmat suit and go into the portal so she can get a photo (iirc). (So he's currently in reg clothes)

And im imagining it as slightly off to the side. Its two black cords - an extension cord to the outlet and then the cord to the portal. and danny crouches down over it, frowning. his eyes follow the cord to the outlet, and then the cord to the portal, and he picks both up.

'did they forget to plug it in?' he thinks, turning his head to look at the portal's entrance. and logically he knows he should probably put the cords down and tell his parents, let them handle it since they have the expertise for this stuff. But...

his eyes draw back to the plug. it's just a plug. it'd be fine if he plugged it in, wouldn't it? surely, it'd be fine. he thinks about it for a moment.

he plugs it in.

immediately, the energy that had been building up slowly through the wires of the portal - the latent ectoplasm in the room being funneled through whatever tech his parents used to make it - goes through the cord. Like a dam bursting. In a flash, the portal turns on with a worrying bang.

At the same time, Danny is hit with a near-lethal amount of electricity. While not as agonizing as being inside the portal, danny still mentally checks out with pain. and he blacks out. when he comes to, he's laying on his back, still in the lab, with sam and tucker kneeling over him. they're talking - probably yelling, with panicked looks on their faces.

He can't hear a thing they're saying, his ears are full of the overly rapid, irregular beating of his heart and the pounding of his blood. His chest hurts like he's having a heart attack, and he grasps at his shirt as his breathing comes in short, labored.

"Hospital" he wheezes out, and sam gets up and sprints out of the lab upstairs. everything else feels like a blur - his parents and jazz are by him - his parents completely ignoring their swirling, working portal, someone's calling 911, danny's being loaded onto a stretcher with an oxygen mask over his face.

danny gets discharged from the hospital a week later, and sick leave from school for another two. his parents refuse to allow him back into the lab, stating it was too dangerous, and their work comes to near grinding stop to watch over him. It's honestly kinda sweet, but the hovering is annoying him - stubborn, independent teenager that he is. When he gets back to school he's still relatively sat out for phy.ed - he's been getting random heart palpitations (which had been at its worst when he was still on sick leave) and what the doctors think is a strange case of arrhythmia. Although Danny insists that he's fine - he's breathing, alive. Nothing feels wrong with him.

Then one day in class, Tucker turns to him to say something - a joke -and yelps - "your eyes!"

Danny on instinct turns his head to the window, frowning. And in the faded reflection, his eyes are burning shade of green like that of the portal. He blinks, breathing in sharply, and they're back to the his old bright blue.

Unfortunately, they're in english class, and the entire room was staring at them. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Foley?" Mr. Lancer asks from the front. Tucker is still wide-eyed and in shock, and he looks quickly between Danny and Lancer.

"I- no, um- Danny's eyes- they- were, um..." He looks panicked, confused.

Danny steps in, and leans over to Tucker. "I think he just spooked himself, Mr. Lancer." He says, looking frontward with his brows furrowed. "Sorry, it won't happen again."

Mr. Lancer looks unconvinced, and suspicious, but he lets it lie. "Are you feeling alright then, Mr. Fenton? Do you need to see the nurse?" It wasn't a secret to the school or student body that he'd been to the hospital from a lab accident - and that it'd resulted in heart problems that he was recovering from.

Danny grins at him, and pounds his chest lightly, "I'm fit as a fiddle, Mr. Lancer. No heart attacks here." He jokes, and leans back into his seat. Mr. Lancer stares, eyes squinty, and then returns to the lesson.

It keeps happening. Danny's eyes turn green at the most random of times, and the three of them begin wittling down what was causing it. In general, Danny's eyes were turning green whenever he was engrossed with something, or when he got emotional - when he was laughing, angry, upset, anything. Sometimes it resulted in heart palpitations, sometimes it didn't.

his ears were hurting too, aching, like when they were cold. Danny wakes up one morning and spends twenty minutes in the bathroom turning his head left and right - his ears were beginning to point. Sam thought it was cool - Danny just thought it was concerning.

He was seeing things too - apparently. He struck up a conversation with someone on the street once - a strange looking man who looked terribly pale and wore old clothes. He looked delighted to be talking to Danny - and then Sam and Tucker walked up to him and asked who he was talking to.

("What do you mean? I'm talking to him.") ("Danny, there's no one there.") ("What?")

After multiple instances of this, they configure that the accident had given Danny some sort of ability to see ghosts.

("So you're meta now?") ("Mm... I don't know. That doesn't feel right.") ("Oh come on, that basically fits the name to a tee!") ("I know, but I just- it doesn't feel right to call myself meta.") ("If you don't like meta, why not just call yourself liminal? Since the portal is supposed to access the afterlife and it gave you powers to see ghosts.") ("Huh, good idea, Sam. Liminal it is, then.")

And as time goes on - and his parents begin to catch and experiment on ghosts - danny adjusts to these weird new abilities. It's not so bad, he supposes, its just some creepy eye magic and a ghost sense. He can live with that, and no one needed to know. He could go back to being normal - right. ...Wrong.

Do his parents really have to catch ghosts?

plus additional sketch that i made at like 3am last night because i needed to draw it down -- aha ignore the inconsistent drawing ability that i have. i'm more of a writer than i am an artist.

[unhingedreblogging]

Danny was nervous, even though he shouldn't be. Clockwork told him in a rare moment of straightforward talking, that it was the perfect time to tell his parents the secret. It was the day before his 18th birthday, his parents were starting to question things about ghosts, and it was time.

The day started out like any other, Danny took a shower, went downstairs, and had breakfast, but before his parents could go to the lab to actually do some proper research, he had to stop them. "Mom, dad, I have something to tell you, and I need you to not interrupt me because I'm not sure I can keep going if you do."

It all comes out in a rush of air, Danny looking at his empty plate for a few seconds before risking a look up at his parents, who are giving him rapt attention. "Go on Dann-o, we're listening." His dad says, arms on the table, "We'll listen to anything you feel like you need to say sweetie." His mom adds.

A deep breath - that he doesn't need anymore - and he raises his head fully, squaring his shoulders as if taking on a huge weight. "It's about the portal, and my accident with it a few years ago... there was a safety switch you guys forgot to turn on, so the circuit wasn't complete. I found it when I was... inside the tunnel..." He says, the words falling from his mouth now, as if he couldn't stop them now that he dam was open.

"The wires on the ground made me trip up, I put my hand on the wall and... pressed the button. It all happened so fast I didn't even notice at the time, but... that's why it didn't work... and that's not all." His parents looked horrified at the implication, the portal was powered on the entire time, it would have completed the circuit and ripped the veil apart instantly, there would have been no time to get out. Danny pressed on after they don't interrupt.

"I came out of it... different... I know I told you I just got a shock and blamed all the dropping plates and cups on nerve damage, but... I wasn't dropping them, they were falling through my hands, intangiblity. It turns out that, well... a rip in reality opening on top of you does a lot more than give you a few powers... Mom, Dad... I'm the one who's been out there, every night, since the ghosts started coming through and..." Another heavy sigh, another breath that he doesn't need anymore, his heart beating drums in his ears. "I'm... I'm Phantom."

A gasp from his mom, his dad uncharacteristically silent and contemplative. Danny looks away from their faces, finding his empty plate to be very interesting right now. "I think... I think that's all I had to say, and I know you have questions, I'll answer all of them, but... just process all of this for now? Please? Give yourselves a few hours before you try and learn more. Just know the I never blamed you for anything, not one bit. I'll be over at Sam's house for a few hours, I'll have my phone on me, call when you feel up to it."

The Fenton parents are shocked still and silent as their son gets up from the table up clean his plate and put it in the cabinet, watching as he leaves the house. They wonder, in all of their years and knowledge, how they couldn't connect Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom, it tore them apart knowing all the threats they sent at their own son, all the times they shot him, all the times they tried to capture him. They had a lot to think about for the next few hours.

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with the Los Angeles Times (2024)

“This is where all the cruising happened.”

Jonathan Bailey and I are standing in Pershing Square on a bright, blustery spring afternoon, nearing the end of a homemade queer history tour of downtown L.A.: One Magazine, Cooper Do-Nuts/Nancy Valverde Square, the Dover bathhouse, the Biltmore Hotel and this, the city’s former Central Park, a haven, since before World War I, for “fairies” and “sissy boys,” servicemen on leave and beatniks on the road.

“Is it still happening now?” he asks.

“Probably not as much,” I venture.

“Well, you let me know if it’s happening,” he teases, a mischievous smile lighting up his face.

Bailey understands the uses of the charm offensive. As Sam, the handsome Lothario of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s delightful pre-”Fleabag” curio, “Crashing”; Anthony, the romantic hero of “Bridgerton’s” second season; and John, the jerk of a protagonist in Mike Bartlett’s love triangle play “Cock,” the English actor, 36, has swaggered up to the precipice of superstardom. With roles in such studio tentpoles as “Wicked” and “Jurassic World” on the horizon, he may just break through. Yet he delivers career-best work in Showtime’s queer melodrama “Fellow Travelers,” as anti-Communist crusader-turned-gay rights activist Tim Laughlin, by leaving behind the self-assured rakes and tapping a new wellspring: soft power.

Tim may be, as Bailey puts it, “an open nerve,” but as it turns out, the devout Catholic and political naïf — who falls for suave State Department operative Hawkins “Hawk” Fuller (Matt Bomer) just as Sen. Joseph McCarthy tries to purge the federal government of LGBTQ people — is formidable indeed.

Stretching from the Lavender Scare to the depths of the AIDS crisis, in scenes of tenderness, cruelty and toe-curling sex, Bailey’s performance communicates that little-spoken truth of relationships: It takes more strength to submit than it does to control. The former demands discipline, courage, trust; the latter requires only force.

“In ‘Bridgerton,’ [Bailey] is like a Hawkins Fuller character — he is very sexy and has lots of power, has that kind of confident charisma that absolutely is not Tim at all,” says “Fellow Travelers” creator Ron Nyswaner.

But any doubt about Bailey’s ability to mesh with Bomer, who boarded the project early in development, was put to bed with the actors’ virtual rehearsal of a meeting on a park bench in the pilot. “‘Well, that’s a first,’” Nyswaner recalls an executive texting him. “I cried in a chemistry read.”

‘Am I inviting people in?’

Bailey grew up in a musical family in the Oxfordshire countryside outside London, and this, coupled with an appreciation for the morning prayers, choir practice and Mass he attended as a scholarship student at the local Catholic school, fed his precocious talents. (“I loved the performance of it,” he laughs. “Not to diminish the celebration of religious process, but I did love the idea of wearing a gown.”) By age 10, he’d appeared in the West End, playing Gavroche in a production of “Les Misérables,” an experience he now recognizes as an encounter with a queer found family — albeit one shadowed by the toll of the AIDS crisis, which peaked in the U.K. in the mid-1990s.

“When I’m asked about my childhood, there’s so much I don’t remember, and I think that’s true of anyone who’s been in fight or flight for 20 years,” he says. “I would have been in a cast of people whose friends would have died in the last seven years. I think of where I was seven years ago. I had all my gay friends then. It’s only retrospectively that I can retrofit a real gay community around me [in the theater], that I just wasn’t aware of [then].”

During the late 1990s and early 2000s, American and British culture presented queer adolescents with a bewildering array of mixed signals. As beloved celebrities came out in growing numbers, and the battle for marriage equality became a central locus of LGBTQ political organizing, the media continued to propagate harmful stereotypes of gay men as miserable, lonely, perverted or worse — and, Bailey remembers, callously turned George Michael, arrested on suspicion of cruising in a Beverly Hills restroom in 1998, and Irish pop star Stephen Gately, who revealed his sexuality in 1999, fearful he was about to be outed, into tabloid spectacles.

No wonder Bailey, like many LGBTQ people of his generation, should feel the “chemical” thrill of “validation and acceptance” during London Pride at age 18, then embark on a two-year relationship with a woman in his 20s.

“Dangerously, if you’re not exposed to people who can show you other examples of happiness, you think that’s the easiest way to live,” Bailey says. “It’s funny. You look back and you can tell the story in one way, which is that I always knew who I was and my sexuality and my identity within that. But obviously at times, it was really tough. I compromised my own happiness, for sure. And compromised other people’s happiness.”

Disclosures about his personal life have become particularly thorny for the actor since the premiere of “Bridgerton,” the blockbuster bodice-ripper from executive producer Shonda Rhimes.

“The Netflix effect does knock you off center completely,” he says, recalling the experience of finding a paparazzo waiting outside his new flat before he’d even moved in. “Suddenly, you do start having nightmares about people climbing in your windows... Even now, talking about it makes me feel like, ‘Am I inviting people in?’”

He is also critical of the media for churning out headlines about the smallest details of celebrities’ private lives, often detached from their original context. In an interview with the London Evening Standard published in December, Bailey described a harrowing encounter in a Washington, D.C., coffee shop in which a man threatened his life for being queer — and, in recounting the experience, offhandedly mentioned the “lovely man” he’d called, shaken, after it happened. Although Bailey acknowledges that the original story handled the subject with aplomb, he felt dismayed that more attention wasn’t paid to the intended warning about rising anti-LGBTQ sentiment: “The only thing that got syndicated from that story was that I had a boyfriend, and it wasn’t true,” he sighs. “It was kind of depressing, if I’m honest.”

Still, Bailey, who once turned down a role in a queer-themed TV series because it would have required him to speed along revelations about his personal life he wasn’t ready to make, is prepared to embrace the power of vulnerability when it feeds the work. Although a member of his inner circle expressed doubts about “Fellow Travelers’” steamy sex scenes, for instance, the actor intuited that they were what made the project worth doing: “I was like, ‘I’m telling you, they are the reason why this is going to be brilliant.’”

‘He’s changed my trajectory in my own life’

To those who would complain about the state of sex in film and TV, “Fellow Travelers” is the perfect riposte. All of it matters, from Tim’s first flirtation with Hawk to the finale’s closing minutes, because the series, at its core, is about the importance of soft power: the strength required to bend, but not break; to adapt, but not abandon oneself; to survive without shrinking to nothing in the process.And depicting that through sex, specifically gay sex, makes “Fellow Travelers” radical indeed.

Bailey understands that baring so much comes with certain risks. When I tell him that research for the story has filled my algorithmic “For You” feed on X (formerly Twitter) with speculation that his onscreen relationship with Bomer has a real-life element, he notes that “shipping” fictional couples and costars alike has long been part of Hollywood fantasy. But he bristles at the implication that he and Bomer are anything but skilled actors at work.

“I would love for people to know that the success of our chemistry isn’t based on us f—. It’s actually about us leaning into the craft,” he says. “It’s a vulnerable situation to be in, talking about it on record. I don’t want to rob people of their thoughts. But I do have a set of values, and as an artist, you don’t need to be f— to tell that love story.”

Underlying that craft, Bailey adds, is the confidence to speak up, as with one scene in “Fellow Travelers” that was adjusted because he said, “I don’t want to be naked today.” He learned to use his voice the hard way: In his early 20s, he recalls, he was once “bullied” on set when “someone was threatened” by him and vowed to himself, “I’m never going to do that to someone. I’m never going to allow that to happen.”

This impulse to direct his influence in support of others has blossomed further with “Fellow Travelers.” On the day of our interview, Bailey enthuses about an upcoming meeting with legendary gay rights activist Cleve Jones and shares his idea for a docuseries recording the stories of elders in the LGBTQ+ community while they are still here to tell them. He describes lying in a hospital bed on set on World AIDS Day, in character as Tim, surrounded by gay men who had lost friends and lovers during the crisis, and finding himself thinking, “What do I want to leave behind?”

“I think he’s changed my trajectory in my own life,” Bailey says.

This is, perhaps, the most common reaction I know to diving deep into queer history — the understanding that we, like our forerunners, are responsible for shaping the queer future, whether in politics, society or art. No one is going to do it on our behalf.

As we stand on the nondescript corner now named for her, I relate the story of the late queer activist Nancy Valverde, who was arrested repeatedly while a barber school student in the 1950s on suspicion of “masquerading” because of her preference for short hair and men’s clothing, and later successfully challenged her harassment by the police in court.

“What a hero!” Bailey exclaims, wondering at Valverde’s bravery. “The thing that’s so interesting with power battles is, ultimately, identity is the thing that gives you the most strength and power in your life, isn’t it?

“Because that’s one thing people can’t take away from you: who you are and how you express yourself.”

Source

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 18

Welcome to another WIP Wednesday!

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

Arc 1 AO3 Link

Arc 2: Part 1, Previous

Word Count: 1.7k

-----

From the radio station, the four traveled to the television studio for their next interview. The host had listened to their radio interview and helped summarize much of the information before asking further questions.

Tim and his teammates called into question the biases of the Drs Fenton and hoped their criticisms would bring others to think twice before taking their word as gospel.

When they were finally done, it was almost nine.

Tim shot off a quick text to Bruce for his morning check-in. He noticed Conner texting someone, too. “Who’re you talking to?” he asked.

“Sam. She says Danny’s still passed out. But her parents are talking about some sort of press release the mayor is planning on putting on at City Hall at ten.”

Cassie groaned. “Ugh, more reporters. Please say we don’t have to go.”

“We should,” said Tim. “But we can go in civvies.”

“Can we at least get breakfast first?” asked Bart. “It’s been hours since we woke up!”

“Yeah,” agreed Cassie. “I’m starving. Let’s get some food. I think I saw a diner when we flew to our second interview.”

Before Tim could consider protesting, Conner had him secure in his arms and TTK and they were in the air.

“Lead the way, Wonder Girl.”

Tim scowled to hide his smile. “Oh sure, don’t listen to your leader. Just do whatever.”

“You’d let us starve?” wailed Connor. “Then we’ll stage a mutiny!”

Cassie laughed. “Yeah, see how long you remain in charge of a hangry speedster, half-kryptonian, and demigoddess.”

Tim grinned. “Oh, but you forget I know you all very well. I can win you back to my side. Starting with Kon.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” demanded Conner.

“Easy. I’ll just bribe you with Alfred’s cookies and a great movie. If I add in a dash of ‘I need your help’ and my puppy dog eyes and you’ll be eating out of the palm of my hand.”

“That’s another square on my bingo card!” called back Cassie. “And look, we’re here!” She pointed down to a quintessential American diner with green glass windows.

The group met Bart a block away in an alley where they shed their gear.

“I’ll tell Sam what we’re up to.” Conner pulled out his phone to send the message.

“Quit wasting time! We’re on a deadline,” moaned Bart as he positioned himself behind Conner and tried to push him towards the street and breakfast.

Conner laughed and refused to budge, so Tim figured a demonstration of his power was in order.

He got in front of Conner and pouted at him. “I know I was joking about not allowing breakfast, but I’m the one who didn’t eat before the interviews. An omelet is calling my name.”

Conner groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Fuck you, Rob.” But he stalked forward out of the alley.

Tim and Bart exchanged grins.

“Seriously, Tim,” said Cassie. “This trip has been great for my bingo card.”

Tim stuck his tongue out at her and jogged to catch up with Conner.

Breakfast was simple but tasty and they devoured far too much food. Their waitress was clearly impressed with her first exposure to a speedsters appetite. Add in a super and a demigoddess and it was obscene.

All too soon, however, it was time to go to the mayor’s press conference. As they made their way there, they joined a growing crowd. Clearly many people were interested in whatever the mayor had planned.

In the crowd, he could hear comments about their interviews. It seems both had been posted online and already had thousands of views. Some people seemed to be sympathetic to them, but others were mistrustful of the “outsiders.”

“If they’re such good friends, why did it take so long for them to come here?” asked one man of his friend.

“I’ve a cousin in Central City. She says trouble always follows a superhero,” said another.

Tim exchanged a look with Conner. He’d be able to hear more conversations and could share his perceptions later.

Before long, they were entering City Hall. Already the seats were full, so they were forced to stand in the back. Jack and Maddie were sitting near the front. Jeremy and Pamela Manson sat on the opposite side of the room as them, but also were near the front of the room.

Tim exchanged looks with his teammates to make sure they saw both couples. Conner was glaring at Maddie and Jack.

“They’re complaining about our interviews,” said Conner. “Throwing around guesses that we are either possessed or have already been brainwashed by the ghosts.”

“At least we know they aren’t observant. Maybe they won’t notice us.”

Mayor Montez stepped up to the podium and everyone fell silent. “People of Amity Park, we have been faced with a threat the likes of which we’ve never before seen! And based on the events of this morning, it doesn’t seem like we’ll be able to rely on outside help to get us out of it.”

A stone sunk in Tim’s stomach and he exchanged looks with his friends.

“We only have one piece of business today: Defeating the ghosts that infest our town. And to do that, I'm calling for a vote to cede all ghost policing and security decisions”—he held up a photo of Maddie—“to Maddie Fenton.” As Tim watched, however, the mayor’s eyes glowed red and he winced. “I mean Jack,” he corrected, holding up a new picture of Jack Fenton. “The completely competent Jack Fenton.”

“He’s overshadowed,” breathed Conner.

Tim nodded and was already sending a message to Sam, Tucker, and Danny. “And who knows who else.”

Before they could say anything else, the mayor continued, “And we’ve located the ghost responsible for all the terror inflicted on our town.” He held up a picture of Phantom. “Whatever some outsiders may have tried to lie to you about this very morning.”

A gasp rang out among the crowd. Tim glanced at his friends. Conner was glaring at the mayor fiercely and Tim attempted to step in front of him, as pointless as their relative sizes made the action.

The mayor smiled viciously as a panicked crescendo rose from the crowd. Tim’s phone vibrated in his hand and he saw a response from Sam.

Sam: We saw Sam: Danny is on his way Sam: And we’re following as fast we can

Under his breath, Tim muttered, “Conner, you and Bart should go suit up. Cassie and I will stay and keep an eye on what’s going on. Stay close, but try not to be seen unless an attack happens.” Subtly, grateful for their places against the wall, he passed over the thermos he’d taken with him that morning.

Tim heard Conner’s sigh of relief as the two slipped away. He hated pretending to be a civilian in a crisis. Even more than the rest of them.

Cassie whispered, “I almost hate you for keeping me here.”

Tim just bumped their shoulders together.

The mayor, or rather the ghost inhabiting him, raised his arm and silence slowly fell. “We cannot call for outside help. Those who call themselves the Young Justice today proved that the so-called heroes of this world will defend our enemy over us. That they will spread lies to keep us subject to the whims of these ghosts.” The last word was spat. “So we must solve the problem ourselves. Jack Fenton, if the people of this town agree, you and those you train will be our defense force, will you do this?”

Jack near jumped three feet in the air in his excitement. “I’ve been training for this my entire life, Mayor Montez! I’ll be honored.”

“I believe we must institute martial law! The 9 PM curfew will remain in place. No one will be allowed on the streets alone. No loitering. The park will be closed until further notice. Same with the public pool and library and a number of other locations. Drs Fenton, will you be able to set up buildings protected by ghost shields where people can gather for safety?”

Whispering broke out among the public. Maddie stood tall next to her husband, though being continually overlooked in favor of him was clearly grating on her. “We can. Fenton Works is already protected and within two days we can have another shield up and ready. Within the week, we could have five.”

The whispered were almost loud enough to drown her out by the time she finished speaking

“Order! Order!” called Mayor Montez. “All in favor of declaring martial law, and allowing the completely competent Jack Fenton to mobilize a massive ghost hunt, please say—”

But cutting off the mayor, Danny, in his Phantom form, suddenly appeared in the air in the middle of the hall. “I might be too young to vote, but I’m casting one anyway.”

Around them, everyone gasped and people began backing away even as Danny shifted to look at them. Tim and Cassie both tensed and prepared to run.

“You people have to listen to me,” urged Danny. “I’m on your side.”

Mayor Montez took a step back as members of his security moved to stand in front of him. Jack and Maddie jumped up and glared at him.

“You’re not fooling anybody, ghost kid!” declared Jack. “You are going down!” He reached back and pulled out the Fenton fishing rod, the line was horribly tangled and Jack began messing with it. “As soon as I finish untangling this thing.”

Cassie let out a disbelieving huff.

Tim shook his head. “Apparently,” he replied to her unasked question. He pulled out his phone and shot a message to Bart and Conner.

Rob: get back here now Rob: All 4 of us are needed

Before he even finished typing his last message, Bart was at his side. Just in time to see Danny mutter something and shoot an ectoblast at his parents who were thrown back with the force of it, destroying the podium and leaving a burn mark on the ground.

“Shit,” muttered Tim. “Cassie, let’s go. Impulse, try to help where you can.”

“You’ve got it.”

----

Next

And so the best of intentions go awry!

I can almost taste the end of this arc, but for all I know, that'll take another 10k to finish. So we'll see what happens. Hope you enjoyed.

I no longer do tag lists, but please check out the Subscription Post if you want to be notified of updates.

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

Always

Dean Winchester (Supernatural) x GN!Hunter!Reader

Disclaimers: The only character I own is the reader insert.

Author’s Notes: I’m writing this the day after I swore I’d never do angst. Ironic, huh. I’m working on getting more power across in my words- hopefully that shows.

Anyhow, this is set after <S2 SPOILER> John dies saving Dean. Obviously, given the nature of his passing, Dean can’t talk to Sam about it- but in this story he has someone he can talk to.

Icons by @gosling-girlx !! ❤️❤️

As always, all notes are very much appreciated!

Content/Content Warnings: This is angst at its finest. A 16+ audience would be preferred on this piece.

“What if, for just once in your life, you manned up and actually talked to me?” My voice is loud. It’s booming, and it’s borderline angry. My hands are balled into fists at my sides, and my jaws clenched.

I’m just so done. I try so hard with Dean, and I’m always patient. When he doesn’t want to talk, I don’t pry. I’m there for him whenever he needs me, however he needs me, wherever, at any hour, without so much as a second thought. I’ve never faulted him for not being able to say “I love you,” or for not being gentle when I need him to be. And I will always do these things.

But I am not okay with being told to “Stop fucking doing that,” ‘that’ being me trying to ask him if he’s okay. I let him get away with a lot of things, maybe more than I should, but outright cussing and waving me off? That’s too much.

So fine. We’ve been yelling at each other at least ten minutes now. Far too loud for a shitty motel with paper thin walls, surely, but right now I need him not only to hear me, but to listen to me.

He’s stood down after that last question. His shoulders slumped from their tense posture, his jaw no longer clenched. He’s trying so hard to retain his scowl, but I see the tick in the corner of his mouth. I see the way that his beautiful green eyes start to water.

No matter what cruel things he said to me, I refused to retaliate. He can swear at me all he wants, but he won’t get the same treatment in return. Because nothing can take down the thick walls of the elder Winchester like human decency. Something he’s never properly gotten from anyone- his own father included in that omniscient “anyone.”

“So?” I ask, my hands still fists. I won’t back down until he does, I can’t give him the chance to roll his eyes and turn away like he would with anyone else.

“I-,” his voice gets caught in his throat. “Cause I’m no man, sweetheart. Certainly not man enough for you.”

“Cut the shit, Dean,” the swear slipped out of my lips before I could stop him. I see him flinch, and my heart pangs, fists unclench. Suddenly, I’m not so fired up. “Sorry, sorry. Listen, this isn’t about what you are for me. Because if it was, we wouldn’t be fighting. You’re perfect for me, Dean.”

“Just-,” I stop myself, moving back to sit on one of the dingy hotel beds with its ugly orange gingham duvet. I sit cross-legged, back against the flat puke-green pillows propped against the headboard, looking up at Dean who is still standing in the same spot like a statue. “C’mere,” I pat the bed gently.

He obeys wordlessly, a listless quality to the way he drags his feet to where I’m sat. He doesn’t sit, though, a clear tentativity in his watery eyes. “Dean, it’s okay.”

Okay to cry, I want to add.

Okay to feel.

Okay to be human.

He sighs. “I’m just not good at talking, Y/n. I never had anyone to talk to- my dad was my boss more than anything, I had to- have to- be strong for my brother, and anyone else who’s come into my life seems to fit into one of those two categories.” A singular, perfect tear runs down his face. His expression is stony, but his voice… while as deep as always, it has a broken quality to it, something he’s trying to hide.

“Dean. I’m not anyone. You can talk to me, you can be broken with me,” I urge, mentally willing him to come sit by me so I can touch him, hug him, anything.

Finally, he sits. I don’t reach out to touch him, not yet. He looks shaky.

“Listen. I know Sam’s been up your ass trying to get you to talk about him. I know aren’t big on touchy feely stuff, and I ain’t gonna push you. But I need you to stop lashing out at me when I ask you if you’re okay.”

His cheeks are flushed, eyes wide. His lower lip quivers, finally breaking his scowl. A sad, splintered chuckle leaves his lips. “Y’know, he’d do the same to me. I’d ask, sometimes, after a real bad hunt, and he’d lash out… I’m too much like him, y/n. That’s why I don’t want to talk about him.” His voice is just a little too steady, almost artificial.

“You’re not too much like him, not at all,” I say, reaching out to him, but stopping before my hand can touch his. I’m letting him be the one to pull the trigger, to decide if he wants physical touch right now. “You’re better than he could’ve ever hoped to be, Dean. He knew that. Sam knows that. I know that.”

And that’s what breaks the dam, tears freely falling down his stubbled cheeks. He takes my hand in his, holding tight before I tug at him, inviting him to lay in my lap. He obliges, head resting in my lap. I take initiative to run my fingers through his hair, something that I’ve found soothes him.

“I just-,” his voice is broken, there’s no hiding it now. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” I murmur. “I just want to help you be okay, that’s all.”

We sit like that for a while, his head in my lap as he cries. He doesn’t sob, but occasionally choked up noises escape him, and it breaks my heart seeing him like this. Eventually, I find it in myself to speak again.

“I know he never really said it, Dean. But he loved you, he did. He trusted you. He was thankful for you,” I tell him, wiping some of the tears off of his face.

John Winchester might’ve been a sorry excuse for a man after Mary died, fine.

But it was clear that he loved his boys, especially Dean, even if it was in his own fucked up way.

I hated the Winchester father. Quite frankly, I still do. For the way that he had put revenge in front of the care of his kids, for the way he treated his kids, even into their adulthood. I mean, making an eight year old take care of a four year old? How bad of a father can you be?

He’s a son of a bitch. But in the end, even though the bastard never once validated his elder son (nor his younger)- and he should’ve- he died for Dean. And I know Dean’ll blame himself for it. But the fact that his dad loved him… that might be enough to make the self-resentment more lenient. That and the fact that he has me.

I won’t let him hate himself or feel unloved. I think John knew that- that Dean would have far better support if he was gone. I’m know he knew how much Dean respected and idolized him, but I also know damn well that he knew damn well that he was not good enough for his son. Not nearly good enough.

So hopefully, between me and Sam, we can mend the hole in his heart. Help him feel whole again.

But for now he needs this. To cry, to feel. Something he never felt he could, not in the presence of anyone else.

Gradually the tears slow to a stop. He sniffles, wiping his face, but not moving his head from my lap. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“Always,” I lean down and kiss him on the forehead. “I mean that.”

“I love you.”

There’s no stutter or pause in his words. He’s said them, plain and simple, as if this isn’t the first time he’s been able to get the words out. I guess it’s my turn to cry, because I feel a tear trickle down my face, landing on his. He grins a crooked grin at that. “Is it that bad a fate?” he jokes.

“No, no,” I choke on my laugh. “I love you too.”

And sure, there’s going to be more nights like these. Nights where we fight, and maybe sometimes they won’t end so well, so neatly.

There’s going to be more fights. Stupid fights, nasty fights.

But there will also be more I love yous. More holding. More feeling.

And no matter what happens, I’ll be there for Dean Winchester. Always. And I mean that.

[randomshyperson]

Shadow Preachers - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: In a reality where the blipped ones were the ones who stayed, Wanda loses you for five years. The reunion doesn't go exactly as planned, because now she is more than your girlfriend: she is the Scarlet Witch. And nothing will take away what she lost once.

Warnings: (+18), mild angst regarding the whole blip thing, alcohol consumption, language, established relationship, a lot of trauma buried, milf wanda controlling things, age gap, unintentional magical manipulation, darkhold drama, kissing and making out, a bunch of smut at the end with power plays, magical insemination (mild breeding kink?), some fluff, happy(ish) ending. | Words: 7.415k.

A/N-> Old idea that took a while to write, but here we are. This is not angst, I promise! But there are moments of dubious morals, and that's all the fault of the darkhold and how much Wanda should have gone to therapy and not a witchcraft house. Anyway, happy reading. I hope you were as reflective of the ending as I was (I don't know how to feel about this one so far). Please don’t flag the work, thank you.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

–//–

It wasn't necessary, given the nature of her abilities, but the warm water was very welcome to relax her muscles, so Wanda dipped her face for a long moment. Back at the surface, she took a deep breath with her eyes still closed. She pushed away all the flashes of the battle that tried to fill her mind and breathed again and again until the panic and anxiety had completely dissipated and she could open her eyes to her own reflection.

The red of her hair was fading - There was no need, since the revocation of the Sokovia Accords, to keep up the appearance of a disguise. But even years later, Wanda still held the red color in her strands. She remembers someone teasing her about it, maybe Sam or Clint, but she could not have it removed. Yelena was probably the only one who understood why.

The water dried from her face like blood dried from her superficial bruises. The magic worked on her automatically, but if she wished, she could have held the cuts for a while longer. If she wished someone to clean her wounds. She missed that today for the first time in a long while.

The bathroom gave way to her old room as she stepped outside, toward the closet. She knew that the rest of the team was spread all around the building - she could feel their auras meters away now - but she wished she had her bags packed before any of these had the idea to look for her. 

The few clothes that belonged to her had been there for a few weeks. Just the time the others were preparing for the back-in-time trip: And it was honestly a miracle that this compound was still standing after the intensity of the conflicts. It was good luck that someone like her was present to tidy up the mess in the blink of an eye.

She had already folded a red jeans jacket when a knock at the door attracted her attention - She wasn't startled, because she had sensed your presence from the elevator. Every second closer.

When she looked up at you, you had your arms crossed and your waist resting on the doorframe. So casual and painfully charming that Wanda had to look away.

"Am I that awful at reunions?" You joked with a slight dramatization in your voice. Wanda's smile was small, but her heart was racing so fast that perhaps super-hearing allowed you to hear even from that distance. 

"I'm sorry." That's the only thing she can manage to answer about the punchline. Maybe, and most likely, that's not even what she's apologizing for. "I just... no longer part of this place."

"Yeah, I heard." You mutter, moving away from the door, more serious than before. No, sadder than before. With each step toward her, Wanda squeezes her clothes tighter. "Sammy mentioned what happened."

Wanda's heart clenches. She tries not to frown, or demonstrate her own total nervousness when you are face to face. "What... did he say? About what I did?" she inquires, worried. 

You look at her with curiosity only, shrugging casually. "He was vague on some kind of fight about three years ago. He said that you've made mistakes and that you've regretted them, and have been trying to be better. And that if I wanted to know more, I should ask you."

Wanda sighs, holding a folded shirt against her chest. Her gaze goes vacant, pensive. She imagines herself telling you, and as if the story didn't make her queasy enough, she still imagines the disappointment in your eyes.

In the present, however, she finds only tenderness in them. You give her a corner smile, half curious to know what has made her quiet, but Wanda clears her throat and puts her clothes away before turning her face to you again. "I can't, Y/N." She says, and the walls between you that she raises are almost physical. "I don't want to talk about the past. Especially not today."

You nod in understanding, a little frustrated by the whole thing but respectful about her own time and space. It's always been that way. It makes Wanda feel even more guilty.

"Can I at least give you a ride?" You suggest suddenly, your smile becoming more playful. Wanda clenches her hands together and remembers feeling this same smile against her cheeks, stomach, and thighs. "You know, to whatever place you're running off to, witchy..."

Your joke is not well received; It is not your fault at all. Wanda has been completely tense and on the defensive since you - and half the universe - reappeared.

"I'm not running away." She assures you as she cuts you off, her face serious and tired. You stop smiling. Wanda thinks she might throw up. "I just have a different life now."

She turns to close her bag, you fidget awkwardly. "Yeah, of course..." You murmur shyly, watching her. "I shouldn't have said that."

"It's fine." She assures you, and it sounds like a really bad lie. You look at her the same way you did when you first saw her, almost eight years ago, in a Hydra cell, and Wanda runs away like a frightened animal, holding her bag in her hands even though she is very used to using magic to do this kind of mundane activity now. She is at the door in record time but looks at you before she leaves. "Thank you, Y/N. For offering... the ride. Really. But I don't... actually need it."

She twirls her fingers, illustrating her sentence with scarlet sparks that make you chuckle slightly. The sound almost makes Wanda start to cry. She makes a portal appear before she really starts to in front of you.

"Wait." You practically beg before she can disappear. Wanda holds her breath. "When... Wanda, I want to..." It's frustrating, honestly. The whole situation, all the distance you're not used to having with her. Your attempt to ask her for something only makes Wanda more anxious, but in a way, she knows exactly what it is. You take a deep breath and take another small step forward. "I want you around, Wands. You know that right?"

She swallows dryly and nods. Her eyes are filled with tears.

"I know, detka." The nickname escapes her so naturally, it seems as if no time has passed. But knowing it has passed, like not finding age marks on your face, but on hers, makes her pull away. "I just need...a little more time. To get used to it, okay?"

You nod like a child, putting your hands in your pockets. "Of course, Wanda. Whatever you need."

The memories of the same speech, so many times and for so long before the blip, hit her hard. She breaks into a sob, profoundly. You despair, completely worried, but as soon as you make any mention of approaching to console her, Wanda shakes her head and wipes her face. A weak, hoarse goodbye is murmured, and she disappears into the portal she has opened and you are left alone.

Your chest aches with hurt and frustration on the way back to the living room. Of course, the cell phone in your pants wouldn't work after so long without paying for the service, so you don't even attempt a message. 

And getting the rest of what was once the Avengers you knew together doesn't make you feel any better seeing them in black, whispering stories to each other.

The memorial was a while ago, earlier, and now everyone was back in the tower. Some would go home, like Wanda or Barnes, but others like you had nowhere to go. Like Parker or Belova.

"Hey, Y/N." Natasha seemed surprised to see you there, assuming that your momentary disappearance would have resulted in the ride. But Wanda turned you down, and with the look, you threw her, Nat understood. She murmured polite apologies to Clint's family, all of whom were downcast and with faces smeared with dried tears, and went to join you near the kitchen counter. "You haven't had much luck with your witch, I suppose."

You hum annoyed, bending down to grab a bottle of booze from under the sink. Nat makes a soft grimace, nodding at the number of children present there. You ignore it and grab a glass for her as well.

When they are full, you raise yours. "Here's to our fallen friends, Romanoff." You say, and she sighs sadly, before raising her toast. 

The drink doesn't hurt more than losing Wanda, that's a fact.

"You look miserable." It is Yelena who says, as she appears in the kitchen, a second after the toast draws a grimace and a cough from you. She steals a glance at her sister, "Both of you, actually."

Your laugh is sad and husky. "You are very perceptive of the obvious Belova." You mock, filling your glass as Nat lets herself be enveloped in a tight hug from the blonde. You take another sip as they part. What they ask each other in Russian is probably a check on how everything was going. You are more interested in the drink. And with each drop of alcohol, your emotions surface further. "Was it something I said?" You question suddenly, and Nat and Yelena look at you immediately. "Was it... something I did?"

Nat sighs, taking the bottle and glass from you. "Okay, enough of that." She mutters, ignoring your protests. "I know you're not the type who wants to cause a scene at your friends' funeral memorial."

But you're crying regardless. No one really minds - Or comments about Yelena and Nat dragging you into the corridor.

You sit on the floor, one hand on your face and the other on your stomach. "Why... Doesn't she love me anymore?" You ask between sobs, trying to control your emotion. 

Yelena sighs impatiently. "God, are you stupid by any chance?"

"Yelena!" Nat represses, bending down to touch your knee and calm you down. "Hey, take a deep breath. It's okay, Y/N. Wanda... she just needs time-"

You give a wry, tearful laugh. "Five years wasn't enough?" You ironize between tears. 

"Come on..." Nat tries, but Yelena cringes too. Her look is more serious and determined than compressive.

"You don't know shit, Y/N." Says the blonde, ignoring the way her sister looks at her. "How do you think it's been these five years, huh? You, both of you, vanishing along with half the universe. It's been fucked up, okay? And some people made some really bad mistakes during this time. I... I missed Nat, a fucking lot. But I didn't have the magic to change that. Wanda did."

You make a confused face, "What the hell are you talking about?"

She sighs wearily. "You just need to understand that it was hell for those who stayed. You probably will when you get back to work, but right now... You just buried your friends, rest first. And Wanda, you have to understand that she needs time to accept that you are back. She... she's had to say goodbye to you too many times."

Yelena exchanges a look with Nat, clearly closing the subject, but you despair. "L-lena, wait... tell me! Tell me what happened-" You follow her as she gets up and walks away, begging and demanding until she grunts in irritation.

"She brought you back!" She declares suddenly. You and Nat both widen your eyes. Yelena sighs. "Damn... Look, I really think Wanda is the one who should-"

"How?" you demand exhausted. The blonde swallows dryly, but ends up sighing in defeat.

"I think Cap still keeps the Westview files." She mutters, nodding in the direction to be escorted. Nat mutters something about it still being weird to hear someone refer to Sam this way, but you're more interested in what the hell Westview is.

Nothing prepares you for the S.W.O.R.D. tapes.

–//–

Everything kept coming back in flashes, even as she struggled to keep the memories at bay.

Shuri's gauntlet, the stones, Clint's body.

You.

So happy. So innocent. Smiling at her as if it was still 2018 and you were still hers.

"I can't believe you disappeared on me in the middle of a fight, little witch."

Your voice made Wanda shudder from head to toe, and she would have started crying right there, running away from the battle just to hug you if it wasn't such an ugly fight.

Unlike the first time, they were much better prepared. They had the upper hand. 

Mildly Thor was not as experienced in battle, but just as strong as the original, and held the ground until Thor showed up with the rest of the blipped. Thanos's head was off before he could even think of the stones once more.

By the time you found her again, you had been told how many years had passed, and of course, you didn't waste another second before hugging Wanda. She hugged you back of course, without hesitation. But that was weeks ago in the heat of battle. Now reality was on your heads.

As a coven of unsympathetic witches, a team in conflict and a world in recovery.

Wanda had only been with the Chaos worshipers a short time. Just long enough to dull the effects of the darkhold in her head, the help is very welcome although her trust in Agatha is almost nil.

Helping the Avengers one last time, at the request of Strange and his irresponsible plan involving time travel was a long shot. But it worked. And Wanda had you back, and suddenly there was nothing left for the doomed to offer her.

Well, almost nothing.

Dreams involving her children haunted her at night. But well, since you've been back, Wanda hasn't done sleeping that much, so there's some advantage there.

She is trying a sleep potion when Agatha enters her chamber.

"You have visitors, Rapunzel."

She giggles at the nickname, not taking her eyes off her colleague's borrowed grimoire. "Don't call me that."

Agatha smiles, leaning on the door. "Well, you stay locked in the tower all the time and you have long hair... Also, you act like a spoiled little princess..."

"Fuck off, Agatha." Wanda retorts with a laugh, wiping her herb-soiled hands on a cloth. "Who's down there? Some sorcerer?"

The Harkness Residence was tricky - Especially in solstice season. With so much magical presence, Wanda would be overwhelmed to be in alert mode all the time. And for a house full of witches, she didn't expect to be able to detect them all the time.

Agatha shook her head. "Your other type of friends, honey." Said the older one. "Avenger. And pretty face." Comments the brunette, giving her a wink and leaving.

Wanda tries not to look like a complete mess as she makes her way downstairs. It doesn't work much when she finds you in the living room - Adorably poking at Agatha's magic clock.

"Hi." She practically gasps, her hands in front of her body. You turn your face and smile contently, waving your finger at the wooden item in front of you.

"Hey, sweetheart, have you seen this? It looks like the one from Harry Potter." It is so painfully casual that it almost leaves her speechless. Wanda has to remember that despite her early escape from the tower for some space, you still feel as if only a few weeks have passed since you last met. And not five years. "It's so cool." 

Wanda adjusts her messy strands of hair, moving closer to you and the clock. "How did you find me?"

You shrug, taking your attention away from the item entirely to turn to Wanda. "Avengers technology now has Kamar Taj tricks."

Stephen, of course. Wanda grimaces softly, making a mental note to reprimand him for charming equipment but all thoughts suddenly disappear.

You grab the front of her work apron, pulling her close and Wanda chokes on her own breath.

"Wands, I know it's been five years for you, but... I really miss kissing my girlfriend." You murmur, the narrowed eyes staring at her lips and making her face warm. Wanda has missed this so much that it aches, but she is overwhelmed by the sudden action. You don't move until you have permission. "I'll be happy with just a peck..."

"God, detka." She tries to formulate some sentences, and some thoughts, but all her body can focus on is your presence. Your face inches from hers, the smell of your perfume, your hand on her low back, and the firm grip that ensures she doesn't fall over because of her weak knees. 

Your forehead falls heavily on hers, and Wanda chokes out a very primal sound in her throat. She is ready to end all the longing against that colorful clock, on the living room rug or anywhere you want, when a voice interrupts the whole thing.

"Hello, love birds!" Agatha greets you cheerfully, smiling as you turn away from Wanda with a sigh. "I don't believe we've met, Miss..."

“Oh, you’re Agnes.” You say, and Wanda freezes. The older witch laughs in surprise, and you shake the hand she extends with a clumsy smile. "I mean if that is really your name? It was the only one on the recordings."

"Actually, I'm Agatha Harkness. Did you say record?-"

"Later." Wanda cuts off the older witch with a serious red-eyed look, and she begrudgingly swallows dryly all her questioning. Wanda turns to you, grabbing your hand before you have a chance to question what is going on.

Wanda's room impresses you. In fact, the entire Harkness residence does. It is clearly magical, much larger on the inside than the American house on the outside. You want to absorb every detail on a future tour, but right now, you're more interested in the witch dragging you inside and sitting you on her bed.

"Who told you?" she inquires in such a confused mixture of emotions that you can only assume they are not very good, by the tears in her eyes. Her door closes as soon as you enter, and you clear your throat awkwardly.

"It doesn't matter, Wands, I just know."

She grunts angrily. "I'm going to kill Yelena-"

You giggle. "Hey, don't read my mind." You grumble, watching her circle the room anxiously. "Little witch, relax, I'm not mad at you."

Wanda looks at you immediately. "I didn't expect anger." She clarifies with upset. "I thought...you'd be disappointed in me."

She looks down at her own feet, and you raise an eyebrow in disbelief. "Disappointed by the greatest demonstration of your power and how strong you've become? Don't be silly."

"I hurt people!" She retorts with emotion in her voice, annoyed that you are not acting as she has punished herself for so long. You sigh, adjusting yourself on the bed to remove the leather jacket that Wanda was pretty sure belonged to Natasha. 

"And people have hurt you." You argued. "Same old story, no? But you have...this strength in you, right? You lose control, that's part of the magic. No power comes for free. I know these things, Wands, remember? I know you. And I saw how you let them go the very second it happened. And that Rambeau woman filled the archives with notes in your defense about everything that happened, so I don't know why the whole big deal is..."

"I took a town hostage." She interrupts you seriously. "Those people...compared standing over my domain as agonizing torture...begged to die after seeing my dreams-"

"Yeah, insomnia sucks." You complete, shrugging and Wanda grunts in frustration. She looks away, putting her hands over her face and you lie on the bed, crossing your hands behind your neck. She sighs.

"Why... are you different?"

Her question fails to shake you as her other statements. You remain quiet and carefree. "Maybe you are the one who remembers me differently."

Wanda stares at you, but is thoughtful. She tries to organize her own memories. Before, during, and after Westview.

Only now, seeing you in her bed again, does she doubt what her mind created and what was real really.

"I remember you... kind." She tries, shadows passing through her eyes, moments in the compound from cooking together to transmitting confidence and support to her in practice. "Taking care of me and everyone else, honestly."

You chuckle, cheeks rosy. "Well, thank you, that's a very nice view of the facts." You murmur, looking at her in a way that always made her knees weak. "But I'm just normal, I guess? I work hard and generally act within the law, briefly speaking. But kind? It's nice to be called that."

"Detka-"

"There's the catch." You interrupt her with a smile, your gaze gleaming with mischief. "That's what I am, Wands. Your Detka.  Ever since I blew up half a Hydra to save you, that's what I've been. I appreciate that you see me as someone good, really. And maybe that's true because all I've done is be good to you."

 Wanda swallows dryly, approaching you almost by a magnetic force. She takes the seat in your lap without haste, and her hair makes a curtain over your faces as she rests her forehead on yours. 

"I'm sorry, dorogoya." She whispers with her eyes closed, her hands gripping your blouse. You adjust to hold her waist. "I hurt people to have you back."

You hum, moving a hand to her face. "Like I did, baby. Don't you remember?" You ask in the same tone, caressing her cheek. "Killed those Nazis back in 2015... then the agents who tried to lock you up for not signing the Accords..."

"It was different-"

"I would have done the same." You assure as you firm your grip on her cheek. Wanda moans low, unable to control herself at the roughness. Your eyes darken. "I think they're lucky I was the one who blipped, honey. I would have burned this world and any other to get you back."

There is nothing she can do but kiss you. It's firm, full of longing. She gasps into your mouth and you slide your tongue between her lips, taking control and matching it with the same passion. Wanda burns and the thrill of having you back hit her hard.

She is crying, so you stop and hold her as she hides her face in your clavicle.

"I thought...I lost you...I'm so sorry..." She mumbles disconnectedly between sobs, and you don't let go, stroking her back as you try to calm her. 

"You're not getting rid of me, Maximoff." You tease. "You're going to marry me as you promised. For real this time."

The comment elicits a whiny laugh from her, and you chuckle when she pinches you in a warning for mentioning Westview so lightly. But there is no other way for you.

"Besides this, darling, you put me in a dress?" You comment with false indignation. "The greatest of crimes, really."

She chuckles weakly against your neck, adjusting herself to sit on your stomach and look you in the eyes. 

You look at her with such love, wiping her face with your gentle hands, and Wanda thinks you're right. You are good to her. You always have been.

"It wasn't really you." She tries to say with a slight frown. "It was...like a whisper. A ghost."

You hum in a mix of understanding and curiosity. "It was because of the stone, wasn't it?" You deduce. "My powers... created the connection-"

"No." She shakes her head, her hands going to adjust the collar of your blouse. "My love for you created the connection. Your version of Westview was just... so nice. All those good things you did for me. How much I loved you. My magic created this... clone. It was a reflection of everything I loved about you, but it wasn't you. Maybe... that's why I was able to say goodbye."

You twitch your nose, a small smile on your lips. "Nothing compares to the real thing, huh?" you comment smugly, stifling the other's indignant snort with a firm kiss. Wanda chuckles affectedly, ready to debate that Westview's version was good enough when you spin your bodies on the bed at once, and upon being pressed into the mattress, all that comes out of her mouth is a moan. You hum in satisfaction. "I missed that sound."

She breathes affectedly, her eyes opening to meet yours staring at her passionately. "And I missed you." She murmurs, her hands finding your hair to pull you back.

Making out sessions were so common in your relationship, especially during Avengers that it was only now that it had been five years since the last time, that Wanda realized how much she missed it. Back then, it was usually enough to calm her hormones, but Wanda had never felt so needy as she did now.

You chuckled huskily against her neck, interrupting the soft marking of hickeys when you felt her rubbing herself on your thigh. "Got all turned on by a few kisses, Maximoff? Someone really missed me..."

She wants to rip off that smug little smile, even though that is absolutely true. "God, I had forgotten what a pain in the ass you are." She complains, trying to normalize her breathing, which is difficult with you on top of her, making her hot and bothered, tingly all over. 

"Please, you love me." You tease, and Wanda smiles, enjoying the feeling of having you lying on top of her again, your face on her collarbone depositing more chaste kisses now.

"You have no idea how much, detka" She whispers as she closes her eyes, one hand stroking your hair. You smile against her skin. Wanda thinks you murmured I love you back before falling asleep, exhausted by the journey there.

Holding you, Wanda knows. She can never lose you again.

–//–

You dream of a teenage girl. Scared and fearful, running, or perhaps, escaping from something.

It is fast and intense, and when you wake up, you jump softly. You don't remember the dream when you look around, and are more concerned about the empty bed than nightmares.

The room is dark, the only illumination coming from the moon through the window and a candle burning in the corner of the table. 

Unlike the commode, the rest of the house is noisy and you can hear a mix of voices downstairs, muffled by the closed door.

"Wanda?" You call out to her a few times until you realize that wherever she is, she can't hear you.

On your way out of the room, you bump into Agatha again.

"You are a heavy sleeper, Avenger." Comments the witch teasingly, as you scratch your eyes. 

"Yeah, I guess so." You mutter. "Where...?"

"In the tower, dear." She interrupts your question already assuming it would be about Wanda. "We have rules for some types of spells around here. Nothing that corrupts can be inside the house."

You make a confused face, "Corrupts? What are you talking about, Miss Harkness?"

But there are a couple of well-dressed people on the stairs and Agatha waves to them. "Oh, dear, I'm sorry, I have to go." Says the witch. "It's the night of the solstice, you know? We have rituals to be done. It would be... polite if Wanda would join us, but all she wants to do is consume that book. It's like an addiction if you ask me." You open your mouth to question further on this subject, but Agatha is walking away, talking to the other strangers in a language you don't know. You think you will have to find this tower on your own, but she turns around before she goes down the stairs and tells you the way.

You are spinning your ankles almost immediately.

The room where Wanda is is lit entirely by candles, spread out in a circle. The air inside is unnaturally cold and shivers you from head to toe.

For a brief, scary second, you can almost hear the glow of the mind stone from the day you received your powers. Trapped on a Hydra stretcher like an animal.

"Wanda?"

The woman, so far trapped in some kind of ritualistic trance in the circle of candles she is in, opens unfocused red eyes. You see a glimpse of the book behind her before Wanda straightens up and with a nod, blows out the candles and lights the candelabras.

"Hey, detka, you're awake." You chuckled at how guilty she looked, hiding the book with her body and erasing the scary circle of spells.

"What are you up to, eh, little witch?" You ask, readily accepting her invitation to slip your hands around her waist. Wanda has a different gleam in her eye - now green again - and in the atmosphere of this room, she seems like a force of nature. You could say you are charmed by her if you didn't already love her so deeply.

She bites back a smile, interlacing her hands behind your neck.

"Only mischief, I'm afraid.'" She murmurs, close enough to tease your lips with the tip of her tongue. You choke softly, your hands moving down to her ass, squeezing it to press her against you. 

"Hmm, I missed you being naughty..." You sigh when she kisses you. It's different. You can't put your heart on what - You can't think of anything with Wanda kissing you with such vehemence and sensuality; You're more used to her submission, always in love with the feeling of having her ruined beneath you. But the way she kisses you now - as if she knows exactly how secure she is in your heart, body, and soul - is breathtaking. She puts you at her mercy by sucking on your tongue.

"F-fuck." You break the kiss with a gasping sigh, every inch of your body burning. A stream of saliva connects your mouth to hers, and Wanda stares at you with dark pupils. "You're playing a dangerous game, Maximoff-"

Your attempt to gain a little dominance turns into an affected grunt when Wanda grabs your face at once. Much like the way you did hours ago. And you are too distracted by her eyes that flutter between green and red to notice the darkness of her fingers.

"Knee for me, darling." She orders in a husky voice, bringing a wave of heat to your abdomen. You moan, and your knees would have given out on their own - But Wanda uses her magic anyway. On the floor, you look up with pleading eyes, watching her magic tear off her clothes.

You can feel your own arousal oozing down your thighs, but don't you dare seek any kind of relief from yourself with Wanda inches from your mouth. The last garment is barely out and you dive in - Proudly tearing out a loud moan as your mouth meets her core.

Her cunt drips and clenches on your tongue and fingers you slide them up her thigh until you sink in, but Wanda barely feels you and is already putting one leg over your shoulder, whimpering as you work to bring her orgasm.

It comes intense and very quickly, and you both know it's because of the time apart. Her body has been begging for your touch for so long that she almost hates how fast it happened. You shush her worries and complaints of the overstimulation, making no mention of letting her go. Instead, one of your hands digs its nails into her thigh, holding her open and against your mouth as you eat her out until she can give you another. And another.

It's the roughest sex you two ever had - Full of longing and passion - and Wanda doesn't know when she got on the floor, maybe it happened after the third or fourth climax when her legs were too weak to keep her upright, and she's not complaining one bit.

You fucked her intensely and desperate to please - She loved how much control she had without needing a drop of magic. And when you didn't question the hardness between your legs put there by her, she wanted to test how far your obedience would go.

"That's new." You murmured in a husky voice against her ear, your hands pinning hers to the floor of the ancient meditation circle. Wanda couldn't deliver more than a groan - The toy buried deep in her abused pussy was making everything more difficult. Your strokes, slow and deep did not fail to draw breathless moans from the witch beneath you. "Is this what you wanted, baby? For me to fill you to the brim?"

Wanda whimpered aroused, her walls clenching the fake cock until you couldn't move and she came with her back arched and her eyes scarlet - You gasped in satisfaction at the image, surrendering to your own pleasure next. Pumping in and out inside, it wasn't long before you came, grunting against her neck as you spilled inside her walls, staining them white. Wanda moaned at the sensation, her legs hooked around you so that you would go nowhere, that no drop would go to waste.

You had no idea why, but you were too high in pleasure to ask or even think about it.

Breathing out of rhythm as you calmed down, you deposited chaste kisses on her collarbone until you reached her face - Matching the smile Wanda had as you kissed her.

"I love you, little witch." You declared somewhat breathlessly, and repeated it a few times until Wanda giggled away, all the exhaustion from being fucked over and over leaving her feeling a little dizzy and with an easy smile. It took you less than thirty seconds to slide out and get rid of the toy in some corner of the room, but Wanda followed you with her gaze the whole time until you were back on top of her. "How about ... we ... take ... a ... shower... together?" Every word was filled with a kiss, and Wanda almost didn't let you stop doing it.

"That sounds lovely." She said, and seeing that you were getting ready to stand up, she held you back. It didn't take long for your expression of confusion to turn into one of complete amazement. 

It took Wanda, not a second for the room around you to transform - You thought it was teleportation at first but realized that the shape of the bathroom you were in now was the same as the tower, and understood that it was chaos magic. No longer were you lying on the floor, but inside a tub, slowly filling in as you got used to the environment. Wanda adjusted herself to sit up, and you held the edges to look around, an impressed giggle escaping your lips.

"Damn, babe, that's fucking cool." You praise the magic, blushing as you meet Wanda's passionate gaze on you once you turn your face to her. With a wink, you adjust to lie with your back on her chest, and Wanda slips her arms around you, sighing in satisfaction. 

It is a very peaceful and comfortable moment. Just you and Wanda under the warm water, with her stroking your hair and almost making you fall asleep, and you have no idea of the evil whispers from a magic book that she is trying to push away as she does so.

"Sorry, Wands." Your speech confuses her; she blinks her eyes, focusing on your figure against her. You interlace the fingers of your hands and stare at the gesture as you clarify. "For leaving you alone."

Her chest tightens. She swallows dryly, once and twice, and you wait. All Wanda does is kiss the top of your head.

"What matters is that you are here now." She says meekly, letting you play with her fingers. "And nothing will ever take you away from me again."

The darkness of the sentence goes unnoticed by you. You are more curious about the coloration of her fingerprints.

"Is that some kind of spell?" You ask, and she merely hums in return, trying to buy time to formulate an answer. "It's not a bad thing, right? Nor painful?"

Your insistence. No. Your sincere concern, which she can read in every inch of your mind, makes her chest burn with guilt. She holds you tighter.

"It's nothing you have to worry about, darling." She assures you in a tone of closure, using her free hand to spread your legs under the water. 

"B-but Wanda..." You start but are unable to ignore your own pleasure when Wanda slides her fingers into you with ease. The bite she places on your shoulder makes you whimper. Your hips move in rhythm with her fingers, but you gasp and pant, warning, "You can't just fuck me out of a conversation-ah-"

She giggles macabrely, feeling you throbbing in her digits. Your warm juices mix with the water in the tub.

"Oh, I think I can." She teases in your ear, increasing the speed. You grunt, begrudgingly focusing on your orgasm and not on whatever it is that Wanda is hiding. She presses her palm against your clit, sinking a third finger next and stretching you out. You grip the edges of the tub so hard that the wood cracks and the throaty moan that escapes you make all of Wanda's hair shiver. "Let it go for me, detka. Make your wife proud."

The title takes you over the edge - You come in an almost animalistic moan, spasming against her in one of the most intense orgasms you have ever had in your life. Wanda continues kissing your neck and slowly stimulating you throughout your climax until you try to pull away from the excessive stimulation.

There is a tender moment, Wanda whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you can catch your breath again. She slides her fingers out and sucks your taste off as you calm down. The scene is almost enough to get you ready again, but after so many times, you both need a break.

When you look at her again, your smile is teasing. "Wife, huh?"

She matches her expression, but there is gentle insecurity in her eyes that would surprise you if you didn't know her so well. "It slipped out. But... you should get used to it, detka. I'm going to marry you yet."

You chuckle shyly, adjusting yourself so that you can kiss her on the mouth. Wanda also smiles into the kiss. Between one kiss and another, you joked, "Did marriage make me a bottom?"

Wanda burst into a laugh, her arms around your waist as you adjusted to sit on her lap. 

"Is that a complaint about my performance?"

You chuckled, arms around her neck. "Oh, sure, I hate coming so much." You mocked against her lips, staring in the same passionate, mischievous way she was looking at you. "I can't believe you made me... come inside you."

Wanda bites her lips, feeling your warmth in her lap and knowing that you can feel hers. "Did you like it?"

You nod, kissing her jaw. Wanda swallows dryly, controlling her own excitement to keep talking. "It's a spell I learned. And it works... like the real thing."

Your kisses stop as soon as you understand what she is saying, and your frown as you face her again doesn't calm the other one's nerves. She keeps her grip on your waist.

"Wait." Wanda can almost see the gears in your mind working. "How real?"

She swallows dryly and squeezes harder without realizing it. Terrified that you will reject her. "I want to have your children." She declares boldly, though her heart is hammering in her ribcage.

You are in shock at the whole thing. You open your mouth but all that comes out is an incredulous laugh, and with a gentle effort, you escape Wanda's hands, out of the tub. She licks her lips, trying to keep the tears in as you cover yourself with a robe as if suddenly, being naked is no longer comfortable.

"Please don't be mad." She murmurs, but you chuckle incredulously.

"You should have told me."

"I-"

"No, Wanda." You cut her off in a serious tone. Wanda is ready to be stubborn about it, but all certainty disappears when she sees your expression and the way that despite your super strength, you never looked so small as you do now. "I really love you, Wands. Nothing will ever change that. But children are a very important step. A conversation we haven't had yet." Wanda hesitates, in her gaze, and you sigh. "Westview was a fantasy, sweetheart. I'm not that ghost. I was gone for five years, I'm still only twenty-four years old. I wanted... this life of travel and dating and adventure with you. To mature by your side, and create a career, and then someday, if we were ready for it, have children."

Wanda sniffles lightly. "What if... you weren't?"

You give a sad smile. "Wanda, I'm not you." You mutter upset. "I didn't have incredible parents, nor did I lose them too young before I could grow up and notice if they had problems or not. Mine were terrible and damaged me for a long time. I am very afraid that I will be just like them."

Wanda immediately denies it with her head. "You are not! You are sweet and good and I will be an incredible parent!"

You give a short, humorless laugh, pushing your hair back. "I guess we'll find out soon enough." You ironize, and Wanda swallows dryly.

"You could at least be happy-"

"That you lied to me?" You interrupt indignantly.

She stares at you with the same irritation. "I didn't lie!"

"Omitting is a form of lying!" You retorted. "And apparently that's not the only thing! What are the marks on your hands, who are these people, where are we really? I have a million questions for you, and all you do is run away and hide things from me!"

Whenever Wanda gets emotional enough, her magic reflects it. You are used to it, but it is a little terrifying that the ground trembles over your feet when she stands up in anger. Her robe magically appears on her body, covering her as well.

"I'm doing everything for us!" She shouts back, holding onto your arms. "So we can have a family, a home! Making sure nothing takes that away from us again!"

"Wanda, you have to understand that I'm not the person who lost these things-"

"And you have to be content!" She refutes truthfully, scarlet eyes glowing with emotion. "Happy and understanding about what I'm doing for us!"

It happens in a second. All irritation, hurt, or fear, simply vanishes from your expression. Wanda doesn't even realize what her magic has done for the moment. 

"I understand, my love." You say smiling at her as you did the first time she said she loved you. Wanda frowns, but you hold her cheeks tenderly. "I love you so much, darling. I'm so grateful that you're looking out for me, making sure nothing bad happens."

She chokes on the emotion softly, breaking under your gentle touch and tone of voice. "Really?"

You smile. "Nothing is going to keep us apart, Wanda. You'll make sure of that."

Wanda nods, sighing in relief at being understood in her own despair. You hug her by the shoulders and she sinks her face into your collarbone, murmuring how much she loves you into your skin.

"Don't be mad at me. I just wanted our children back." She pleads against you, hearing you sigh before pulling her face to face you. Your hands grip her cheeks.

"We'll get them back, honey." It's a promise, Wanda feels it. You smile mischievously at her, bringing your faces closer together. "And we can make as many more as you want."

She blushes, giggling shyly as she wraps her arms around your waist. "I can never lose you again, детка. I wouldn't... survive."

You look at her tenderly. "I'm here, baby. I will never leave you." 

She kisses you, letting herself be enveloped by your warmth and love until the darkhold dominance that whispers that another step toward the happiness she lost has been completed becomes hazy and muffled in her mind.

--//--

A/F/N->This should have been a series, but I left it as one, and because of this ending, I'm not going to dismiss the possibility of other parts of this story. I like to think that once Reader figures out what's going on, she and Wanda would break up so we can have an angst-filled fresh start to the really happy ending they deserve (I'd finally get an exes trope story published, thank you!). I'd like to watch other Marvel projects, like Coven of Chaos, before continuing this though, to get more of the canon. Let me know what you think in the meantime.

Please don’t flag the work, thank you.

[camels-pen]

Drooble request!

Luffy meets a Danno due to chaotic shenanigans

drooble #7 - chance encounter

-

Danny poked his head through the door. He squinted at the bright sun in his eyes. Was this the right one?

"WOAH, how're you doing that?"

He turned to his right, brows furrowed. "What?"

"That!" A guy in a straw hat squatted at the edge of the portal. "The way you're sticking out of the ground."

"Uh, optical illusion. More importantly, have you seen a senior citizen with hair like stupid horns? Sorta looks like a low budget vampire?"

"Nope."

"Damn." He looked past the guy. A ways away were a group of four others, bickering and eating. "Those your friends?"

The guy nodded. "They're my crew."

"Cool. Could you ask them if they've seen him?"

"Why don't you come over and ask them yourself?" The guy grinned. "Sanji's stew is the best!"

Danny looked past the guy to his friends. The blond next to the pot- 'Sanji', he assumed- was shouting at the green haired guy, looking seconds from strangling him. "He doesn't seem very friendly."

"Aw c'mon! They'd love to meet you!"

"If I get any further out of this portal, I'll end up stuck here," Danny deadpanned. "And besides, you haven't even met me."

"Ah, that's right. I should introduce myself before recruiting." The guy's grin grew wide. "I'm Monkey D. Luffy, the man who'll become the King of the Pirates!"

Pirates have a king? This guy's a pirate? Now he definitely could not get stuck here. Sam would never let him live it down if he got scurvy. "I'm Danny Phantom. Now could you go ask-" Danny blinked. "What do you mean recruiting?"

Luffy's eyes started to literally sparkle. "Of course I'd try recruiting; you're so funny!"

"That's great and all, but I really just need you to ask-"

Luffy interrupted. "Hey, can you poop?"

"What the- yeah. Now can you-"

"How does that even work? You don't have a-"

"It works." Danny dragged a hand down his face. "Listen, I really need you to ask them because the guy I'm chasing is really-" Annoying. "-dangerous so if we could speed this up, that'd be great."

Luffy shrugged. "I guess." He turned and shouted, "HEY GUYS, I FOUND A FUNNY GUY IN THE GROUND!"

Danny cringed, covering his ears. He had half a mind to point out that Luffy could've just shouted the question.

As the group got closer- the redhead and guy with a long nose quickly taking cover behind the other two with identical shrieks- Danny didn't waste time. "I'm Danny Phantom, nice to meet you, have you seen any old men in bad Halloween costumes recently?"

"Why are you stuck in the ground?" all four of them asked, in a variety of tones.

"Because I live here. Answer the question please." They looked at each other. Looked at Luffy. Then, slowly and a little confused, they shook their heads. "Wonderful. Thank you."

"Isn't he great?" Luffy asked, eyes still sparkling. "He's our newest crewmate!"

"I never agreed to that."

For some reason, that made Luffy's friends groan. "You're not inviting someone just 'cause he looks funny," the green haired guy said.

"Zoro, he's perfect!" Luffy shouted, gesturing at Danny. "Just look at him!"

"I've known you less than five minutes!"

"Doesn't make a difference," Sanji said.

"You're not just a torso and head, right? These are your powers?" The long nosed guy asked, peeking out from behind Sanji.

"Yes. Powers. Ghost powers." Danny adjusted his grip on the door frame on the other side of the portal. "And now that I know the fruitloop isn't here-" He started to push himself back through the door. He just barely saw the Ghost Zone's green and purple sky when he felt something yank him back.

"WAIT! You didn't even try Sanji's stew!"

Bright light again, now with a bowl of piping hot stew shoved in his face.

The redhead smacked the top of Luffy's head. "If he wants to go, let him go! He's freaky!"

"But Nami..." Luffy whined. The long nosed guy whined with him, no longer hiding.

With a sigh, Danny accepted the stew from Sanji. He'd humour them for a few bites at least. No sense turning down free food.

Warm and filling, with a flavour like he'd never tasted before. He threw his previous plan out the window and started scarfing it down. "This is amazing!" he said between spoonfuls.

"See? Sanji's food is the best!" Luffy grinned. "And you can get it everyday if you're sailing with us." That was probably his most tempting offer yet.

Still. Scurvy. Probably dysentery too, who knew.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I really better get going-" Danny reached for his grip on the door, only to feel the bowl in his hands. "Uh."

He looked down. Stared at his feet on solid ground.

Stared at green grass rather than ectoplasm.

"Hey," Luffy said, tilting his head. "Didn't you say you'd get stuck if you got out of the ground?"

Danny was going to kill this guy before he got home.

[bigmusclenm]

Sweet Gains - Part 2

[Story Collection] | [Part 1] [●] [Part 3🔵]

Liam was even more excited to meet Aiden on his second day at the gym. After the best workout ever, thanks to the effects of the desserts, Liam wasn’t only excited about gaining more muscle. But his main goal was to see the already hunky Aiden become even bigger. As he walked down the street, as excited as Liam felt about the gym, he needed to stop by the bakery shop to get more desserts for Aiden.

Standing in front of the bakery shop, Liam noticed a new sign on it. The sign said “Big Boy’s Bakery,” adorned with the shape of a bicep beneath it and a decorative cupcake added to it. Lower in the sign, in smaller letters, it said, “Powered by The Sizemologist.”

“That’s an interesting name for a bakery shop, but it definitely suits this place. The owner is definitely a big boy,” said Liam as he walked into the bakery shop and immediately went to check on the special collection. “Okay, what can I take for Aiden today? His pecs looked incredible yesterday.”

“Good morning, welcome to our bakery shop. I see you’re interested in our special collection,” a voice said behind Liam, making him turn around to face the man, whom Liam thought was Chris. “I’m Sam, the owner, and I’m sure you’ll love our desserts,” the new man said, and Liam was surprised to see the blonde man, standing at about 6’2” with a kind smile, looking at him. Sam was wearing a blue apron that stretched over his massive, tight-looking belly—the biggest Liam had ever seen. Sam also had enormous pecs that rested heavily on top of his belly, and his thick nipples were visible under the fabric of his gray shirt. Everything about Sam was thick and soft but in a somewhat strong way.

“Oh, hey. I’m Liam. I thought, I mean, I met this huge guy yesterday, and he said he was the owner,” Liam said, looking straight into Sam’s pecs instead of his face.

“Hey, buddy… up here,” Sam joked, and Liam blushed. “You met my husband, Chris. We run this place together but take turns because at least one of us should stay home. Soon, it’s going to be me at home and Chris here, but that’s another story,” Sam added, rubbing the side of his belly and smiling at Liam.

“Oh, yeah, he told me about you, and he actually mentioned people looked at your pecs and his pecs, and I mean, you have... I mean, you know... I-I… Oh crap, I’m talking too much again.” Liam blushed again, and Sam laughed.

“It’s fine. We’re a very ‘peculiar’ couple, so we’re already used to people looking at our chests, but anyway, tell me, what can I do for you? If you’re the guy I think you are, you bought some desserts yesterday on your way to the gym, right?” Sam said as he waddled to the glass counter that contained the special collection.

“Yeah, that’s me. Did your husband tell you about me?” Liam asked.

“Yes, he did. He told me you were pretty excited, and he was sure you would come back for more today. We try to give all our clients personalized attention, so we talk about stuff at night,” Sam said, opening the glass counter. “I think you had fun with your chest yesterday. You want to have the same, or maybe focus on some other areas?”

A very excited and anxious Liam stood in front of the glass counter and looked at the options. “Well, Aiden said we would focus on my lower body today, so maybe something to help me with that? Thighs and calves and, well, glutes?” Liam said, still a bit shy.

“Sure. Let me see. We have these granola bars. Sorry about the names; my husband names these things, and they can be a bit silly. Glute Gainer Granola Bars—that’s what he calls them. I’m partial to Booty Builder Bars, but he’s the chef. What about two of these?”

“Yeah, that sounds great. Or, make it four so I can share it with Aiden. He’s my trainer,” Liam said, and Sam grinned at him.

“Okay, it sounds like Aiden will have lots of fun too. So, four granola bars. I recommend these honey cakes. Chris calls them Hamstring Harmony Honey-cakes. Again, sorry about the silly name. Four of them, two for each of you. And the Power Pops are one of my favorites, so let’s add two of them,” said Sam, and Liam could barely contain his excitement.

“Could I also get something for the chest?” Liam asked.

“Sure. I have something new. This one is a post-workout dessert. It’s chocolate pudding, and believe me, it tastes incredible. Chris calls it Pec Pump Pudding,” Sam said, chuckling as he packed everything in a box. “I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun, and I hope you’ll come back tomorrow.”

Liam smiled and paid for the desserts. With every visit, Liam fell more in love with the bakery shop. Also, he couldn’t stop thinking about the owners. Even though Liam didn’t want to get a big belly like Sam’s, Liam couldn’t deny that the rest of him looked incredibly hot. As Liam slowly walked away, he turned around once again and saw Sam rubbing his belly and smiling kindly at him. He was definitely going back to the bakery shop the next day.

A few minutes later, as he arrived at the gym, Liam could barely contain his excitement as the memories of his last workout started filling his mind. It wasn’t only about the incredible sensation coursing through his body as his muscles grew with every rep, but also the amazing sight of Aiden’s muscles growing and making his clothes look tiny on his body. The more Liam thought about it, the more he convinced himself that Aiden needed to get much bigger.

Liam left his backpack in the locker room and literally ran to the machines, where Aiden was waiting for him. As soon as Liam saw Aiden, his dick stirred to life in his gym shorts because the man looked incredibly hot. Aiden wore a tight-fitting tank top that accentuated his perfectly sculpted pecs and showcased his building deltoids. The trainer’s wide lats were visible, and Liam made a mental note to buy something to increase those massive wing-looking muscles.

Even though Liam was enamored of Aiden’s upper body, the trainer had on the snuggest sweatpants Liam had ever seen, leaving nothing to the imagination. Liam’s mouth watered as he approached, and he could see more closely the impressive shape and size of Aiden’s ass. His thighs seemed bigger than Liam remembered, probably because the pants looked almost glued to the skin. Liam knew he would have a hard time focusing on his workout with such a perfect man guiding him through it.

“Hey there. I’m sorry for the delay,” Liam said as he stood behind Aiden, unable to look away from the guy’s butt. “I brought something to compensate for making you wait.”

Aiden turned around and kindly smiled when he saw Liam’s face. “Hey, no problem, you’re just... 2 minutes late? That’s not even late, buddy,” Aiden responded, shaking Liam’s hand. “But I won’t say no to those candies. I recognize the box. The desserts you brought yesterday were amazing.”

“Nice. Today, I got some new stuff. Granola bars, honey cakes, the power pups to chew, and something to regain energy after the workout,” Liam said, opening the box to a visibly excited Aiden.

“Dude, you’re going to make me fat with these things, but man, they look delicious,” Aiden said, reaching for the box to pick up a granola bar. “Half and half, I guess?” asked Aiden.

“No, take three, and I’ll take one. You’re bigger, so you need more food, and as I said, this is to compensate for the delay,” Liam answered, and Aiden chuckled.

“Only this time, I won’t say no, but you gotta stop this unless you want a fat trainer,” Aiden said as he took a big bite of the first granola bar and groaned in delight at the flavor. “Dude, this is delicious. You have to tell me the location of this bakery shop. I’d buy the whole place.”

“Exactly what I said. I’m glad you like it. Don’t be shy, and eat. Granolas and cakes before the workout, power pops during the workout, and the pudding for later,” Liam explained, but Aiden had already devoured his three granola bars and was halfway through the cakes. Liam slowly ate his part of the order and put the box aside, leaving the pudding for later.

Once both were ready, Aiden told Liam that the first set would be regular squats to teach him the correct form to do them, followed by pause squats and other variations of the same exercise. Since Liam was new to all the workouts, he just followed Aiden’s order, barely focusing on what he was doing because he was too busy looking at Aiden’s ass.

As Aiden explained to Liam about the proper position of the legs to do a squat, moving Liam’s legs effortlessly, Liam felt his ass randomly flexing unconsciously, and this made him wonder if Aiden was feeling the same. Aiden had eaten three times the dose Liam had gotten, so it was very likely the effects would appear faster or with more intensity. As Aiden moved around him, Liam’s eyes stayed on the guy’s ass, and he soon realized that it had a fuller and more sculpted appearance.

Unaware of what was happening to him, Aiden continued explaining the squats and the muscles that could grow using different variations. He used his own glutes and legs to point to the different muscle groups, and he started feeling strangely cramped in his snug sweatpants. He adjusted the back of his pants as he stood in front of Liam to show him how to go down properly and stay there for the pause squats.

As Aiden did the first squat, asking Liam to pay close attention to how his muscles reacted to the movement, he could feel a strange but satisfying burn coursing through his glutes and thighs. Doing a regular squat was some of the easiest exercises for Aiden, but as he did a second one, he felt the back of his pants getting uncomfortably tighter around his ass. As he rose, he noticed his pants were lowering at the back, seemingly unable to cover his butt.

“You got it? It’s not that difficult,” Aiden said, turning around to see a speechless and shocked Liam. “Your turn.”

“Eh… I-I think I need to see it again. Please,” Liam responded, pretending to need more explanation but only wanting to see Aiden’s ass once again.

“Hmm, okay. But pay attention, okay? Look how this simple exercise activates the glutes and the thighs,” Aiden said, pulling the pants up once again but feeling the seams at the center getting between his ass cheeks. Then, he positioned himself in front of Liam once again and performed two more squats, causing a soft rip sound on the second one. “That should be enough. Now, it’s your turn.”

Liam took a deep breath as he fought his own arousal to prevent his dick from getting fully hard in his shorts. He performed a few squats, seemingly doing it wrongly, so Aiden stood right behind him to fix his position as Liam went down again, with Aiden’s torso, crotch, and tights pressed very firmly to his back. Liam was about to lose it as he felt the bigger guy literally covering his body as both performed more squats. Liam felt his ass getting slightly plumper, but that sensation was secondary compared to having Aiden’s body so tightly pressed against him.

“Okay, I think you mastered this one. Well, not master, but you did great, and your back even looks plumper already,” Aiden joked, and Liam blushed. “I’m kidding. It takes time, but squats are great to get bigger butts,” Aiden added, constantly pulling the back of his pants and trying to get comfortable, even though it was clear they didn’t fit him anymore. The pants couldn’t cover the top part of his butt anymore, leaving it uncovered. At the same time, the seams at the sides and the center of the pants were dangerously straining. It looked like the pants were about to burst, but Aiden pretended to be okay.

They changed to the next exercise, but Aiden remembered about the Power Pops. Each of them popped one in their mouth to chew while Aiden taught Liam how to perform lunges to get stronger legs. First, Aiden explained the correct position to perform the lunges, but Liam noticed that Aiden could barely focus on the explanation as he struggled to get comfortable in his pants, which seemed impossible.

As Aiden performed the first lunge, Liam heard something ripping, louder than the previous one, and he saw the right seam of the pants splitting to reveal part of Aiden’s thunderous thigh. The trainer tried to retain some professionalism and act like nothing had happened, but Liam’s shock was visible on his face, making Aiden blush.

“Sorry about that. It had never happened before. I guess it’s time to get new pants,” Aiden said, fixing his pants again, visibly ashamed of what had just happened. “I think your candies and treats are getting me fatter much faster than I expected.”

“You don’t look fat to me. You’re just a big guy, and, well, I don’t mind if you take the pants off. I think you’re hot,” Liam said, blushing when he saw the surprise in Aiden’s expression.

“Wow, what a compliment! Thanks. You’re a pretty good-looking guy, but I can’t take my clothes off while working,” Aiden said, patting Liam’s shoulders.

“Some guys do. Look, there’s one posing in a tiny poser right there,” Liam said, looking at a big guy, smaller than Aiden, posing in front of the mirrors with only a tiny poser on. “And he doesn’t even look as good as you.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t work here. Let’s save exhibitionism for another day. Now, show me how you do the lounges,” Aiden said, chuckling and adjusting his pants once again.

Motivated by Aiden’s amazing body, Liam followed the instructions very carefully. He could feel his ass and thighs responding with newfound power. Additionally, his entire body felt different. Liam felt every single muscle on his body responding to the exercises he was performing, even though he wasn’t focusing on those muscles. The Power Pops were also kicking in, and as excited as Liam was about his own growth, his attention turned to Aiden’s body to see it change without making any effort.

Aiden’s arms were already thick and strong-looking, but with the Power Pops making him grow, his biceps, triceps, deltoids, and traps were visibly bulging more than just a few minutes before. Also, Aiden started pulling his tight-fitting tank top to accommodate the increasing mass on his lats and pecs. He still seemed unaware of the changes, but clearly, his body was reacting better than Liam expected to the Power Pops.

Liam tried to focus on Aiden’s explanation, but with every passing second, the trainer’s body showed more and more of the effects of the desserts on his body. His tank top looked glued to his skin, but his pants barely held on. Aiden’s ass had grown so big that other guys at the gym had stopped their workouts to check on the massive butt that was taking the snug pants to their limit. Aiden ignored the stares, but he knew something was off because his pants were literally about to burst.

“Okay, one final thing, and one of the machines I enjoy the most: leg presses. It’s pretty easy, so I don’t think you need any demonstration,” Aiden said, standing by the machine he was talking about. “Just sit, feet up here, and the rest is pretty easy. We can start without added weights, so you can see how it works.”

“I’d prefer it if you showed me. I had never used any of these machines, so I’m clueless,” Liam said, asking Aiden for a demonstration he didn’t need but definitely wanted to see. “Just show me some reps, and I’ll try it myself.”

“Okay. Just pay attention,” Aiden said as he positioned himself in the machine after adding some weight. “You get in position, and... you unlock it here and then just... bend your legs and push,” Aiden said as he bent his legs under the weight, causing loud rips at the seams of his pants. Even then, he completed the rep and repeated the movement, causing the fabric of his pants to give way and expose more of his lower body.

Liam’s jaw dropped to the ground as he saw Aiden effortlessly doing more reps and his muscles expanding right before his eyes. His entire body was growing, but this growth mostly focused on his lower body. The pants ripped in the middle from the back to the front, leaving Aiden’s ass and crotch exposed. The seams at the sides didn’t survive either, exposing his thighs. Even the fabric around his calves, unable to contain the mass Aiden was gaining, gave way and exposed his skin for Liam to admire.

On the upper body, the tank top was unable to contain the bulging lats, and the pec shelf was growing with each heartbeat. The seams at the sides also gave up while Aiden continued doing more leg presses, completely entranced due to his impressive growth. Liam was speechless all along, and by the time Aiden finished his reps, Liam’s dick was fully hard in his shorts, clearly visible to everybody.

As Aiden stepped out of the machine, he quickly removed the remaining shreds of his clothes and marveled at his own body. His body felt more powerful than ever, and his muscles looked amazing. Meanwhile, Liam was almost having a stroke as he looked at his trainer in only boxer briefs that looked like they were about to burst, just like the rest of Aiden’s clothes had done.

Aiden’s shoulders looked broader, his deltoids bulging like cannonballs, giving him a powerful and imposing figure. His traps and back muscles looked wide enough to land a plane on that back, complementing the enormous lats that pushed his arms higher from his torso. His biceps had grown bigger than softballs to match the most amazing triceps Liam had ever seen. Aiden’s arms looked thicker than Liam’s legs, and the thick veins pulsing over them made the arms look even bigger.

His pec shelf was a sight to behold. His chest wasn’t just broad but also so thick that the valley between his pecs was a few inches deep. His nipples pointed downward, proof of how much muscle mass he had stacked on his chest. His waist had stayed pretty narrow, but his chiseled abs looked like a brick wall of stone. It was simply perfect.

Aiden’s lower body was even more impressive than his upper body, thanks to the desserts Liam had brought for him. Aiden’s thighs looked like three trunks, and his diamond-looking calves matched them perfectly. Since Aiden was only wearing his boxer briefs, Liam was able to have a clear view of what the guy was packing and was gladly surprised to see the shape of a pretty decent-sized dick and the fullest-looking balls Liam had seen.

Aiden turned around, and Liam gasped in shock at the sight of the trainer’s enormous ass. The stretchy fabric of the boxer briefs strained around a huge and perfectly sculpted butt. It looked like Aiden had fit a pair of bowling balls under his skin, but it was clear it was muscle, with some touches of fat that made it look delicious.

“I have no idea what happened, but I feel great,” Aiden said, exploring his body with his hands while Liam’s face and mind were blank. “I think we should stop for the day. I have to find something to wear before my boss finds out I’m almost naked in his gym. Maybe, once I get dressed, we can eat that pudding together? I’m craving some sweets,” Aiden added, and Liam could only nod.

As Aiden ran to the locker rooms, making Liam’s dick throb in his pants, Liam could barely wrap up his mind to think clearly. He never expected Aiden’s body to grow so much in such a short time. But, considering the desserts were so effective, Liam was more than willing to use all the options the bakery shop had to turn Aiden into an even more perfect specimen.

...