#young professional killers

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Session Zero

Hello! I am back! @spotaus get in here friend! Next drabble just dropped!

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Okay. Before anyhting else. This is in the first spring the guys are in farmtale. Nightmare has been six for almost a year now, like 11 months ish. So the gang has been in Farmtale for like 8 months ish (they have had night with them for 10 months)

Look. You all agreed to this timeline hopping when you started reading my drabbles. I have warned you all at the beginning of this ride. ANYWAY! We going in!

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Ngihtmare stares up at the building as he keeps a very tight hold on Dust's shirt. Dust still has him in his arms as he calmly waits by the enterance.

Killer had dropped them off for now and was going to park the car while they waited under the little covering by the front door.

Dust nuzzles his skull softly "Hey... it is just for a little while. And I shouldn't be long."

Nightmare just pushes closer to Dust "Why need to even go here? It is stupid. You teach me stuff."

Dust nods "Oh trust me. I agree. I am perfectly able to teach things." Dust looks unhappy as well.

Fauna, the nice deer monster from their town, laughs softly "But unless you actually get registered you aren't allowed to do that."

Dust huffs and Nightmare looks at her "So? Why do i need to go here?" Nightmare could just take a break while Dust gets the stupid license to home school and then they can pick it up again. Dust already said they aren't ina hurry.

Fauna smiles softly "This is also to see how you are doing mentally Nightmare. A lot has happened and your health is important."

Ngihtmare just pushes clsoer ot Dust "I am fine." he is fine. He has his... his four! He has a home and peolpe who care about him. What else could he want? Sure his body aches and if he moves a lot it still hurts... and when he is alone at night the nightmares return. But that is beside the point!

He is happier and safer than he has been for a long time. How can they just not see that?

Fauna smiles softly "Well you have been healing a lot. but this is a good thing! you will get to learn so many things, and they will figure out where you are with your schooling to help you better focus and see where you can learn things. Not to forget other children to play with."

Nightmare freezes at the implication of other children and looks up at Dust begging. Please. Please don't leave him.

Dust nuzzles his skull and mutters softly "I will stay right by your side."

Fauna is clearly about to say something but then Killer rushes unver the cover and pants as he drips water "This rain!! It gets everywhere!"

Dust shoots him a disapproving look "really?"

Killer grins "Had to walk quite the end to get here. No parking places. Well! Lets get this whole mental evaluation over with!" and he marches in. Dust shrugs and follows him.

They check in with the receptionist as Nightmare keeps his skull against Dust's collarbone. He watches as he stays quiet to try and listen. file away eveyrhting he hears and keep an eye on where the exit is. Just in case.

They get to the right room and meet some people inside. The director Augustus and the head teacher Miss March.

They talk for a while and Nightmare just keeps trying to stay plastered against Dust. He knows it is dumb and needy and clingy and he shouldn't be this weak after all he experienced but he is terrified and Dust is safe.

They do the stupid tests and talk and they just keep asking him questions he doens't want or know how to answer.

Then they have lunch and all Nightmae wants to do is go home and sleep in their bed.lay together with his dad- four! His four! and relax. let today pass and never think about it again.

They have a few more talks before they meet up with Augustus again and he smiles at them "I must say i am relieved."

Killer looksup and shoots Dust a look as well.

Dust frowns and Ngihtmare feels hismelf be pulled closer "about what?"

Augustus blinks and chuckles "I am sorry. I didn't mean it in any negative way. It is just. I read the file you put together with miss Fauna and I had been worried. but. It seems like your son is a very strong and brave young man."

Nightmare is unsure how to react and just pushes closer to Dust. He knows it is part of the story that Dust is his biological dad but they joy at hearing that bond being refered between them? It is a lot.

Augustus sighs "There is trauma. that is obvious. However. He speaks for himself. and while scared he just needs some gentle encouragement from either of you to feel reassured. The ability for him to still form these meaningfull and supportive bonds with others really showcases that he is on the right track to heal."

He pulls over another report "The physical health is also healing. Very slowly but with the slow recovery of his own magic it is to be expected and all well within the realm of normal healing."

he sighs as he looks at them "Now... about his schooling. He is a smart kid. Very far with reading and languages. But the other aspects of his schooling are very lacking at the moment. but nothing that can't be caught up with." Augustus waits a moment before continuing "Normally. I would recommend full days here."

Killer hisses and glares "No." Nightmare shrinks closer to Dust as Dust just pulls him closer again.

Augustus nods "I had already assumed that would be your answer." he smiles "I will still have to try. I assure you he will be safe here. We have a top staff that all work together to ensure the safety of the children. We are specialised in offering help for children of bad situations. TO help them heal and experience the things any child should get the chance to experience."

Dust glares "He doesn't want to."

Augustus nods "of coruse he doesn't. It is new and scary. It is away from those who keep him safe. But it would help him grow. help him heal. see that not eveyrone in this world is out to hurt him. that those who hurt him were the outliners and should never have gotten the chance to see him."

Dust frowns as Killer jsut glares "We are not leaving him here for days on end."

Augustus nods "While we recommend the full program we can always do a shorter one. One that focusses on trying to help him catch up wiht his learnign and to just keep an eye in case his mental health degrades." he pulls over another piece of paper and hands it to Killer.

Killer snatches it and reads it.

Augustus speaks calmly "It is half a day a week. Normally for children who spend a long time in a hospital. It will mean that he two hours of private tutoring and after that he would spend an hour with the class before and another hour after lunch." he smiles "a much more gentle introduction to school and being near others."

Killer and dust share a look.

Killer leans closer "And how long would this all take? Seeing as we are planning on home schooling him again as soon as Dust got his license."

Augustus looks thoguhtful "Catching up with the school work will take a long time. mentally healing fuly even longer. But as you are not planning on using the full program we can at least give him a stable start to continue healing from."

Fauna frowns at them "What if it turns out that he likes classes? that he likes being in a group?"

Nightmare shakes his skull as he pushes closer to Dust.

Dust rubs his spine softly and Ngihtmare feels hismefl relax. Killer speaks with a grin "If. and only IF Nightmare says he prefers group classes and stuff. Then we will look into options."

Dust nods as he keeps holding him "It will be a long process. We will need to make sure the people he is near know not to touch him. THe children will have to know to be gentle. Nightmare will have to rest a lot and if anything happens with his magic we would have to be called." Dust looks pointedly at Augustus and Nightmare sees the other shiver under the intimidating glare.

Dust just keeps staring "Which is just the start of the list."

Killer grins and the tension disappears "Which is why one of us will remain nearby just in case!"

Augustus frowns "That would go against the aim of the project to help him build up his ability to trust people. We would be at large of a risk that he could fall back into habits of only going to you."

Killer nods "I dn't see anything wrong wiht that." he glares "We are not leaving him. and you can't make us leave."

Augustus frowns and thinks deeply before nodding "What if. You don't stay in the room with him. but you can remain near? We have our waiting rooms for people between appointments or waiting for pick up. YOu could remain there. That is nearby in case of emergencies and knowing you would be in the building could be helpful to make everything feel safer?"

Nightmare is kinda shocked at how considering this guy is. He had seen others before. Who just demanded everyone do what they say because they know better. And this guy probably knows better. He has seen many people before and helped many people. It is why miss Fauna encouraged them to go to this place in the nearby city over the small town psychologist.

Something about having build this whole thing to help others and everything being specialized to be able to help those who have been hurt in this way.

But here he is... letting them decide stuff.

Killer looks considered and him and Dust share a look. DUst shoots Augustus a look "Why are you being so okay with us wanting things different and special?"

Augustus looks shocked before laughing a bit. Then he smiles "Because we are all different people. Two can have the exact same thing happen to them and have a completely different response to the trauma. Two can have the exact same response to the trauma yet need different healing plans." he sighs "We are all individuals who deal and work through things in our own ways. I can advice the most successful routine and what i have seen works before. But you three will always know you three best. You know what you can and can't handle."

Augustus smiles "Maybe after a very sessions and classes I will have a better personalised idea on what could help Nightmare. But before I can do that I need to get to know him a bit more. The mind is a complex thing. It takes time to understand. And you can't understand it if you aren't willing to listen."

Fauna smiles and nods "THe body is rather easy to heal. It will heal if giving the right things it needs. But the mind won't heal unless it is ready to heal. Until it wants to heal."

Augustus nods "exactly. It takes a lot of effort to work through trauma. But the first step is wanting it. Which is why i won't force a program or routine unto anyone, even if i truly believe it will help them."

Killer and Dust consider it and end up agreeing to talk with everyone at home about it.

They do a few more tests and scans. mostly on his spine and ribs to note down the progress. After that they say goodbye to Fauna and leave the building.

The rain had calmed downa lot and turned into a light drizzle as they walk back towards the truck.

Dust hums and nuzzles his skull "you okay?"

Nightmare shrugs "I don't want to do school there."

Dust blinsk adn laughs "I don't think any of us want you to do that either." then he sighs "But it is slightly required to at least get some help."

Killer groans "For real. If we don't at least try this people will keep being problematic." then he frowns "It is also nice to have more medical experts check your wounds nad magic tiny boss."

Nightmare frowns as he pushes close to Dust and thinks.

Eventually they get to their ride and Nightmare mutters "Only for a little while. Just to calm people down." then he wants homeschool again.

Dust nuzzles his skull "We wouldn't ask anything else of you. an we will be wiht you the whole time."

Yeah... that makes the idea bearable. As long as it doesn't take too long of course.

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[archiveofvirtue]

officer — dean winchester

content: dean winchester x female!oc, heavy smut, oral (male receiving), face riding, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, slight breeding, explicit language

summary: you have been dealing with a series of bizarre murders, stuck as the killer stays unknown to you. When suddenly two FBI Agents enter the New Orleans Police Department where you are leading the case. Dean is very much intrigued by you, due to you being both sharp and attractive. You, however, quickly discover that the brothers aren't who they claim to be. Instead of reporting them, you decide to confront Dean privately..

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Dean Winchester adjusted his FBI badge, his lips curling into a smirk as he and Sam walked into the bustling precinct of the New Orleans Police Department. The case they were working on—a string of bizarre murders linked to a wicked witch—had brought them to the city, and they needed all the help they could get. Dean had done his homework, and he knew exactly who they needed to talk to.

"Officer Y/N Carter," he said under his breath, glancing at his brother. "She's the lead on this case. And from what I've heard, she's sharp as a tack."

Sam raised an eyebrow, catching the glint in Dean's eye. "You mean you've heard she's hot."

Dean grinned. "Can't a guy appreciate a woman's professional skills?"

Sam rolled his eyes but didn't press further as they approached the front desk. A young officer glanced up at them, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of the two well-dressed men.

"Agents...?" she prompted, her gaze flicking to their badges.

"Sir Abney," Dean said smoothly, flashing his most charming smile. "And this is Agent Moore. We're with the FBI, here to see Officer Carter about an ongoing investigation."

The officer nodded and picked up the phone. Within moments, you stepped into the room, and Dean had to suppress a whistle. You were stunning—tall, with sharp blue eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. Your dark hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and you moved with the kind of confidence that Dean couldn't help but admire..

He didn't try to hide his smug smile. Typical. You had dealt with enough of these guys to know the look-half admiration, half underestimation.

"Agents," you greeted them, voice cool and professional. "I hear you're looking into the same case I am."

"That's right," He said, offering his hand. "Agent Abney. This is my partner, Agent Moore."

You shook his hand, grip firm, and Dean couldn't help but notice the slight twitch at the corner of your mouth, as if you were suppressing a smile. "Officer Y/N Carter. I've been working on this case for weeks. It's been... unusual, to say the least."

"That's why we're here," Sam chimed in, his tone more serious. "We've been tracking similar incidents across the state. We think your case might be connected."

You nodded, your expression thoughtful as you led them to your desk. "Let's compare notes, then."

As the three of you discussed the details of the case, Dean found himself increasingly drawn to you. You were smart, no doubt about that, and you didn't shy away from speaking your mind. But there was something else, too—a spark between you and Dean that you couldn't ignore. You caught his eyes on you several times during your conversation, and each time, you looked back at him with a mixture of curiosity and something else... something that made his pulse quicken. He had that charm that could probably get him out of most situations, but you weren't so easily swayed.

After the three of you had gone through all the information, you leaned back in your chair, studying them with those sharp eyes of yours. "Well, it looks like we're dealing with the same thing—a unknown woman with a serious grudge and a knack for creative murder."

"Seems that way," Dean agreed, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "You've been a big help, Officer Carter. I gotta say, it's not every day we come across someone as competent as you in law enforcement."

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on your lips. "Is that your way of complimenting me, Agent Abney?"

Dean grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Just stating the facts, ma'am."

You chuckled softly, but there was an edge of suspicion in your eyes that Dean didn't miss. "Well, I'm happy to help. But don't think I'm not keeping an eye on you two. I've been doing this job long enough to know when something's off."

"Nothing to worry about, Officer," Dean said smoothly. "We're just here to catch this serial killer."

"Uh-huh," you said, not entirely convinced. But before either of them could say more, your phone buzzed on the desk.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," you said, picking it up and turning slightly away from them. The brothers took the opportunity to exchange a glance—Sam's pointed and Dean's slightly smug. But when you hung up, your expression was unreadable.

"I think we're done here," you said, standing. "I'll reach out if I find anything else. And you two—keep me in the loop."

"Will do," Sam said, and Dean gave you a nod before they headed out of the station.

As they left, Dean couldn't shake the feeling that you were more than just a by-the-books cop. And judging by the look you had given him, you weren't quite done with them, either. Something told you that these two had a lot more going on than they let on.

Back at your desk, you watched the two 'FBI agents' walk out, your mind already working on unraveling the mystery that was slumbering over them. There was something about him that didn't add up—besides the fact that he was ridiculously charming. When you'd shaken his hand, there had been a spark, a feeling that you couldn't quite put your finger on. And then there was that name—Abney. You were almost certain you had heard it before, but not in any official capacity.

As soon as they were out of sight, you turned to your computer, pulling up the database. You typed in 'Abney' and 'Moore,' then hit enter. A few seconds later, the screen flashed with the results—nothing. No agents by those names in the FBI database. But then, almost as quickly, a few more results popped up—articles, reports, sightings—all linked to two brothers who had a reputation for impersonating law enforcement.

Winchester. Dean and Sam Winchester.

A slow smile spread across your face. Well, well, well. You had them now. But instead of going straight to your superiors, you decided to play this one a little differently. If Dean wanted to flirt, you'd flirt back—but on your terms.

You quickly reached down into your pocket, pulling out the sleek little paper card that Agent Abney, better known as Dean Winchester, had given you earlier, then picked up your phone. It was time to see just how far Dean was willing to go.

Later that evening, Dean's phone buzzed as he and Sam were going over their next move. He picked it up, frowning when he saw the message. It was from an unknown number, but the address and the time were clear.

"Meet me at this address after dark. We need to talk. – Y/N."

Sam glanced over. "Something up?"

Dean grinned. "Looks like Officer Carter wants a little one-on-one time."

Sam's expression turned wary. "Dean, we should be focusing on the witch, not..."

"Not what? Pursuing all possible leads?" Dean interrupted with a smirk. "Relax, Sammy. I'll handle this."

Sam sighed but didn't argue. "Just be careful."

Dean winked. "Aren't I always?"

Your apartment was on the edge of the city, in a quiet, upscale neighborhood. Dean arrived right on time, his nerves buzzing with a mix of anticipation and curiosity. As he walked up to the door, he wondered what exactly you wanted to talk about—but something told him it wasn't just about the case.

He knocked, and after a few seconds, the door swung open. You stood there, dressed casually in jeans and a fitted black shirt, your hair loose around your shoulders. The look you gave him was one of both suspicion and something else—something that made Dean's heart beat a little faster and that kept you from not calling him out just yet.

"Officer Carter," he said with a grin, leaning against the doorframe. "What can I do for you?"

You raised an eyebrow, stepping aside to let him in. "You can start by dropping the act, 'Agent Abney.'"

Dean's grin faltered slightly as he stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. "I'm not sure what you mean."

You crossed your arms, your expression unimpressed. "I mean, I did a little digging after you left the station. Turns out, you're not FBI. In fact, you're not even a cop."

Dean's stomach dropped. He was usually better at covering his tracks, but you had seen right through him. "Look, I can explain—"

You held up a hand, cutting him off. "I'm sure you can. But I'm not interested in your excuses. What I'm interested in is why you're really here."

Dean's mind raced, searching for a way to salvage the situation. But before he could come up with anything, you stepped closer, eyes locked on his. "And what I'm really interested in, Dean Winchester, is what you're willing to do to keep this little secret between us."

The way you said his name sent a shiver down his spine. There was no anger in your voice, no threat—just a challenge to see if he would accept. And Dean never could resist a challenge.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer, closing the distance between you two.

Your smile was slow, sultry, as you looked up at him. "I think you know, Dean. After all, you've been flirting with me since you walked into that station. So why don't we see if you can back it up?"

Dean's breath hitched. He wasn't often caught off guard, but you had managed it. You were sharp, confident, and undeniably sexy. And the offer you were making? Well, it was one he couldn't refuse.

He reached out, his hand sliding to the small of your back as he pulled you closer, his touch sending electric shocks to your skin. "You sure about this?"

You didn't pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, lips curling into a sly smile as your hands rested on his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath his shirt. "I'm sure, Dean. But this isn't just about keeping your little secret-this is about you proving that all that talk isn't just for show."

You could feel his pulse quickening, your words sparking a fire in him that he hadn't felt in a long time.

There was something about you-something in the way you looked at him, the way you challenged him-that made him want to prove himself. And it wasn't just about keeping you quiet anymore; it was about something far more primal.

"Trust me, sweetheart," Dean murmured, his voice husky as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I never make promises I can't keep."

A shiver ran down your spine, your breath catching in your throat as his words washed over you. You hadn't expected to be so affected by him-hadn't expected the way his touch would make your knees go weak.

But you weren't about to let him know just how much power he had over you, not yet.

This was still a game, and you weren't going to lose.

"Then show me," you whispered back, voice full of daring as you leaned into him, lips brushing against the stubble on his jaw. "Show me what you've got, Winchester."

Dean didn't need any more encouragement.

In one swift motion, he closed the remaining distance between you two, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both fierce and possessive.

You responded immediately, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as you pulled him closer, matching his intensity with your own.

The kiss deepened, becoming a battle for dominance as your tongues clashed and your breaths mingled. Dean's hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every line, while your nails dug into his shoulders, urging him on, daring him to take it further.

He backed you up against the wall, the cool plaster pressing against your back as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Your head fell back, eyes fluttering closed as you surrendered to the sensations he was awakening in you. It was intoxicating, the way he made you feel, the way he took control.

But you weren't about to let him have it all his way.

With a sudden burst of strength, you pushed him back, flipping your positions so that he was the one against the wall. He looked momentarily surprised, but then his lips curled into a wicked grin, his eyes darkening with desire.

"Feisty," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration and a hint of challenge. "I like that."

"Good," you shot back, voice breathless but steady as you trailed your hands down his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

You kissed him again, hard and demanding, pouring everything you had into it. Dean responded with equal fervor, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer, pressing your bodies together. The world outside melted away, leaving only the two of you, locked in a battle of wills and desire.

You both stumbled towards the couch, lips never parting, your hands never stopping their exploration. Dean's shirt was the first to go, quickly followed by yours, leaving you both bare to the waist, skin burning with the heat of your desire.

You pushed him down onto the couch, straddling his lap as you looked down at him, eyes blazing with a mix of lust and determination. "You're not getting off easy, Dean. If I'm keeping your secret, I want something in return."

Dean's hands gripped your thighs, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a hunger that matched your own. "Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just say the word."

You leaned down, lips brushing against his as you whispered, "I want all of you, Dean. I want you to make me forget everything except this moment."

And with that, any semblance of restraint you two had left crumbled. Dean's hands moved to unfasten your jeans, his fingers working with practiced ease as he stripped away the barriers between you. Your hands were just as eager, tugging at his belt, then his pants, until you were both bare and aching for each other.

Your eyes admired the men underneath you, his muscular chest heavily raising up and down as he observed you. You were quick to press a few kisses to his stomach before shifting your naked body down so that your lips were on the same level as his hard length.

Desire was burning in your eyes as you peeked up at Dean who was already tensing up, knowing what was bound to happen.

Without another second passing your plump lips wrapped around his tip, cheeks hallowing as you began sucking, earning a deep growl from him.

Slurping sounds began to fill the four walls of your living room as you took him down your throat, the noises that left Dean's lips satisfying you.

"What a cockslut you are," Dean grunted. His dirty words making your core tingle, pressing your thighs together as you started to suck him off at your own pace now, getting a slight taste of his precum in the process.

As he started to buckle his hips up just second later and shove his cock further down your throat you knew that he wasn't going to last any longer.

Dean reached down to take your hair in his grip, tugging on it as he fastened his movements. You were drooling and spitting already when Dean finally released himself into your mouth, feeling the warmth of his cum on your tongue.

You teasingly licked the corner of your lips clean as you stared up at him, and you could tell by the smug look on his face that he wasn't done yet.

Dean harshly pulled your fragile body up to him, his calloused hands pulling at your hips, shifting your frame towards his face with ease. He needed to devour you, and he needed you now.

"Can't wait to taste you, sweetheart." He muttered from inbetween your thighs, his warm breath falling against you.

The softness of your skin on top of him, his rough hands gripping tightly on your hips and rubbing your ass cheeks create a familiar sensation you were aching for all along. Every touch of him felt like being electrocuted.

Moans began to escape your lips as he guided you to move against him, your core rutting into his face, tongue now lapping at your entrance as his nose brushed against your sensitive nub.

Dean definitely took his time with you, devouring your wetness in smooth motions, his warm tongue licking through you, again and again.

You felt the knot in your lower belly growing as Dean moved up to suck at your clit, while two of his fingers prodded at your entrance before slipping in with ease. You felt so full with his fingers inside you. You arched your back at the intense pleasure Dean was giving you, your sweet whimpers filling the room.

Dean immediately knew that you were on the verge of releasing, until it happened right in front of his eyes. Your legs trembled, hands gripping onto strands of his hair, while his rough grip on your hips forced you to still move against him while you rode out your high.

He let his tongue slip through your folds one last time before pulling back, his lips covered by your wetness, making them glisten in the dimly lit room.

"You're addicting." Dean growled, his green eyes staring up at you while you were still catching your breath.

It was just when you were about to move off of him that Dean grabbed your weak-kneed body and threw it back down, back pressed against the soft fabric of the couch. He was still aching for more.

He crawled over you, grabbing your hips and rubbing his tip between your folds before pushing all of him inside, earning something between a gasp and a moan that sounded too good in his ears falling from your lips.

"You are taking me so fucking good," Dean began praising and kissing you, his breathy voice making you clench around his cock.

His hips met yours with every thrust as he found the perfect pace to fuck you right through it. The friction between you electric.

You felt his hands grabbing your breasts as they bounced with each thrust, playing gently with your nipples, adding extra pleasure to your body. It was raw, it was intense, and exactly what you both had wanted.

"Yeah, just like that..." Dean muttered in between his own moans, his fingers finding their way to your clit, moving them in circles, and forcing another orgasms out of you.

As your walls clenched around him you could tell by the way his movements got sloppier that he wasn't too far from releasing himself again. You pulled him down, lips hungrily devouring eachother as you moaned into his mouth, "you fill me up so well."

Dean pounded into you a few more times before he spilled inside you, little droplets of sweat had built up on his forehead as you brushed his hair back with your hands, his hips still moving painfully slow, some of his seeds spilling out of you.

He then collapsed right next to you, his body tightly pressed against yours while your heart was still racing from the intensity of what you two had just shared. Dean's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, his own breath coming in ragged gasps.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, content to just hold each other, to let the silence stretch between you two.

Finally, you pulled back slightly, looking at him with a satisfied smile. "Well, Dean, I think you've more than earned your secret."

Dean chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver through you. "Glad to hear it. But something tells me this isn't the last time you're gonna hold something over me."

You grinned, leaning in to brush your lips against his. "Maybe not. But you know what? I'm okay with that."

Dean's smile softened as he looked at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

"You're something else, Y/N Carter."

"So are you, Dean Winchester," you whispered back, heart swelling with something more than just the heat of the moment. "So are you."

[ratgrinders]

Never Stop Blowing Up Favorite Movies

Wendell Morris

Weird Science - 1985 science fantasy/teen comedy. "Nerdy social outcast students Gary Wallace and Wyatt Donnelly are humiliated by senior jocks Ian and Max for swooning over their cheerleader girlfriends. Humiliated and disappointed at their direction in life and wanting more, Gary is inspired by the 1931 classic Frankenstein to create a virtual woman using Wyatt's computer, infusing her with everything they can conceive to make the perfect dream woman."

The Fast and the Furious - "A media franchise centered on a series of action films that are largely concerned with street racing, heists, spies, and family."

Real Genius - 1985 science fiction/comedy. "Chris Knight, a genius in his senior year, is paired with a new student on campus, Mitch Taylor, to work on a chemical laser, only to learn it will be used for dangerous purposes."

Liv Skyler

Empire Records - 1995 coming-of-age comedy/drama. "The film follows a group of record store employees over the course of one exceptional day. The employees try to stop the store from being sold to a large chain, and learn about each other along the way."

Scarface - 1983 crime drama, and a remake of the 1932 film of the same name. "It tells the story of Cuban refugee Tony Montana, who arrives penniless in Miami during the Mariel boatlift and becomes a powerful drug lord." Additionally, "Less than two months before the film's release, Scarface was given an X rating by the MPAA for "excessive and cumulative violence and for language".

Clueless - 1995 coming-of-age teen comedy. "Considered to be one of the best teen films of all time...The plot centers on a beautiful, popular, and rich high school student who befriends a new student and decides to give her a makeover while playing matchmaker for her teachers and examining her own existence".

Usha Rao

The Horse in Motion - Published in 1878, a sequential series of 6 cabinet cards depicting the movement of a horse. Regarded as "the world's first bit of cinema", and the first film ever created.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - 1931 horror film. "An adaptation of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the 1886 Robert Louis Stevenson tale of a man who takes a potion which turns him from a mild-mannered man of science into a homicidal maniac."

102 Not Out - 2018 Indian Hindi-language comedy drama. "Dattatraya Vakharia is a lively 102-year-old who lives his life to the maximum and takes everything in a jovial way for his heart is that of a 26-year-old youngster regardless of his age. His 75-year-old son, Babulal Vakharia, is his exact opposite for he believes that he is now too old and fragile to enjoy life and lives a routine life."

Russell Feeld

American Gigolo - 1980 neo-noir crime drama. "A high-priced male escort who becomes romantically involved with a prominent politician's wife, while simultaneously becoming the prime suspect in a murder case."

La Femme Nikita - 1990 French-language action thriller. "[Nikita] is a criminal who is convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment for murdering policemen during an armed pharmacy robbery. Her government handlers fake her death and recruit her as a professional assassin. After intense training, she starts a career as a killer, where she struggles to balance her work with her personal life."

Waking Life - 2001 animated film. "The film explores a wide range of philosophical issues, including the nature of reality, dreams and lucid dreams, consciousness, the meaning of life, free will, and existentialism. It is centered on a young man who wanders through a succession of dreamlike realities wherein he encounters a series of people who engage in insightful philosophical discussions."

Andy 'Dang' Litefoot

Suburbia - 1983 coming-of-age drama thriller. Follows "a group of suburban youths who run away from home and adopt a punk lifestyle by squatting in abandoned suburban tract homes."

Goldfinger - 1964 spy film and the third installment in the James Bond series. "The film's plot has Bond investigating gold smuggling by gold magnate Auric Goldfinger and eventually uncovering Goldfinger's plans to contaminate the United States Bullion Depository at Fort Knox."

Fire in the Sky - 1993 biographical science fiction mystery. "It is based on Travis Walton's book The Walton Experience, which describes an extraterrestrial abduction"

Paula Donvalson

Muriel's Wedding - 1994 Australian comedy-drama. "The film focuses on the socially awkward Muriel whose ambition is to have a glamorous wedding and improve her personal life by moving from her dead-end hometown, the fictional Porpoise Spit, to Sydney."

The Long Kiss Goodnight - 1996 action thriller. "The story follows an amnesiac schoolteacher who sets out to recover her identity with the help of a private detective when they discover a dark conspiracy."

Under the Tuscan Sun - 2003 romantic comedy-drama. "Based on Frances Mayes' 1996 memoir of the same name, the film is about a recently divorced writer who buys a villa in Tuscany on a whim, hoping it will lead to a change in her life."

[omgchristinaredford-blog]

Here's a Real apartment. Maybe, about $6,000, or more. -> ?

Studio ; with : 2 bedrooms - each, an address (separate): no address/entry -> and : a kitchen/bath - which means, Industrial/Professional Quality ::... ie. it's not a residence/residential - it's Industrial/Professional, you can't be a person, you have to be working, And - you can't live there : you need, to Work there. like "for students" lol (but ; real ones)

It's funny ; you can't even see the guy who lives there - all that's detectable, is the female. Maybe he's a small person. so cute

-> ☆ new york Living ☆ <- !!! ⚘️💐🥀🌺🏵🌷🌸💮🌹🍁... 🍃 drift flöať away Cäłğëñ ><]: høĺª°•💋

[shewroteaworld]

Unsub Bait

Premise: For the fourth time, brilliant sunshine!reader is asked to bait the unsub. For the first time, Spencer has a problem with this.

Word count: approx. 2,000

Tw: canon-typical discussions of violence

Author's Note: Welcome to the second installment of brilliant sunshine!reader (meaning highly intelligent sunshine!reader) x Spencer Reid! While you don't have to read my first brilliant sunshine! reader fic to understand this one, I would highly recommend reading it. It's titled "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoy! :) <3

“Here’s an overview of the first phase of the operation: (Y/N) will go undercover as a college student at Yale. She’ll get acquainted with the unsub at Speakeasy, the New Haven bar where he assesses potential victims. We’ll apprehend him in the act of attempted kidnapping.” Hotchner listed for the team.

You’d played unsub lure almost a comical number of times. Once? That’s a once in a million task required to capture a once in a million unsub. Twice? You’d only have two nickels, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right? But four times? 

You’d already joked to Hotch that you should add “professional unsub bait” to your resume. 

It would’ve been more comical if it wasn’t so scary. 

You took a deep breath as you stared at the photos of the victims on the mahogany conference room table. Melissa Grey. Audrey Bernstein. Alivia Johnson. You could see your 21-year-old self in their eyes. You remember being so young and full of anxiety; you were near graduating from MIT. You couldn’t sleep at night from worrying if you had already lived up to your potential and would spend the rest of your years a washed up gifted kid– an academic has–been. After graduation, you proved to yourself your worth.

The college juniors in the photographs had their lives cut short by the unsub before they had the opportunity to find out what amazing places their brilliant minds could take them. You were about to allow said unsub to nearly kidnap you. 

That is, if you didn’t blow your cover. Then, he would hold you hostage or attempt to kill you as soon as possible by skipping his usual "kidnap and torture" routine.

Rationally, you knew your field experience more than prepared you for this task. Also, you knew your team had your back. They always kept you safe and healthy. The one time you were put at serious risk, you had to fight to be left alone after the case closed. But, you’re not sure if all the facts in the world could adequately calm your adrenal glands.

“Is this necessary?” Spencer suddenly interjected.

You turned to Spencer in surprise. “It’s the quickest way. We have twenty-four hours,” You said.

The unsub had a pattern; a girl was dying once every two weeks, and, when the the local and Connecticut police force combined failed to contain the situation, the BAU was brought into the case 36 hours before the next killing. With his eidetic memory, you were certain Spencer couldn't forget the time restraints if he tried, hence why you were stunned by his sudden brazenness. However, given Spencer's traumatic relationship history and your budding romance, Spencer's behavior was a lot more likely.

You and Spencer had been dating for a couple weeks. Despite being certain the team had their suspicions, you kept your relationship on the downlow. Strong boundaries were a good thing to keep when your relationship was in its fragile, formative era. Plus, you both agreed it was best to keep a high level of professionalism. 

This was the first time Spencer broke protocol.

“I think there’s another way.” Spencer continued. “It’s unsafe and illogical to put anyone’s life into considerable risk if there’s another viable option.”

“Are you implying I’m being rash, Reid?” Hotchner asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Usually, Spence would look away and take a breath. He’d at least have the decency to act timid, especially given the fact the entire team pulled multiple all-nighters in an effort to catch this serial killer. Instead, he leveled with Hotchner’s glare and asserted himself further. “I just think we’ve gotten a little too comfy using (Y/N) as an unsub lure. The more we do, the more probable a disaster will occur with her in the line of fire.”

“Spencer,” Morgan cut in gently. There was sympathy in his eyes. “We’ve done this with (Y/N) before. We’re good at reading her. And she knows the drill. We’ll keep her safe.”

“Yes, because that’s something we can certainly guarantee when she’s 3 inches from a serial killer.” Spencer deadpanned. 

“Reid. A word.” Without waiting for Spencer’s reaction, Hotch left the meeting room. With a hard look in his eye, Spencer filed after Hotch. You were relieved he was still obedient despite being ornery.

For a few moments, the team sat in silence. 

Rossi broke the spell with the scrape of his chair. “Well, I for one, am going to take this impromptu intermission as an opportunity to grab coffee. Any requests?” Rossi asked. 

“I’ll take a barbajada.” You joked half-heartedly. 

“Very funny, (L/N). Any requests the office Keurig can complete in less than five minutes?” 

The team rattled off their go-to office drink orders, but it faded to white noise. During your friendship, Spencer would always care for you when you had to lure the unsub. He’d be more attentive on the jet ride in and out. He’d check in on your mental state directly after the unsub was arrested and always called you once you got home. Once, after the particularly stressful unsub encounter, he sent you links to PTSD articles and even offered to help you schedule an appointment with a specialized therapist through the FBI’s mental health services.

But he’d never once intervened with a plan for you to go undercover. You knew Spencer Reid was nothing if not rational. He knew Hotch valued every member of his team. He knew Hotch would never send you undercover if it wasn’t necessary to stop a killing spree before more young women became statistics. 

Therefore, you knew Spencer was thinking about Maeve. 

You stood. 

“Where you going, Beauty Queen?” Morgan asked.

“Just heading to the restroom.” You lied. 

You walked down the hall and crept up the stairs. You tiptoed down the east wing of the second floor to avoid clicking your heels against the concrete. 

You crept to the side of Hotch’s office. You pressed your back to the wall.

Hotch said something indecipherable. An angry Reid answered.

“And all I’m saying is, she is not a cat with nine lives! She has one life. One precious life, that I think we’ve been a little too careless with.”

“Reid, you know I would never risk putting (Y/N) in harm’s way if it wasn’t the best course of action. She’s experienced with this. The team is experienced with this.” 

A beat of silence passed.

“Promise me that if you have so much as an inkling her life is in danger–”

“We’ll do everything in our power to get her out of there.”

“That’s the thing! ‘Everything in our power…’ It’s not enough. How many times have we told families we did everything we could when all they have left is a body bag?” 

Your heart froze. Both of the voices lowered. You could only catch bits and pieces of Hotch’s speech. You were never an eavesdropper, but despite your better nature, you crept around the corner towards the door.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone to an unsub, Spencer. I know how it sticks with you. I know how it changes the job. But you have to trust us– the team. We’re going to protect her. And we’re going to be there for you,” Hotch said. 

Spencer sighed. "How did you do it?" Spencer's voice cracked. "After Haley, Hotch? I’m not sure if I can survive this.” He sounded seconds away from tears. 

At that moment, you knew you would not sleep comfortably at night if you continued to be a fly on the wall.  You tiptoed back down the east wing and waited for Spencer at the bottom of the stairs.

Ten minutes passed before Spencer appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Spencer?” You called. 

His hazel eyes were tinged pink. He walked down the stairs nonchalantly. “Hey, um, would you mind if we discussed part of the case file real quick? Privately? It could help, um…” He cleared his throat. “Develop your persona.”

“Yes, of course.” 

Spencer didn’t look at you as he power walked down the hall towards the janitorial closets. For the first time since you started dating, he didn’t adjust to your walking pace. 

He flung a door open and yanked you inside. 

Carelessly, Spencer slammed the door behind you. Before you could get a word in, he pulled you into a bear hug.

“Spencer.” You whispered. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

He nuzzled his nose into your hair. 

You stood in the statue of a hug for two minutes.

“I can’t lose you.” Spencer whispered.

“You won’t.”

Spencer pulled away from you. He bent down to look you in the eye. He squeezed your shoulders. His eyes danced with emotion. There was a deep ache, a whirlpool of sadness that you knew a lifetime may never heal. What perplexed you was the hardness that you could only read as anger. 

“I…” He sighed. He hung his head. He dragged his palms down the slope of your shoulders to your forearms. It was like he was taking a cast of you with his hands. 

“I’m not dead on arrival. I’m still here. I’m coming back on that jet ride home with you. I’m going to be okay.” You reciprocated his shoulder squeeze. “You’re going to be okay.”

Spencer shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I care about you. It’s a part of the girlfriend package.” Spencer pulled you into another constricting hug. 

 “I can’t fathom how difficult this must be for you.” You whispered.

Spencer pressed his forehead to yours. “Promise me when you go out there, you won’t worry about me. I want you to only focus on you, your surroundings, and making sure you get out of there.”

“I promise, Spencer.” You said, though you weren’t sure if that would be the truth.

“And one more thing,” He said. His irises were so close to yours you could pick apart the layer of green and brown. “As soon as you feel unsafe, you call someone. If you have any inclination he’s going to overtake you–”

“I call the team.”

He took a step back and ran his hands through his hair. “I know you’re strong. I’m not trying to insult your field work.”

Your heart cracked. “Spencer, love, I know that. I’m so happy you care about me. I just wish this situation hurt you less.”

He dropped his hands to his sides. His brows furrowed. He stared at a random point to the left of your face.

“Can you do something for me? Before we leave?” He asked, still not meeting your gaze.

“What is it, Spence?”

He took a deep breath. He met your eyes again. “Dance with me.” 

“What?”

“Dance with me. I…” He inhaled deeply. “I never got to dance with Maeve before she…I barely even got to hold her. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” 

You closed the distance between you and Spencer. You cupped his face in your hands, and he instinctively leaned into your touch. His eyes shone with tears. “I’ll dance with you for the rest of my days, Spence.” 

He whipped out his phone. He turned on a slow jazz song you played for him last winter on an impromptu hot chocolate date. 

Your heart skipped a beat. You could go on that same date again, but it would have a whole new color to it. 

He slid his phone onto a cleaning supply shelf. He pulled you to his chest. Your head nestled right beneath his collarbone. You wrapped your arms around his mid back.

You danced, bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces, in silence until the song ended. The symphony of emotions didn’t cease with the final brush of the snare. 

Spencer continued swaying with you.

“I’m going to be okay.” You whispered.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You can’t promise me that.” He held you even tighter. “But I can promise you I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you come home to me.” 

Author's Note: Hello to all my new followers! I'm so glad you're here! I'm so grateful for the overwhelmingly positive reception to "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoyed this piece as well!

I hope you have a great day or night wherever you are in this crazy world.

xoxo,

shewroteaworld

[luveline]

hi queen 😙

could you please do one where the BAU are staying in another state for a case so they have to stay in a hotel and for some reason hotch has to come see reader in the morning or before bed or something so he knocks on the door of her room and she opens and she’s just standing there with like her hair in two braids and like matching pink pyjamas and hotch just has a little laugh because he’s never seen that side of her before?? 💕💕

this would be like season 1 or 2 hotch :D

cw reader has hair that can be put into two braids

He texts you first but you don't answer. Hotch isn't happy to encroach on your space so early but he can't remember what you said last night about the killer's motivations and he needs to know, desperately, in case this missing piece of the puzzle can stop another young man from being murdered. 

"L/N?" he asks, knocking on the door quickly. "Y/N, are you awake?" 

There's a definite sleeping groan. Hotch winces at the sound but what else can he do? You'll have to wake up in an hour anyway. 

"Y/N? I'm sorry to wake you, but I need to ask you about Cory, last night's victim? You said it seemed more like an arsonist than a murderer, what did you mean by–" 

The door swings open. "...that." Hotch stares at you. 

You have your hair braided away from your face, strands rocked free and frizzy. More amusing is the baby pink pyjamas you're wearing; adorable little slips of fabric, pants that stop mid-calf and a camisole with soft lace at the chest. Hotch immediately looks back to your face as he realises his once over, but he can't hold back a laugh. A small chuckle, harmless. 

"Are you laughing at me?" you ask tiredly, voice croaky but threaded with amusement. "You woke me up, okay? This is your fault. Did you bring me coffee, at least?" 

Hotch puts his empty hands up in defeat. 

"Come in, then, before someone else sees me." 

Hotch follows you inside. He doesn't feel any pressure or awkwardness, but he needs to make sure you aren't either, and so he takes a cross-armed position against the wall. You run your hand down a braid and pull out the elastic, absentminded as you shake out your hair. 

"I said it was more like arson because of the mess. Arsons like to ruin things. And I just don't see how it could be solely pleasure based after such a massacre," —you move to the second braid and repeat the process— "the adrenaline runs out eventually, but the blood was– it was everywhere. It would've taken effort. There are photos on my phone if you want to see." 

You gibe him your phone, open to photographs you took last night. Hotch clicks through them in disgust. Like you said, it takes a lot of effort to make a crime scene look like this. 

"We could be looking for someone with an impulse control disorder," Horch guesses. "Our pool of suspects would completely change. We've been looking for people who have untoward desires centred around teenage boys–" 

"But if we're searching for someone who can't control their impulses we could easily be looking at a teenage boy. He'd have reason to be with his victims that wouldn't cause concern." 

Hotch finds it very difficult to take you seriously in your pinks. He laughs again, and you know exactly what it is he's laughing at, waving him away as you bend down by your suitcase under the desk. "Go sharpen up, Hotchner. And get me a coffee, please." You glance at him from over your shoulder. "I'd like to see you in your pyjamas." 

"I'm sure you would, agent." 

Hotch thinks more than he should about you in your thin pyjamas, the way they hugged your thighs and the naked lengths of your arms, your ankles, he's ridiculous, but it's stuff he's not used to seeing. He's usually so focused. 

He brings you a coffee and an apology croissant, which you eat in pleased silence beside him, fully dressed, hair tamed. He can't not see you as you were that morning, eyes puffy with tiredness but a hundred times the professional he'd been. 

"I can feel you looking at me," you murmur. "Laugh again and I'm telling Gideon." 

"Ah, and he'd reprimand me."  

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" you ask, almost monotone as you drink your coffee. "Do you have the case file for Patrick Gorden? I wanna compare the blood splatter on the walls." 

[willyoubemycherryy]

Hypervision.

Older!Logan x reader

Warnings: cursing, flirting, s3xual innuendos but they’re tame I SWEAR, age gap, alcohol mention, one petname, cliffhanger :3

𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆42 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖♡´ ◕ ᴗ ◕ ｡ `♡ : @th3mrskory @smutinlove @inthetub @multifandom-random @multifandom-rand0m @fictionalmen-dilflover

part 1 .❄︎.

[2]_car karaoke is just conversation

°

°

°

“Hey driver…”

Logan looks at you through the rear view mirror as your lilting voice reaches his ears. He briefly considers ignoring you for the sake of keeping things professional and because he could already hear the bit of mischief in your tone but decides to humor you, responding with a soft hum.

“I was just making a guess before but I really gotta ask- are you any fun?” When you were told there’d be a change in your team, nothing major just a new driver, he was not what you imagined. You had pictured someone bland and…inconspicuous; the man in front of you was anything but. For starters, he was huge. Standing at least 6’3 with thick dark hair peppered with gray strands and a beard that matched, a strong nose that contrasted such dreamy eyes. Even though he was clearly silverfox/beekeeping age older, you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t gorgeous.

You hear a light scoff after a minute, almost forgetting you ever even asked anything while looking at him.

“I wouldn’t bet on it. M’ too old for fun, kid”, he says and your heart jumps at how deep his voice is. There was definitely a backstory to the rasp, a low timbre that’s mixed parts alluring and mixed part warning but his answer piques your interest and you can’t help asking-

“How old are you?”

Logan can’t say 200 b.c and it feels suspicious to pass your question altogether, deciding to settle for how old he’d pass for in normal human years.

Your eyes widen as you pinch your lips in to hide the growing smile. God bless beekeepers. Logan notices your silence and glances at you through the mirror. He doesn’t really care about your reaction (in denial) but he’s curious enough to look yet you’re not looking at him any differently, still grinning in that way that makes him weary but also like he needs to keep an eye on you. Still, there’s a few things he wants to ask about. Not willing to be the only one put on the hot seat.

“How old are you?” Your eyes pop wider and you’re quiet for a second longer than what’s comfortable making him wonder if you’ll answer. It wouldn’t surprise him if you didn’t, a big part of your image is your mystery-

“I turned 22 a couple of weeks ago”, you say lightly and a bit of trepidation creeps into his system because he knew you were young but christ. You laugh again at the poorly concealed shock on his face as you scoot forward, wrapping your arms around the headrest of the seat next to his as you lean your face against it. It’s quiet for a bit but the silence isn’t uncomfortable, even with the slight shift in the atmosphere at how much closer you are to him, Logan doesn’t exactly mind it. Glancing at the gps, there’s still about 30 minutes left until you reach where he’s taking you but traffic might change that.

There’s a light sigh next to his ear and before he can look, your hand is reaching over to flick on the radio and suddenly he’s listening to a song called “indigo” by a woman named Niki while you grin innocently. “So…since you’ll be with us for a while unless you turn out to be a serial killer or stalker-“ Logan smirks in amusement at that, “what’s your name?” You ask, watching confusion flicker across his features before he snaps his head to face you at the red light, your heart quickening as he looks directly at you.

“What? Kid, nobody told you?” It didn’t make sense to him because if he was to be technically working for you then someone should have already passed the basics of who he was- on paper at least- to you but you shake your head.

“No. All I got from my manager was that he’d get someone to hire a new chauffeur so he wouldn’t have to keep driving me to everything.” Huh. So there were some things that Logan wasn’t the only one in the dark on. You clear your throat to remind him that you’re still waiting. He won’t admit but for some reason, it’s charming, the bit of attitude vaguely familiar.

“Well, I don’t know your name either”, he says but you’re not buying it.

“Of course you do-“

“No. Your real name.” You pout as Logan waits. It’s your move and you hesitate. “Besides, it’s not like you need my name for me to do my job.” Your frown deepens at that as the silence persists and Logan decides he’s humored you enough. Not wanting to get close or involve yourself with him anymore than what was strictly necessary but you want to push for just a little bit more. Your playlist is nothing but distractible noise in the background as it plays while you think, leaning back.

“Nobody knows my real name though. So it’s nothing personal,” You whine.

“I know.”

“Then-” Logan cuts you off, “then it’ll be our secret. Well, mostly yours but I’m no snitch, sweetheart.” Your heart leaps at the petname rolling off his tongue in that smooth drawl and you hum softly at that because you already knew he wasn’t the dishonest type just by the way he carried himself.

“But..” you start and Logan finishes, “but what kid?”

Stormy hazel eyes find your form again and he’s not sure what to make of you, not sure if he he needs to find out. It’s too soon to tell but you’re odd, cheeky, curious but you aren’t rude despite your status…charming too.

“But you can’t keep calling me kid, the same way I just can’t keep calling you driver”, you say sounding like the exact definition of petulance.

“Why not?”, Logan sighs back. Unbothered with his eyes one the road as you get closer to your destination.

“Take a wild guess”, and just to get you off his case…

“Because it sounds like a cheap porno?” The way your jaw drops makes him smirk, especially since you’re quiet then. But not for long.

“Yeah but that’s okay since the backseat is big enough…” Logan’s eyes pop open and he inhales sharply, a quick image of you on him in said backseat as he wills himself not to look at you. Hearing you shift in your seat but silent after, lost in thought.

It’s no big deal, it’s just a name…but nobody else knows except your manager. Taking a long look at him, you see the hardness of his features, the “stay away” cloud around him and make your choice.

“It’s…” your voice comes out in an almost hushed whisper and it’s soft, you heart pounding with anxiety until he repeats it. Low and reverent, it makes you warm and you nod your head at him, indicating it was his turn.

“…Logan.”

“Logan what?” He cuts you a look out the corner of his eye. You were pushing it.

“Logan Howlett. No more questions.” You smile, nodding. Logan Howlett. It suited him, both rugged and pretty. You could see yourself screaming it. You know….in case of emergency.

“Alright Eazy-E, no more questions.” Logan shoots you another glare but says nothing. The rest of the ride is mostly just music and your voice when you’d sing along. “You don’t talk much do you?” His answering hum tells you all you need to know.

Logan looks at the screen, you’ll be there in less than 5 minutes and he hums. The drive was more tolerable than he thought it’d be. “Where am I taking you anyway?”

“A close friend of mine’s birthday party. She picked the club so don’t judge me.” You put your hands up in defense of your innocence, the timing for it perfect when he pulls up to the front of a club named ‘The Naked Strip’.

Putting the car in park, Logan gets out and walks over to your side, opening the door as you get out. Using his arm to steady yourself, you squeeze the firm muscle there and think not for the first time that night- fuck was he big. You’re grateful there are no paparazzi yet because you aren’t subtle with the way you hang onto him. Softly biting your lip as you look up at him.

Meanwhile Logan is reeling not only are you standing close enough for him to feel your silhouette, catching whiffs of your sweet smell but also because he’s seeing clearly again. He wasn’t hallucinating it the last time and nothing hurt, unlike it usually did. Hundreds of thousands raced through his mind as to what the fuck was going on with him, mainly how but you call his name before he has the chance to think down the deep end.

“Thank you for driving me, Logan”, the way you seem to purr his name makes his nape warm as tingles settle over him. Lowering his head, he doesn’t just look at you- no- he sees you. Your eyes almost glow, the glitter around them making you look every bit the siren, pink lips shiny under the light pressure of your teeth and the contrast of your pretty little outfit brushing against his suit…

Clearing his throat, Logan reminds himself that he’s not supposed to be enjoying you. This was a job. Nothing more.

“I was just doing my job. No need to thank me but you’re welcome”. You nod, smiling- “But your job is also me if you ever plan on doing that…” Logan raises a stunned eyebrow and you’re giggling before backing up a few steps as you turn to go inside. Already eager for some drinks so you can tell your best friend all about your hot new driver.

“See you in a few! Don’t wait up!”

Logan watches the clear sway of your hips until you disappear inside, getting back in the car, no limp either as he’s remembering devious doe eyes, charming voice, soft wandering hands while wondering just how fucked he is….

He finds out exactly just how much when he picks you up.

Part 3_come over?….

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

You know, it would be interesting for me to read the gloomy Disney characters. By the type that the Reader accidentally enters the Disney world. Or is already in this world. For example, a man! The Evil Queen× reader. Just imagine that the mirror says that the most beautiful is the reader and the man!The evil Queen was interested.. Well, or dark! A man!A Disney princess who believes in love and believes that the reader is his true love and that the reader should belong only to him.

Sorry for the bad English

Don't apologize

You're perf, babes

Yandere!Genderbent!Evil King x GN!Reader x Yandere!Genderbent!Snow White

CW: Death, obsessive behavior

"Magic mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" The vain king asked his enchanted mirror as he often did whenever his pride was wounded. King Hadewig was the envy of men and women. Cold and beautiful, his features were cut like an ethereal ice sculpture. Intelligent, talented, and ruthless, most everyone either wanted to bed him or be him. However, his power was not guaranteed for long.

Hadewig was King only by responsibility, and not by actual title. His title was, legally, Prince Consort. He married his, now deceased, wife when he was a young bachelor, and she was the only eligible bachelorette of suitable status as a widow. Being so much older than him, it was an "unfortunate", but not "unsurprising" passing of the crown when the Queen died and left her son in Hadewig's care.

The only reason the child wasn't immediately crowned king was because of Hadewig's charm and influence, convincing the court that the young Prince Snow was too irresponsible to rule the country. But it was difficult to continue that lie going, even with Hadewig purposely keeping Snow ignorant of his future kingly duties by treating him as a servant, for now the boy was twenty years of age, and truly should have not only been coronated years ago, but also wed off to the available princess of the neighboring kingdom, a woman as old as Hadewig.

But his potential loss of power wasn't the reason for his low self esteem that day.

"You are, my king. There is one who approaches, but does not yet share with you what makes you fair."

The king slumped in his seat in an uncouth like manner. "Then why does my hunter not look at me like a man?"

King Hadewig's personal hunter, an immensely talented killer that didn't just slaughter animals for the king. And the only person who simply looked at the king. Nothing Hadewig did could change the professional look on (Reader's) face during their meetings. No matter how charismatic he was with his words, how stylish his clothing was, nor the love potions he attempted to spike (Reader's) drinks with, they were seemingly immune to every one of his attempts. In their most recent meeting, the one that left Hadewig depressed, he had offered his hunter a glass of wine, which they turned down, stating that the last drink they had received from the king did not agree with them.

"I can not tell you that, my lord. I only can report what I see, so unless your hunter speaks their secrets out loud while I spy, I am blind to their feelings for you."

Hadewig groaned, upset and broken hearted.

"Show me my hunter, again."

The face in the mirror melted, dissolving into an image of (Reader) leaving the castle. Their strong frame sent shivers down the icy man's spine. His first and only marriage was one of political importance, with no love or warmth between the husband and wife. But in the presence of his Mx. Hunter, the king was set ablaze. The intense feeling of heat was dowsed when he witnessed the bastard he hated most in the world approach his hunter.

At the steps of the castle, Snow had been timidly watching the triumphant hunter from afar, gathering the courage to approach them. He had never known shame, never feeling any sort of embarrassment about the state of his dress, but in the presence of the person who always smelled faintly of iron, he was reduced to two inches tall.

Stepping lightly like a mouse, the short adult snuck up behind (Reader), still debating whether or not he was actually going to announce his presence.

His decision was made for him, however, being noticed by (Reader) almost immediately.

"Good afternoon, your highness." They said, turning sharply on their heel to face him.

The hunter was the only person to address the prince by his royal status.

"Ah- how did you know it was me?" He asked incredulously. A pink blush warmed his entire head, wrapping around the back of his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

"Because I could hear you." (Reader) offered a kind smile to the shy, younger man. They felt sympathy towards him, with the way his cold step father treated him. With what they had done to him.

Snow was impressed by how cool (Reader) was. And a small part of him wished to impress them as well. He tried to straighten out his worn out rags. "What brings you to the castle today?"

"To gift the king a wolf pelt. And also," (Reader) reached into their pouch, pulling out a pressed flower, "to gift you this."

The prince sucked in his gasp, wide eyed and lips pressed tight.

"I apologize for not finding something better for your highness."

"No!" He panicked, grabbing the flower with both hands. "It's beautiful!"

He hadn't received a gift since the passing of his mother.

"Happy Birthday, your highness." (Reader) bowed, then turned swiftly, leaving the young man hyperventilating and sweating.

Only the king and his mirror heard Snow whisper long after (Reader) left: "I love you."

Three days later, and the king was losing his mind over the interaction. Snow was visibly taller, standing straighter as he worked, singing as he cleaned the castle grounds, and it was bothering him.

Hadewig kicked over his chair in frustration. "Magic mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

"The one you fear is getting stronger, the confidence has warmed his winter, and people shall notice his spring awakening. The prince now glows more brightly than you, whose anger has etched lines of hatred into his ice like face."

King Hadewig released a scream, losing his control before quickly sharpening back up, running his hands through his messed hair.

He left his study, storming over towards a frightened servant.

"Send for my hunter."

Before (Reader), the king was disheveled, worrying (Reader) something awful.

"I can not stand for this disrespect any longer." His gaze read cold and cruel as it pierced the hunter's. "You understand that you are mine, correct?"

(Reader) thought about the flower and felt a wave of anxiety. "Yes, your highness."

"You understand that you belong to me?"

"Yes, your highness."

He sighed ever so slightly, before retrieving a wooden box from his desk. "I have another assignment for you.

Kill my son."

Nausea threatened to erupt from the seasoned murderer. "My lord?"

"Take him deep into the woods, and bring me back his heart." He held out the box. It was a test, as though (Reader) hadn't proved their loyalty to the mad man enough.

The empty box was heavy in (Reader's) hands.

"As you wish, your highness."

Prince Snow spun in the field of flowers as he searched for the most beautiful flowers for the hunter. It was the best day of his life! His father had given him a colorful outfit that fit him and the hunter had asked him out on a date! Well, they didn't call it a date, but what else could it have been?

He wove a crown for (Reader) while imaging their wedding day, becoming King and Royal Consort and having a real crown placed on their head.

(Reader), however, was weighing their options, not truly paying attention to the prince, and trying to ignore his childlike excitement.

What would the king do, if he was made a fool?

"Oh, hunter!" Snow ran over, holding out the delicate crown. "I made this for you! May I?"

And that was all it took, for (Reader) to spare his life.

They bent down, feeling the weight of the crown on their scalp. It smelled nice. Before Snow could retreat, (Reader) wrapped their arms around his thin waist. They had killed so many people before, but this was only the second time they felt unbearable guilt.

The first was after they took the life of the Queen.

"(Reader)?" Snow stuttered out, feeling weak in their strong arms.

"You must run, your highness." (Reader) whispered into his ear.

"What?"

"The king has ordered me to kill you. So please, run. Far away, into the woods." They released the prince, and it was only then that he noticed the heavy bags under their tired eyes.

"Why? I don't understand-"

"Leave. It won't be long before that witch discovers my lie."

Snow fell to his knees, holding onto the edge of (Reader's) shirt for dear life, falling apart in front of them. "Please, no! Come with me! If he would kill me, what would he do to you for sparing me? Please, run away with me!"

(Reader) bent down to release his fingers from their hem, planting a kiss on his forehead as they did so. "I hope when I meet you again you will have found a name more worthy of such a warm and kind person. For as of this moment, Prince Snow is dead."

Excitement threatened to crack the King's cool demeanor as he observed the bloody heart in his hands. (Reader) was distant, but that didn't matter to Hadewig, for now there was no competition for his hunter's affection. They would soon be his, even if he had to use force to make it so.

"Excellent work, my faithful hunter." He offered a practiced smile, unnerving (Reader) who prayed that the pig heart made a convincing decoy. At least until they could escape and hide out in the mountains, far away from the King's eyes.

(Reader) gave a deep bow. Then they left, calmly getting on their horse, and leaving, not taking a single glance behind them as they sped off, emergency bag already packed on their steed.

Back in Hadewig's room, he caressed the box affectionately, thinking about his lovely hunter. The stress had certainly caused a frown line, just as the mirror said, but he was working at reversing the damage.

"Magic Mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" He dreamily asked, slightly nervous that the rage had permanently ruined his perfect face.

"Hiding deep within the woods, tending a wounded heart, the fairest in the land hides. Prince Snow still lives."

The king scoffed. "I have his heart right here, mirror."

"No, within that box lies the heart of a pig."

The box fell from Hadewig's hands. "A pig..?" His face scrunched up painfully. "(Reader) would never betray- they belong to me! ME! Guards! Where is my hunter?!"

"The hunter is flying towards the mountains, away from the woods they released the prince into."

Hadewig collapsed at his desk, screaming in agony while pawing at his chest. "No! It's all his fault! Find me that little bastard- I'll kill him myself!"

The seven dwarven women listened to the young man recall his tale of woe, his eyes full of tears but a smile still on his lips. "So, if you please, could I stay here? Just until my love returns for me."

Happy sighed dramatically, blushing and twirling her beard. "That (Reader) is so brave~"

Grumpy smacked the back of her head. "That double crosser may have saved the prince, but that doesn't mean they won't double double cross him!"

Bashful stomped a foot. "It's true love! They would never!"

"Well, they never confessed their feelings," Doc said while cleaning her glasses, "they could have saved Snow out of the goodness of their heart."

Snow smiled, trying to calm the fragments of his heart. "I have to believe, to hope, that (Reader) loves me as I love them. To risk death for me.. but, they said we would meet again. And I trust them."

It was painful, knowing that his father wanted him dead, but what was worse was hearing that (Reader) had put their life in danger for him. Despite all the pain and punishment Snow had endured, he never held it against his step father, but now..

A dark, bitter seed had been planted.

And throughout the night as the household slept, Prince Snow could feel it grow, threatening to burst forth from his chest. The dwarven women were so kind to him. So inviting, and trusting.

He wondered what else they would do for him.

The dark haired man knew that the apple was poison from the moment it was placed in his hands. What kind of elderly man would be this far out away from any sort of town, especially if they were traveling to sell produce? He didn't know who the old man was, but knew that he must have been in cahoots with the king.

"Oh, I don't have any money." Snow said quite sadly, placing his head in his hand.

"For such a lovely young man? Free of charge."

"Are you sure?"

The old man was certainly no real beggar. Nothing made sense. It was cruel, what Snow thought to do, especially if he was wrong, but in case he was right.. Snow whispered to a bird before smiling brightly at the stranger, taking the apple in both hands.

"Of course, please take it!"

Snow bit into the fruit, but did not swallow, hiding the chunk in his hand. After a few seconds of pretending to chew, he collapsed, holding his breath.

The king almost immediately dropped his disguise, snarling. His once similarly raven hair had a stripe of grey.

In a voice barely louder than a huff, he said "It serves you right, you filthy bastard. I would have let you live, if you had simply left my (Reader) alone."

He exhaled. There was no movement from the floor.

"Are you dead yet? Can you still hear me? I hope you can." The king smiled. "I hope you can hear me from beyond the grave as I finally get my happily ever after."

But as he celebrated the dwarves rushed home from work, and a small bird was rallying forces to find the hunter and lead them to Snow's body.

As he monologued to what Hadewig assumed was his son's corpse, the women returned from the mines, righteously horrified and armed with pickaxes.

Hadewig heard a woman shout "Grumpy, don't!" before a pick connected with his lower back, piercing his organs from behind.

The pain was excruciating, sending fire up his body as blood poured out of him. He imagined (Reader's) face, finally smiling for him as they cradled him in their arms, accepting his love. Hadewig wanted that to be the last thing he saw before he died.

Instead, he witnessed Snow, smiling up at him from the floor.

(Reader) arrived just a moment too late, having been closer than they had expected due to how deep into the woods Snow had traveled. They witnessed the sobbing dwarves sitting at the door, too upset to enter their own home where the young prince they tried to rescue lie dead.

The hunter pushed passed them, not wasting a second to grab the young man. He was still warm, but wasn't breathing.

Snow kept his eyes closed as he felt the worst pain he had ever known.

(Reader's) hands slammed into Prince Snow's chest. A rib cracked under their strength, but Snow refused to show it.

Then their lips pressed against his.

His nose was held shut as (Reader) forced air into his throat, trying to get him to wake up. They continued the repetitions a medicine man had taught them while blowing air into his lungs.

"God damnit, Snow, wake up!"

They leaned in, and felt him breath against their mouth. His large brown eyes fluttered open, and his face reddened.

His lips curled into a weak grin. "You came back for me.."

Guilt washed over (Reader), hugging him tightly to their chest. "I'm sorry I left, Prince Snow."

Warm hands ran through (Reader's) hair. "Please.. Call me Theros."

The regret and pain kept (Reader) still, allowing the recently "revived" prince to pull them in for a kiss.

After all that (Reader) put him through, a kiss was the least they could do.

But for the born again man, it was just the beginning.

[ssa-dado]

1 - Orchids & Knots

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: A young profiler, recently recruited by Jason Gideon, joins the BAU and works with experienced agents, including Hotch and Rossi, on a challenging case involving a methodical killer. Despite initial nervousness, you start to bond with Hotch through wit and shared work ethic, revealing unexpected personal sides along the intense investigation.

Warnings: Usual CM case described in detail, hideous use of one bedroom trope, Gissi implied as a joke

Word Count: 4.1k

Dado's Corner: first part of the upcoming series! Still have no clue of how many parts it could have, just expect a very slow burn. My other fic - Symposium (definitely not platonic love) - is part of the same universe, hence why reader is still a philosophy enthusiast. You can enjoy this pilot as its own or read it before or after Symposium. You do you. Again, I'm aware there might be some mistakes as English isn't my first language so bear with me.

part zero - reading optional, but strongly advised ; part two

Everyone who knew you had assumed you'd take an academic route in your professional life, perhaps becoming a professor or researcher, but something you couldn’t explain had always pulled you toward the darker corners of human behavior.

You weren't satisfied with just understanding the human mind, you wanted to see what happened when it broke.

Now, you were standing still on the elevator on your way to meet Jason Gideon, the legend who had recruited you after being impressed by your sharp mind during a lecture he held at the academy.

Maybe it was because of your passion to philosophy that made you a natural curious person, always asking – sometimes asking way too many – questions, never taking anything for granted.

After that lecture you understood that profiling was a subject that rewarded what many considered to be one of your most annoying flaws. Hence why another reason you probably decide to follow that specific path, out of all the others: you wanted to prove everyone wrong.

What many didn’t see though - and most of the times you didn’t even realise yourself - is that you questioned yourself and your decisions more than anything else. Although for once, trusting more your instincts rather than your reasoning to decide to work at the Bureau, somehow sweetly felt right.

“Y/N, right?” A deep voice cut through your thoughts. You turned to see Gideon standing beside a tall man, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. His expression appeared stoic, yet his eyes - sharp and calculated - were the most striking feature about him, even more than the smoke coming from his ears as he was focusing all of his energies on you to read through your façade.

As you entered the barely lit bullpen, the weight of the moment hit you. The room was filled with agents, all seasoned professionals busy with their work, pouring over case files, dissecting behavioral patterns, and speaking in hushed tones about suspects and profiles. Their years of experience were palpable, but instead of shrinking, you felt a quiet resolve. You were aware you had something unique to offer - not to be cocky about it - and Gideon clearly thought so too, otherwise you wouldn’t be there.

You were trying your best to be as neutral as possible but you couldn’t deny you immediately felt a wave of adrenaline coursing through you. Knowing you were standing before one most formidable profilers the FBI had ever known and next to him the one you hypothesised to be the Bureau’s next rising star. There wouldn’t be any other plausible reasons for him to stand so close to Gideon otherwise, you thought.

“Yes, sir,” you responded, willing yourself to keep calm. Gideon had introduced you to the mystery man next to him – SSA Aaron Hotchner – or you-can-call-me-Hotch; For a moment you felt so uncool for not having a nickname yourself.

Hotch studied you further for a moment, his face unreadable, but you could tell he was intrigued. His nod was brief, but it felt like a form of acknowledgment.

Gideon smiled warmly. “Good to see you again, Y/N. I’ve been just telling Hotch here about your academic work, very impressive stuff. I’m sure the mix of philosophy, linguistics and psychology will give you quite of a unique lens for profiling.”

“Welcome to the team,” Hotch said simply, though his tone carried weight. With just a sentence he made sure to remind you that you weren’t just another recruit, you were expected to contribute. You hoped his remark would just point out at the overall high expectations everyone had of you, instead of him questioning your presence here due to your young age, less than a week passed from your 21st birthday.

"Thank you," you said, trying to balance out with professionalism. "I’m eager to get started."

Gideon gestured for you to follow him. "Come on, there’s someone else I want you to meet. David Rossi."

Your heart raced. David Rossi, the legend who had co-founded the BAU with the man standing next to you. The picture of you working with him felt surreal. As you, Hotch, and Gideon made your way to Rossi’s office, you could feel Hotch’s eyes still occasionally flicking toward you, still assessing, still quiet. His silence felt deliberate, as though he wanted to see how you carried yourself before making any judgments.

When you entered Rossi’s office, he looked up from his desk, his dark eyes locking onto yours. His presence was formidable, the kind of aura that came from decades of experience. For a brief moment, you felt like he was already profiling you, dissecting every nuance of your appearance and demeanor. Then, his face broke into a bright grin, and he stood, extending his hand.

"So, you’re the philosophy kid," Rossi said, his voice gruff but warm. "Gideon’s been talking your ear off about you."

Philosophy kid, as if you didn’t feel odd enough.

You shook his hand. "That’s me. Nice to meet you, Agent Rossi."

You smiled at that, already feeling some of the tension ebbing away in his presence. There was something about Rossi’s bluntness that was oddly reassuring. He was a man who spoke his mind, no pretense, no games.

"Dave," he corrected, flashing a grin. "‘Agent Rossi’ makes me sound like I could be your nonno. You can call me Dave."

"So, Gideon tells me you speak sixteen languages?" Rossi asked, raising an eyebrow. "How come? Ever consider becoming a spy?"

"Bisnonno" He quickly grinned, you had just entered his office and already flexing your Italian, he teased you first though. "Got it, Dave.". If there would have been one thing you had learnt throughout the brief 2 minutes you’ve been working at the BAU, is that profilers were no joke about their nicknames.

You laughed softly. "I was raised in a bilingual household, I have a thing for languages"

Hotch, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke. "It’ll definitely come in handy in the field. We deal with a lot of international cases."

His voice was calm, measured. Although you had read his file; Hotch wasn’t just any profiler - he was methodical, relentless, and someone who had climbed the ranks through sheer dedication. His seriousness wasn’t arrogance, but a reflection of his deep commitment to the job.

Rossi leaned back slightly, his eyes now flicking over your outfit, your well-fitted total black three-piece suit. “I’ll say, I didn’t expect someone at 21 to show up looking more polished than half of the bureau. You sure you’re not here to give a lecture?”

You chuckled, feeling some of the tension melt away. "This is just my definition of business casual”

Gideon smiled but quickly shifted back to business. “I brought the two of you here in Dave’s office because we just got a tough case” He says gesturing towards you and Hotch “And I want all of us to be working together in on it”.

Rossi laughed, clearly enjoying your response. "Gideon, I think you found someone who might out-dress me."

Normally at the BAU they would either work solo or in pairs, sometimes they would even assest the case from the comfort of their own desk there in Quantico, if travelling was not deemed crucial to build the profile. Only when crime would be particularly complex, they would quicky assemble a team, a small task-force of sorts, take their go-bag with them and travel all across the country struggling more with the train connections rather than with the criminals themselves.

You ironically told yourself that there wouldn’t be a much better start on your new job, your heart raced with anticipation. "What’s the case?" You asked trying to mask the slight feeling of anxiety rushing through your veins.

In a matter of seconds, Gideon quicky exited the office and had already came back firmy holding a bunch of manila folders. He handed you a thick case file, and as you flipped through it, your stomach slightly churned, reminding you this wasn’t these weren’t just pictures on your textbooks.

The unsub had left seven bodies in three states, all bound with intricate knots, posed in ritualistic displays. Each victim had an orchid placed delicately on their chest, and despite the grotesque nature of the crimes, you found there was an eerie beauty in how the unsub treated his victims.

"The knots," Gideon explained, pointing to a photograph. "They’re not random. Each one is different, and each one requires a high level of skill. The unsub is precise, organized, and deliberate. He’s treating these murders like a performance."

These killings to you were manifest of the deeply rooted paradox in human experience - beauty and pain - where both often coexist or follow each other closely. You always found amusing how beauty, whether in art, nature, or human life, often emergeed through struggle or suffering.

You looked closely at the images, analyzing the intricacies of the knots, you feel the need to add something else. "It’s not just performance - it’s communication. The knots are sending a message. He’s not killing out of anger. There’s patience here. He wants control, and the orchids, those suggest he sees the victims as fragile, beautiful objects to be perfected, but ultimately destroyed."

Even historically, humankind tended to these opposites because they reflect the full range of life’s complexities, as joy often emerges from pain, and suffering can heighten the appreciation of beauty. You kept the philosophical monologue to yourself, you definitely didn’t want to reinforce even more the prejudice your teammates could already have on you, the lack of field expertise overly compensated by the knowledge of human nature.

Hotch leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "He’s someone with discipline, military or maybe maritime experience. The variety of knots points to a deeper knowledge of how they work. He’s not just tying them for show. He’s someone who understands the function of every twist and turn."

Rossi smiled at your analysis, clearly impressed. "Not bad. Not bad at all, philosopher. " You now started to suspect Gideon had overly gushed about this particular part of your background as it seemed to be the only thing your new co-workers remembered about you.

You nodded, your mind racing. "And the orchids, they aren’t just decorative. He’s choosing them for a reason. Orchids are notoriously difficult to grow. They’re delicate but require meticulous care, which suggests he sees himself as a cultivator. He picks his victims carefully, like someone choosing a rare flower, and when they don’t live up to his standards, he... prunes them."

The team continued to build the profile, each member adding layers of complexity. The unsub’s background became clearer: someone with a need for control, a perfectionist likely with some connection to floristry or horticulture. You felt a growing sense of camaraderie as you offered ideas and bounced theories off Hotch, who slowly began engaging with you more directly.

“They do act like an old married couple” Hotch hums in a low voice while pointing at Rossi and Gideon vividly arguing far away from the two of you about something you couldn’t grasp yet. You immediately chuckle at the sight, appreciating Hotch’s efforts to bond with you yet still being very reserved and shielding himself through his rare jokes.

A few days into the investigation, you found yourself paired with Hotch all the times, a tactic you knew Gideon pulled just to make you feel the most at ease, despite the overly reserved nature of your partner.

He continued, “See, they might made you think the fraternization rules exist because of Dave, what they didn’t tell you is that he’s probably secretly married with Gideon and apparently the latter today forgot about their anniversary”. You tried your best not to burst into laughing as the Italian man furiously walked towards the two of you, Gideon quick on his feet following him with an apologetic look on his face. Damn, Hotch might have been right, the similarities in the physical language to the scenario he previously mentioned was uncanny.

“The Bureau changed our accommodation, again.” Gideon sighed “They’ll soon send us the address, we have two rooms, two twin beds each, private bathroom” He ironically emphasised the last part, as if he was offering all of you the deal of your life.

“Budget cut again kiddos” Dave announced, oblivious of the reason why both of yours and Hotch's eyes were almost tearing up trying to hold in the laughters.

“Hood rats.” Rossi flamboyantly replied “So here’s another reason to end this case as soon as possible. Figli di puttana, There's no way I'm sleeping more with Jason rather than with my own wife”. Both you and Hotch gave each other a quick mischievous side-eye that could speak more than a thousand words. As the two of them moved away from you and Hotch enough so they wouldn’t hear your next words, you turned towards him. “Dave didn’t even offer us to sleep with him in his room, you actually might have been right all along”.

“I’m always right” He replied showing the dimples on his face.

“Typical lawyer behaviour, gaslighting their way just to be right in their own distorted reality.” You poke fun at him as you reminded he told you he used to work as a persecutor before landing into the Bureau.

Hotch definitely didn’t expect such a quick-witted comeback from you. “I wasn’t aware philosophers knew humor” he teased you.

“We patented it” you smirk.

You and Hotch later surveyed a potential crime scene—a floral shop the unsub had likely visited. As you both examined the area, you could feel Hotch's eyes on you, observing how you worked, how you processed information.

"You’re picking up on a lot for your first case," Hotch said, breaking the silence. "Most people miss the smaller details."

You looked over at him, surprised by the sudden compliment. "Thanks. I guess looking at things in an unorthodox way helps, all the hours spent on Plato apparently paid off"

Hotch nodded. "It shows. Keep it up."

Together, you reviewed the evidence, each of you adding to the emerging profile. You and Hotch began to form a pattern: he’d focus on the precision of the unsub’s actions, while you offered a more abstract perspective, thinking about the emotional motivations behind the crimes.

Later that evening, after a long day of chasing leads and trying to make sense of the tangled web the unsub had woven, you all finally were set into the new accommodation.

Despite Rossi’s earlier complaints about the budget cuts, the place wasn’t that bad - it was modest but clean, with enough space to spread out the case files and work. You and Hotch were indeed been paired up to share a room, as he previously predicted, with two twin beds crammed into a space that would feel much smaller once your notes and case materials were scattered all across the floor.

As soon as you entered the room, Hotch moved with military precision, setting down his go-bag and immediately pulling out a file. He glanced around briefly, as if taking in every detail of the room in a split second, then sat down at the small desk, already deep in thought.

You, on the other hand, sat on the edge of your bed for a moment, looking around and trying to shake off the fatigue that was creeping in. It was only your first case, and yet you felt the pressure building already - both from the weight of the crimes and from wanting to prove yourself in front of someone as formidable as Hotch. Despite the intensity of the case, you couldn’t help but be amused at the situation.

“So, do you believe their honeymoon suite is just as romantic as ours?” You asked with a smirk, hoping to lighten the mood.

Hotch didn’t look up immediately, as if puzzled on how to choose his next words, though you caught the slight twitch of his lips. “Yeah, nothing says romance like crime scene photos and case files scattered everywhere.”

You chuckled and tossed your jacket onto the back of a chair. “I always knew the FBI had a weird way of doing things, but I have to admit this is next level.”

As you pulled out the case file, flipping through the pages and studying the photos, you found it hard to concentrate, mostly because of how quiet the room turned out to become. Hotch was the kind of person whose silence seemed louder than most people’s conversations, and though you could tell he was intensely focused on the case, you sensed that he was also observing you – amazed at how it was the first time he ever saw someone overworking themselves as much as he did.

Breaking the silence, you threw a glance at him. “You ever wonder what makes someone do this? I mean, it’s one thing to read about it in a textbook, but seeing it in person…”

Hotch set his pen down and leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on you. “Every time. You get used to it, but it never really stops affecting you.”

You nodded, taking that in. “It’s just so… deliberate. Every little detail, like the knots, the orchids, it’s like he’s creating something, not just destroying.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed in thought, clearly impressed by your analysis. “That’s an interesting perspective. Most people would only see the destruction.”

“You know,” you said, leaning back on the bed, wanting to return the subtle compliment “when I first joined the academy, I never thought I’d end up here, sitting in a hotel room with one of the newest best profilers in the country.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Flattery, huh? Didn’t think philosophers believed in that.”

You grinned. “We don’t, but I make exceptions.”

He gave you another small smile, his guard dropping just a little. “Well, I didn’t expect to be working with a 21-year-old who can hold their own on a case like this.”

“I’ve got to keep up with all of you somehow.”

Hotch shook his head slightly, still smiling. “You’re doing more than keeping up, but I’ve already told you this.”

The next morning, while poring over the case, both you and Hotch hit on the idea that the unsub might escalate soon. "He’s been meticulous so far, but there’s a growing desperation in the pattern," you observed. "He’s becoming bolder with each kill, taking greater risks. If he feels like he’s not getting the recognition he craves, he might go after a more high-profile victim."

Hotch considered this, his brow furrowing. "Someone in the public eye. He’d want an audience for his ‘art.’ We should look into upcoming events where he might strike."

Later, Gideon walked into the room with a look that told you something big had just clicked into place. "We’ve got a break," he said, laying down a new set of photographs. They were taken at a local orchid show, a high-profile event that had been held recently. "We missed it before because the show was a private event, members only. But one of the attendees matched the profile. His name is Matthew Carson, a former Navy sailor turned horticulturist."

You leaned over the photos, seeing the man for the first time. Carson was in his mid-thirties, tall, with an air of quiet control about him. "That explains the knots," you said. "He would’ve learned that skill in the Navy. And the flowers - he’s obsessed with perfection, cultivating these delicate orchids. It fits with how he views his victims."

Hotch nodded, already processing the next steps. "We need to move fast. He’s going to escalate, and the orchid show gives him an audience: a high-profile victim pool. He’ll want to make his statement soon."

The team sprang into action, coordinating with local authorities to track Carson down. You, Hotch, Rossi, and Gideon prepared to approach his house, a sprawling property on the outskirts of town, where Carson ran his own private orchid nursery.

As the team closed in, your heart pounded with anticipation. Carson’s house was an eerie reflection of his mind: immaculate, but with an unsettling coldness, orchids lined the windowsills and filled every room with their fragile beauty. It was a place of quiet obsession.

Rossi was the first to spot Carson. The man was in the greenhouse, meticulously pruning an orchid, completely unaware of the FBI’s presence. Hotch signaled for you to stay back as he and Rossi approached cautiously.

"Matthew Carson," Hotch called, his voice steady but firm.

Carson didn’t flinch. He continued trimming the orchid as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "You don’t understand," he said quietly, his voice calm but laced with underlying madness. "It’s about perfection. I’m creating something beautiful."

Hotch took a step closer. "You’re hurting people, Matthew. This isn’t beauty, it’s destruction."

Carson finally looked up, his eyes hollow yet intense. "They weren’t good enough. The flowers... they have to be perfect."

You could feel the tension in the air while Hotch was doing what he did best, calmly, methodically drawing Carson out, understanding his twisted mind.

"They’re not flowers, Matthew. They’re people," You said as Hotch took another step closer. You continued "You’re not creating beauty. You’re trying to control what you can’t, but perfection doesn’t exist."

Carson’s grip tightened on the shears in his hand, his knuckles turning white. "I can make it exist," he whispered.

Before he could act, Rossi moved swiftly, disarming Carson and pinning him to the ground, he struggled briefly but then went limp, as if the fight had left him entirely. The unsub’s calm shattered, and in that moment, you saw the deep fragility that had driven his madness.

"You think you understand, but you don’t," Carson muttered as he was handcuffed. "I was so close."

As Gideon secured Carson, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The case was over, but the weight of it still lingered but before you could start overthinking, you felt a hand on top of your left shoulder. Your heart skips a beat and you quickly turn around to what revealed to be Hotch “Good job on the case, partner” You shyly smile “Not so bad as your first case at all”

“I could say the same about you, especially on the way you handled Carson, but I bet someone like you is used to the myriad of compliments at this point.”

He rolled his eyes, then quickly moved towards Rossi before you could notice the smile tugged on his face - too late – you could see his dimples still showing even when he was far away from you.

Later, on the train ride back to Quantico, you and Hotch found yourselves sitting across from each other. The case had drained everyone, you glanced at Hotch, who was staring out the window, lost in thought.

"So," you said, breaking the silence, curious to know something real about the man you shared a room with for the past two days "now that the case is over, are you going to admit that you do something other than work? Or is profiling literally your only hobby?"

Hotch turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," you said with a grin, "You must have to do something outside of this. You can't just spend all your downtime preparing for the next criminal mastermind, or developing conspiracy theories" His eyes went to his side, inviting you to glance at the older profilers. Rossi was conveniently standing up from his seat and leaning in front of Gideon, showing him something on a case file while simultaneously tracing small circles with the back of his pen on the papers the other was holding.

He gave you small smirk, his eyes twinkling with just a hint of mischief, then out of the blue he blurts out “I play the guitar."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You play the guitar?! Seriously?"

Hotch nodded, his expression casual, though you could tell he was enjoying your surprise. "Yeah. It’s something I picked up in college. Helps me unwind."

"Wait, wait, wait," you said, holding up a hand. "Aaron Hotchner, stoic, no-nonsense FBI agent extraordinaire, plays the guitar? I need proof. This sounds like a bluff."

He chuckled, the sound rare but genuine. "I don’t think I need to prove anything to you."

You leaned back in your seat, resting one hand on your forehead. "Unbelievable. I was so sure you didn’t have a hobby. I mean, by the way you work, I was starting to think someone else in the Bureau was keeping another big secret from us, C3-PO"

The unexpected Star Wars reference earned you a genuine laugh from him, then shook his head, a small smile still playing on his lips. "Just because I’m focused on the job doesn’t mean I don’t have other interests."

"Okay, fair enough," you admitted. "But now I’m really curious. What kind of music do you play? Classical? Rock? Please tell me it’s something totally unexpected, like heavy metal."

He laughed again, a sound you were quickly becoming fond of. "Mostly blues, actually."

You stared at him, wide-eyed. "Blues? Wow, that’s... I don’t know, I guess I expected you to say something like jazz or folk, but blues? That’s kind of badass."

Hotch gave a modest shrug. "It’s calming. Helps me think."

"I’m still wrapping my head around this," you said with a smirk. "I’m going to need to hear you play one day. Otherwise, I’m sticking with my theory that you’re secretly a robot who plays FBI agent."

He gave you a side-eye but couldn’t suppress his smile. "I’ll think about it, maybe after the next case if you’re still around"

You pretended to be offended by his words "Is this a threat?!”

“I was just trying to be encouraging”

Maybe working at the BAU wouldn’t be as intimidating as you first thought after all.

As the train rumbled on, you felt a sense of camaraderie with Hotch, a shared respect that had grown over the course of the case. You had proven yourself, and in return, he had let you see a side of him that few people probably ever did.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Shadow | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, unwanted sexual contact (not on reader)

Word Count: 5069

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Sam made himself and Dean don goofy outfits to go investigate the death of some poor girl who died the previous week. You were dressed as their supervisor, so you didn’t have to dress like the third Imagination Mover.

“You know, I’ve gotta say Dad and me did just fine without these stupid costumes,” Dean complained. “I feel like a high school drama dork. What was that play that you did? What was it— Our Town. Yeah, you were good, it was cute.”

“You did theater?” you asked Sam.

“Look, you wanna pull this off or not?” The brunet changed the subject.

“I’m just sayin’, these outfits cost hard-earned money, okay?”

“Whose?” You gave Dean a look.

“Ours. You think credit card fraud is easy?”

***

The landlady of the young woman’s apartment building let you into the deceased’s room. She called the alarm company as useful as “boobs on a man.” She explained how Meredith had been found in pieces scattered around the apartment. The landlady said there had been no signs of break in, and allowed you and the Winchesters to check the apartment out for a bit.

“So, a killer walks in and out of the apartment—no weapons, no prints, nothin’,” Dean said.

“I’m tellin’ ya, the minute I found that article, I knew this was our kind of gig,” Sam replied.

The EMF meter Dean was holding beeped rapidly.

“I definitely agree with you,” you chimed in.

“So, you talked to the cops?” Sam asked his brother.

Dean smirked. “I spoke to Amy, a, uh, charming, perky officer of the law.”

You ignored the way your heart squeezed in your chest. “Yeah? What’d you find out?” You did your best not to let on the emotional storm he was sending you into.

“Well, she’s a Sagittarius,” he said dreamily. “She loves tequila, I mean— wow. Oh, and she’s got this little tattoo—”

“Dean!” Sam cut his brother off.

“What? Yeah. Uh, nothin’ we don’t already know. Except for one thing they’re keepin’ out of the papers. Meredith’s heart was missing.”

“Her heart?” the younger brother sounded stunned. “So, what do you think did it to her?”

“Well, the landlady said it looked like an animal attack. Maybe it was— werewolf?”

You shook your head. “No, the lunar cycle’s not right. Plus, if it was a creature or somethin’, it would’ve left some kind of trace. It’s gotta be a spirit.”

Dean looked down at the blood stains on the white carpet and seemed to notice something. “Sam, see if you can find any masking tape.” His idea of taping the space between the splotches of blood like a twisted connect-the-dots revealed a strange symbol on the ground that looked like an “S” with a small circle cutting through the middle of it.

***

You were gulping down beers like there was no tomorrow and trying to peel your eyes away from Dean flirting with the gorgeous bartender. You and Sam were sitting at an empty table and leafing through his father’s journal.

“(Y/N), if you stare any harder at him, you’re gonna burst a blood vessel.”

You looked over at Sam. “Shut up.”

“You like him, huh?”

“What am I, five? No, I don’t like him,” you responded. 

He gave you a knowing look. “C’mon, (Y/N/N), don’t lie to me.”

You sighed, taking a big gulp of your drink first. “I don’t know, man. I’m not good with feelings.”

Before Sam could respond, Dean was back over at your table. “I talked to the bartender,” he grinned. 

“Did you get anything? Besides her number?” Sam asked.

Dean scrunched his face up. “Dude, I’m a professional. I’m offended that you would think that.” Sam gave him a look, and Dean bashfully held up a napkin with the bartender’s number on it in response.

“You mind doin’ a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?” you asked.

“Huh? Look, there’s nothing to find out. I mean, Meredith worked here, she waited tables, everyone here was her friend. Everybody said she was normal. She didn’t do or say anything weird before she died, so— what about that symbol, you find anything?”

The younger brother shook his head. “Nope, nothing. It wasn’t in Dad’s journal or in any of the usual books. I just have to dig a little deeper, I guess.”

“Well, there was a first victim, right? Before Meredith?” you brought up.

“His name was, uh, his name was Ben Swardstrom.” He pulled a newspaper clipping out of the journal and handed it to Dean, “Last month he was found mutilated in his town house. Same deal; the door was locked, the alarm was on.”

“Is there any connection between the two of them?”

“Not that I can tell—I mean, not yet, at least. Ben was a banker, Meredith was a waitress. They never met, never knew anyone in common—they were practically from different worlds.”

“So, to recap, the only successful intel we’ve scored so far is the bartender’s phone number," the younger brother deadpanned.

Dean smirked at you and Sam, and you tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. Sam seemed to notice something on the other side of the room.

“What?” you asked.

Without answering you, Sam got up from the table and headed past his brother. You followed him to a table where a blonde woman with short hair sat.

“Meg?” he asked.

You furrowed your eyebrows as the woman turned around and exclaimed, “Sam! Is that you? Oh, my god! What are you doing here?” She gave him a hug, and you could see on Sam’s face that he was confused.

“I’m just in town, visiting friends,” he lied.

The young woman looked around. “Where are they?”

You stepped up from his side. “Me!” you lied. “Nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).”

She gave you a smile, “Yeah, I remember, Sam told me about you.”

You turned to the younger Winchester. “He did?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sam answered. “Meg, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to California.”

Dean came up between you and Sam; eyes raking over Meg’s body.

“Oh, I did. I came, I saw, I conquered. Oh, and I met what’s-his-name, something Michael Murray at a bar,” she explained.

Sam looked confused. “Who?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I’m living here for a while,” she shrugged.

Dean cleared his throat loudly, but was ignored.

“You’re from Chicago?” Sam questioned.

“No, Massachusetts. Andover. Gosh, Sam, what are the odds we’d run into each other?” The grin she gave unsettled you. 

“Yeah, I know, I thought I’d never see you again.”

Dean cleared his throat again, earning a “Dude, cover your mouth,” from Meg.

Sam chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, um, I’m sorry, Meg. This is, uh— this is my brother, Dean.”

She looked surprised. “This is Dean?”

“So, you’ve heard of me?” Dean gave her a salacious grin.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard of you. Nice; the way you treat your brother like luggage,” she said harshly.

“Sorry?” Dean was stunned and so were you.

The woman didn't let up, and if it weren't for your horrible gut feeling, the two of you would likely be good friends. “Why don’t you let him do what he wants to do? Stop dragging him over god’s green earth.”

“Meg, it’s alright,” Sam said.

Dean whistled lowly. “Okay, awkward. I’m gonna get a drink now. C’mon, (Y/N).”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” And with that, you bounded off to the bar with him. “What’s with that chick?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Weird, right?”

“Yeah, completely,” you responded.

The older Winchester motioned at the pretty bartender he’d spoken to earlier for two beers. 

“Sam ever mention her?” you asked him. “They seemed pretty chummy.”

“Why, you jealous?”

You scoffed. “No way. He reminds me too much of my brother. Freud would be rolling in his grave if I was. She’s just… bizarre.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he grumbled, sipping his beer.

Sam came over to you and told you it was time to go.

“What, why?” you asked.

“Just… come on, (Y/N/N),” Sam responded. He dragged the two of you out of the bar after you and Dean chugged your beers quickly.

“Who the hell was she?” Dean questioned as you crossed the street outside of the bar.

“I don’t really know. I only met her once. Meeting up with her again? I don’t know, man, it’s weird.”

“Yeah, she seemed to really know you,” you said. “You said you only met her once?”

He nodded.

���And what was she saying? I treat you like luggage? What, were you bitchin’ about me to some chick?” Dean’s tone was on-guard immediately.

“Look, I’m sorry, Dean. It was when we had that huge fight when I was in that bus stop in Indiana. But that’s not important, just listen—”

“Well, is there any truth to what she’s saying? I mean, am I keeping you against your will, Sam?”

Sam stopped his brother. “No, of course not. Now, would you listen? I think there’s somethin’ strange going on here, guys.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean muttered. “She wasn’t even that into me.”

You elbowed him sharply. “Upstairs brain, please.”

“I mean like, our kind of strange.” Sam ignored his brother’s comment. “Like, maybe even a lead.”

“What makes you say that?” you asked.

“I met Meg weeks ago, literally on the side of the road. And now, I run into her in some random Chicago bar? I mean, the same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural? You don’t think that’s a little weird?”

“Well, yeah,” you said. “But I think I would’ve noticed if she was following us.”

“Yeah, okay, Nancy Drew,” Dean chided.

“Listen, dickhead, I’m very observant,” you responded playfully.

“Guys, can we focus, please? Look, I could be wrong, I’m just sayin’ that there’s something about this girl that I can’t quite put my finger on,” Sam continued.

“Well, I bet you’d like to. I mean, maybe she’s not a suspect, maybe you’ve got a thing for her, huh?” Dean’s grin was widening by the second.

Sam rolled his eyes and you laughed.

“Maybe you’re thinkin’ a little too much with your upstairs brain, huh?” Dean pointed to his head and then down to his groin.

Sam gave the two of you a bitchface. “Do me a favor. Check and see if there’s really a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts, and see if you can’t dig anything up on that symbol on Meredith’s floor.”

“What are you gonna do?” Dean asked him.

“I’m gonna watch Meg.”

The older brother laughed. “Yeah, you are.”

“I just wanna see what’s what. Better safe than sorry.”

“Alright, you little pervert.” Dean continued walking.

“Dude!”

“We’re goin’, we’re goin’.” 

“Bye, Sam!” you called over your shoulder. You and Dean walked a few blocks down to Sam and Dean’s motel room and set to work searching for Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts.

***

About thirty minutes later, Sam called you. “Hey.” You continued clicking through pages on your computer.

“Finding anything?” he asked.

“Yeah, she checks out. High school yearbook picture and everything.”

Dean took your phone from you. “Let me guess. You’re lurkin’ outside that poor girl’s apartment, aren’t you?... You’ve got a funny way of showin’ your affection. Now, look, why don’t you go knock on her door and, uh, invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do, huh?... Yeah, that (Y/N) did have some luck with. It’s, uh, turns out it’s very, very old school, like two thousand years before Christ. It’s a sigil for a Daeva.”

Dean handed the phone back to you. “He’s lookin’ for a nerd definition. You’re better with that than I am.”

You rolled your eyes. “ 'Daeva' translates to ‘demon of darkness’. They’re Zoroastrian demons, and they’re freakin’ animals, dude. Dean said they’re demonic pitbulls.”

“How’d you figure that out?”

“Google, man. It’s a magical place.”

He laughed. 

“Oh, one more thing!” you gasped. “These Daevas, they have to be summoned; conjured.”

Sam sounded surprised. “So, someone’s controlling it?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m sayin’. And, from what I gather, it’s pretty risky business, too. These bitches tend to bite the hand that feeds them.”

“And, uh, the arms, and torsos,” Dean quipped loud enough for his brother to hear. 

“So, what do they look like?” Sam asked you.

“Nobody knows. I mean, summoning a demon that ancient? We’ve definitely got a major player in town.”

Dean took the phone back from you. “Now, why don’t you go give that girl a private strip-o-gram?... No, bite her. Don’t leave teeth marks, though— Sam? Are you—?” He took your phone away from his ear. “He hung up.”

“Yeah, you fucking perv. You know he’s a total prude,” you snickered. “I’m kind of exhausted, if I’m being honest. Do you mind if I sleep here for a bit?” you asked him, referring to his bed that you were lounging on.

He shrugged. “Go right ahead. I’ll wake you up when Sam’s back.”

“Thanks. Night, Dee.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

You rolled away from him, sighing contentedly. You brought the covers up around your neck, and Dean's scent engulfed you as you did so.

You often found yourself unable to rest when you were alone in your room. Some part of you was still afraid of your father bursting into your room at four in the morning to go run drills if he was disappointed in your performance from the day before. And if sleep did grace you, it was normally hours of tossing and turning before you could finally turn your brain off. But somehow, this man you were just beginning to know made you feel safe enough to drift off in minutes.

***

You awoke to Dean lightly shaking you awake. You snapped into fight or flight and gripped his wrist, shooting up from the bed.

“Whoa, whoa, relax. It’s just me,” he told you.

“Sorry,” you said, cheeks burning. “Hey, Sam.”

Sam proceeded to explain what he’d seen after following Meg into a warehouse. 

“So, hot little Meg is summoning the Daeva?” Dean quipped.

“Looks like she was using that black altar to control the thing,” Sam responded.

“So, Sammy’s got a thing for the bad girl,” he chuckled. “And what’s the deal with that bowl again?”

“She was talking into it. The way witches used to scry into crystal balls or animal entrails. She was communicating with someone.”

“With who? With the Daeva?”

The younger man shook his head. “No, (Y/N) said those things were savages. No, this was someone different. Someone who’s giving her orders. Someone who’s comin’ to that warehouse.”

Dean thought for a moment and then looked over some of the papers the two of you had spread out on the table. “Holy crap.”

“What?” You jumped out of bed and walked over to him.

“What I was gonna tell Sam earlier—I pulled a favor with my—” he cleared his throat— “friend, Amy, over at the police department. The complete records of the two victims— we missed something the first time.”

“What?”

“The first victim, the old man— he spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn’t born here. Look where he was born.” He pointed to a spot on the page.

“Lawrence,” you breathed. 

Dean continued to shuffle through files. “Meredith, second victim? Turns out she was adopted. And guess where she’s from.”

“Holy crap,” Sam muttered. “I mean, it is where the demon killed Mom. That’s where everything started. So, you think Meg’s tied up with the demon?”

“I think it’s a definite possibility,” the older brother answered.

“But I don’t understand. What’s the significance of Lawrence? And how do these Daeva things fit in?” Sam questioned.

“Beats me. But I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation.” 

“No, we can’t. We shouldn’t tip her off. We’ve gotta stake out that warehouse. We’ve gotta see who, or what, is showin’ up to meet her.” Sam pulled a hand through his hair and began to pace.

“I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t think we should do this alone,” Dean said.

“Dean, do you even think your dad will answer?” you asked him, knowing what he meant.

He didn’t answer but told you, “You and Sam go stake out the trunk. Get me somethin’ good.”

You nodded. “C’mon, Sam.”

You grabbed anything and everything out of the trunk that could’ve been remotely useful. Holy water, numerous weapons, and different books containing dozens of different exorcism rituals. 

When you returned to the room, Dean was talking to who you deduced was his father on the phone. “We think we’ve got a serious lead on the thing that killed Mom. So, uh, this warehouse—it’s 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can.” 

“Voicemail?” you questioned.

He nodded. He gestured to the stuffed duffel bags you and Sam were holding. “Jesus, what’d you get?”

“We ransacked the trunk,” Sam explained and listed off all the things you had grabbed.

Dean nodded and breathed deeply. “Big night.”

“Yeah. You nervous?” the younger brother asked.

“No. Why, are you?”

“No. No way.” He was silent for a moment. “God, could you imagine if we actually found that damn thing? That demon?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, alright?” 

“I know. I’m just sayin’, what if we did? What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I’d sleep for a month. Go back to school— be a person again.”

“You wanna go back to school?” you asked Sam.

“Yeah, once we’re done huntin’ the thing,” he answered.

You felt slightly saddened. “Oh.”

“Why, is there somethin’ wrong with that?”

“No, no! It’s, uh, great. I’m proud of you,” you told him.

“I mean, what are you two gonna do when it’s all over?” Sam asked.

“It’s never gonna be over,” Dean answered. “There’s gonna be others. There’s always gonna be somethin’ to hunt.” He looked to you. “And I’m gonna need a new hunting partner if Sam’s not gonna be around… so…”

You gave him a lopsided smile. 

Sam continued prodding. “But there’s got to be somethin’ that you want for yourself—”

Dean cut his brother off. “Yeah, I don’t want you to leave the second this thing’s over, Sam.” He turned away.

“Dude, what’s your problem?”

“Why do you think I drag you everywhere? Huh?” Dean asked his brother rhetorically. “I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?”

“ ‘Cause Dad was in trouble. ‘Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom.” Sam looked confused. 

“Yes, that, but it’s more than that, man. You and me and Dad— I mean, I want us… I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again.”

Sam’s tone softened. “Dean, we are a family. I’d do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before.”

Dean looked heartbroken, and yours ached for him, too. “Could be.”

“I don’t want them to be. I'm not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you’re gonna have to let me go my own way.”

You watched Sam with sad eyes, but you and Dean said nothing as you left the room to head to the warehouse.

***

You carefully climbed your way up the elevator shaft hearing Meg’s melodic voice talking in a language you couldn’t recognize getting louder and louder as you ascended. You tried your best not to make much noise while you climbed; a feat the brothers seemed to have trouble with.

You peeked over the cement slab that made up the seventh floor of the warehouse. Meg’s back was turned to you and she continued speaking into the goblet she was holding. Sam quietly pulled the gate open just wide enough for you and the brothers to slip through. The three of you headed behind two of the support posts of the warehouse. You drew your guns from your jeans and steadied your breath to attack her.

“Guys,” Meg spoke; never turning around.

You looked at the brothers in shock.

“Hiding’s a little bit childish, don’t you think?” her smooth voice continued. 

“Well, that didn’t work out like I planned,” Dean muttered to you. You would have laughed had it not been for your situation.

Meg turned and her boots clacked on the floor as she approached you. “Why don’t you come out?”

You slowly moved from behind the crates.

“Sam, I have to say, this puts a real crimp in our relationship,” she snarled.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“So, where’s your little Daeva friend?” you asked her.

“Around,” she sing-songed. “You know, that shotgun’s not gonna do much good.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. The shotgun’s not for the demon,” Dean responded. You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“So, who is it, Meg? Who’s coming? Who are you waiting for?” Sam jumped in.

“You,” she smiled. Just behind her on her left, you saw shadows beginning to form in the shape of demons in flowing, tattered robes on the wall.

Before you knew it, you were knocked to the ground, screaming in pain as something slashed your right cheek and left shoulder. It was proving difficult to fight something you couldn’t see. You screamed in pain again as you felt a slash across your thigh, and whited out from the pain.

When you came to, your hands were bound behind your back. You struggled against your restraints as Dean spoke. “Hey, Sam? Don’t take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend… is a bitch.”

Dean had been tied on your right side; backs against the sides of the cement post.

“This, the whole thing, was a trap,” Sam figured out. “Running into you at the bar, following you here, hearin’ what you had to say. It was all a set-up, wasn’t it?”

Meg laughed.

“And that the victims were from Lawrence?” Sam continued.

“It doesn’t mean anything. It was just to draw you in, that’s all,” the blonde smiled.

“You killed those two people for nothin’.”

“Baby, I’ve killed a lot more for a lot less,” she replied smugly.

“You trapped us. Good for you. It’s Miller time.” You could hear the smile in the older brother’s voice. “But why don’t you kill us already?”

You thought for a second. “Because it’s not a trap for us. It’s a trap for John.”

Meg tsked at the brothers. “I like her. She’s a lot quicker on the uptake.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re dumber than you look,” Dean told her. “ 'Cause even if Dad was in town, which he is not, he wouldn’t walk into something like this. He’s too good.”

Meg approached Dean and straddled his legs. “He is pretty good. I’ll give you that. But you see, he has one weakness.”

“What’s that?” the older brother winced uncomfortably. You strained against your restraints even more, trying to be able to get to Dean.

You could see Meg leaning closer to Dean, her voice somehow becoming even more sultry. “You. He lets his guard down around his boys, lets his emotions cloud his judgment. I happen to know he is in town. And he’ll come and try to save you. And then the Daevas will kill everybody— nice and slow and messy.”

Dean’s voice strained in discomfort. “Well, I’ve got news for ya. It’s gonna take a lot more than some… shadow to kill him.”

“Oh, the Daevas are in the room here—they’re invisible. Their shadows are just the only part you can see,” she explained. 

“Why you doin’ this, Meg? What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And with who?” Sam asked her.

“I’m doing this for the same reasons you do what you do: loyalty. Love. Like the love you had for Mommy and Jess.”

“Go to hell,” he responded.

“Baby, I’m already there.” She slid over to Sam and straddled him. “C’mon, Sam, there’s no need to be nasty.” 

You didn’t like the full show you were being given of Meg leaning into his ear and ghosting her lips over his neck. “I think we both know how you really feel about me. You know, I saw you watching me— changing in my apartment. Turned you on, didn’t it?”

“Ew, Sam!” you scolded him.

“Get a room, you two,” Dean grumbled simultaneously.

“I didn’t mind. I liked that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy. You and I can still have a little dirty fun.” Meg kissed up his neck.

“You wanna have fun? Go ahead then. I’m a little tied up right now,” Sam responded.

She smiled and continued to kiss him. She stopped when she heard something from your side of the room. She stalked over to yours and Dean’s post and took the knife from his hand, tossing it into a corner. Meg walked back over to Sam. “Now, were you just trying to distract me while your brother cuts free?”

“No, no,” he told her. “That’s because I have a knife of my own.” She seemed confused until he broke free and knocked his head against hers; sending her to the floor.

“Sam! Get the altar!” you instructed.

He ran over to it and aggressively turned it over. Before you knew it, Meg was sent flying out of the warehouse’s window and to the ground below. Sam came back over to you two and cut you free. You headed over to the window to see Meg’s dead body sprawled over the ground. “So, I guess the Daevas didn’t like being bossed around,” Sam remarked.

“Yeah, I guess not. Hey, Sam?” Dean said. “Next time you wanna get laid, find a girl that’s not so buckets-o’-crazy, huh?”

***

You and the boys returned to their motel room so you could patch each other up and recover. You weren’t so convinced that your run-in with the Daevas was over and brought the duffel bag inside with you.

“Why didn’t you just leave that stuff in the car?” Dean asked you.

“Better safe than sorry,” you shrugged.

The older Winchester unlocked the door before you and you entered the room. You noticed the silhouette of a burly man standing by the window. You flipped on the light while Dean exclaimed, “Hey!”

The man turned around, and your jaw nearly fell to the floor at the sight of the scruffy, tanned man before you.

“Dad?” Dean breathed out.

John smiled. “Hey, boys.” He and his oldest son walked toward each other and shared a long hug. You smiled at them sadly. When they pulled away, John turned to his youngest. “Hi, Sam.” They shared a long look before John turned to you. “Didn’t think I’d see you again after Jericho,” he told you.

You responded, “I didn’t think I’d see your boys again after Jericho, either.” 

John gave you a half-smile. “Thank you. For looking after them.”

You nodded in acknowledgement.

“Dad, it was a trap. I didn’t know; I’m sorry,” Dean began.

“It’s alright. I thought it might’ve been.”

“Were you there?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, I got there just in time to see the girl take the swan dive. She was the bad guy, right?”

“Yes, sir,” the boys answered their father. 

“Good. Well, it doesn’t surprise me. It’s tried to stop me before,” John sighed. “It knows I’m close. It knows I’m gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to hell. Actually kill it.”

“How?” you asked.

“I’m workin’ on that,” the older man responded.

“Let us come with you. We’ll help,” Sam urged. 

John’s tone hardened. “No, Sam. Not yet. Just try to understand. This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don’t want you caught in a crossfire. I don’t want you hurt.”

Sam shook his head. “Dad, you don’t have to worry about us.”

“Of course I do. I’m your father.” He paused. “Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam nodded.

“It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long.” Tears formed in Sam’s eyes as he finally hugged his father.

Suddenly, you were thrown across the room by an invisible force, something clawing at your back. 

“No!” Dean yelled before he was thrown down next to you. 

Deep claw marks formed on a number of parts of your body— your legs, arms, face, stomach— everywhere. 

“Shut your eyes!” Sam yelled over the chaos. “These things are shadow demons, so let’s light ‘em up!” Suddenly, a bright light began to fill the room.

You and the three men fumbled your way around trying to feel your way out of the room. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean called to you while Sam called to his father.

“I’m here!” you told him. You felt his arms around you pulling you out of the room. Your leg protested and made you yelp in pain. You knew Dean was hurting, too, and you tried your best to continue moving forward.

“(Y/N), let me help you!” Dean urged you as you continued to stumble out of the room.

“No!” you said, but Dean swept you up anyway. “Dean!” He carried you out of the room and toward the car. You finally gave in and wound your arms around his neck. When he put you down in the backseat, you held your leg and groaned in pain. 

“Alright, come on,” Sam said. “We don’t have much time. As soon as the flare’s out, they’ll be back.” Sam moved to get in the car, too.

“Wait, wait, wait! Sam, wait. Dad, you can’t come with us.”

Sam huffed. “What? What are you talkin’ about?”

“You boys— you’re beat to hell,” John protested.

“We’ll be alright,” Dean answered.

“Dean, we should stick together. We’ll go after those demons—”

Dean turned to his brother. “Sam! Listen to me! We almost got Dad killed in there. Don’t you understand? They’re not gonna stop. They’re gonna try again. They’re gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad’s vulnerable when he’s with us. He— he’s stronger without us around.”

“Dad, no—” Sam put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “After everything— after all the time we spent lookin’ for you, please. I gotta be a part of this fight.”

“Sammy, this fight is just starting. And we are all gonna have a part to play. For now, you’ve got to trust me, son—”

Sam shook his head as his father continued to speak.

“—Okay, you’ve gotta let me go,” John told him. Finally, Sam patted his father’s shoulder and allowed him to move away.

The three of you watched as got in his truck and drove off. You knew Dean was right, but it was so bizarre to let this man you spent so much time looking for leave just like that.

“Come on,” Dean told his brother. And with that, the three of you were off to god-knows-where to lick your wounds and get a hopefully decent amount of sleep. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm

[eunwhore]

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐄𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐅𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐌.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. In which you and Megumi get a special special lesson for Satoru Gojo himself after he learns about your relationship.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. Satoru Gojo being a menace to society; Suggestive by the end; Megumi and the reader are of age, of course !

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 1120 words

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Reader x Fushiguro Megumi (ft. Gojo)

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @dearmymoon @lacopinedechan - 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

"Alright, kids."

You don't know why, but feeling stuck in a classroom alone with Satoru Gojo and your boyfriend doesn't sound right, especially when Satoru Gojo himself looks like he's about to crack another one of his dumb jokes.

Not to mention that your mentor called this session a "special special lesson" to put you in this situation. An honorable mention to the double special that didn't reassure you at all. Megumi, the one stuck here with you, seems to be a lot calmer than you are, probably because he's used to the white-haired man's antics.

"Before I start this special special lesson with you." the way he wiggled his eyebrows while phrasing a double special again sent shivers down your spine.

"I want to say that I'm very happy for you too !" Oh no. Those are the first two words that come to your mind when you hear his exalted appreciations. He knows. It was probably dumb to think you could hide your relationship with the six-eyes's holder, but it was a nice try, right ?

"What do you mean ?" You turn to your newly claimed boyfriend after he speaks for the first time since this comedy started. "Oh, you know what I mean, Megumi." You were petrified, frightened, or any word that resonates with fear itself.

"But we're not here to talk about your beautiful love, even if I would adore to gossip with you guys." Your professor sends a disgusting wink to your boyfriend, and you didn't waste a minute to launch a killer look at him to make it clear that you DON'T want him to spill the beans about what's going on between the two of you. Fortunately, he catches that look and is quick to reassure you with a glance that only you could read.

However, your attention quickly returns to the class sorcerer about to continue his lecture. "I was given a very important mission by Shoko, as you two are still young and probably unaware of how this world works, and we don't want any unwanted babies running around in this school."

You could die just by hearing what your senior just said, not to mention the fact that his right hand reveals a whiteboard covered in notes that you shouldn't dare to read right now. A disgusted look appears on your face as you quickly hide your reddened cheeks in your hands, looking straight at your desk.

"The most important thing you need to know about any sexual activities is that you must protect yourselves!" You can only guess that your boyfriend must be in the same state as you, the only difference is probably that he manages to hide his emotions better than you. "Not only because it prevents pregnancy but it's also important for preventing any nasty diseases you can get."

It's crazy to realize it, but your professor has never been this serious before. He gives his lesson like a professional in that matter, and it's disgusting to think of him in that way. As you finally gather the courage to look up again, you're not surprised to find your boyfriend completely emotionless, staring at the board, perhaps with a bit too much conviction. Is he really listening to these instructions?

"One of the effective protections is this little thing." After digging into the left pocket of his uniform, Mr. Satoru pulls a square package out of it, and you already know the next few minutes will be extremely long. Now you understand why he entered the classroom with a banana in his hand earlier today.

You let your body fall onto your bed as soon as you enter the room. A class shouldn't be so tiring; the subject itself drained the energy out of you, and it's even worse when it's Satoru Gojo teaching you how to put a condom on a banana for a whole 30 minutes.

Megumi, on the other hand, seems to be a lot more relaxed, or it's just his natural unbothered look that misleads you. He's quick to join you, lying next to your figure, and by muscle memory, your body relocates against his, your face hiding in the crook of his neck. You are still very embarrassed by everything that you've been through this afternoon. "I want to disappear."

You earn a cute giggle from your lover that resonates into his chest, his arms wrap around your inviting body. "He just wanted to help..." He answers, defending his senior.

"Well, there were more discreet ways to help us." You sigh as you roll on your back, staring at your ceiling before the black-haired boy appears in your vision, and obviously, you can't help but search for his eyes.

"Discreet doesn't exist in Satoru Gojo's vocabulary." he jokes, even if he's definitely speaking the truth. His hand slides on your cheeks while his eyes take a moment to admire the features of your face. Wanting to get rid of this worried expression, he leans to place a soft kiss on your forehead. "At least we'll be prepared when the day comes." he adds. You hate but love seeing this look on his face; it's one you've never seen before, and you can't help but be taken aback a little.

"Are you flirting with me, Megumi Fushiguro ?" You raise one of your eyebrows when you feel his hands wander on your body. It would be a lie to say you've never gotten handsy before, but now it feels different after receiving all of this new information. It looks like your lover has been influenced to explore this part of a relationship. You both had no experience in that matter, but if there was one person you would want to explore with, it would be with him and him only.

"Maybe I am." he whispers, and you feel shivers running down your spine; he really has that effect on you. "Of course, only if you feel comfortable with it." There he is, your sweetheart, the one who always puts your well-being before anything else.

"Well... I got to say that... I'm kinda curious about... you know..." You are still a little shy about it, as your cheeks return to a shade of red, your boyfriend smiles softly at your demeanor, finding you oh so adorable when you're shy like this. "Let's explore each other at your rhythm, hmm ?" He offers before pressing a second kiss to your kiss, then a third one and a fourth one, going from your cheek to the base of your neck. "Good thing Satoru gave me a box of condoms."

"He gave you WHAT ?"

© eunwhore 2023. 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

[lordofdestructionm]

The not so subtle sentimentality of Mordecai Heller

With the Lackadaisy Short Film  teaser trailer hitting over 800K views one line from Serafine got me thinking about a side of Mordecai that is not often discussed but is crucial to his character and may play a key part in the comics story before the end

Though it is easy for both other characters in the story and readers to see Mordecai as just a cold killer that cares more about stains on his shirt than ending multiple lives in grizzly ways (and that is true for anyone who makes the mistake of getting in the way of him completing his work) a closer look reveals that, while reserved for a short list of people, there is a strong streak of sentimentality hidden behind the buttoned down aloof professional persona he tries so hard to maintain

His Mother and Sisters

Mordecai was dealt a very bad starting hand in life. With his father dying when he and his sisters were still very young, despite his loving and hard working mother doing her best to provide for them, the family lived in poverty in the slums of New York

As a result Mordecai has to start working at a very early age and being naturally gifted with numbers he becomes a book keeper and soon enough gets drawn into running the numbers for gambling and loan sharking gangs.

All of this was done to try and make life better for his mother and his sisters. In a flashback to when he was on the run from the criminals he had been working for after being caught embezzling funds from them, his life is in danger and he needs to get out of town in a hurry and so jumps on a train in either 1920 or 1921.

Despite this he fixates on writing a letter to send to his mother in which he explains the location of his ill gotten savings and urges her to move with his sisters to cleaner better ventilated housing.

Because the money wasn’t primarily for his benefit

Mordecai clearly loved his sisters very much and they could break him out of his reserved bookish demeanor. We can see even as an adult Modecai holds the memory of his childhood with his sisters, impoverished and hard though it clearly was, very close. Close enough that thinking about them are enough to bring out his very small but very genuine smile that could not be further away from his “ice pick look”.

Atlas

The next imporant relationship in his life is with Atlas May. When on that getaway train he soon realized that cut throats from his former employers are already in the carriage waiting for their moment to pounce

Mordecai is 100% certain that he is about to get a bullet to the head and the tunnel will provide the hitmen with the perfect cover as the darkness and noise descends.

Only for a ray of light to suddenly appear

Atlas gave Mordecai the means to survive, not just by literally giving him what he needed to escape his would be murderers, but by employing him and providing a new purpose when he had nowhere else to go and no idea what to do.

Atlas being dead by the time of the main story, by design we know very little about his personality and relationships with others except for what the people who knew him have to say.

But is is very clear that Mordecai felt a deep loyalty to Atlas. It may even be speculated that he became a surrogate father figure for him, having lost his own father so young and having been moulded while working for him from the scared youth in shabby second hand clothes to a dapper professional bookkeeping bootlegger

This loyalty has not ended with Atlas’s death. He is determined to get to the bottom of the mystery of his murder. This is despite the fact it would be a much smarter move by far for the sake of both professionalism and survival to let dead former employers lie and simply carry out his new role with the Marigold gang no questions asked

Instead it is clear the entire reason he has abandoned The Lackadaisy is not, as Mitzi and the rest think, cold self interest but so he can investigate if the rival gang had any role in his mentors death

Even discussing the topic causes his cold passive exterior to crack and makes him look broken and overwhelmed

Viktor  (You knew this was coming)

As anyone who has followed this account will know this is one of my (and many other fans) favourite dynamics in the series

At fist it seems there is little reason for these two to have any kind of bond. Mordecai is pretty much obsessed with good grooming, high quality tailoring, correct grammar, and tends to go on one-sided rambles when perturbed.

 This clashes hard with the surly Slovak who is often unshaven, relatively casual in his attire, speaks a broken English, and hates people chattering or “noise, noise, noise” as he calls it. Indeed the two often bicker and act as if they can’t stand the other

However for whatever reason, in spite of these big differences, the big bruiser mechanic and the fussy nerdy sharp shooter are able to work very well together and soon become key weapons in Atlas’s arsenal

And in spite of their differences there is evidence, that over the course of the roughly six years they were working together before their bosses death, that these two extremely anti-social personalities actually began to form an unlikely rapport

On the one known occasion when Mordecai actually drank strong alcohol, and predictably got hilariously drunk, one of his chosen topics of conversation is his “friend” Viktor and how “great” he is (including a possibly telling comment about his large physique *cough*)

Mordecai also, despite being the type of person who you would assume would just radiate Scrooge energy, makes a point of buying Viktor a Christmas/hanukka present. Though he keeps up appearances by presenting it as another criticism of Viktor’s fashion sense

Tellingly Viktor voluntarily wears the tie for the rest of the day, something only Ivy (someone Viktor treats as a surrogate daughter) is able to get away with as well.

The two also not only work well together in a professional capacity, but seem to truly look out for each others welfare when on the job. Not only does Mordecai save Viktor from being shot while distracted, Viktor then goes out of his way to retrieve Mordecai’s pince-nez from the staircase of a burning building

While a hilarious moment as Mordecai fails to react in the “correct” way to having just survived a bloody shoot out, it also sums up his entire attitude to people, that he separates the world into those who count and those who don’t. The former are a short list

Viktor, along with the others on here, counts for Mordecai

This is made clear at his chat with Mitzi at the lunch meeting.

Mordecai may have kneecapped Viktor when he left the Lackadaisy gang, but from what we know now this was clearly an attempt to get Viktor out of harms way by forcing him to retire from bootlegging, and quite possibly to avoid Marigold putting him in a position where he would have to fight Viktor if he was told to finish off the failing speakeasy. Something he could hardly refuse if he wanted to keep investigating Atlas’s death

Mitzi seems to know Viktor is a chink in Mordecai’s armour, and of course exploits that to the fullest. When she informs him that his theft of the Lackadaisy arsenal put Viktors life in danger Mordecai’s face makes less than neutral expression

As Mitzi keeps twisting that screw Mordecai knows he is in danger of giving something away and with Asa right next to him he needs to restore his barriers.

In this case quite literally using a menu to cover his face to ensure he doesn’t slip up again

It seem to work as Asa laughs of the idea of Mordecai having a heart beneath the cold exterior (something we know is a big mistake)

Even when the attention is off him and the topic of conversation moves on his gaze remains firmly fixed down at the table.

Until Atlas lets slip some crucial information about Atlas’s last days. So much for there being “no heartstrings to tug on”

I am sure the Lackadaisy Animated Movie is going to be amazing and hopefully will only lead to ever more popularity and attention for this amazing world and its characters

[rin-hanarin]

I keep thinking about what kind of angst Lucanis' romance is going to be if it is indeed angsty. Is it the demonic possession angle, or is it "Death is my calling" and he thinks he doesn't deserve love because he kills people for a living his whole life?

The second option is hilarious with a fellow Crow because like. Lucanis: I don't deserve you, not after everything I've done. Crow Rook, also a professional killer who's been doing the same exact thing for a long time, probably since they were very young, cleaning their weapon from blood: What the FUCK are you talking about?

[sylvia-plaths-fig-pie]

The Games We Play ♡ Luke Alvez

Pairing: luke alvez x fem!reader

Cw: no use y/n, mentions of Canon typical violence, probably strays far from cannon but the vibes are there, luke being a himbo, reader being intelligent (as you should) .

Trope: friends/coworkers to lovers

Word count: idk maybe 1k?

Summary: after a long case you school Spencer Reid on the plane back playing chess and you try to convince luke to play. It's only when luke is driving you home that he reveals that he's never played before...

♡♡♡♡♡

"And that's checkmate." You moving your queens knight into the closing position. Spencer look at you confused for what must have been the 5th time on the flight back from the last case.

"How?!" He questioned, slightly outraged by his loosing streak.

You bit back a simile as you looked at him, "would now be a good time to mention I was a 'chess prodigy' growing up...?"

"So was I but-"

"Spencer, I was British chess champion was I was 16 years old and competed in the world championships several times before flying to the US and joining the fbi..." you confessed, smiling at your childhood achievements. Spencer was an intelligent wonder kid, but he wasn't a chess grand master and he didn't have several chess titles, not like you.

"I think that's your signal to quick while your behind," luke commented from beside you, biting back a laugh as he looked at Spencer sulking. "I'm sure you could beat her at noughts and crosses?"

You rolled your eyes at his comment. He probably wasn't wrong, but still you liked the idea of winning, especially after the lengthy case that you just closed.

It was a collection of several murders of young girls and their dogs, with alot of mutilation, far too much for your average serial killer. You managed to close it, but not after weeks of sleepless nights and too many casualties for your liking.

"I'll have to pass on that game," you say before Spencer can try to convince you to play noughts and crosses. "But alvez, your the last one left that I haven't played," you say turning to look at the brunet who's eyes were already fixed on your own, "what do you say? I'll go easy on you I promise."

"Hell no!" He laughed, but you could tell there was somthing else that he wasn't saying. You were a profiler so you were generally pretty good at reading people, but with luke it was almost like you could read his mind and vise versa. You didn't just know eachother, you understood one another. Most days that was a comfort in this line of work, but sometimes it was terrifying.

It scared you that someone could know you so completely without having to tell them. It scared you that you saw luke as more than just a colleague and friend, it scared you that while he understood you he probably didn't feel the same. It was torture.

But you had to be professional. Which is why you didn't press why he didn't want to play and chalked it down to him wanting to keep his pride. However it didn't stop you from drifting asleep with your head on his shoulder when Spencer tried to analyse your previous chess game. Platonic friends can fall asleep on eachothers shoulders, right?

♡♡♡

As the plane landed you began to stir as luke gently nudged you.

"Wake up princess," he whispered in your ear.

"Shut up, I'm up," you mumbled as you got up, feigning annoyance at the nickname. It was pointless in front of a group of profilers, who could probably all could tell that you had a bit of a thing for luke and actually enjoyed the nickname, but your pride wouldn't allow you to admit to any if it.

"Let me drive you home." He says as you're walking of the plane. "Your tired, its probably not a good idea if you drive right now."

Usually you would argue, make some excuse, but you took the buss to work and we'll the buss after 10pm for a woman wasn't exactly a safe place, even if you took down serial killers for a living. So you agreed to a totally platonic friend driving another friend home after a long day.

"Why don't you want to play chess with me?" You asked once luke began driving down the farmiliar roads to your apartment. You weren't going to ask, really you weren't, but curiosity got the best of you.

"I didn't want to get my ass handed to me like everyone else," he laughed, but once again there was somthing else, somthing hidden. He didn't look at you, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"Luke?" You questioned, "you know you can tell me, right?"

He was quiet for a moment, changing the gears of the car, the radio loosing signal briefly.

"Promise you won't laugh?" He asked quietly, he seemed vulnerable, almost sacred.

You nodded, "not unless it's an embassading childhood story."

He laughed then, the tension in the air easing.

"Okay," he nodded, pulling up outside your apartment complex, pausing before he spoke. "I don't know how..."

He didn't look at you, his eyes were fixed on the road even though he had just parked.

You placed your hand on his knee.

It broke your heart that he felt embarrassed saying it. It didn't even occur to you that he wouldn't know. You'd just assumed he knew because he was intelligent. But that doesn't matter if no one has taught you how to play.

He looked at you then, vulnerable. He thought you would think he was stupid, as if he wasn't one of the smartest people you had ever met. As if he wasn't so talented and kind and not to mention beautiful inside and out.

"I can teach you." You mumber quietly, "you would be good at it, all you need to know are the basics. Not that you need to learn, I just think it would be fun to play with you." You similed before over thinking your last few words. "Chess" You amended, "playing chess with you."

He laughed at your fumble. You just grew redder. Now it was your turn to be embarrassed.

Luke placed his hand over yours, finally turning to face you with his beautiful smile. You grew redder again, this time not because of embarrassment.

"You would do that?" He asked, smiling more widely.

"Of course! I love chess and showing the beauty of it to someone that I love honestly is the dream. Platonically of course, not that you would think any differently I love you platonically. Not that you would think otherwise, obviously. I love you platonically. Not beacuse your unattractive. Your very attractive don't worry, not that you would, I mean look at you. Sorry I didn't mean like that I just ment... in a coworkers way you know? Sorry I'l stop now thanks for driving me home." Your hands covered your face, too embarrassed to look at luke.

He began to laugh. You wanted to die. Why on earth did you just say all of that? Honestly sometimes you felt as though your mouth ran 1000% faster than your brain when you were tired out from a long case.

"For someone so intellectual you can be so stupid princess," his hand left yours and tilted your chin to face him,as your hands fell from your face.

"What do you-?"

You began to question, but you couldn't finnish. Not that you wanted to anyways. Likes head diped forward and cut you off with a kiss. Slow, almost as though he was testing to make sure that this is what you really wanted. He didn't want to push you.

The kiss ended far to quickly. You wanted more, you needed more.

"I ment that in a 'non platonic' way, I mean it in a 'I find you very attractive' way, just incase you needed clarification." He laughed bashgully as he lingered only inches away from your face.

This time it was you who made the move, grabbing his face and pulling him into you. you flushed your lips against his as he reciprocated just as strongly. It felt right. It felt like this moment was overdue. you were falling deeper into his grasp. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you as close as he could in the car as you saw stars behind your eyelids.

"Do you want to come inside?" You asked finnally pulling away, he quirked an eyebrow at you. "To play chess?" You defended, although it didn't take a profiler to work out what you really ment.

"I'll come inside, but I can't promise that I'll play chess."

"Oh?"

Oh?

"What can I say... I much prefer princesses to queen's and King's, besides I'm far too impatient right now for chess. I've been waiting for this moment for far too long."

[fillinforlater]

Dr. Minji

Male Reader x Kim Minji

Length: 1127 words

Tags: prostate exam, fingers up your bum, semen sample, also called cock sucking, p-gasm, anal, butt stuff, riding a dildo, loud sex, proffesional_doctor!Minji

TW: butt stuff with the reader, also Quickie

Inspiration: @worldsover who wrote the prompt and inspired me to go for it, @kaedespicelatte who just says random shit and IT WORKS lmao

Credit: @worldsover for editing. Thank you!

“Bend over.”

Swallow the enormous lump in your throat. You were mentally prepared for the worst, a weird, ugly male doctor shoving his fingers up your ass and rubbing your prostate. For the sake of your health, yes, you would do it. But as it turns out, Dr. Minji is definitely not ugly and most certainly not a man. She is a cold killer, her gaze unimpressed as she watches your face fill with blood. A sigh comes from her lips as she grabs her gloves.

“Sir, I have a lot of patients waiting. I’m sure your prostate is fine, but if you want to get it checked, we should not waste time.”

“I, uhm, uh…”

You stutter, you sweat. Dr. Minji is enveloped in this imposing aura. The way she stretches the white gloves on her fingers looks menacing, as if she is about to murder you without leaving traces. From a drawer, she grabs a tube with lube and places it on her desk. Another sigh.

“Sir, I—”

“I-I’ll do it, sorry.”

You interrupt her and scramble to open your belt. Fiddle at it for a second that feels endless. Your pants fall to the floor and soon your boxers follow. Although you try to hide your cock throughout the process, the doctor certainly caught a glimpse of it. Life is cruel. 

“Okay then,” Dr. Minji says, her voice disinterested, yet softer than before, “I need you to relax now. I know this is hard, but it is necessary, okay?”

“Yes,” you say in between labored breaths and bend further down. You expected her to move behind you, but Dr. Minji decides to kneel in front of you. Her fingers, cold and covered with glove and lube, dart through the opening of your legs and search for your puckered hole. 

Your entire forehead is a sea of sweat. You wish you could wipe all these beads away, but both of your hands are occupied: the left gives you stability on Minji’s desk; the other hides your manhood. You have to suffer through this ticklish feeling on your temple as Minji tickles your butthole. It’s still too tight for her to insert a finger, and the coldness of her glove doesn’t help. 

Suddenly, one of the many salty beads loses its grip and falls down on the doctor’s face. It leaves a wet trail on her cheek and she looks upwards, straight at you. Her disinterested, unimpressed expression has not changed, even though you're looking at her with the most pitiful, disgusting contortion of a face imaginable. With yet another sigh, she gets up from her knees and grabs something from the drawer.

“Sir, let me show you how it’s done,” she says bluntly and plants a massive, suction dildo onto the tiled floor. You gawk at the absolute insane length, and for a second, fear that it is meant for you. That is before Minji pulls down her pants and steps out of them. No panties to speak of. No hair as well, her legs, crotch and pussy are smooth masterpieces. 

“Come closer,” Minji commands, while putting a healthy amount of lube on the silicone phallus. As you carefully shuffle forward, Minji strokes the fake dick a couple of times and then squats down. Like the professional that she is, she takes it up her ass with no effort.

“Fuck,” the two of you groan. Before you know it, Minji has slapped away your hand. Your cock has already become erect at the sight of seeing this young, attractive doctor half naked, so there is no use hiding it anymore. Quite frankly, you do not care anymore as Minji starts to slowly go up and down on the silicone monster.

She once again reaches for your butthole, but this time, she won’t be denied. 

Her finger pierces you open. No time for it to adjust to Minji; it’s time for you to learn what the doctor is showing you. Relax, relax, and take it up there without whining. Whine you do, however, at her first touch of your prostate. From that moment, you feel things spiral out of control.

"Also, I'll need a sperm sample,” Dr. Minji says, her breath quicker than before.

"What for?" you respond with less confusion than you would hope for. Minji reaches for your hard shaft.

"Me."

That's how a good doctor multitasks: she's sitting on that silicone dick, taking it in her guts while being more thorough with her prostate exam. Her finger not only grazes your prostate, it begins to poke it. The friction of her in and out movements makes your knees quiver, and every touch on your sensitive organ fills your mind with fog.

"I'll have to make sure the taste is normal too,” Minji bluntly adds and goes from just staring at your length to putting her lips onto it. But when did they learn about kissing the tip in medical school? Of course she is an expert in anatomy, but this knowledge is not part of the curriculum, right?

Even though her gloves are cold, her tongue's certainly warm enough to make it feel all better. It makes you relax. The pleasure is a comfortable couch and you just lay down on it—perfect for Minji to carefully ease another finger up your rectum. The double attack on your prostate leaves you with gritted teeth and an unhealthy amount of precum on Minji’s taste buds. 

"It's okay, this amount of precum is normal with all the stimulation," the doctor gives her medical expertise, interrupted by moans.

So this is where the distrust of doctors comes from: you're absolutely leaking from the slit of your dick. How normal can this be? It's a test of all your senses, the fingers in your asshole, the lips around your frenulum, the sight of Minji slowly bouncing up and down—what happened to sterility? Oh, it's gone now that she's drooling; you might as well be too.

Let's call it doctor-patient confidentiality, how she swallows your semen sample, even as the orgasm keeps going, doesn't let any of the seed go to waste as the orgasm keeps going and going, because your ass is clenching hard around her cold gloved fingers—can't let there be any evidence, can't let it show up on a black light. The orgasm is so intense, you have to bite down on something: Minji offers a finger—oh, is that—you almost cared, until you start watching Minji's ass ripple too in her own orgasm, so your lips wrap around her digit as you throw your head back and give Minji much more than a sample of semen in her mouth. The whole clinic must have heard that one. Better hope the walls are soundproofed well.

[gatitties]

Hello, i have a request!

What would strawhats, heart pirates, kid pirates, whitebeard pirates and revolutionary army react to the (old or young teenager) therapist! gn! reader is casually talking about the trauma of his past but their personality is loyal, innocent, silly, and positive. They were casually swearing but they didn't realize. They're not mad at enemies, who's trying to threaten them but they roast them about it. They had a lot of scars of their belly but they're okay with it.

Sorry, if it makes you uncomfortable, don't write this.

─Strawhats, Heart Pirates, Kid Pirates, Whitebeard Pirates & Revolutionary Army x therapist!gn!reader

─Summary: It's always good to have someone you can turn to for mental healing.

─Warnings: none

— They don't really know how to react when you do that thing of telling your traumas in the middle of a battle, Robin and Nami will definitely tell you that you can do it another time.

— You took care to give the necessary importance to the story and your enemies (you completely ignored them or added them to the talk).

— Everyone trusts you as their problem solver, but you always choose the worst moments to give a motivational talk.

— If necessary, you will stop everyone to sit down and talk about each one's problems, you can avoid many unnecessary confrontations thanks to that.

— You're therapist but not a mage, you can't help with some of the nonsense, especially when Luffy makes a meaningless decision.

— If you lose your temper and your mouth starts swearing for whatever reason in the middle of a consult, Sanji will let you know.

— Everyone seems used to it when this happens, your completely threatening and enraged face changes to a peaceful and innocent face, as if you haven't talked about a great trauma.

— At least they appreciate that you are the type who can get something positive out of everything, even in extreme situations, they appreciate that you can see through them to help them.

— You don't need to stop the battle, Law has already done it, he has taken you to a quiet place to talk because he really appreciates your help.

— Poor man with traumas, you don't know how good it is for him to be able to talk to you about Cora and his past.

— Of course he won't admit this out loud, and you won't say anything either, you are a professional in your field and you will take your patients' secrets to the grave.

— Ikkaku finds it adorable how you change from when you're fighting to when you're calm and sane, like you're a different person.

— Shachi and Penguin are your bodyguards when you get distracted helping someone in the middle of battle, a person's feelings are more important than a stupid battle.

— Due to your power of oratory, you always take charge of persuasion if it is possible to negotiate with enemies since Law prefers to keep a low profile on some occasions.

— Bepo often helps you and you consider him your fluffy assistant.

— Those scars look rough, the story behind it is traumatic and the truth is that they didn't expect you to open up to them like that.

— You have a difficult crew to deal with, Kid won't even bother asking you for help or anything, he's too proud.

— Heat and Wire will be among the first to come to your consult and they didn't expect it to be so beneficial.

— They're not big fans of you starting to talk to your enemies about their overall health when all you have to do is swat them like mosquitoes.

— You'll have a whole insult battle with Kid over this, but at least you're getting him to listen to you for once even if it's not the kind of language you'd like to treat your patients with.

— Killer is disappointed but not surprised by the situation, he didn't expect you to use that kind of foul language being so cultured, but he's not one to criticize either.

— It's definitely not the best crew to deal with, but if they really need it they know you're there to help even if their pride sometimes gets in the way.

— They seriously love you, they never thought that therapy would be so good for them.

— That you share your traumas and tell the stories behind your scars also makes them trust you from the beginning.

— Marco always looks for you to have small talks after a tiring day.

—Thatch and Ace usually come hand in hand and are the ones you interact with the most and the ones who cause you the most problems due to their concerns.

— Although they are never a problem, even if they feel bad in the middle of a fight you will sit down and talk to them (at least you'll sit) while they continue the fight.

— Izo tends to be more reserved like Whitebeard, so it's not as easy to help them, but they still know they can count on you and your loyalty.

— You are usually quite busy since whenever visitors come from different factions, they almost necessarily go to you to seek solace if they have had problems.

— Dragon is a little skeptical at first and doesn't care much that you have opened up for them even showing old battle wounds.

— The others, on the other hand, are grateful for someone who cares about their mental health, especially Sabo when he recovers his memory.

— Maybe after a while Dragon will appreciate the talks you give him, maybe you've opened the shell of him where he keeps his heart.

— Ivankov finds your attitude quite funny when in the middle of a mission you completely change when you see someone in trouble, even if they are an enemy you will offer to help them.

— Koala is always pulling on you if you extend your talks too long, it's okay that you want to help but you have a very important mission to complete and the government is after your head.

— They don't understand how you can be so serious about your work and then be so stupid as to find the slightest thing funny (you laughed because a piece of bread fell out).

— But it's good because you help them cope with the tension of being enemies against the most powerful people in the world, some of the stress or other things have decreased since you managed all their problems and they are grateful.