#the only thing he's thrown so far is shade lol
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Between Danny and Vlad who would most likely win in a snowball fight?
No contest 💅
#asks#danny phantom#danny fenton#vlad masters#hjbenderart#pokemon battle#badger cereal#here's the thing:#danny is young and impulsive and easily provoked#he doesn't yet understand tactics. like how to conserve his energy and draw his opponent to him and let them wear themselves out#which is what vlad is doing here. he hasn't even thrown a single snowball yet#the only thing he's thrown so far is shade lol#and danny took the bait#vlad is patient. he'll wait until danny is tired and then move in for the kill#it'll be a massacre#besides. we all know ice pokemon are weak against fire pokemon ;)
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heyooo!! can I request Izuku when his fingers accidentally brush against the readers??? And they grab his hand and he gets all flustered <333 sorry I just can’t get this scenario out of my head!! He’s so silly!! /pos
a/n omf i cant believe my izuku readers r still alive… i havent caught up in the manga since forever so if theres anything wrong, thats why LOL i missed izuku so much T__T, wc 1k
Izuku is guarding a terrible, terrible secret. One that he wouldn’t even admit if his classmates roped him into an intense game of Truth or Dare, unless drunk, probably. Which will never happen.
Class 1-A Dorms roars with laughter. Izuku swears he can feel the building shaking as the students occupying the vast space of the living room burst into another fit of cackles. The other building could probably hear it, and they’d get a noise complaint the next morning, from 1-B, no less.
They’re watching a movie. Comedy, perhaps; Izuku wasn’t paying much attention when they were picking, but he could pick up the clues of what the characters on screen are saying, his classmates jostling his shoulders as they giggle, and, of course, the same mp3 laugh track that plays for the rest of the film.
Izuku is tucked into the far corner of the couch, squished between Todoroki and Uraraka. Uraraka laughs with her whole body, her head thrown back as she claps in delight. Todoroki laughs once, a huff of amusement, just a curl of his lips.
And on the floor, nestled between where Izuku dutifully keeps his knees spread so as to not hurt, sits you—the whole reason why Izuku is struggling to focus on the movie in the first place.
He’s eternally grateful that keeping the lights dim while watching films is a thing, or else everyone would’ve long noticed his burning face. He looks like a strawberry, and feels like a strawberry left under the sun. Todoroki had cast him a glance, vague amusement playing on his stoic face. Izuku wanted to dig a hole and bury himself in there forever.
“Sorry, Izuku,” you say, loud enough to be heard over the film but quiet enough that it’s only shared between the two of you. He wills his legs not to jump up in surprise. “Can I just lay for a bit? I’m getting kinda sleepy.”
“No problem,” Izuku says after a beat, managing to not fuck up and stammer embarrassingly in front of you. Or should it be behind you?
You tilt your head upward, meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Y-Yes. I mean, you’re welcome.” Dammit.
Izuku breathes a sigh of relief when your attention is promptly stolen by the laugh track, and Kaminari yelps a cackle.
He catches something from the corner of his eye, paling at the sight of a terrifying expression on Uraraka’s face. If devils had round eyes and rounder cheeks, smiling in a way that fits their nature, it would be a picture of evilness Uraraka is portraying at this moment.
He squints inquisitively at her.
Uraraka grins. “Your hand,” she whispers, then does something he can’t quite figure out.
Confused, Izuku shows her his hand, scars and all.
Uraraka looks unimpressed, and Izuku wilts. He can’t hear her properly, with the movie picking up pace and sound effects. Uraraka makes a grand demonstration of splaying her hand and resting it on the crown of her hair, then gestures wildly at your head.
As soon as understanding dawns on Izuku, his face feels drained of blood, horrified. “No,” he mouths desperately. “No.” Again, for good measure.
“Yes,” she mouths back, taking matters into her own hands by quite literally taking his hand and moving to place it on your head. But he panics and jostles your hands resting on his lap instead.
Izuku pales. The characters in the movie shriek. “Sorry,” he squeaks out, then glares at Uraraka, who’s holding in her laughter.
He heaves a heavy breath when you cast him a curious glance.
“You—Sorry, I, my hand—No, I mean, I didn’t mean to do that,” he blurts uselessly, waving his arms around in a desperate attempt to hide his face, which is surely the same shade as anything red.
What the hell, his brain hisses. Izuku, you idiot, you’ve done it now.
He watches with bated breath as you take his hand instead of laughing at his face. He watches as you lace your fingers with his instead of seeing your face scrunch up in disgust. His heart flutters, threatening to fly off his chest and into the shared warmth of your hands.
Instead, he deflates like a red balloon, his mouth forming words that sound like nitpicking vowels from a series of keyboard smashes.
“I don’t mind,” you say. “Relax. I want you to hold me.”
It’s a little hard to relax when your words float around in his mind like a broken record.
Once the movie ends and the noise subsides, his classmates collectively keep their messes—namely, the thrown popcorn and spilled soda on the carpet—and return to their rooms. But Izuku can’t do that, not when he has a Y/N who is still resting against his lap.
He waves goodbye at Uraraka and Iida, the former making kissy faces and Iida solemnly sending him his prayers.
Izuku resigns himself to his fate, sighing softly. Well, despite everything, he likes the fact that you never once let go of his hand.
“I like your hands,” you say, as if answering his thoughts. Izuku jolts and can’t help it because he thought you were asleep.
“You… do?”
Izuku thinks his hands are ugly, scars running all the way to his shoulders like protruding veins. He hates seeing it.
“I do,” you say, squeezing it tenderly. “I’m glad it’s still together and working after all you’ve done to it. I like them.”
Izuku bites his bottom lip, harsh enough that it’s nearly drawing blood, lest he says something stupid like, ‘I like you’. He doesn’t, thankfully. Yet it’s there, on the tip of his tongue. If you asked him what’s on his mind, he would’ve said it.
But he guards his secret a little while longer and hopes that someday he’ll be able to share it with you.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, finding the courage to squeeze your hand. Much to his delight, you do it back and smile. He’s melting. “Can we, uhm, stay here for a bit?”
You laugh, rising from your position. Izuku nearly panics and holds you down because he doesn’t want to lose this moment just yet. But he finds himself stunned when you settle beside him and rest your head against his shoulder instead. “Sleep,” you say. “We’ll stay here for a bit.”
“O-Okay, yeah,” he whispers, reaching for your hand once more.
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bnha fluff#mha fluff#bnha imagines#mha imagines#bnha drabbles#midoriya izuku x reader#midoriya izuku fluff#deku x reader#deku fluff#izuku midoriya fluff#izuku midoriya imagine#izuku x reader#izuku midoriya x reader
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🦅Russell Adler Headcanons
{Author's Note} Since I'm literally obsessed with this man, I thought I'd post my headcanons for him. All of these are based off of his canon backstory and character with bits of my own speculation thrown in so nothing should be too out of left field here. I may end up posting more of my thoughts on him soon so we shall see. Hope y'all like it and I'd love to hear what you think, as well as any headcanons you guys might have! Tagging @littlemissclandestine for this since she's an Adler fan. Let me know if I did this man justice lol🤭
‼️Content Warning: swearing, suggestive themes‼️
~ ~ ~
-Badass asshole
-Takes awhile for him to soften enough to really love someone
-Flirtatious jerk when he has a crush
-Shows he cares through small actions that can be hard to notice, as well as vague, rather backhanded compliments
-Shamelessly stares from behind those glasses of his
-Thinks it’s really cute when you wear his shades but would never admit it
-Stylish with heavy 70s influence
-Probably modeled for a male fashion magazine at some point LMAO
-Definitely knows how to dance
-Seems like the type to meme a bit on British people (specifically Park lol)
-Very sarcastic, sometimes to the point that you don’t realize he’s actually joking because he's always so monotone
-Secretly loves Belgian waffles (this is a reference to that one Bruce Thomas TikTok lol)
-Has a soft spot for the Beach Boys (I mean, look at that 🎶bushy, bushy blonde hairdo🎶 of his)
-Since so many people have asked and teased him about it (I see y'all in the fandom and I will not accept this slander lol) -> his hair isn’t fake, it’s actually pretty soft, very bouncy, he likes styling it
-Very particular about his appearance as it is one of the few things that he can truly control
-Prefers cats over dogs
-Can get obsessive about certain things and lose himself to them (i.e. his search for Perseus) -> Mason quote: “He spent so long searching for Perseus, he didn’t notice when he lost himself.”
-Still struggles with PTSD from his time in Vietnam, which, alongside his obsession with finding Perseus, is what led to his divorce
-Carries a lot of guilt and regret that he doesn’t like to acknowledge
-Started smoking to cope with the trauma of war, now has a nicotine addiction; when he’s really stressed, he chain smokes like a chimney
-Gets restless if he doesn’t have a cigarette
-Doesn’t sleep well and when he does, he usually wakes up every few hours
-Scars - Shrapnel? Abuse? Torture? Animal attack? No one knows and he’ll never tell
-Kiss or trace those scars and he WILL melt
-Difficult for him to let his guard down
-Has a tendency to isolate himself -> Mason quote: "You were never alone, Adler. Only in your own stubborn head."
-Always wearing those damn glasses cuz STYLE but also to hide his eyes to remain as a sort of blank, emotionless slate to other people
-Absent parents who never showed him real love or support as he grew up so he struggles to do the same for others -> they were the reason he joined the army as soon as he turned 18
-When it comes to cuddling, he loves holding you against his chest and running his fingers along your arm, cheek, or through your hair; small but intimate actions like that are his favorite
-Doesn’t like to show emotions at all, even during more intimate moments; he needs some coaxing to relax in that way, which takes time
NSFW Below👇🏻 (it's really not too bad tho)
-Sit on his lap👀
-Will pin your wrists during the sexy times🫣
-EDGING & OVERSTIMULATION
-After his divorce, he's tended to view sex as more of a transaction where both parties are fulfilling needs for each other so he'd be selfish at first but as your relationship progresses, he'd become far more generous
#russell adler#russell adler x reader#russell adler x you#russell adler headcanons#call of duty black ops cold war#cod bocw#call of duty#cod#Ren's writing#mine mine mine
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How would bully satosugu react when u get a “boyfriend” (some random loser lol)
When i saw this i just wanted to reply w “y’all evr heard ab cuckolding” n leave it at that but then i couldn’t stop thinking ab it so-
I don’t think they’d even let any men near you, always keeping an eye out for whatever idiot that’s bold enough to approach you or flirt with you, pulling the poor boy aside for some casual small talk but any passerby could tell by their tone alone that it was anything but friendly dialogue.
It always started out normal, with a hulking arm around the boy’s shoulder, smiling and cracking jokes and yet, they always seemed to cower in Gojo and Geto’s grand presence. Something about them just screamed authority. Maybe it was because of the way Gojo took his shades off to get a better look at the moron, properly stare him down, or maybe because when they spoke it sent a shiver up their spine, words that seemed so ordinary somehow laced with an under lying threat and god forbid they see Geto without his usual smile, all because he no longer felt the need to be unnecessarily nice.
The pair were terrifying when fueled by anger and jealousy.
Despite everything you never found out about their little encounters with your admirers. Nor were they ever stupid enough to take their anger out on you, it’s not your fault you were such a pretty little thing, always longed for and sought after.
But I guess that changed once they saw you standing outside your house, they were just gonna pay you a surprise visit over the summer break, instead they were met with an astonishing discovery of their own, you talking to the loser that lived next door, giggling so sweet at whatever stupid joke he felt the need to make. There was a reason why they hadn’t ever seen him before, because your little secret didn’t go to the same university as you and them. Gojo almost lost it when the blushing boy caressed your arm, leaning in to plant a quick, chaste kiss against your rosy cheek and you let him. He was so sweet to you, you couldn’t help but reciprocate his feelings.
They decided it was best to let you know exactly why that wasn’t too good an idea princess.
I mean come on sweetheart they leave you alone for a week and you go and get yourself a useless little boy toy? You really didn’t think this through now did you?
So as one would expect, next thing you knew you were splayed out on Suguru’s lavish bed, your little summer fling tied up and thrown into one corner of the room, left to struggle on the floor while they worshiped you in front of the devastated boy. Mocking him by kissing every inch of your beautiful body. Licking and groping so very inappropriately.
Showed him all the lovely sounds you could make. You cried and begged hoping one of them would listen, but even Suguru was feeling extra mean today, paying you no mind. Only focused on feeding into his oral fixation when he settled between your soft thighs, teasing you with his tongue for what felt like hours but never letting you cum, call it punishment for wanting another man or call it being possessive, those pretty moans and whines you let out when you came, how your back arched and your brows furrowed, tears pouring out relentlessly, especially the way your thighs shook so deliciously, that was just for them to witness wasn’t it sweetheart?
But even all that wasn’t enough to settle their anger, so when Geto made you ride his pretty face while you made a pathetic attempt at taking his big cock in your mouth, as per instructed. Gojo made sure the moron was watching, roughly grabbing onto his hair to make him look. Not even blinking was excused because he should be eternally grateful he gets to see you like this, it won’t be happening ever again so he might as well make the best of his luck, which wasn’t far from running empty.
It only took a couple broken fingers and a grade four concussion before they were certain the boy wouldn’t ever even dare glance your way again. Whether he lived next door or not.
As for you sweetheart, what should they threaten sweet little you with? Can’t be a good time, they’ve tried that already. Maybe they should just keep you, that way they could always keep watch over you. Surely even you must be somewhat aware that you’re too naive to be left to your own devices, falling for the first person that’s kind to you? Maybe they can have you live with them to teach you right from wrong sweetie.
#uh??? i rlly like this….#yes geto absolutely has an oral fixation the worst kind there is#he falls asleep eating pussy ://>#bully satosugu ://>#jjk gojo#jjk#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen#geto smut#jjk geto#satosugu#geto suguru#geto x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader#jjk drabbles#jjk x reader
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https://www.tumblr.com/yuikomorii/738629974149496832/ok-i-didnt-want-to-go-this-far-but-at
Ok ok someone have to said it this person is a toxic Ayato Stan and have a unhealthy obsession with Ayato because their is no way you can make a whole post about a character like this 💀 I was so confused because I didn’t see nobody talking about hating on Ayato so they fr saw you post and automatically think you was hating on Ayato and even if you was it shouldn’t have effect that person so much to make a post. I had to block them before because their account alway give me the ick because it the way they made Ayato seem like some kind of god to yui even tho he abuse her. Tbh I alway know that person was weird and have a unhealthy obsession with ayato I am just happy a lot of other people are starting to see it 😭
uh huh, i felt overwhelmed too by their posts. plus they say it's useless to fight over a fictional character but proceeds to create a whole post on Ayato analysis (soke of it being invalid like the curse) like we are talking about the overhype 😭?
they say we lack reading comprehension but we literally are talking about the overhype and shade thrown on other characters to make Ayato look perfect 😭 but they assumed it as Ayato hate post and us spreading misinformation. like the dots don't even connect. all in all, it's not my fault everything started, I just stated my opinion which a LOT of people agree with but that person chose to interpret it as Ayato hate.... like I had comment from a ayato stan too agreeing with me, and not misinterpreting it.
I agree they sound toxic especially because they blocked me yesterday lol after i replied to asks, like they were stalking me cuz i didn't even put any diabolik lovers hashtag only my admin talk hashtag
still ayato stans misinterpreting is funny, because there was no such thing as hating on Ayato from the start.
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What do you make of the nfl/taylor/pr stuff going on? Those Kelcey family comments are something
I think people in general are overreacting over the response and making more of it than is there. It’s pretty straightforward. The kelces want publicity. They have a bunch of stuff to promo. Even Mama has product. Taylor likewise, and she’s used to it. But the kelces pursued a ton of attention back in February around the Super Bowl so they are not shy about fame. They are selling themselves, as they have been for awhile. Of course add in Taylor, and it’s gonna become huge, but I think they are handling it perfectly (or very close.)
The NFL likewise jumped on the possibility of expanding its audience and boosting ratings. How much of it was done in cahoots with Taylor and the kelces is the real question. I haven’t seen anything to suggest Taylor and the NFL aren’t working together, though they tried to spin it that they weren’t. But once again if you parse the words and separate what is coming from sources and what is official statements (where they likely wouldn’t outright lie) you can see they aren’t denying Taylor being involved. Just that she wasn’t involved in everything.
On the other end I see people trying to spin mama’s appearance on the today show as her throwing shade at Taylor or something, but I watched the whole video and people, as usual, are taking it out of context to feed their own biases. When she said “it was Ok” it was clearly done in a joking way like any of us would do like “how was meeting Taylor?” “Oh you know it was ok lol” *screaming inside* and that’s how the hosts took it and that’s how normal audiences watching it would take it. Only chronically online people would spin it to be a diss.
Also what I think people aren’t used to is that they are admitting to the promo side of it. By not trying to hide that, it actually in a weird way, lends authenticity to it, and this is something we’re not used to. They are basically saying “yes, we’re gettin publicity, here’s what we’re selling, isn’t this great! But also we’re not talking about the details of the romance side because that’s private.” This is new and refreshing and I think it’s great but swifties are definitely thrown off by this because it’s soooooo different from from the last 7 years. So people see some it in a negative light. But if you actually listen to what the kelces are saying, they really haven’t said anything beyond “it’s fun we’re happy, Taylor’s great!” There is nothing wrong with that. Might I remind people that one of the things people hated about joe was that he never uttered her name or had a favorite song or praised her at all? We knew they could be private without being so damn WEIRD. And now we are here.
Literally the ONLY misstep I’ve seen from this whole circus is Travis supposedly staying over at Taylor’s the night before the Jets game. And that is the only thing we’ve seen real damage control over, other than simply “is the NFL doing too much” which only something the NFL really has to do damage control over because the kelces and taylor are just saying, “hey that was their choice I can’t help it if they overdid it. But I’m having fun.”
I think overall it’s been a very successful run so far. Only time will tell what the end game is here. But I stand by my thoughts that it’s likely to be relatively short lived. Whether that means weeks or months, I can’t say.
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Ok so, with the Tekken 8 Closed Network Test now concluded, I'd like to share a few thoughts.
The game looks great, I love the new redesigns, I love the new animations and the fact that they got the entire cast to rerecord their battle grunts and win / pre battle quotes, it was especially weird to have certain characters use voice lines from different actors, some of whom weren't even speaking the same language 🤣
The redesigns are almost exclusively great so far, but I do hope we get alternate costumes. Yeah customization is there but I don't really care to have Nina in jeans and cowboy boots or Jin in platinum blond pigtails like... A lot of fighting games just have a palette swap as the second costume and call it a day, but from the very beginning all the way up to Tekken 6, Tekken had an alternate outfit for every single character. Not only that, but it was usually a more "casual" outfit too like, Kazuya's Tekken 1 1P was his karate gi pants but his 2P was a tank top and jeans. Asuka's Tekken 5 1P was her Aikido uniform and her 2P was her trademark shorts and tank top and so on. Tekken 7 originally went for the 2P palette swap, but at some point they added extra costumes, including classic looks, via an update, and I hope they are there from the start this time.
I played almost exclusively as Nina because she's been my main since 2005, with a little Jun, a little Xiaoyu and a little Jin thrown in. I also tried Lili's, Hwoarang's and Asuka's combo trials (nice that they FINALLY added combo trials, I don't know what took them so long lol) I gotta say it's extremely satisfying to see Harada CONSTANTLY shading Street Fighter on Twitter by saying that the base roster will feature a lot more fighters than our competitors an also Mortal Kombat by saying that they are focusing on legacy fighters before they even start considering guests. Like. That's a ball move and a huge reassurance for the fans. I also know it's in good faith and no harm is meant towards Capcom or Netherrealm but he's right and he should say it!
If there's one thing I hope they copy off of Capcom is Word Tour mode. Yeah NetherRealm Studios' cinematic story mode is fine... I guess... But World Tour mode is the best single player mode ever featured in a fighting game and Namco even have their own blueprint in the form of Tekken Force. We're probably still getting a cinematic-style story but there's still hope for Tekken 9, or maybe even a smaller-scale Tekken Force return, in the style of Tekken 4 or sth.
Arcade Mode needs a proper reintroduction as well, in Tekken 6 you only got 4 battles and you were done and in Tekken 7 you straight up got nothing at all out of Arcade mode and character endings were instead for the base game characters who weren't prominently featured in the cinematic story and you got them after a single battle... Very underwhelming.
Also hoping other "missing" modes like Team Battle return and maybe Tekken Bowl will be included from the get go this time? I've also had this request forever but I'd love to see 1P Vs. Com or Com Vs. Com fights be included in offline versus. Literally every other fighting game has it except Tekken and Virtua Fighter and I can't tell why. It shouldn't be hard to implement and honestly sometimes it's just fun to pick characters, costumes and stage and just fight it out with the computer, as a break from online grinding and whatnot.
Now, as for the battle system itself... It's lots of fun! There's tons of stuff going on at all times but it feels great to experience and it's not really overwhelming or anything. It's cute that they have included an "easy mode" for new players to ease themselves in the fun. I'm not a master player by any means but I've had almost two decades of experience in Tekken and legacy skill does play a big role in the Tekken meta so it's an interesting way to even out the playing field. Interestingly, they also seem to have simplified some of the more complicated commands like, I can pull off all of Nina's combo throws now with a total of like, four button presses at most? Crazy! The heat system feels a bit weird at first but it's a huge asset once you get into it which doesn't take all that long anyway.
Overall I am very satisfied with what I got to play and I feel like Tekken 8 is gonna be another huge chapter in Tekken's history as well as the FGC's as a whole and I honestly cannot wait! Hopefully I will have moved out of Greece by the time it's out because my internet connection was killing me 😭🤣
I also better see miss Anna and Christie in the game or else I'm rioting.
#Tekken#Tekken 8#Tekken 8 Closed Network Test#Tekken 8 CNT#Bandai Namco#Namco#Harada#Katshuhiro Harada#Tekken 7#Video Games#Gaming#Fighting Games#Nina#Jin#Jun#Xiaoyu#Lili#Hwoarang#Asuka#Nina Williams#Jin Kazama#Jun Kazama#Ling Xiaoyu#Emilie de Rochefort#Asuka Kazama
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If you want my input?
By all means, Dump has every right to feel hurt about not knowing your Jim blog and Blurry's were related, and to cut contact.
I'm no psychologist or anything but it does come off as a bit of an overreaction? Blurry was just trying to explain and apologize, literally made multiple posts to clear up that the character and the mod are separate entities.
Only reason I see that they'd react like that at first is being called the r word set them off. Again, no shade if that's the case, even if someone can reclaim a slur that doesn't mean everyone is alright with being called such things. One must respect that.
Don't have the context for the Moriarty's post part. Womp womp.
And yet when someone else apparently tried to explain you both were a part of a dissociative system, that's apparently demonizing mental illness? Oh dear, your existence is a demonization of OSDD? I guess we'll have to cancel you. :/
- 🖤
yeaaaah, i tried to point out that in their perspective "i" came out of nowhere and slurred them, like that's intense. kin tried to explain the best he could he didn't mean offense, that that's blurry's shtick lol, and even agreed they won't interact with them. so we were honestly confused that dump was still bummed about it, when we did our best to not interact when we found out they didn't want to interact with [kin] "anyone in the "system"."
kin and i both find using the r slur appropriate in certain contexts, especially since we're on the spectrum ourselves. this is another point of confusion in general though, as it's in question. neglect and OSDD are signs we're not actually on the spectrum and are stunted due to our abuse. i feel our r-slur pass has been taken away from us </3 granted i try not to use it, but i'll say anything in character. that's what playing a character is. (if there's something i'm uncomfortable with, i likely wouldn't be playing that character. ) (so yeah, reclaiming is fine, but not everyone has to be okay with it. kin uses the f slur too but we have friends who hate the f slur. )
but the crazy thing was dump blocked and unblocked kin a total of 3 times, so after the second time kin blocked them back. kin had to unblock them to take that screenshot but had seen they had unblocked again at some point. now blocked again. they seemed confused themselves on if they genuinely wanted to forgive and forget, but if someone blocks kin then he will block to make sure people don't do that flip flop thing we saw dump do here. john does that a lot too, he'll block you and unblock multiple times over the course of a day for some reason.
i personally prefer to be seen as separate from kin, we don't even use "system". we prefer to say dissociative disorder, admitting to OSDD is still very scary to us, especially because we've had a few people cut contact with us since discovering this. it's very difficult and brave of people to be themselves and understand that, but it's far too new to us and it's so scary still. it's so overwhelming because we never knew how to talk about this stuff, so when john outed us we were thrown into deep water suddenly. i don't mind if people don't want to talk to either of us, but we did everything we could to be respectful of their decision (we didn't tell them we both "are in the same system" but just continued with the decision of "not interacting". from their perspective, we pretended we weren't, in one conversation. but from our perspective, we found out they blocked each other so i stopped interacting. nothing crazy, idk. )
so yeah i agree with you, it's valid of dump and their feelings, but strange they're so closed minded and can't understand it was just a misunderstanding. i didn't know, when i found out, i stopped interacting. so manipulative lol
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Watched Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated for the first time today…
I know it’s really old by now, but with the horrible rise of that new one for “adults” I wanted to watch it since I’d heard good things. So…here are my thoughts as I watched:
-I love each character’s introduction:
* Velma the cynical tour guide who is also so bossy and pushy, especially with her relationship with Shaggy (I’ll get to that)
* Fred the trap-obsessed himbo…and his dad is the mayor here? Interesting.
* Daphne having sisters?! And all are super successful? That’s really cool! They’re pretty but they all have successful careers…nice touch. And it isn’t thrown in your face too long. A brief joke and background detail that might come back. (No spoilers though)
I love her voice too. It’s nice to hear Grey DeLisle’s voice and I think it fits Daphne here very well.
* Shaggy and Scooby once again eating everything as always, but the parents look very similar to Shaggy which is nice. It helps pull away from the fan joke Shaggy’s a stoner
-Patrick Warburton as the chief of police…perfect. I love his voice and though that mustache doesn’t fit it, that’s okay. XD
-Nice Easter eggs nodding back to the old shows too! Not only the most famous monsters from the original cartoon, but there was also the clown-jester looking one from the first live-action Scooby Doo movie. The one they unmasked at the very beginning before the tone shift of everyone separating.
-I knew when I saw the shade of green of the fruitmeir stuff it was connected to the goo…gross.
-Scooby is part cat??? (He extended a talon to open a lock somehow???)
-The joke about why a high school teacher would need more money. XD Too real…but very funny
-Shaggy and Velma are painful to watch…oof… And I know the twist there, so I know why. But it’s so obvious Shaggy isn’t that into Velma and that she’s trying too hard to be a couple. I don’t know why yet, but no spoilers.
Overall it’s a fun show so far. I got a few chuckles and though for this first episode of the reveal of the teacher as the culprit was…weird…since the group never suspected him to begin with so maybe the scene where he stages being a victim himself was for us and not the one-brain cell group (Velma usually has the brain cell), but it was fun. I liked it. lol
Bonus thought under cut…
I have a theory about why the show, Velma was made now too…
Mindy Kailyn hated this reboot of the show so much she thought “I can do better, and make it adult” and so we got the adult trash that is her show. It’s just the complete opposite of everything that Mystery Inc is:
-Fred is the most hated on (by characters) person and an unlikeable idiot of a kid whose father is embarrassed by him. Said father is also rich and important. Mystery Inc has Fred as a lovable himbo oblivious to Daphne’s feelings but with a father that is worried about him but not cruel.
-Daphne is a stuck up bitch that only becomes less of one when the forced writing of her being with Velma starts. Her parents are the ones they try to make likable, but no one in the show is. Where in Mystery Inc the parents want Daphne to drop her friend group and stop obsessing over Fred and make something of herself.
-Norville has an unrequited crush on Velma, and she is relentlessly cruel about it. This is the opposite of Mystery Inc where Shaggy is the one hesitant on how he feels and Velma is pushing to become public about their relationship.
-Velma isn’t just brutally honest, she’s judgmental and hateful toward everyone. Especially Norville, who doesn’t get the hint and keeps trying to get her to like him. Until he sees her kissing Daphne. Then he meets a black girl that people suspect replaced Scooby. Maybe a middle finger to Warner Bros for not letting the show use him.
Because yeah, they said no to Velma using Scooby in their show. It wasn’t because it wasn’t adult enough if they include him.
That’s just my theory, since it seems Velma went out of its way to be the opposite of Mystery Incorporated.
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OC Modern AU: Caged Hearts
This idea has been bouncing around my head for a while and I wanted to get it down somewhere! This mostly follows my OCs Carys and Solomon, with a bunch of friends OC's thrown into the mix! Owners are: Umi @aifozu , Maren @mewiyev , Renge @childofblackmaria , Coco @secretvoidvoid
I'm still thinking about ideas for this AU but I'm more than happy to discuss with anyone about it! So feel free to ask any questions or just talk to me about it lol. Also any mutuals who wanna discuss about specific OCs that I did or didn't include hmu. >:3c
Abyss owns a place pretty far outside of town. It’s basically a homestead even though Abyss has taken to working more and more often at his company in the city as his kids have gotten older.
Solomon and Carys have been raised as siblings, although Solomon is adopted. No one would be able to tell they weren’t blood related though, Solomon and Carys both look so much like their father.
They were originally homeschooled by Abyss and other tutors until Solomon put his foot down and demanded to go to a ‘real’ school. Carys went with him but only lasted a few days before reverting to being homeschooled.
Solomon is skinny and tall like their father, they’re all a similar shade of tan (Carys and Abyss a bit darker as they spend more time outside than Solomon prefers too). He’s got short black hair, dark eyes like Abyss, and is tattooed down both arms. He’s working on his chest currently. He’s going to college as a business major even though he’d really rather not. However, Abyss wants him to take over the family business and both know Carys would never do that. So it falls on Solomon. He’s also a few years older than Carys in this AU. What he’d really like to be though is an artist or a tattoo artist. He draws constantly.
Carys is perfectly satisfied living on their farm. She takes care of their animals every day but after being told she had to take a degree in something she is Languages major, simply because she has an ear for that sort of thing and being fluent in other languages is easy for her. She takes the courses online since she doesn’t care to attend a college in person. She looks largely the same as her normal human form however she’s a little more bulky since she works on the farm. She still enjoys singing and sparring with Solomon or their father.
Both siblings like to do underground cage fighting. Solomon a little less, since he’s honestly not much into fighting even though he’s not bad at it (for some reason Abyss knows a lot of different types of fighting styles and taught them both). It’s more for something to do, the entertainment of it all is thrilling. The energy of the crowd and being apart of something is intoxicating, and the money isn’t bad either. He gets Carys involved who does like the fighting aspect of it and hardly cares about anything else.
Solomon doesn’t really understand it but Carys has always been a little… odd. Not the greatest with society interactions and you’d think she was born in another century with the way she reacts to technology. She can call and begrudgingly text (it takes her forever) and that’s about it. Online school was initially a challenge because while Carys understood everything and could take tests, anything required to be typed (which was… everything) irritated her as she hated using a computer. Solomon eventually hooked her up with a typer, Bee, who would take Carys’ written pages and type them out for her to send in. The two become friendly.
Bee has recently gotten out of the military and is attending college as an English major. She’s older than most of the college students because of her military experience. She and Solomon had taken a few classes together which is why he thinks to ask her to help his sister out. She lives off campus with a few friends in an apartment and is a full-time student.
Their only other close friend is Maren, who was the one who originally introduced them to the underground fights. He works on their farm as a farmhand sometimes and both siblings enjoy his laid-back company.
Maren is a frequent fighter in the cages and although he loses just about as often as he wins, he loves it. He’s a big fan of the Donut Destroyer, a tall man with a huge following and always fights with a black and white striped scarf around the bottom half of his face. (People think the name is lame but everyone is to scared to tell him that). Maren later finds out that Carys and Solomon know him, like actually know him, and that he works at Abyss’ company. He begs Carys to go along with her on a random trip to Abyss’ work and he meets Katakuri there.
Solomon is on a dating app when he sees a drop-dead gorgeous woman on there. She’s got short white hair and is completely covered in blue lines of tattoos. Her name is Umi. She’s way above his league but he shots her a message anyway. They get to chatting and hit it off. They arrange a date, but it happens to be on a day that he’s supposed to be with Carys and he can’t pawn her off on Maren or Bee. In a panic because he doesn’t want to reschedule afraid that Umi will think he’s blowing her off he finds out about a Martial Arts tournament. Thinking Carys will at least find it a little interesting, he gets them tickets to that, tells her he’s going to be late, and takes off for his date.
(It goes super well and Solomon is basically in love at first sight. Umi is the coolest person he’s every met and they get along so well, it was hard to say goodbye. Solomon is EXTREMELY late when he finally manages to tear himself away and book it to the tournament.)
It’s most definitely ended by the time he shows up and he’s just in time to see Carys challenging a man to a fight. Luckily the man looks only mildly confused but that could just be his face (he looks high as fuck, what is wrong with people?? With the way he’s dressed, Solomon assumes he was in the tournament itself, how is he high). Forcibly dragging Carys away from the weirdo with the pineapple hair, he demands to know what happened.
Nothing happened, just Marco was a fantastic fighter and Carys wants to fight him, badly. Solomon gets them out of there but the next few days are torture listening to Carys drone on and on about the pineapple head. It’s clear to Solomon that she has a crush that she’s misplacing into an urge to fight the man but to Solomon’s knowledge, Carys has never really had a crush on anyone before and isn’t quite sure how to bring it up.
Life goes on except that Carys’ fights have been bringing in slightly less money. Solomon knows it’s because the crowd is becoming bored of her fights, she’s won almost all of her matches. So he goes to her, trying to beg her to intentionally lose a match. He knows she’ll never go for it and is shocked to see her think it over. There’s a gleam in her eye when she says “Yes, but only if you’ll tell me where I can find Marco.”
There’s nothing else to do. He does and she loses. Marco works at a gym named the Whitebeard Gym. Which happens to be the gym Maren attends (and is the one who gives Solomon this information). Maren ends up taking Carys and signing her up for the gym. After he explains how to use all the equipment, she goes by herself frequently and signs up for all of Marco’s classes. After being told her behavior of just… demanding he fight her was unacceptable (and would end up making him never fight her if she kept asking) she doesn’t ask but does make it a point to try to talk with him every time before or after one of his classes. At first it’s mostly fight related but slowly it becomes easier and more natural. Marco finds that he comes to enjoy their chats.
At some point, Solomon mentions that Carys must like Marco and when she asks him “how you can tell if you like someone?” Solomon tells her to ask Bee.
They discuss it together but Carys decides to show Bee Marco personally so she brings her to the gym. (Bee complaining the entire time because she does not want to go) However the class they have signed up to do isn’t being run by Marco (he’s away at another tournament) and Carys, annoyed, says they can go. But Bee has caught sight of their instructor, a tall handsome man with his long blond hair pulled back in a messy bun and the weirdest mustache she’s ever seen but hey, she’s already here. They stay to do the class and Bee about dies. After her near death experience they go to the front counter so Carys can ask when Marco should be back. Thatch, jokingly, asks Bee if she’s joining the gym and she snorts.
“Not on your life.”
“Not even for some eye candy?” he snaps back with a wide grin. Bee rolls her eyes. They can all see where Edward Newgate is surrounded by women from the class. When Bee finds out he’s the owner of the gym she’s impressed.
Bee tells Carys to just take a picture of Marco to show her later, which Thatch teasingly says they don’t allow photos of instructors unknowingly. Knowing Carys will take that literally, Bee sighs aggressively before seeing Edward walking up to the counter.
“Just do it like this,” she tells Carys before smiling at Edward and asking for a selfie with her instructor for her first and last workout. Edward of course is more than happy to oblige and she gets a selfie and drags Carys out of the gym before Thatch can make another remark.
When Marco gets back from his trip, he says he wants to watch one of Carys’ matches, which she’s thrilled about. Except it ends up against Sasaki, a powerhouse. Carys loses that fight but afterward, Marco asks her to dinner. (Unfortunately, he asks her in the backroom while she was talking with Coco, Sasaki’s girlfriend so Carys, not recognizing the offer for a date, invites them along.) The four of them go to a place nearby where Marco knows the people there.
It's just a food truck but it has tables set up outside of it and it’s still a nice atmosphere and the food is amazing. It’s owned by Renge with her partners Roger and Rayleigh. Renge is the chef and her and Roger both have highly successful Instagram accounts. (Roger with his ‘Vanlife’ that he shows off his travels, Renge when she’s not working and is traveling with him reviews food. Rayleigh is a photographer and takes nicer shots if either need more than a quick ‘aesthetic’ picture that they can take themselves.)
Marco, not super thrilled with the way Carys is bruised and battered from the fight with Sasaki, makes a few ill-placed remarks that after a while Sasaki reacts to and both women have to talk them both down from erupting into an all-out fight. Carys likes both Sasaki and Coco though and wants to have another fight with Sasaki (or just spar together) which with some encouragement from Coco, the man agrees to.
And that’s all I have right now! I’m still thinking things through. :0
Notes that I have which I’m unsure where to put: Marco has a blue parrot named Moby that only gets along with his brothers and hates females. So when Carys first meets him, Marco is assuming Moby will get possessive. However, Carys handles Moby extremely well (she’s very good with animals) and Marco is amazed.
I wasn’t sure what to do for Umi job so she doesn’t have as much information as I’d like, but just know Solomon is down BAD and they are extremely cute together.
The age ranges for Solomon and Carys are in their early twenties. Whitebeard, Abyss and Katakuri are in their 40s, while everyone else is generally below that somewhere. (Thinking Roger/Rayleigh are in their late 30s though). Marco in his mid-twenties along with most of his brothers, barring Ace.
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no words for this episode!! i’m absolutely speechless!! it killed me and i went to heaven. typing this from the afterlife. this was the cutest, softest most perfect episode ever. god I love the honeymoon phase. they were so giddy and in love and horny <3. it was a much needed episode for my heart. their date was adorable and I loved how p was asking for advise because he wanted it to be perfect <3 but kinn was just happy to spend time with him and indulge him with his photos bc he loves him 1/4
I also love the running joke of the other bodyguards thinking he always gets punished. yeah I’m sure his legs were shaking but not why you think :) also, who’s doing product placement like kinnporsche? I never wanted to buy bread so bad in my life. I literally can’t say anything else except that it was a perfectly cute episode.
one thing that was a little weird is kim saying p could be korn’s son or something? wtf is up with that? I really hope that was just a throwaway comment but idk why they would even suggest that. anyway, I don’t even want to think about the possibility so I will choose to ignore it. and kim!! boy you’re on thin fucking ice. I just know he’s gonna break porchay’s heart real soon and I’m not ready for it. however, I’m more than ready for a little tawan drama.
I’m actually feeling better about this storyline since we found out that k didn’t shoot him out of jealousy. he deserved to get shot for betraying him like that lol I’m curious how he survived or what went down exactly and why he’s back. also, I was dying to see some vegaspete but that didn’t happen so I’m a little disappointed but oh well. it was a perfect episode for kp’s relationship so I’m not complaining. looking forward to the pool scene next week 👀
kp anon unfortunately its illegal for u to die how do u expect me to live without your asks hm? illegal come back to me right now
porsche asking for dating advice because it's his first real relationship and he wants it to be good for kinn is something that can actually be really personal. god and his little self-deprication creeping in at the end of it when his plans kinda got ruined and kinn's just there with the fattest fucking grin on his face because this is the best date he's ever had. and i thought about this during the week but, porsche being the one to take kinn out is probably something he's also never had before, you know? he has money, he's fucking loaded, so he's always the one buying people things, probably was the one who took tawan out, etc. but porsche is like nope, fuck that, it never ben occured to him that kinn would be the one to do all this, HE'S the one who wants to take KINN out and i bet kinn's never had that before i bet it made his heart do dangerous things!! and yes!! the photos god, the way his mafia boss persona just drops around porsche when they're alone, he's just this guy who'll do anything to make his boyfriend happy, he's so whipped for him im 🥺🥺
NOVEL SPOILERS NOVEL SPOILERS NOVEL SPOILERS
from what i've seen/can remember from what i've been told in the novel (🤮) there's an actual angsty sub-plot about them potentially being related (they're not in the end) so im guessing the show was just lowkey throwing shade at that? bcs i really doubt boc would go there after all the changes they've made to the series so far. and also, re: vegaspete, in the novel that starts around the same time as the tawan sl so it will probably pick up this episode or next episode!!
i know a lot of people were calling this episode a filler which is such a disservice because it's such a necessary episode? how are we expected to root for a couple that are only thrown together in life-or-death situations without getting to see their progress, without getting to see their softness when they're with each other, without getting to see their feelings, without getting to see how the two of them could just be if their lives weren't entangled in such a mess, you know? just because it didn't necessarily drive the plot forward a huge amount doesn't automatically make it a filler episode!
and i know a lot of people are also worried about tawan coming between them but i genuinley dont have a single worry about that. kinn is so GONE in porsche, and he's aware of the fact that tawan never loved him, idk why people think he would possibly even think about going back to him? is tawan going to get into porsche's head? yeah, absolutely. but i have no doubt that kinn's gonna prove his devotion and probably bang all of porsche's insecurities out of him so he cant use his legs for approximately 48 hours 🥰🥰 whether that pisses tawan off more and makes him do something more drastic to get to them both idk im not sure yet but everybody even tawan's actor keep saying how much of a bastard he is so 👀 lets go villain arc
#kp anon the week i have had u have no idea#harassed by a driver food poisoning running out of meds ur asks always save me#kp anon#answered#anonymous
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This Ain't Ordinary Life 3
Back by popular demand. The plot is thickening in these coming chapters, and this one will focus more on Lewis' point of view. We're also gonna torture him a little bit, but in a nice way lol. Big fat filth warning for this one. Enjoy.
Summary: You're a rookie driver for Alpha Tauri, hungry to show what you're capable of. The currently reigning champion Lewis Hamilton is just as hungry, but for something different, though.
Other Chapters
"Don't- don't stop..."
His needy sigh echoed through the empty briefing room, and then straight to your core.
It was late Thursday night, and if it hadn't been for the two of you, the Mercedes quarters would've been eerily quiet, abandoned by everyone else. Only Bono was still working on his laptop in the room across the corridor, but he didn't see or hear a thing. Or at least he pretended not to.
You looked up at him through your lashes with devilish eyes, soaking in every little detail, every sign of want you could so clearly read from his body. You had seldom seen Lewis this needy.
He was leaned far back on the couch, his chest rising and falling a bit quicker than usual. One arm thrown above his head, his fingers gripped the hem of his own sleeve tightly, such that his nails had turned white. His other hand was intertwined with yours, resting on his exposed stomach, where you had pushed his black team shirt up to his chest.
And the look on his face, oh... it made the knot in your lower belly grow tighter. His plump lips were parted and shaded red from where he had bitten them before, and he looked down at you through half-open eyes, heavily clouded with lust - so pleading and almost a bit coy.
Yeah, he wanted it badly. The drops of precum that were steadily leaking out of him only confirmed it. When the salty, slightly bitter taste of it coated your tongue, you knew you had him at your mercy.
It had been a stressful Thursday for Lewis. After yet another incident between him and Max two weeks ago in Singapore, where the Mercedes driver had been declared predominantly at fault, the press had spent the entire day putting him through the wringer. It's not that he wasn't used to it by now - he had no problem bullshitting his way through the endless stream of ridiculous questions - but Lewis, too, had his limits.
Lewis, would you say that you've been a fair competitor to Max this season? Lewis, do you feel like your driving is now dirtier than ever before? Lewis, could the aggressive move we've seen in Singapore be interpreted as desperation?
It had taken his full amount of self control today to get through the interviews without lashing out at someone. But he managed it alright, giving the media purposely bland answers as usual, always staying polite, albeit with clenched fists in his pockets.
You had been looking for him later that evening, very discreetly of course, after all the conferences had ended. You had spent the interviews together with Charles, who had actually suggested for you to play a round of CoD with him and Lando that night. It was an enticing offer and you'd nearly said yes. But you hadn't seen or heard a thing from Lewis all day, matter of fact all week since Singapore. It was not that you were particularly worried about him or even missed him, no, you didn't have that type of relationship. You just wanted to exchange a quick Hello and make sure things were alright.
Now, strolling into the Mercedes quarters on track as an Alpha Tauri driver was a bit of a covert operation to say the least, not to mention the fact that you weren't supposed to draw any attention whatsoever to you and Lewis.
But you were a sly fox - because you had remembered that Redbull and Mercedes used the same backdoor to get from their quarters to the restrooms. Spa had a bit of a perplexing layout when it came to its facilities, usually it was a nuisance, but today it had made your mission a bit easier.
When you had finally found Lewis on the couch in the empty Merc briefing room, your first reaction was a smile. However, it had quickly turned into a look of concern on your face. He was slumped down on the sofa, his brows furrowed into a displeased frown. He looked frustrated and tired, to say the least. It was quite uncharacteristic to see him down like this at the start of a race weekend.
What is it? He had snapped as he noticed you standing in the door, but when he'd actually realised it was you, his tone had changed immediately. He'd apologised and lowered his head again.
After silently analysing the situation for a few moments longer, you had chosen not to strike up a conversation with him then - instead, you dimmed the lights in the room, tiptoed over to him, slowly lowered yourself to your knees in between his legs, and watched how his pupils widened as you pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants.
It had only taken a couple of tender rubs over the bulge in his briefs to soften the frown on his face - and then some more until he'd thrown his head back, and eventually started to gasp with pleasure when you had freed him of his briefs and started licking him up and down.
Things had escalated further from there, and now, Lewis was gripping your hand on his stomach tightly. Paired with the way he angled his hips upwards into your mouth, it was evident that he was silently trying to repeat what he'd said earlier already - please, keep going, keep going.
This time, you took pity on him. Fully wrapping your wet lips around the head of his cock, you started sucking on the tip gently, making sure to run your tongue over the super sensitive spot on the underside of it once or twice. Lewis inhaled sharply and a twitch shot through his thigh, which gave you the cue to suck him harder. A deep, long groan escaped him as he exhaled, and he had to bite down on his lower lip in an attempt to suppress the noise. Damage limitation from his side, because there was no way Bono didn't know what was going on in the other room by now.
You kept up the sweet torture for a while longer, until you felt his stomach tense up under your palm with every little swirl of your tongue. You loved how responsive and sensitive Lewis was, how shamelessly he moaned when you started stroking him slowly with your free hand, removing your mouth to catch a quick breath.
Suddenly, you held him still in your palm - just to admire and enjoy the sight in front of you. His cock looked painfully hard, the tip had taken on a deep pink shade by now, it must feel so sensitive, you thought. He was covered in your spit and his own precum, which had dripped down all the way to the base of his groin. It was one of the most obscene and gorgeous things you'd ever laid eyes on, and you felt yourself getting wetter the longer you looked at him.
Lewis began to squirm underneath you, letting out a trembling sigh when you still didn't go on. "More" he panted desperately.
"What, baby? What do you want, Lewis?" you asked innocently while palming his balls in your other hand, knowing damn well the touch wouldn't be enough to satisfy him, but only drive him crazier.
Your lover groaned in response as he grew more frustrated, shutting his eyes tightly. You watched as he bucked his hips upwards into your hand, desperate to get any sort of friction, just that little bit of pressure where he needed it most.
"Use your words, sweetie" you breathed, a sickeningly taunting tone mixed with arousal in your voice as you observed his needy little show.
His eyes shot open and he pierced you with a warning glare.
"I could-" he snapped, suddenly and threateningly, "just grab you by the hair and make you do it, you do know that, right?" He said and leaned forward, on the verge of actually gripping a fistful of your curls.
An amused smile twitched at the corner of your mouth. Being the submissive one didn't come easily to Lewis, he was used to being in control of things when in came to sex. But you weren't going to give in this time.
You stared right back into his dark brown eyes, like a lioness locked on her prey. "Yeah... but you won't."
You pressed your hand flat against his chest and leaned forward, pushing him back into the couch again. Completely catching him by surprise, you jumped onto his lap to straddle him, pinning him down underneath you in the process. Lewis looked up to you with a defiant glare in his eyes - but it also didn't go unnoticed by you that he let you do this, even though he could've easily turned the tables.
Without a warning, you took his cock into your hand in a firm grip, and started stroking him up and down.
"Ah...fuck!" Lewis hissed and dug his fingers into your soft thighs, hot jolts of pleasure shot through him with every stroke of your hand. Your pace was relentless, and based on the little twitches you felt through the tender skin, it was clear he'd become undone any moment.
You lowered your face next to his and put your free hand on the back of his neck, never easing up on your rhythm.
"Lewis, my baby..." you purred into his ear, enjoying the feeling of his heavy panting on your cheek, "Are you close? Do you want to cum?"
"Yes...please." he begged, a choked up noise which almost sounded like a whimper escaped his lips. For a second you couldn't believe Lewis had actually said those words. It was the first time you'd ever heard him beg for it. Having that kind of power over him, having him completely at your mercy in the palm of your hand, gave you such a hot rush that you were sure your cheeks were flushed deep red.
You let yourself slip off his lap again, onto your knees. You wanted to finish him off with your mouth, longing to have his taste on your tongue.
After two or three more strokes of your hand, you took his length as far down your throat as somehow possible. You heard him hiss sharply, knowing the sensation had pushed him over the edge when he grabbed a handful of your hair - this time, you let him.
His cock began throbbing frantically inside of you, and Lewis threw an arm over his mouth to muffle his moans as he came. His hot cum spurted into your mouth and down your throat, and he couldn't stop himself from bucking his hips into you. All the teasing and edging him on had just been too much.
Tears lingered at the corners of your eyes from the stretch he gave you - it wasn't easy taking so much of his length, especially with him not holding still. But there was something so unspeakably hot and intimate about Lewis spilling his cum down your throat, that your mind simply fired itself into tunnel vision, blocking out everything but the desire to please him, to make him feel good.
When you were sure that you had swallowed down the very last drop, you let go of him and lifted your head. You had to blink a couple times and take deep breaths until your vision was clear again, then you saw a very spent, very flushed face before you, with beautiful, parted lips and brown eyes that were halfway closed. Two of his braids hung loose, you thought about tucking them behind his ears.
It seemed like every last bit of tension from before had left his body, and the fact that it was you who got him there made you smile to yourself proudly.
Lewis let out a long breath and met your eyes.
"Fuck, baby..." he sighed and put a hand on the back of your neck, "That was...I don't even know-"
Your smile grew even wider now at how dumbfounded he was. "Don't mention it. You're welcome." you said, your voice a bit hoarse, and you gave his thigh a little squeeze.
But Lewis shook his head and unexpectedly pulled you into his lap. "No, honestly..." he started, still out of breath. "You make me feel so good, every time." He wrapped two strong arms around you and pulled you into a close embrace. "I don't know how you do it."
You returned the gesture and put your arms around his neck, enjoying the way he held you firmly against his warm body. "I like to make you feel good, Lewis. You know that." you whispered as you rested your forehead against his. "And you do the same for me."
He didn't answer, but placed a kiss on your jaw instead, before giving you another, more intense one on the pulse point of you throat. He gently sucked on the sensitive skin there, running his tongue over it, and a blissful moan slipped past your lips. He stayed there for a while, before tilting your head to the side with his hand, to replicate the sweet, wet kiss right below your ear.
Goosebumps ran all over your body, it was like you started melting in his hands. All of a sudden, you felt so exposed, so bare, and your heartbeat quickened at all those sensations, at everything he was doing to you with his mouth. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, you could sense it, and the situation felt so different... so intimate.
"Lewis, I-" you gasped and pulled away from his touch. He looked up into your eyes, his gaze had something so warm and comforting to it, and you felt your eyes linger just a moment too long. That look on his face had made it harder for you to pull away than it should've been.
Stop it, don't be ridiculous now.
"It's past twelve already, I should probably go to bed." you mumbled. Lewis mindlessly caressed your back and nodded. Neither of you got up from the couch first, though. For a while, there was just silence between you.
Lewis was the one to break it.
"Do you wanna spend the night with me? Not here, I mean, but over at my place." he asked lowly.
You felt your mouth go dry. Scanning his eyes, you searched for a sign, any hint, to figure out what he meant by that question. But you couldn't find any. His dark eyes were unreadable to you yet again.
You openend your mouth, still searching for something to say. Why on earth was this so hard? It was a simple yes or no.
Unbeknownst to you, though, the right moment to give him an answer had passed - you had stayed silent for too long.
"I'm sorry, it was a stupid question. Forget about it." Lewis said dismissively and looked away. He stood up from the couch and lifted you up with him, then putting you on your feet, as you stayed mute still. His face revealed no sign of emotion, no disappointment, no shame, nothing. You felt so perplexed right now, not really sure what to say.
"...See you tomorrow, yeah? Don't stay up for too long." you mumbled eventually and kissed his cheek.
He returned a little smile. "Sleep well." he said.
——————————-
The smell of gasoline and hot rubber lingered in the air of Spa on this Saturday morning. There were a few clouds here and there, but the spots of blue sky and sun promised a rather beautiful day.
Lewis watched the usual Qualifying preparations unfold in the pitlane through the big glass doors in the empty FIA briefing room, right at the track. He had found himself a quiet place to sit and drink his tea, while observing what was going on outside.
A couple of Ferrari mechanics were already rushing through the pit lane in the early morning, shouting instructions at each other. Muffled drilling noises from the McLaren garage drowned out a discussion between Lando and his race engineer. In the distance, Max was wildly gesturing with his hands in an animated conversation with Checo.
Lewis took another sip and let his gaze wander some more, until you caught his attention. You were sitting in front of your Alpha Tauri, outside of your team's garage, and scribbled some things on a piece of paper with a stern and highly focused look in your eyes - the scene put a smile on Lewis' face.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps tore him out of his thoughts. He turned his head and saw Sebastian stroll into the briefing room.
"Hi Seb." Lewis smiled, the other man gave him an acknowledging nod as he closed the door behind himself. He held a coffee and a newspaper in his hands, his typical morning routine.
"Do you mind if I drink a cup with you?" his friend asked, already sitting down on the chair across from him.
Lewis chuckled. "Of course not. How's it going?"
Seb threw a sugar cube into his cup and calmy opened the newspaper. "Oh, you know, it's been alright. A lot of things aren't going the way I want them to with my car, though." he said while scanning some of the headlines. "But I’m used to that already."
Lewis nodded. His friend didn't have an easy task at hand at Aston Martin, their cars seemed to have a life of their own, more often than not.
"So... how are things with you?" Seb asked and took a sip from his coffee.
"Meh, I've had a strange tyre issue in both practice sessions. My car hates the mediums on this track, for some reason. I can't get them to work..." he answered. His friend looked at him pensively for a while, before starting to talk again.
"Mhm. I see." Seb mumbled. He turned a couple pages in his newspaper and locked his eyes on the penultimate one. "By the way... have you seen this?" he took out the page and placed it in front of the Mercedes driver.
Lewis scanned the page, and a very perplexed look spread across his face.
>The Lady and the Champ: What's going on between Sir Lewis Hamilton and the beautiful Rookie?< the headline read. Below, there was a photo of the two of you hugging in front of the Mercedes headquarters. It was dark and low quality, it must've been taken on Thursday night after he had brought you outside.
Lewis felt hot anger rise in his chest the longer he skipped through the article. It was some of the most objectifying, sexist bullshit he'd ever read.
"What the fuck? This is so ridiculous." he cursed, still focused on the page. "Who wrote this crap? It's disgusting."
"Yeah, it is very bad. I can only hope whoever wrote this was fired." Seb said, his eyes locked on Lewis. "It's a rag of a newspaper though, so I wouldn't put too much thought into it."
Lewis let out an angry huff. "Maybe instead of publishing imaginary pieces on her sex life, the media should start writing about how she put an Alpha Tauri into third place. And smoked three other cars on the final lap last weekend." Lewis snapped and threw the page out of his sight, he could feel himself getting increasingly pissed off. "They're focusing on all the wrong things."
Seb nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair, his lips firmly pressed together.
"You might want to stop sleeping with her, then." he said, bluntly.
Lewis eyes shot up to his friend's.
"...What?"
Seb crossed his arms in front of his chest and exhaled sharply. "Are you taking me for an idiot, Lewis? You're not as subtle as you think you are."
Lewis was completely stunned and he couldn't even hide it. He opened his mouth to return something, but nothing came out. How did Seb know about this?
Of course, the German driver had always been close to you - you shared the same home country and the same mother tongue. From the beginning, you and Seb had a special connection. You considered him your mentor. But there was no way you'd actually told him about the affair with Lewis.
"I- I didn't..." Lewis stuttered, "It was never supposed to become public." he said, feeling his face get hot as if he were a boy, caught in a lie by his mother.
Seb shook his head in disbelief and ran a hand over his face. "It wasn't supposed to become public? You should be glad that this was picked up on by the yellow press and not the paddock journalists that could actually fuck you both over with this." He said, the accusatory tone thick in his voice.
"And, since you seem to care so much for what the media puts their focus on when it comes to her-" he continued, leaning forward now.
"just hypothetically speaking: What do you think that focus is going to be on, once the entire industry has found out that you're having sex with her?" Seb asked, his question carrying an unmistakably stern tone.
The atmosphere in the room began to shift, Seb's words turned harsher the more he spoke. Lewis swallowed hard when he realised what the other man was about to get at.
"Will people be talking about the fact that she's a talented, young driver, who still needs a bit of fine-tuning, but has some serious potential. Or..." he paused, looking his friend directly in the eyes now, "...the fact that Lewis Hamilton, the most influential man of the sport, has essentially reduced the only woman on the grid to his personal play-thing?"
Lewis felt floored. He opened his mouth searching for an answer to Seb's questions, but not a single word came out. His friend's unforgiving glare was piercing through him while he struggled to come up with an explanation, a defense, anything.
"Listen," Seb sighed and folded his hands. "She's not only a rookie who hasn't established herself yet. But she's also the first and only female driver we've ever had." he continued. "Are you the slightest bit aware of the consequences this could have for her?"
Every word from Sebastian felt like a gut-punch. Lewis kept staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, silently clenching his jaw as it all dawned on him.
"You could-" he paused for a second, "no, you are in the process of destroying her integrity, her reputation, and her potential career in the future. All the obstacles she's overcome to prove that she's here on merit, and not because someone pulled some strings for her, or because they thought she'd be nice for the publicity-"
"Okay! Okay. Fuck!" Lewis suddenly burst out.
"I got it, okay? You're right, you're absolutely right." he snapped, partly at Seb, but mostly at himself. He got up from his chair and took a couple of steps, trying to physically distance himself from the conversation somehow.
Seb's brows were still furrowed into a harsh line. "Then take responsibility for what you've done." he said, turning himself towards Lewis. "Look, I'm not trying to act like anyone's parent here. I'm telling you this because you're a good friend of mine, and I care about her future in this sport." he continued and took a deep breath.
"You're both adults. But one of you two is supposed to be the more mature and sensible one -" he paused, scanning his friend's eyes intently.
"And that person should be you, Lewis."
The Mercedes driver pressed his lips into a tight line and turned his head away from Seb, looking towards the glass doors again. You were still sitting in front of your car, now fiddling around with a part of your front wing. What were you trying to do with it? He didn't know.
All of a sudden, a wave of guilt hit Lewis like a train. He couldn't believe he'd let himself get so carried away with you. What if Seb was actually right with everything he'd predicted? How would the industry react? Would it permanently taint your blossoming career? Would it make you lose your sponsors, and then your seat?
Lewis didn't know. All he knew is that he didn't want to be the person who ruined your life.
He let out a defeated sigh and turned towards his blond friend again. They looked at each other for a moment and Lewis began nodding his head slowly.
Seb took one last sip from his coffee while getting up from his chair. He put a hand on Lewis' shoulder and squeezed it once, a sincere expression on his face, before he left the room.
Lewis stood in front of the glass doors for a little while longer, watching you mess around with the bits of your front wing - but the smile on his face from earlier long gone.
#lewis hamilton#f1#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton smut#lewis hamilton fanfiction#f1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic#f1blr#this ain’t ordinary life
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Pythia - A Supernatural Rewrite. W*ndigo, p1.
read it on ao3. masterlist.
words: 12, 113
notes: I tried to alternate my Sam-focussed episodes and my Dean-focussed episodes, with little moments with the other brother thrown in bc I want to lol. since the pilot is one of my even split chapters, enjoy our first Sam one >:) I have no idea how much i'm going to stick to that, but we'll burn that bridge when we get to it.
also I did NOT want to divide these episodes into parts, but they are so long that it'd be cruel (i was at 18k at 3/4ths of the way thru) to make you sit and read it all in one sitting/wait a century for me to finish one whole ep. or maybe you're all masochists, what do i know? there's just so much I want to indulge in each episode, and i'm assuming you guys would actually enjoy me talking about teen reader and teen Sam shoving frogs down teen Dean's shirt for a paragraph or two... anyhoo.
and even though this is a silly little fanfiction, the spirit shown in this episode is sacred to Anishinaabe and Algonquin people, and i want to do the best i can to respect the culture and identities of those people. I've replaced the name of the spirit in this episode with a couple different things to help that, and if there's anything else I can do, please let me know! it's no one's job but my own to educate me on this subject, but there will be things that I won't know as a non-native person. thanks for understanding! fuck eric kripke and enjoy ♥
Wendigo! Enjoy!
P.S - rain and wind sounds are rlllllllllly good for this chapter.
next part: wendigo, p.2
PALO ALTO - NOV. 9th, midday.
Dean had only texted you the address of the Self Storage place, so a woman at the front desk had to point out to which unit they’d rented. Oh, you’re looking for the two supermodels that wandered in here? She’d teased, and you would’ve snarked back something cute, had you not been saving every ounce of your good attitude for Sam.
You found them easily. Among the rows and rows of rattling metal storage units, you could hear Dean’s music bouncing off the asphalt and echoing strangely in the alien place. He was humming without the usual heat. Other than the bustle of the city beyond, it seemed you and the boys were the only ones making noise. The weather was perfect, which was strange after the bone-clinging cold of that night—the cold that none of you could shake. You’d fallen asleep in the bathroom of your motel two times this week, because Sam’s post-nightmare shivers were medical enough to warrant a hot bath in jeans and layers.
And yet today, the sun was white in the sky, blazing enough to urge everyone into the shade but too sudden to spoil. Car tires whisked and motorcycles rumbled over the baking asphalt. If you stayed in one spot long enough you could feel your skin soaking in the sun, and after the week of thunderstorms and chill you’d had… It was too sudden not to be a gift. Jessica had always seemed—sounded like a sunny girl.
The Impala and Sam’s car were facing a storage lockup trunk-first, which was just far enough away from the adjacent buildings to be outside the shade. When you were close enough to make out Sam wiping the ash off a coffee table, you took your own exhaustion and choked it down where no one, not even you, could find it. Only Dean lifted his head when your shoes scuffed closer, squinting against the light.
“Hey.” He deposited a box labeled Kitchen inside the lockup, then dropped his shoulder against the outer wall to pant in his own shade. Sweat was beading under the aviators on his forehead, but the week Dean had spent on autopilot hadn’t ended yet. After a breath, he was up and searching for another box to carry again.
“There’s my boys,” you sighed, and greeted Dean with a cold soda. His smile was tired, but worrying, so you leaned into the rub he gave your arm and wandered over to study what they’d accomplished so far. “Man, you guys got a lot done.”
Once it was out of your mouth, you were unsure if you should’ve said it. Was it better to get all of this pain out of the way? Or did Sam want one last look at what remained of his normal life? Either way, he didn’t react when you appeared, and turned instead to the pile of ash-crusted belongings he still needed to clean. The broad back of his shirt was baking in the sun like a solar panel, so you pressed another cold soda against his neck and hummed a hello.
Sam stopped furiously grinding ash out of the seams of the table to lean into the sudden cold relief, blinking slow. His hands remained floating over his work, but for a moment he stilled, submitting to the knots in his back and the heat and his exhaustion. You were afraid to meet his eye. The disappointment was probably waiting for you there already.
“Anything?” Sam asked.
“...No. I-I’m sorry, Sam. No visions.” The stress in his shoulders expanded again. “But I did call my mom, and not only did she say that she’ll come get your car so you can keep it at the store, but she said she’d glance over the apartment too. She’s a lot better at it than I am. I-I tried, Sam, I really did, I meditated for two hours where it happened, I-I—”
He ran a ragged, ash-streaked palm down his face. You couldn’t see how crushed he looked. “S’ okay. ____. Really.”
All week you’d stared at the hole in Sam’s apartment from the sidewalk below, like if you planted your feet and waited long enough something might occur to you. Maybe the residual energies… or God, or whatever gave you the visions… maybe something would trigger something else and you could help Sam. You waited. You endured odd looks and the weather. You meditated. It wasn’t often that you were able to force a vision—the one time you’d tried to describe it to Dean, the best you could do was “throwing up on purpose.”
Sam accepted the soda, but immediately set it down and to the side. He squeezed his shaking hands together until they were a blistering white, then started back on the table again. You reminded yourself that Jessica’s funeral had been only yesterday, no matter how many muddy, grainy years seemed to loom between then and now. At the same time, it felt like it’d been just minutes since you and Dean had rescued Sam from the fire, even if it’d been an entire week prior.
(Even just seeing his back, taut and broken in, made the grotesque process of shoveling up visions endurable for you. You’d do it over and over and over again, if it meant Sam would have even a minute without his grief).
Unsure what to say, you cleared your throat, kissed the side of Sam’s hair and retreated over to Dean. He seemed to have a system in place. If he was a master of anything, it was the exhaustive ability to throw himself into hours of labor to avoid a single emotional thought, and come out with his smile shipped and assembled. The two cars had come in bearing three-quarters of an apartment’s weight in furniture, up to the windows in kitchen chairs and books from the living room. The fire had spared everything except what was inside the square boundary of the bedroom—and Sam.
In the few hours you’d been gone, the boys had bit a good chunk out of what was in Sam’s car and completely unloaded Baby. The only evidence that remained in the Impala were the towels Dean had laid down, streaked black and chalky gray with ash. The backseat of Sam’s Prius was probably ruined. He didn’t seem to care.
Before you could offer your help, Dean accepted it: “Get those out of the back n’ the trunk, n’ shake them out over the concrete. Or throw them away. I’m guessing Sam doesn’t want those towels.”
Sam didn’t speak up. You glanced back, to find that Sam had finally given up on the coffee table. With his foot he slid it into Dean’s loading pile, then braced his hands on his knees, took in a shuddering breath, and readied his cleaning rag to start on the next thing. It was a picture frame.
He turned it over to view its face, which had picked up and flattened a layer of ash into it like a filled mold. The debris on it was so thick that flat, papery scraps fluttered free as it was moved. A whole cloud whirled to the pavement when Sam fortified himself enough to clean the glass plate on the cover.
Sam caught a single glimpse at the picture of Jess, and that was all it took. The photo clattered onto the pavement, face-down, and Sam sank with it, resuming the oncoming tears he’d been fighting for days. A back-cresting, choking sob punched out of him. You were scooping him up before your mind could catch up with you, before you could even wonder why he was crying, and then your arms were squeezing him against your ribs and letting him weep there.
The first time this happened, you'd been struck dumb by just how young Sam looked. It didn't help how much he closed in when he cried, hiding his head in his knees and covering his face like he would when he was little. The mannerisms were a strange reflection of a younger boy, who cried about broken toys or being on the road too long—not dead loved-ones.
You fell into your old routine. With that deep, rumbling voice of his, Dean spoke quiet reassurances, and together you ran your fingers through Sam's unwashed hair like you had every night this week. Not a single stage direction had changed since you were kids. Just the lines. Dean said things like we'll get this done and we'll stop it together, but the words floated over your head as you comforted Sam. You'd prayed that things would go back to how they'd been when you were kids, but you hadn't meant this—you and Dean on either side of Sam, promising things you didn't know you could keep. When you glanced at Dean, you almost expected to see his younger, greener-eyed self there. A panic pressed down on your chest as Sam's hands fisted in the back of your shirt. Your heart plummeted with the urge to find someone, to call your mom, like you'd run away from home and gotten lost along the journey.
From over his brother's head, you watched Dean scoop up the picture and the rag.
“N-no, no,” Sam jerked up. Under your hand, you could feel his breath catch in his ribs, “I want to… want to… keep it.” His voice found itself again with strained clarity: “I don't want to forget what she looks like.”
You wilted. It was impossible not to hold tighter to him then, so you pushed into his touch and were gratefully received. He choked for breath into your belly, coating the front of your shirt with tears. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Sam's grip was starting to hurt, but your senses were too far away to feel it.
“Alright, Sammy, we will. We will, s’ okay.”
Dean carefully delatched the back of the frame, and as gently as he could, removed the photo. It looked like a picture Sam had taken of her at the beach. You caught a glimpse of it—and Jess with her curls and those bright eyes—for the first time, and realized that you’d never seen her in person before. That you never would. She reminded you of the girls you drove past on hunts, the ones that grouped together on the sidewalk and giggled so freely, being happy without worrying when it would end. You’d always wanted to be one of them.
Something in your gut told you to look away, but you followed the picture as Dean offered it to his brother. Sam’s grip on you was so white-knuckled you worried he’d crumple Jess’s photo, but instead he shook his head.
“Can you—can you put it in the car for me?” Sam asked, his voice hollow and throaty. He sat there shaking, watching the tears on his chin hit the concrete.
It was the first time you'd seen his face all day. Sam had a habit of hiding it when he cried, in his arms or someone else's (he would even pull the fronts of his shirts over his head in middle school), so you knew better than to try and meet his eye. If you thought about it too long you'd start getting ideas about slashing John's tires, and then that rage would bottle for so long that the boys would need a corkscrew to get you to open up again. But Sam's poor face—his red-rimmed eyes were ruddy from the pressure of tears and his hands, while the rest of his skin was uncolored and sickly. He'd been struck so harshly by grief that his body itself was a bruise.
Dean disappeared to find a good place for Jessica’s picture. To compensate, you laid your cheek on top of Sam’s hair and cooed, soaking up every wound in him like you could take them on yourself. The sun’s light was beginning to burn.
“Let's get you into the shade, Sammy,” you murmured, “your tan’s perfect as-is, and neither of you idiots has sunscreen on.”
Sam pitied you with a wet, choked laugh. “…Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”
You wondered if you were being overbearing until he stood, wiped his face with his wrist, and gave you the signature Winchester manly nod of silent gratitude. That was worth more money and time than you’d ever have, so the clamps bearing down on your chest unlatched. He took a break in the Impala’s A/C and obliged your warning about sunscreen. Thank god.
On autopilot, you hauled the ashy towels out of Baby—and sure enough, when you passed Dean, there it was again. Manly nod of silent gratitude.
At the bubbly laugh that burst out of you, Dean frowned. “What?”
“Nothin’, Dean,” you sighed, resigned to being driven crazy, “just…”
You were glad. Blinded by rage, hurt, fear and guilt, but swimming with gladness too. It was clear now that your selfish wish had been granted. Like all gifts, it’d come with a price: you’d prayed for Sam to stay, you’d prayed for the three of you to be together again, but doing so had killed Jessica and brought this… thing to you. Whatever had murdered Mary. If Dean knew, he’d snarl and shake his head and insist that wasn’t a fair trade, and you knew it was awful, but a part of you was just thankful to be here. It was selfish. Unbelievably selfish. But you’d take them over anything.
“…nothin’.”
-
After the day’s labor, Dean made the executive decision to keep the three of you in Palo Alto for one more night. Every hotel in the city seemed full to bursting, and every room in the one Dean fought to set you up in itched with energy, like the walls would explode into splinters at any second. The people above you were having a noisy, bottle-smashing party with ear bleeding music. Every car took the corner turn on the street with tire-squealing gusto. Your neighbors on either side had their TVs as loud as they could go, in an effort to anger you personally. The boys tuned it out easily, while you tried not to twitch at Sam’s bedside.
He was more numb than neutral, so any comments about wanting to get a headstart on the road—and in turn the mission—were kept to himself. Needless to say, he put a pillow over his head and failed to stay awake past dinner.
You waited for his breathing to even out before you whispered, “He’s asleep. If we’re lucky, he might get more than an hour or two.”
Dean propped himself in the open bathroom doorway, casting a long blue shadow over where you were hunched over Sam and John’s journal. The last entry was splayed open on your lap, so you could keep busy while listening for the telling hitch in Sam’s breath. This week had forced you to find a sixth sense for nightmares. You hoped that Dean slept through his brother’s breakdowns, but most of the time he was hovering in the dark, waiting to see if he was needed. Something about that made your chest tight.
“Alright,” Dean murmured. He plunked his toothbrush back in his bag and floated over to you, voice so soft that he sounded hoarse, and pat your knee. “Whaddya wanna do, then? You need some Zs, a walk, some food?”
You glanced at Sam. He was nothing but a big arm and a bed of messy hair under the blankets, breathing deep. A sigh bowed out of you, and you lifted both wrists to Dean. “Walk, please.”
Dean smiled. With his help, you escaped the bed without waking up Sam (a miracle!), and filled the dark motel room with the soft rustle of beaten fabric. The main jacket you’d taken with you was an ancient one of Dean’s, so it looked stylish in a vintage sort of way. The smell of him in the collar had faded years ago, but studying the curve of his arm as he wrote Sam a note brought it back in full swing, like a gust of wind had bowled you over. You missed Dean. It’d been an eternity since you’d just… talked.
The door shut quietly behind you, but the neighbors weren’t as considerate. A bottle smashed upstairs, followed by uproarious, probably drunken laughter.
“Fuckin’ dicks,” Dean said, just to have something to say.
“I wonder what they’re celebrating,” you hummed. Together, you and Dean left the static-charged bubble of the motel and punctured the parking lot, too exhausted to make anything but idle conversation.
“Bottle Smashing Day?” He guessed, and you snickered. The silence you sunk into was pensive, but you were fine with that. It was easier to think leaning against the Impala with him than alone in front of Sam’s apartment.
You took your spot on the trunk, making a show of patting down your back pockets to avoid scratching the finish. Sam had nicked one of the doors with a jean button once, and now Dean never let either of you forget how pointy and sharp you were. That was what you wanted—to endure Dean’s nagging about the Impala with Sam, like the hundreds of times you had in the past. Why did a wish so simple have to cost so much?
“I’m worried,” you sighed, “that this is going to take longer than either of us thinks it will.”
Dean appeared around the side of the car, beer and bottle opener in hand. He snapped the cap off and sunk onto the trunk next to you, his gaze choosing a car down one end of the street and following it until it was out of view again. The cool fall air fluttered through his hair, compelling you to admire him as he admired the street. You thought you saw the ragged shape of fear or anxiety in his face. But it was gone just as fast, smoothed under the death shroud of Dean’s humor, and there wasn’t a thing you could do about it. Any support you could offer him with your Gift would be rejected—and helping Sam by connecting was off the table. Without looking he offered you the first sip of his drink, and knowing Dean’s taste in beer was awful, you tried it anyway.
“Yeah.” Gradually, Dean hiked himself up a little and opened his coat, “I’ve been starting to think that, too.”
“...It’s going to suck. Already, this is…this is…” you swallowed, then met his eye. “But not every part of it has to be bad. You and me and Sam—I keep thinking, at least we’re together again. At least we’ve got each other. Is that… do you think that’s bad?”
Dean was already shaking his head. The trance he’d been wading into all day dragged him out to sea, and for a long breath he stared at you, then through you, deep in thought. “I guess we’ve been having a lot of the same ideas lately.” His brooding turned into a teasing squint, “You readin’ my mind again, girl?”
You stopped worrying the beer’s label with your thumb and passed it back to him. Something rotten crept into your mouth at the thought. “Never. Never without your permission.”
Dean tipped back his head, shook it, and did his best to goad a smile out of you with one of his own. “Oh, c’mon. You know I’m kidding with you. Cheer up, sweetheart—we’ll…” He must’ve realized what a ridiculous request that was at a time like this, because he melted down to a simmer. “Just. Take a breather with me, for a minute.”
“After you give me the gift you’ve been hiding.”
Dean almost looked charmed, if he wasn't pretending to be annoyed. “Maybe if you stop using your cheating powers to cheat. Cheater.”
With a coy, fluttery blink, you hooked your arm through his and prettily laid your head on Dean’s shoulder, because you were a fantastic cheater and you knew it. Dean’s life would only improve once he realized how little he could get past you. The Gift told you plenty, but so did the soft upturn of Dean’s lip.
From the inner pocket of his jacket, Dean shook loose a book. At first glance you would’ve called it a grimoire or a lore tome. The cover was a handsome olive color, with a thready touch and an elaborate gold design that didn’t immediately catch the eye, like any other spine stacked on a coffee table. You realized that must’ve been the point. It showed a queen fairy (the graceful long-legged kind) in the boughs of a tree, offering an olive branch to two tiny fairymen riding a bat. Simple but elegant. Two words that had no correlation to him whatsoever.
“No way!” You gaped. But before you could get your hands on it, Dean jerked it up and out of your reach.
“Don’t get all sappy about this, okay?” Dean groaned, hanging the book over your head, “I-I just saw it, and I knew you need somethin’ to do when me and Sam are off doing whatever, so… yeah. You can write down all your girly stuff n’—”
Years of having tall Dean and taller Sam wiggle your things just out of reach had trained you for this moment. “Ha!”
The second he started to dissolve into his flushed explanation, you lurched for the book and shielded it against your chest, where it was safe under your jacket. Dean seemed too tired to start any wrestling matches over the journal, so the coast was deemed clear and you brought it out to gape. The mental image of Dean slouched in some bookstore aisle was so precious that it must’ve shown in your face, because he immediately defaulted to a glare. Cute.
“You are so good to me, Dean,” you said, knowing full-well it’d crack him. Right on cue, Dean’s collar hiked up to his blushing ears and half his face disappeared behind it. “How’d you even know I needed a new journal?”
“W-we all do,” he replied lamely.
Dean looked like he wanted to be absorbed into the concrete. Among the racing glee of poking at him like this, you felt a touch of pity for your captive, so you moved your glowing grin from his face to the first page of the journal. Losing your attention both relieved him and disappointed him, so he stewed in his confusion there as you started to pace.
It was hard to feel happy or even pleased about anything right now, with Jess dead and John gone and the white whale resurfacing. Being delighted by a small gift from Dean or making a little joke at him felt pathetic, and prickled hot, stifling guilt under your shirt. But it was all you had to hold onto, so you uselessly clung to the last strands of your optimism; they were about to be stressed very, very thin.
“Well…” you flipped through the pages, from start to finish, and breathed in the intoxicating smell of a fresh book. It was a pretty sizable journal. From experience, you knew it’d take more than a year to fill on your own.
The book was in your hands, then it was in Sam’s, then Dean’s, then yours again, exchanged a thousand different times over the next few years. You could almost see the way it would be then: aged, beloved, and filled to the brim with entries and pictures and memories. This journal would transform into any hunter’s journal, its cover dyed lighter by the sun, its spine bent-in and well-used. Images flashed through your mind almost too quick to catch, but the gist was there. Dean’s drawings. Sam’s handwriting. This wasn’t—this wouldn’t belong to you alone.
Words flowed from your mouth like something greater was speaking for you.
“I pretty much never go on my own hunts. I don’t know about Sam, but you and me—maybe we could share this one. Or all three of us.”
Dean’s brows raised to points. “Like how?”
“Here. You gotta pen?” You made your typical grabby-hand gesture, and Dean dug around his pockets for one of the hotel’s monogrammed ballpoints.
Instead of leaning on the Impala, you got comfy on the trunk and propped up your knees. Dean inched in to get a look over your shoulder, maneuvering in a way where he wasn’t blocking the streetlight too much, and curiously pressed his lips together when you cracked open the cover. The face of the first page stared up at you. Already, you knew what would go there.
In spotty ink and bubbly handwriting, you printed your initials on the inside cover. The moment you were done, you turned the journal in your lap, put the pen in Dean’s hand, and prompted him with glittering eyes: “Write your name, then draw me something.”
_
GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO - NOV. 10th, day.
The drive to Colorado was spent mostly on your laptop, catching up on work from there. Being constantly dragged on hunts by Dean made online work pretty much your only option. Your mother had dropped hints about you picking up more than just the occasional shift at her antique’s place, but that would mean giving readings, and that would mean… Well. For now, your lame excuse was that Sam and Dean had reserved you, and she was better at the whole psychic thing anyway.
Maybe one day you could convince her to just let you work the counter. Anything that didn’t involve opening up your Gift to some stranger.
You knew you were close to John’s coordinates when houses were replaced by forest. A mailbox would jut out of the trees every once in a while, but those winding path-mouths were the only evidence of life out here. Dean had mentioned something about there being a town on the other side of the dizzying rows of trees. It was so vast and so encompassing that you couldn’t imagine anything else but the pines, the road, and the Impala driving on it—which only made you more anxious for what lay ahead. DEAN. 35-111. That was all John had given you.
“Here’s something to start with,” Dean spoke up. In the front seat, Sam barely lifted his head, and all three of you tilted with the car as it crackled into the gravel lot of a ranger station.
After almost a whole day in the car, you hadn’t entirely left your daydream yet and floated around as a result. The woods were dead quiet. While the boys unloaded, you listened, standing on the cusp of the trail like a mite on the back of a massive creature. There was no purr of car motors or traffic. Maybe some sort of rustling, like the whisper of leaves in the wind, but if you listened to it too long you began to feel paranoid. For how quiet everything was, you still felt like you were intruding on something living. Something that was watching. Coupled with the lifeless sadness that’d lived in the Impala for the last week, you were rooted to the spot.
Baby’s trunk slammed shut. You startled back to life at the sound, and whipped around at attention. Good timing too, because Dean flashed a ranger ID at you, “Head’s up, sweetie.”
He tossed it into your hands. Dean was fucking with you only a little bit, so it went a little wide—and you were too bogged down by the roadtrip to jump for it. The ID flopped into a skirt of leaves just outside the safe barrier of the ranger’s station, then skittered down the muddy hill and into the undergrowth. You stared pathetically at it. He was definitely getting revenge for you eating the last of the Impala’s M&Ms supply.
“Come on,” you groaned, “Dean.”
Dean winced, but he was smiling a little too much to mean it. “Sorry. Guess I’m a bad shot.”
“You bet your ass you’re a bad shot,” you started to grumble, and resigned yourself to getting your boots dirty. And maybe being murdered in the creepy forest.
“Don’t worry, I got it.”
Right before you’d take the first step inside the invisible portal of the woods, Sam slid past you, the broad warmth of his palm glimpsing your back. Your breath hitched. At ease, he stepped toward the hill’s bottom with twice the mobility your awkward struggle down would’ve had. Sam plucked up your ID and flourished it overhead. At any other time you would’ve giggled at him, but something in your gut pressed you to get him out of there, like the air on the other side of the tree’s divide was poison and he’d breathed too much.
Sam’s next steps back up seemed to drag on. In reality, he probably hadn’t even lifted his leg before you were extending both hands and awkwardly urging, “Thank you, Sam. C’mere. Quickly.”
Knowing full well you couldn’t haul him up on your own, Sam indulged you anyway and took the closest of your hands in his bigger one. He managed not to slip and faceplant on the way back up, and with his boots slick with mud but on solid ground, you let out the breath you were holding.
When you turned back, Dean was staring.
The tension of the woods was suddenly up in the parking lot. Scrambling to explain your strangeness, you gave Sam’s back a good thump. “Brother of the day,” you awarded him, which immediately replaced the concern in Dean’s stare with shock.
“What! Sam picks up a thing for you and suddenly he’s getting brownie points?” Dean whined. He waited until you’d passed him to properly fish for said points, slouching at the shoulders and pouting. “What about me driving your ass around for 20 hours? What about me getting—hey! ____, Sam’s sticking his tongue out at me! ____!”
The temptation to knock him on the back of the head was too sweet to pass up. You gave Dean a good one, then threw a grin at Sam; he tried and failed to smile realistically for you. Something about it made the barbed wire wrapped around your heart squeeze tighter.
Where neither of them could see, you shoved the hand Sam had touched into your pocket, rolling your tingling fingers against each other.
_
The only people you passed on the way into the ranger station was a single family, probably here for a camping trip. One of the sons, in tandem with his father, shared an impressed look over Dean’s car, and by proxy it made you feel better. All you had to do was pretend this was any other hunt. You’d investigate the thing, catch the thing, and then kill the thing, so sweet families could enter the woods without fear.
The ranger station was a squat, old cabin at the beginning of the trail, with a fat stone chimney and a front room filled to the brim with hiking and hunting (the normal kind) memorabilia. What was familiar about the station was its tourism aspect; though you and Dean rarely stopped to admire the scenery these days, roadside museums and American landmarks were staples of your decade-long road trip.
Sam and Dean walked shoulder-to-shoulder in front of you. You saw the 3D tabletop map on one side of the room and the wall of hunting trophies on the other, and predicted, correctly, where the boys would go to gawk.
“So, Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote,” Sam said. He quirked his head, honed in on the table and leaned over it with glittering interest, because of course he did. At least it kept him distracted. “It's cut off by these canyons here—rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.”
“Cool,” you hummed. On the dusty, ancient display, the ridge was about the size of your palm. You traced the mountain-tops with a finger, and the spot was weathered from years of the same touch. “Sounds like a place to really camp… or film a horror movie.”
That felt like something Dean would tack a joke onto, so you turned to him. He was blinking at a colorless photo on the wall, jaw slack, brows furrowed. “Dude. Check out the size of this fuckin’ bear.”
You did, shuffling up behind him. A half-dozen mounted trophies loomed overhead, necks pointed straight, but eyes pointed down, like their bodies couldn’t move but their souls wanted to. If the spirits of men could be attached to their corpses when they died, then what about hunted deer… or wild boar… even cougars? You cooly pretended you weren’t hiding from their watching eyes behind Dean, and glanced over the picture. It was a big ass bear.
“And,” Sam closed in on your other side, arms crossed, “a dozen or more grizzlies in the area. S’ no nature hike, that’s for sure.”
Dean caught your eye with his, then nodded up to the massive buck above your heads. The crown of bone it wore curved elaborately around its face, which was soft and sweet-looking, had it not been for the missing eyes. In unison, you shared a shiver and mouthed to each other: no thanks.
“You boys aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?”
Sam and Dean whipped around, hands snapping into fists in their sleeves. Just the flutter of their clothes brought your hand to the dagger grip in your waistband.
A ranger, Ranger Wilkinson (according to his nametag), appeared from the back room. He cocked a fist on his hip and blew the steam off his coffee. “Ah,” he noticed your head poking out over Sam’s shoulder, “boys and lady.”
Dean opened his mouth to respond with a lie, but Sam was already halfway through one, a polite and gentle lilt to his voice. The ease of his voice was what usually made you relax. This time, it stirred your gut. “Oh no, sir,” Sam said, and you dropped your dagger back into its sheath, “we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper.”
You put on your sweetest grin and slid in front of the boys, bumping Dean’s hip on the way. “You bet. Reduce—”
Dean flicked up two happy thumbs, grinning also, “—reuse, recycle.”
Ranger Wilkinson pitied you with a dry stare, and not for the first time in your life, you were seized with panic at the knowing look on his face. His stink eye passed over Dean then you then Sam, and you wondered what he saw there. A couple of college students? Hardly. You could play the part well, but nothing could remove the ease you entered each other’s space with and the precaution you saved for everyone else. Or the tragedy stringing you all together. Maybe it was just because you’d known the boys so long, but you couldn’t look at them without sucking up every little detail. Hopefully, that was just a you-thing.
He sipped his coffee. “Bull.”
The three of you stiffened all over, a single muscle reacting to stress. You felt Sam peer sideways at you, but like Dean, you strained not to move in case that was what made the trap snap shut.
“You're friends with that Haley girl, right?” Wilkinson asked.
“Um,” Dean said, which put the ranger’s eyes on him.
Your stomach peculiarly dropped. It felt like a sign to go along with it. There was only a split second for any of you to reply and not get caught in an awkward explanation, and no time to explain what was compelling you to the boys. On instinct, you stepped in front of Dean to save him from further blubbering.
You cleared your throat, expression shifting from red-handed to neutral. “...Yes. We are, um, Ranger Wilkinson.”
“Well, I will tell you exactly what we told her.” The ranger moved behind the counter, and in tandem the three of you drew closer to meet him. “Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it?”
Dean shook his head like he had any idea what he was talking about. The ranger filled in, “You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”
And then the lingering strangeness shook itself out of Dean’s frame, replaced instead by the casual authority you were used to. Either sibling conflict was something he knew well, or he’d been clued in enough to respond, because Dean propped himself against the counter and playfully raised his brows. “We will. That Haley girl’s quite a pistol, huh?”
Ranger Wilkinson snorted, which hid your eye-roll from the conversation. “That is putting it mildly.”
“Actually… you know what would help?” Dean straightened like a business-man, that dazzling smile toned with something that could pry anything out of anybody. “If I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date…”
_
The woods were still eerily quiet when you left the station. You could tell that your human perceptions were mixing with your psychic ones, which made for an annoying pot to sort through for the sake of the hunt. The boys were snapping back and forth at each other about this Haley girl, but you were too perturbed to follow it very closely, rattled by the pressure in the air. The whole forest was holding its breath. The taxidermy was watching you. Something was definitely up here.
For every two steps you took, Sam took one, his boots crunching noisily on the gravel. He was making very cutting gestures with his hands and frowning into his dimples as he spoke to Dean, which you took as some of the deep-seated frustration he never showed. He was getting angrier. He rarely yelled during serious arguments, but now he was full-on snarling. You wished there was more you could do about it.
“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad,” Sam grit. “I mean, why even talk to this girl?”
When you started to drag behind, an internal ____-sensor went off in Dean’s brain, triggering his proximity alarm. He paused on the gravel until you safely back in his bubble, and before you could dazedly walk right right past them, Dean dropped a hand on your head, stopping you short. You blinked up into his face. It was flat with concern, then covered with humor.
Dean pointed to you. “That’s why.”
A moment later, you were struggling to lift your head in the backseat of the Impala. When you managed to pull your face out of your hands, and your hands away from your knees, two faces swam in your vision. The air felt a dozen times colder. A big, coarse hand was resting on the back of your neck. Baby’s door was open, and two people were crouched down in front of you.
“Are you okay?” A voice asked, and the timbre of it could’ve been Sam’s. Everything was muddy.
“Ughhh,” you groaned in answer. “Bad. Bad. Not good.”
You blearily reached above you for the hand on your neck, found it by the wrist, and dragged it onto your forehead instead. The angle of the touch was strange, but the cold—the numbing, venomous cold—was worse. An icy metal bracelet glimpsed your cheek and made you hiss. Whoever it was bunched the bracelets higher up his wrist, then brushed his thumb against your brow, knowing, after more than ten years of this, how the Gift leeched all the heat out of you. The warm touch melted you all the way down to your toes. Definitely Dean.
“Let er’ breathe,” he ordered Sam, calmly. “You gonna puke again, ___?”
You swung your head back and forth, cursing, “...Th’ was only one damn time, Dean…”
Dean chuckled, and from where he’d migrated to give you more room, Sam went silent. He was probably giving Dean a funny look. “...Since when can you tell when she’s got a vision coming on?”
“You can’t?” Dean said. Had you not been too dizzy to stand, you would’ve frowned at him for the detached condescension floating in his voice. It wasn’t Sam’s fault he hadn’t been around—well, in a small way it was, but he had every reason to go to school. Still, Dean added, “She gets all dazed n’ everything, then she gets this dorky look on her face… You seriously can’t tell?”
You tilted into Dean’s palm, staring past him to Sam. “C-can I borrow a jacket?”
Sam softened all over, and the change in body language threw an abrupt realization in your face: they were waiting for a vision about John. Both boys exchanged a look. They’d been hinged on bracing legs, like at any moment you were going to spit out some vision of their father dying or being tortured. The rising conviction in Sam’s face was flushed away by disappointment, and you couldn’t help but feel that you’d caused it.
“Of course,” he murmured, tone buttery. While Dean got the heater in the front seat going, Sam unzipped his jacket and helped you get into it. Just getting some extra body heat did wonders on your dizziness, which prompted Sam to ask, “What’d you see, ___?”
As he pulled the collar around your shoulders, you stared into his face in thought, “There was this girl, in some kind of dark place... A cave, maybe? I didn’t see much. She was hanging by her wrists from the ceiling… You were there, and so was this kid. He was calling her Haley.”
From the front seat, Dean’s smirk broadened into a grin.
“Bingo.”
_
Visions of other people were easy for you to handle. But something about one of the boys—in this case, Sam—getting roped up in one made you anxious. And in your Gift’s case, feverish.
While they interviewed Haley Collins about her missing-not-missing brother, your Gift kept you confined to the car. It could be touchy for hours after episodes like these. Twice you were working on an entry for the journal when the images came over you again, and when you resurfaced from them, ten whole minutes had disappeared. You were grateful the boys had a lead to run off to: when your Gift felt more like a disease than a helpful tool, it was better for you to be alone with it.
You pressed your fingers into your nose bridge until it hurt. The journal stared up at you, open and waiting for you to write something.
Dean had drawn a picture of the Impala with a crappy motel pen. Sam had written about anything but Jess, his sentences short and totally empty of the surgeon-critical details of his old school essays. You wanted to put something meaningful.
When you were little, there was nothing more heroic, more exciting, more fascinating, than being a seer. It was the magical secret your mother kept behind the parlor room curtain. You would sit in the antique shop’s stairwell for hours while she took readings, talking to the portraits of the women in your family like they were your imaginary friends. One day I’ll be just like you. They had to hear you, right? They could see the future and the past, could speak to the other side—so of course they could speak to you, right? Tell you all about the secret? They could do anything. You were one of them, so that meant the same for you. You weren’t just any little girl: you were special and different and brilliant. You could do anything.
But that had been then, before you’d received the Gift. Now, the irony of just what little you were capable of pressed upon you. You could see the future and the past, could even speak to the other side—but only now could you hear them telling you it was too late to escape. You used to stare at the pictures and paintings and the pretty tattoos they had on their palms, counting the days until it was your turn to wear your family symbol. This used to be something you wanted; this used to be a gift, an honor. But the Gift took your health and time and choice away from you.
(When you’d crossed that line between child and adult, between non-seer and seer, you’d laid in the dark with Dean and pretended everything was fine. He’d squeezed your hand and murmured, You do have a choice. And if you don’t, we’ll run away and drive until nobody’ll find us. It’ll be you and me and Sam on the road, n’ everything will be okay. You’d clutched his hand until it’d hurt and said, please. Even if you knew you were lying. Even if you knew that damn symbol on your hand would drag you from him kicking and screaming.)
You passed your pen into your unoccupied hand. Alone, in the backseat of the Impala, you turned over your wrist and stared at the mark there. In the middle of your palm was a simple eye in black ink, stretched and blurred with age. To think, your twelve-year-old self had been squeamish about the pain of the tattoo. The non-physical pain was much worse.
Maybe Dean was right. Maybe there was still a way to run away.
I feel like shit, you wrote, and closed the book.
_
The uneasy feeling of your Gift and the woods ebbed out by the time Dean drove the three of you into town. Knowing there was something to hunt here settled you some, so the boys’ concerned glances appeared less and less as the night went on. You found yourself in familiar territory: sitting with Sam and Dean at a small town’s only bar, illuminated by neon-lights and anonymous below the clattering talk of strangers.
“...and Haley said that her brother had gone out to the Ridge with a couple’a friends, and kept contact with her with a satellite phone. Emailed them pictures, videos, stuff like that,” Dean explained, leaning across Sam to speak to you. “His last update was three days’ ago, and we’re pretty sure his camera caught something in the background.”
You raised an eyebrow. “What kind of something?”
Sam nodded to John’s journal. “Let’s find out.”
The three of you were squished together on the bar, closed in a circle around Sam and his computer. Dean was laying back with an ankle on his knee, surveying the bar crowd with an idle eye, both relaxed and tense with a job on his mind. Sam had rolled up his sleeves to work, and you watched a scar move on his forearm as he typed. He hadn’t been able to save any of his clothes from the fire, so his flannels, shirts, and jeans had all been bought within the last week—at the very least, he looked freshly minted. But a keen eye could make out the old seams of his stress fractures shredded open again.
“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” Sam starts. There was a rhythm to his voice that reminds you of when you were a kid, going through the motions of hunting with nothing else to cling to.
He picks up John’s journal like it’s made of glass, and splays it open on the bartop with the same gentleness.
“How about before then?” You asked.
“Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936.” Sam raised his brows, enunciating, “Authorities always said it was a grizzly attack.”
Dean snorted. “Sure. Grizzlies with a grudge. Every… what’s that, 23 years?”
“Look at you, Dean,” you cooed, cheeks propped on your hands, “doing big boy math.”
The glare he sent you was positively precious. Dean flipped you off for good measure, but you were protected behind Sam, who would get snappish if any scuffling happened around his million-dollar laptop. You waved back evilly… and suppressed the urge to slam your hand flat to the bar when Dean’s eyes darted for the symbol in the middle of your palm.
Unlike you, Dean was fond of your family sigil. You’d wanted him more than anyone to be there when you’d been marked, but he and Sam were already gone for the weekend. The preceding days were rampant with anxious excitement and fear, so your mom had gone all out, spending the week’s paycheck on your favorite activities, gifts, and dinner out. All you had to do was endure the pain of the needle. The itch grew to a sting which grew to white-hot, excruciating pain, and the only thing that helped was Dean a few days later.
You’d sat on Bobby’s porch swing, just out of the reach of the rain. He’d set your palm on his knee and stared at it in wonder, flattening your fingers with his grime-stained ones. Dean was only two years older than you at fourteen, but his hands had seemed so big in comparison, big enough to bend the tops of his fingers over yours. You could still remember cringing if he pressed too hard—could still vividly recall Dean kissing the iris of the mark.
(There, now you can stop whining. My cooties will cure you. Or maybe you’re immune to em’ now, seein’ as you’re tough enough to take a needle. I’ve never done anything like that before.)
You closed your fist under the bar, which tingled with the phantom kiss from that day. Case. John. Missing hikers. In the messy, untouched attic that made up your life, the trunk you locked the corpse of your Gift in could be buried in the very back for now. Or forever.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Quit it and read this.”
He unfolded an article from the journal, and when it was splayed flat, you read it loud enough for the boys and no one else to hear: “Grizzly Bear Attacks… Up to eight hikers vanish in lost creek area… hikers' disappearance baffle authorities. Well, no surprise there. These poor suckers have no idea what they’re looking at.”
“Then again, neither do we,” Sam said. He switched tabs on his laptop, “I downloaded that guy Tommy's video and—I mean, just look at this.”
Sam opened the video. Tommy’s face was obscured by the night’s darkness, so all you could make out of him was a few touches of lantern light flickering in his eyes and splaying against the wall of the tent. He reminded you of the types you saw heading out of the ranger station. Tommy was just any other adventurous guy enjoying the trails. Your heart ached, and the imaginary sting in your palm faded for good.
With a few taps, Sam jumped through three frames of the video. It appeared to be nothing but a flicker of the lantern light when the video played at normal speed, but on pause you could make out the black shape of something living. Something hunting. You glanced at Sam, impressed—he’d caught something the human eye could barely trace. If Stanford couldn’t make him rusty, then nothing could.
Dean leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Do it again.”
Sam played the three frames over again. It was quick, but the way the shapes beyond the tent moved almost mimicked a wolf shifting from hindlegs to forelegs. Or a human mid-run. Sam went to the frame the creature was the clearest in. “That's three frames. A fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.”
You thought about the taxidermied buck, the picture of the downed bear. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t the kind of creature you mounted on a wall—it had room above its mantle for your head, too.
“What do you think, Mean Swing?” Dean lifted his head in your direction, scratching his chin. “This feel familiar? Like what you saw earlier?”
You stared at the image until all you saw was the pixels that made its figure behind Tommy. The watching eyes of the woods felt sticky on your skin, and you twisted your carnelian ring on reflex.
“Somethin’ in the woods has been bothering me all day. Whatever it is that John sent us here for… I get this feeling that it’s there. And when the ranger brought up Haley, there was this push telling me to pursue it. S’ definitely got something to do with her… and this creature.”
Dean waved to you in a there ya go sort of gesture, and between you Sam sighed in defeat. “Yeah. Maybe this is what Dad was leading us to… But why?”
“Well, our woman in white,” you were careful to mention the events of last week, “that was a case he couldn’t finish. Maybe this is another one? Something he found but couldn’t check out himself?”
Dean frowned into his beer. If that was true, then John had a reason for putting this hunt on the boys instead of one of the other hunting connections he had. He kept Dean—and by extension, you—on a short leash these days, employing you both for bigger, more research-intensive hunts and then pointing the two of you toward a smaller fish when he was busy. This felt like a big hunt to you—the kind of three-person job John would keep you around for.
And there was only one thing, one white whale, that could make something like this into a little fish. A white whale that you had your own reasons for hunting, now.
“Maybe,” Sam murmured, talking to fill the sudden gap your suggestion had left. “But, uh, I got one more thing.” He shut the laptop, producing yet another article. Again, that selfish hole burned into your chest gushed with affection—Sam had always loved the research aspect of the job, so of course he’d looked into everything already. “In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”
Reading the article over his shoulder, you spoke at the same time as Dean: “Is there a name?”
Sam tapped a surname on the page. Shaw. Satisfied, Dean dropped his beer on the bartop, stood, and stretched, purposefully giving half the room a good look at the freckles on his midriff. “I say we check into the area a bit more n’ then go bother the guy,” Dean chuckled. With new-found cheer, he threw the two of you a grin, “See you in a minute. M’ gonna go take a leak.”
“Have fun,” you snorted.
Dean bounced his eyebrows at you over his shoulder, said, “Watch my beer,” and dissolved into the crowd.
Per his request, you spun on your stool to steal sips of his bottle. Sam started unloading his laptop bag between you, dropping maps, articles, and obituaries where they wouldn’t get wet by drink stains. He pat a napkin and a pen down in front of you, and without further prompting you slid the closest obit in front of you to continue the cross-comparisons he’d made between the victims. At least, you were going to, until Sam went stiff.
“Oh god,” he hushed through his teeth.
You started writing. “Yeah, Sammy?”
“Those girls,” he paled, “I think they’re gonna come over here…”
You lifted your head: first, to Sam’s flushed, panicked expression, gluing him to his seat like a buck in headlights, and then the trio of giggling girls throwing looks at him. The most assertive of the three was really fishing for a returned glance across the bar. Given enough time and sips of strawberry daiquiri, she’d definitely slide on over. You envied her confidence, but cursed it in the moment.
Sam ducked his head, hiding behind his bangs. “I can’t—not, n-not yet… God, what should I do?”
This was yet another case of you being discounted as a third Winchester sibling. Not for the first time, you wished the opposite was assumed. You spun your stool so you were between him and his admirers, trying to calculate a way to shoo them off without being rude, or broadcasting that Sam was… That Sam was mourning.
“Here. Can I hold your arm?”
Sam’s face flared with confusion in the most interesting way. Thinking quickly, you put on a mushy smile and spun again in your chair, giggling for the whole bar to hear, and folded both hands in the crook of Sam’s bicep. For additional effect, you squished your cheek into his shoulder and kicked your legs under your stool, girly and pleased. Peculiarly, Sam relaxed.
“Oh,” he said, daring to take a glance at the rowdy women again. They looked disappointed; their token of interest appeared to be taken. “Smart.”
“We can add it to my business card,” you reassured him with a teasing pat. Freeing a hand, you began to count your titles: “Eye-candy, team morale, psychic, and fake girlfriend for hire. This girl does it all.”
A ghost of his dimpley smile flashed in your peripherals, and with arduous effort, Sam unfolded an article about Blackwater Ridge and pretended to read it. After a moment of simmering in your touch as you melted in his, Sam choked from the air the first thing he could think to say. He sounded genuinely close to tears.
“...I’m sorry.”
You wanted to tell him that everything would be fine—but nothing was right now, so the only life-raft any of you had was, ironically, the hunt. You’d all fallen victim to its desensitizing routine one way or another. Dean had learned it from his father, and you and Sam had learned it from Dean, because everything in the hunt was generational and cyclical. It would be useless and hypocritical to tell him that he didn’t have to hide his feelings under the pretense of this job. But a part of you had hoped that this transition wouldn’t be so easy for him, because the easier it was the harder it would be to escape again. Sam had been loading shotguns and memorizing hexbag ingredients since he was eight. But compared to psychic powers that didn’t scrub off your skin… shotguns and hexbags were something you could run from.
And god, it killed you, it gutted you, but you want Sam to run. You want him to be happy. You want to kill the white whale, and forget these selfish feelings.
“There’s nothing you’ve got to apologize for, Sammy,” you whispered into his sleeve. “Let’s get to tracking this thing, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sam sighs.
You slide the napkin in front of you. Sam unfolds a map. Together, you lose yourself in the names and dates and locations until it’s 1997. You’re sixteen, John and Dean are off hunting; you’re huddled at the bar, wet from the rain and dizzy from researching; you’re sixteen and duty-bound, but all you have to your name is a fake ID and Sam Winchester. Sam’s leg is bouncing under the table because his Dad won’t pick up the phone, and you’re all he has and he’s all you have and you both want out of the hunt.
But Sam’s the only one with the legs to run, and it’s been a long time since 1997.
_
“Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—”
“Grizzly?” Sam smoothly leads the way into Mr. Shaw’s apartment, casting another long shadow across the dark kitchen with his height. His voice had this base innocence to it, so maybe it was your imagination overlaying it with a note of significance. “That’s what attacked them?”
Shaw’s silhouette paused halfway to the closest lamp. He took a slow draw of his cigarette, ignored the lamp, and padded over to open one of his windows, like he was comfortable in the dark. After what he’d witnessed, he probably felt like he’d seen the worst of what was in it. He was an old man, far older than the boy he’d been in 59’, but something told you that nothing could make him forget that night. Dean had only been four, and you knew he remembered every frame of his mother’s death. Both of Shaw’s parents had died.
Dean dropped his hands into his pockets. “The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?”
Shaw paused. You winced, wishing there was a better way to approach this. Interviewing victims never felt right, but this time it was worse: all of you knew about the threat you were dealing with.
Again, Dean pushed. “What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?”
Shaw remained silent, blowing smoke out of his kitchen window.
“Mr. Shaw,” you spoke up, twisting a ring on one finger, “If you can help us understand what it is, we may be able to kill it.”
Shaw pulled his cigarette from his mouth, and despite the roughness of his already coarse voice, the flicker you got of his expression in the moonlight was pained and earnest. “I seriously doubt that.” He sunk down at his kitchen table, one wrist pointed out the window. “Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” Shaw cupped the mug waiting on the tabletop for him and stared into it. “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”
The little space behind your ribs where you stored that pain—the kind of pain Shaw was talking about—cracked open along a seam, and you almost opened your mouth to utter the forbidden words: I understand. I understand so much it makes it hard to breathe. There was no way to describe it. Knowing the truth about this world was simple on paper, but knowing that you were lying to everyone you ever met was not. It was like you lived in a world where fire was fictional, and yet you knew it was real, had put it in your crosshairs, been charred to the bone by it. But still. You could do nothing to stop the whole world from putting its hand on the stove.
A vision fluttered behind your eyelids, flashing so fast between frames of memory that it barely showed in your face that anything had changed. You saw Shaw standing at the cusp of the trail to the Ridge, hands trembling, begging a family he’d never met to go home go home please go home you haven’t seen it you can’t see it—s’ real, oh god, s’ real, please…
You moved past Dean and Sam to take the other seat at Shaw’s kitchen table. Some of the raw emotion rolling around in your chest must’ve made it to your eyes, because he finally lifted his head. You tried to bolster some honesty into your voice. “I believe you. Just, please—tell me what you saw.”
“...Nothing,” Shaw said. Before you could deflate, he continued: “It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like… no man or animal I ever heard.”
Sam and Dean hovered closer, and stood behind your chair like twin doberman hounds, so still and soundless that you hadn’t known they’d moved until Sam spoke. “It came at night?”
Shaw nodded. You tried to marry his story to the creature caught in Tommy’s video, and didn’t like the mental image you ended up with. “This thing got into your tent?”
“Our cabin,” Shaw corrected. “I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It… It didn't smash a window or break the door.” He leaned forward, struggling to croak around a trembling lip. “It unlocked it. Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.”
You sat back, an uncomfortable pang clawing into the meat of your legs. Feeling Dean’s stare, you exchanged a silent look with him: this just got a lot harder.
“Your parents,” Sam gently probed, “it killed them?”
Shaw closed his eyes. “Dragged them off into the night.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, shakily, “I know words aren’t worth much, but…”
Shaw shook his head. He seemed to stare right through you, beyond you, to where he’d been in the woods that night. “Why it left me alive… been asking myself that ever since.” Giving the three of you his last skeptical stare, he brought his hand to his t-shirt collar, “Did leave me this, though.”
Shaw opened his shirt collar. The moonlight cut oddly against his collarbone, and then in the shadow of his neck you saw it: four long, shredded scars, raised and gnarled into his flesh. After forty years the mark had softened and healed, but just looking at it told you exactly what it’d looked like the night he’d been given it.
Sam and Dean exhaled slow, in shock or understanding, and your hands pressed flat to your mouth on instinct.
“There’s somethin’ evil in those woods,” Shaw warned. “It was some sort of demon…”
_
As far as hunting went, the few twenty-four-year-olds that had passed through your mother’s parlor swung one way or the other. Either they were stupid enough to be joining in fresh out of some terrible circumstance, or purebred into it like you and the boys—and the only thing that evolved greenhorns was luck. You hadn’t made it here on luck.
Still, for all the skill that nine years of hunting had possessed you, you hadn’t yet pinned down what Shaw’s “demon” was. On the walk from his apartment back to the Impala, you summoned the list of forest creatures that experience had branded into one wall of your mind. Skinwalkers, black dogs, ozark howlers, even certain forest spirits could act like this. You opened the journal without much thought and started cross-comparing traits to your mystery creature: bear-like, intelligent, dark cold habitat(?), west US forest region, 23 year cycle. But nothing stuck. After staring at it for a little while longer, you got the impression there was a gaping hole in your profile.
A step or two in front of you, Dean and Sam were wearing the same pensive shoulders, performing similar examinations in their own minds. The clouds of their breath floated skyward. Being on the edge of town, the only light on the side-road you walked was from the half-mast eye of the moon. The loud jostle of Dean’s boots was comforting; especially since being the caboose made you all-too aware of the void of dark street behind you, which clung to your back with a sentient silence.
“Maybe one of our points is wrong, or this is an unusual hangout for the thing we’re dealing with… Either way, we have to figure this out soon.” You closed the journal with a snap. “Haley is going out to the woods tomorrow. How are we supposed to protect that poor girl if we have no idea what this thing is?”
“We unload the whole trunk, that’s how,” Dean spoke. “Like Sam said—thing’s corporeal. That means we can kill it,” he dipped his head in your direction with a teasing smile, “likely with something pointy.”
Your eyes jumped to Sam in the dark, tongue in your cheek. “Corporeal? You’ve never failed a vocab test, have you?”
Sam’s growing anxiousness loosened enough to give you a dry half-smile. He didn’t spit back one of his own jokes or give you a teasing push like usual, but anything was better than nothing. He hadn’t spoken much today. He hadn’t spoken much this week.
Either Dean got tired of turning his head or he preferred you next to him, because he lent you some room to walk between him and Sam. It was a small gesture, but one that the boys did often. They could barely fit shoulder-to-shoulder on a sidewalk alone, and yet they made room for you every time, like two halves of a bascule bridge letting a little boat through.
Dean had parked the car further down the road, so Baby was a glossy white highlight against the spider-webbing of tree branches covering the night sky. The night was blue and foggy. You absently laid your hand on the metal when you came close, just to have something to touch that wasn’t groundless air.
Before he opened the trunk, Dean deferred naturally to you for the all clear signal. The separation between your senses and your Gift was thin today, so you drew closer to the Impala, blinking at the shapes your eyes were imagining in the fog. Eventually, you murmured, “We’re good.”
Dean tilted his head with a dangerous readiness, because even a second’s pause was enough to clue him in to your exhaustion. “Are we?”
“Sorry,” you sighed, “We’re good. I’m still a little bogged down from earlier. There’s no one around, don’t worry. My Gift—my thing is just a little tired today.”
“Haven’t slept much,” Sam commented.
Dean yanked open the trunk with its usual friendly creak, punctuating the sound with an unspoken order in his eyes. He quickly made it spoken: “Well, ‘soon as we get back to the motel, you’re going to, girly.”
“We’ve still got to figure out what this thing is,” you reminded. Considering you hadn’t yet found a way around Dean’s elder-sibling authority, it was a little foolish of you to think today would be the day. You put a drop of sweetened nonchalance into your voice anyway. “I’ll be alright, Dean—I’ll sleep on the drive to the ridge tomorrow. A little overnight research won’t kill me.”
Dean’s smile pinched into his cheek. He sucked in a breath like he was about to say something funny—and though Dean wasn’t exactly gentle, he never pierced you. Just prodded. “I think you’re forgetting it’s not just you n’ me anymore.”
That stopped you in your tracks.
You hadn’t forgotten. For two years, a tear in your life had grown into an absence, in the Impala’s backseat, in the empty air guarding your six on hunts. But the worst part was that sometimes the absence called you or mailed you pictures. Sometimes it would write you letters with his half-cursive handwriting, or ramble about Stanford and pre-law until you fell asleep with your head between the pillow and the phone. Sam had left an unfillable space in your life when he’d escaped, and without him in the middle you and Dean had tried everything to close the gap.
From the moment you’d picked up Sam, there was not one breath where you weren’t aware he was back. You could sense him like a limb, without looking, like you were connected to him by a million nerves.
But you and Dean had made a life together. For two years, there had been nothing but you and him and the rain-slick road. There were days driving between states where neither of you said a word, because hearing you breathe and feeling him drive was enough for the two of you. You sang your way through whole albums, Dean on drums and you on lead guitar; you fell asleep beside him; you wept over Dean, fingers hot with his blood; you fed him and poked fun at him and lived him, while Dean did the same for you.
“Hey.” Dean’s hands were suddenly there, settling warm on your shoulders. The night was blue but his eyes were still so green. “Sam’s here to help out now, okay? Me n’ him will do our damndest to figure out what this thing is, and you’ll do me a favor, n’ rest up for tomorrow. If we can’t figure it out, I’m not all that worried—”
A pleasant, charming smile gleamed on his face. “...We’ve got our secret weapon right,” he poked your forehead, “here.”
You let indecision play dramatically across your features. Then, with the air of a tradesman, stuck out your hand to him to shake.
“Only…if you hug me.”
“Why?” Dean squawked.
You shot him an evil little smile. “I enjoy watching your fragile masculinity squirm.”
Dean considered, humming. “...You’ll go to bed? As soon as we get back?”
“I’ll even sleep in,” you added loftily, just to sweeten the pot.
He stared at you for a moment longer, the rounded lines of his face briefly drawn hard with conviction. An unspoken clause was added to your contract. I’ll watch out for Sammy, too. That was all that mattered to you.
Promptly, Dean opened his palm, spat into it, and stuck it out to you.
“Fine. Deal.”
Per tradition, you spat as well. With a gross smack, you slapped your hands together, and using his grip you dragged him into a tight hug. Because Dean was a fair player, he squirmed and flustered in the same way that laughed you into stitches as a kid. Sam was witness to all of this, so it surprised you when Dean dropped the act halfway through and squeezed you around the middle; he gave excellent, cozy, leather-scented hugs, which of course were only shared at the grave cost of his masculinity. After the week the three of you’d had, it was high time you fulfilled your role as the mushy one.
(But then again, Dean was the one rubbing your back).
“Aw,” Sam said, being a very loyal minion.
Dean broke out into a hoarse coughing fit, scuttling away to safety and glaring at his brother. You wiped your hand on the sleeve of his jacket, which sent him into further hysterics, and somewhere under the yelling and raving about real leather, ___! Sam covered his mouth and giggled boyishly. Whatever argument he’d been revving up for had lost its power over him awhile ago.
That was all that mattered to you.
_
taglist: @seraphimluxe @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @williamstop @duchessoftheheart
NEXT PART: w*ndigo, p.2
#uncouthspn#sam winchester x reader#dean winchester x reader#sam winchester x y/n#sam winchester x you#dean winchester#dean winchester x y/n#dean winchester x you#sam winchester#supernatural rewrite
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What do you think would happen if MC (in an attempt to keep it away from him) tucked Goldie under their boob?
[A bra is the best wallet but underneath even a C-cup boob is damn near Fort Knox (or the tower of London, I.e. Impenatrable fortresses)]
lmaooo. Let’s us gather round and pray for Mammon’s remaining sanity. What little remands. The himbo never saw it coming.
I’m weak and got a little spicy at the end, apologies if that’s not what you wanted my heart was thirsty for ONE greed man;.;
A/N I originally called this work Tiity prison bc I have a sense of humor lol.
Hope ya like!
To say he is conflicted is an understatement. Depending on when and where you do the titty lockdown will change how he reacts.
If it's at school, he is a mess. I’m talking about the works. He’s red in the face, can’t focus, and sweating the whole rest of the school day. He is definitely torn between fighting his goldie withdrawals and making a pass at your chest.
He won’t do the latter, as much as he threatens it. He may be scummy but he has a code of conduct (most of the time). You get a kick out of watching him try not to stare at your chest and getting smacked by Lucifer when caught.
If it’s on Lucifer’s orders to keep his card away from him he’ll have a bit more control but will bitch the WHOLE day. Honestly, you might give it back just to shut him up.
He won’t outright grab your chest or physically try to snatch it. He’ll try to be sneaky about it. Dropping stuff and making you bend over to grab it. “I swear I ain’t try nothin’”. Right.
If desperate enough he’ll just downright pick you up off your feet and jiggle you like a piggy bank. Like I said, he has a code of conduct. It’s just kinda flexible sometimes.
“C-come on! Give ‘er back.” Mammon pleads, pulling off his classic bagger’s pout. Good thing you were immune. His toned arms cage you in, your back resting on one of the school’s marble walls. “How am I going to buy lunch?”
“I made you lunch.” You laugh. Ducking under his arms you make your way to the dining hall ignoring his flustered shouts. He’ll follow soon enough. The promise of your cooking and potentially nabbing goldie back was too great for him to ignore. Sure enough, he slinks in a few minutes after you. His shades now out and perched on his nose. Even hidden under the tinted glasses, you could see his flushed cheeks and darting eyes. “Better eat now, Beel is going to join us today.” You say around a mouthful of food. He whines but forces himself to focus on his quickly cooling food.
He follows you even closer than before after lunch, barely a hair’s breadth from your back. His clever fingers pinching and pulling at the bottom of your shirt in the crowded hallway. “Please~” He whimpers through his teeth after your swat his hands away again. “I swear I won’t use her.”
You plop down at your desk. “If you’re not going to use her, then she is safe where she is.” You stick your tongue out and give the boob hiding goldie a lovely squeeze. Mammon groans as if stabbed, teeth bared and fangs growing in a mix of frustration and want. “Babe come on. Ya’ killing me.” His eyes are glued to where your hand rests.
Before you can respond a leather-clad hand smacks Mammon across the back of his head. Mammon yips in fright. “I will kill you first if you don’t keep your eyes up at the board.” The cold warning from Lucifer was enough to shut you both up for the rest of the class. You watch him disappear when the bell chimes. His next period was across campus while you were stuck here for another hour. Your phone buzzes the moment his designer boots disappear out the door.
Pretty Boy: what did you do to Mammon?
You: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
You catch Asmo’s eye from his seat a few rows back from you. He winks at you, thumbs flying across his lit screen.
Pretty Boy: Bull- tell me your secrets. I haven’t seen him that flustered in eons, not since Helen paid a visit.
You: Got “asked” by Lucifer to keep Goldie away from Mammon for the day. A limited edition car he wants just got released. Luci is still paying off Mammon’s last shopping spree, so he’s on ice till tomorrow afternoon.
Pretty Boy: Ouch- you not telling him where it is?
You: Oh no. He knows exactly where it is. He is just too nervous to go for it.
You hear Asmo’s scandalous gasp behind you earning you both a glare from the professor. You bite your tongue to hide a chuckle. The professor turns with a huff, and Asmo starts up all over again.
Pretty Boy: Is it in your pants! Can I take a look ;*
You: No and No.
Pretty Boy: Ah- he was always a chest man. Good luck with that, he can hold out for only so long :)
What does that mean? You whip your head around waiting for an explanation text. Asmo has the gall to ignore you, busy reapplying his lip gloss. Even if he wasn’t looking at you, you knew that impish smile was for you. Turning back around in your seat you shiver, now you weren’t sure if you should be scared or excited.
The rest of the day passes quietly. Too quietly. It gives you the jitters. Every corner of the school could be a potential hiding spot for one conniving demon. You weren’t expecting him to attack you, not outright. Yet, you were expecting some sort of retaliation. The last bell of the day came sooner than you expected and it was time for afterschool activities. Packing your bag you wave off Beel and Satan, assuring them you would be fine to walk to the music and arts wing by yourself. They had their own clubs to get to anyway.
Making your way to your activity you feel the hair on the back of your neck began to rise. Something wasn’t sitting right with you. You look up and around. No one was in the corridors, not even a stray teacher rushing to the breakroom. Odd. You peak over your shoulder and frown. Even the air was still. Chalking it up to a probably very haunted school, you pick up the pace. Even if you didn’t believe in the ghost stories like Luke, it was best to just never find out. No matter what hallway you took or how fast you walked the feeling of being watched only intensified. Your flight or fight instinct kicked in.
Who could you call if you need help? Where in the hells was Mam- was that your pencil case? You skid to a halt bemused. There, in the middle of the floor was your favorite case. The calico kitty design stares up at you innocently from the floor. You open your bag to double-check. You could have sworn you had thrown it in there after last period. Did it fall out? Had you taken this path before? You approached it cautiously, bending down to grab it.
Strong arms wrap around your waist locking around you like a spring trap. They lift you up and up and up. It was so sudden you could do nothing but squeak in surprise, pencil case clutched tightly to your chest. Were you really going to die here? Caught in such a childish trap...wait. “Seriously Mammon!” The fear disappears, replaced now with exasperation. He grunts ignoring your words to shake you slightly. You yelp feeling goldie and your bra shift. “Oh, my Gods. Mammon! I know you can do better than this.”
“Shut up! I’m desperate.”
Unbelievable. "That's the best you got? Really, I’m kinda insulted." Mammon stops shaking you, his arms loosening enough for you to turn around to face him. He looks up at you batting his long lashes. “Put me down.” It wasn’t a pact order, but firm. He pouts but sets you back on the ground gently. Not before giving you a hearty squeeze. You catch his hand sneaking up the side of your shirt with a raised brow. "Why didn't you just make a grab for it in the first place?"
He scoffs turning pink. "'M allowed ta just cop a feel whenever I want now?"
"Absolutely not, not in public at least. I like you breathing."
“Could have fooled me,” Mammon chuckles. He glances around the empty hallway then back to you. A slow rolling purr starts deep in his throat. "Though, there is no one here now." Slowly his dexterous fingers glide back over your sides. His touch is searing on your shirt. You could feel goldie pulsing underneath the cotton of your bra. The plastic seemingly growing warmer than your skin as his hand travels closer. You do nothing, watching his face grow hungrier with each passing centimeter as he gets close to his prize. “What’s stopping me now?”
“Just you.” He stops at the side of your chest, eye wide and greedy. You could feel him trying to temper himself. His adrenaline, fear, lust, and his raw cardinal desire thicking the air around you. It all pulsed red hot in his veins and travels down to yours. He wanted more than just goldie now. His natural magnetism pulling you in closer. You wanted him, you wanted him to just take it- take everything. The pact mark slams shut, its heat snuffed out like a candle. "Mammon?" Had your teasing gone too far?
"Hold tight to her till tonight." He growls tapping your chest possessively. His many gold rings resemble talons as he drags his fingers across the stitching of your school uniform. "I'll come for her tonight," He leans in, smoke and leather clouds your sense. "and I'll be taking a tithe for all the trouble you caused me too." His husky promise sends a shiver down your spine, gut twisting in anticipation. Mammon's bright blue eyes jump over your shoulder, a frown grows on his beautiful face, he could hear footsteps approaching from your club room. Probably the angels looking for you. Brushing his lips across your cheek he parts, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Be ready. You know I always come to collect."
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Boo
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Lucifer x Reader
Summary: You ‘out devil’ the devil; You’ve been suffering memories of your time in the cage and having to fight your way out; you snap. One day you even terrify Lucifer with what you’ve become.
Warning: Violence, bit of swearing
Notes: I didn’t plan this out as much as i usually do so some parts might seem a bit vague or underdeveloped, that’s because they are, lol, sorry. I tried to organize it the best i could. I used a lot of quotes but i can’t credit because 1) can’t remember who all said what and 2) that’s a lot of people.)
UPDATE: Yet another story i never finished but oh well, here it is!
“We have to try. It might be a long shot but she’s worth it isn’t she?” Dean and and Cas both agreed but silently hoped that one of them could come up with a better idea than the one Sam had proposed.
The two came up short by the time Sam had finished collecting the ingredients he needed. He dragged his hands down his face, “Look guys, i’m not crazy about this plan either, i wish there was another way but-” “but there’s not.” Sam reluctantly nodded, “Right.” He took a deep breath and started chanting.
The bunker walls shook and lights began to flicker. In unison, all of the candles blew out and light bulbs busted. The only thing the men could see in the pitch black was a pair of glowing red eyes. “Lucifer-” “Ssh ssh ssh,” The words choked in Dean’s throat, effectively shutting him up, “not another word. I want to live in this moment as long as i can.” Lucifer breathed in all the warm air and left the bunker air chilled and stale. “Yes, this is very nice. The famous Winchesters coming to me for help. To what do i owe this pleasure?”
“It’s y/n.”
Lucifer’s smile disappeared and his express became serious. “What happened.” The brothers looked at each other, neither knowing how to answer. The longer the silence drew out the angrier Lucifer became. “TELL ME NOW!” Both men jumped at the boom in his voice. “When the two of you came back, y/n, she wasn’t the same. Of course we just credited it to being in the cage and with you for so long-” “HEY!” “Shut up you know who you are. Anyways, after a few months and no improvement, we started to worry. She became distant, started hunting on her own, and…” Sam drifted off. The thought of the past few weeks made him shutter. “And?” “It’s better if you just come and see for yourself.” As the men walked towards your room, Lucifer remembered your shared time in the cage.
*FLASHBACK*
When the boys had finally found a way to throw Lucifer back into the cage, the plan went perfectly except for one thing. Although Sam seized control over his body for the moment, Lucifer kept him from falling into the pit, and was slowly overpowering Sam. Time was running out and you had a decision to make. You shouted your goodbyes while running full speed towards Sam before knocking him, and yourself, into the pit.
The first few years in the cage were absolute hell worse than hell. You and Sam kept as far from Lucifer as possible, ignoring his snarky comments and constant antics. Your focus was to try and survive long enough until Dean found a way to save you both. But once you saw a light appear from the nothingness above and only Sam disappear into it, you lost all hope. What made it worse is the full affect of the cage started to weigh on you. You lost consciousness and when you came to you were completely thrown off yet pleasantly surprised.
You were in a king sized bed, surrounded by soft pillows, and candles burning a soothing cinnamon scent into the air. The room was only lit by candles and decorated in soft shades of grey and white. There were beautiful tapestries hanging on all walls, pillows and blankets everywhere, even covering the bedroom floor. It was cozy and romantic.
There were two doors, one slightly cracked and emitting a flickering light. You scooted off the bed, curious, and pushed open the door. You entered into a bathroom, also being lit by candles, but had exotic shows of flowers lining the room. A bubble bath had been drawn and next to it a pre-poured glass of wine and card with your name on it. You opened it and saw only one word: ‘Enjoy.’
Almost too eagerly you stripped down and sunk low into the bath. You couldn’t remember the last time you took a bath or even the last time you thought about taking one. You soaked long after your fingers turned to raisins and wine glass emptied.
For a moment you thought maybe you were out of the cage, in your saviors home, being given the greatest hospitality ever given. When you heard on knock on the door you were excited to meet your gracious host, “Come in.” but instantly regretted it.
Lucifer walked in with careful eyes but no less prying. His eyes wondered over your exposed body, thankful most of the bubbles have dwindled away. You could see his cheeks burning red and mouth almost salivating but you didn’t care, you were used to him pining over you. When Sam was still in the cage with you, Lucifer would always get under Sam’s skin but flirting and making obscene comments. When he left Lucifer’s advances changed, they seemed to become sweeter, more sincere. He stopped terrorizing you and took interest instead. You’ve gotten to know each other over the years, maybe even becoming friends. Although you kept your guard up, still ready for the worst, you generally could relax around Lucifer.
You continued splashing around in the water, unfazed by Lucifer’s starring. You frowned, “We’re still in the cage somehow aren’t we,” you said as more of a statement than question. Lucifer nodded and sat on the edge of the tub. “Yes, but i’ve spent enough time here to learn that the hallucinations could be manipulated; i’ve created this hallucination to make being here more comfortable. Do you like it?” “It’s perfect, thank you.”
You were free to do whatever in the house, there was a room for everything. The only rule was to never leave the house because outside was hell in it’s pure essence. It was far too dangerous for you and even Lucifer. There were no windows or even doors so you weren’t ever tempted to try. But it was no problem for you, you were perfectly happy in the house and with Lucifer.
You spent the rest of your time in the house and enjoyed most of it. Occasionally you and Lucifer would fight, sometimes physically in the beginning, but the more you got to know one another, the less difficult you found the other. After about 6 months the worst was behind you two. There was only one bed in the house, Lucifer has never had to share it, and at first he took the floor. The two of you got to know each other best then. But one night you surprised him, offered to share the bed, and one more you buried yourself into his chest. He was stiff at first but once he knew it was truly okay with you he held you close throughout the night. It took a while for you to admit your feelings and it devastated you that he didn’t reciprocate them. A few days passed in silence before Lucifer couldn’t stand it any longer.
You were already in bed, silently crying yourself to sleep, when Lucifer came in. You expected him to do what he did the past couple of nights and just lay back on the floor but he didn’t. He stood in the doorway for a moment, starring and watching you, noticing every inch of you. Then he slammed the door hard enough to blow out every candle, leaving the room pitch black. You shot up in the bed, becoming reacquainted with the fear you once felt for him. Your chest was heaving as the two of you had a stare down. You couldn’t read his expression and it was terrifying.
Slowly he lifted his shirt over his head and threw it in the corner. You didn’t say anything, now understanding the direction that this was going in, you just watched and waited anxiously for whatever was next. Again, his eyes burned into yours, as he slid his pants off and kicked them next to his shirt. Your legs involuntarily squirmed under the sheets and you felt yourself heating up. Lucifer went back to starring at you but now his chest was heaving, you could hear the huffs of air being forced out, and his eyes were much much darker. You tried to speak up but it was only a whisper, “L-Lucifer-” In a few long strides Lucifer mounted the bed and hovered over you like a lion, hungry and greedy for his prey. By instinct you pressed yourself into the bed, making yourself smaller and creating as much distance as possible. Lucifer clenched his jaw at you. He ripped the sheets from over you letting the cold air hit you in one giant wave. You shook but were too afraid to reach down for the covers. Your wide eyes searched his glowing ones for an answer. His face was serious and hard but the rest of him was relaxed and aching. “Luci-” he growled, a warning, not to speak anymore. You bit your lip as he slowly slid one hand up your body and cupped your face. You felt an explosion go off that left you trembling. “I’m only going to say this once,” you waited, “I’m sorry. Y/n I love you. I was afraid but I’m not anymore, please forgive me.”
You bit your lip and tried to fight back your tears of joy. For once in this literal hell hole you felt true happiness. Despite your mind running in a thousand different directions and wanting to let your heart pour out, you remained mute, leaving Lucifer in the dark. His frustration grew the longer you only starred at him. He slid one hand up and down your thigh a couple of times before letting it slip down next to your core. You moaned with his movements and hummed when he pushed your legs open. He let his weight drop down on top of you letting you feel how hard he already was. You shivered in a different way and Lucifer loved it. His hands were frantic over your body, he curled him lips in desperate not to explode. “Y/n please.” You were already on your way to cloud nine by this point, both of you breathing heavily and grinding as hard as you could into the other. You finally moved; your hands dug into his hair and pulled him into a passionate kiss. The two of you made love like animals all night and every night since. But just like every dream, you had to wake up, and it all came crashing down. There was a banging on the wall one day, both you and Lucifer ignored it at first, thinking it was the other. But once you both saw that that wasn’t the case you readied yourselves for the worst. “We’ve been in here too long; pure hell is trying to tear down the walls.” “Can’t you stop it or hold it off?! Fix the walls?!” “It’s not the same anymore y/n! It only allowed me to create this place I have no power over it. I can’t fight it off anymore. I’m so sorry.” Lucifer held you tight against his chest, constantly whispering how sorry he was. You were more terrified of seeing Lucifer afraid than of whatever was going to come crashing through the walls. The walls cracked and crumbled around you, horrid screams and cries engulfed you, and a flurry of thunder and lightning came crashing down. All of a sudden it was like you were in a tornado with glowing monstrous eyes waiting to see the fear in yours before attacking. You couldn’t remember how it happened, only that something had hooked into your leg and was dragging you away into the darkness, away from Lucifer, away from the home you’d grown to love, away from the only things keeping you sane. You were dragged into the darkness and so darkness you became.
#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#Supernatural fanfic#SPN#SPN FANDOM#spn fanfiction#spn fanfic#supernatural imagine#supernatural x reader#spn x reader#spn x you#supernatural x you#lucifer#lucifer x reader#mark pellegrino#mark x reader#mark pellegrino x reader#spn imagine
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— a life in your shape
pairing : jean kirschtein / reader
word count : 2.5k
tags : unrequited love, pining, near death experience, confession of love, hurt no comfort lol
warnings : canon-typical violence, descriptions of injury to the reader
summary : you've always wanted it, always pictured it, always ached for it. you loved when jean looked you way. all you'd ever wanted was a life with him, not just a life in his shape.
— originally posted 1 / 22 / 21 on ao3 —
the mess hall was buzzing with life, rowdy with the chatter of dozens of cadets seated at long tables and speaking through swallows of their food. glasses were lifted and set down, bowls and plates clinking, utensils scraping sharply over various surfaces, nearly so loud that you could barely hear yourself think. but it all seemed to come to an abrupt silence when you settled your eyes back on him, taking in his formerly pale complexion now bronzy and sun-kissed from your hours of training, the annoyed yet playful glances he shot to connie and sasha as he worked through his soup and bread, full lips forming words that you couldn’t quite focus.
you were almost embarrassed of how smitten you were with jean, but in your mind, you couldn't understand how anyone wouldn't be taken with him. his thin frame had filled out with lean muscle in the year and a half that you'd been training together in the 104th corp, somehow managing to grow even taller than he already was on that first day, still so spirited with his persistence to be among the best of this class, a lively spark that never seemed to dampen gleaming behind his eyes.
"oh god, this again, jean?" you heard connie bemoan exaggeratedly, pulling you from the trance that you were surprised the other three at the table hadn't taken notice of.
jean was almost pouting now, and you would've found it so endearing had it not been the next words to spill from his mouth, indignant and full of tenacity. "don't be an ass, i've been trying to figure out a good excuse to sit with her for days now."
you followed his gaze despite knowing exactly who you'd find his eyes locked on, and forced yourself not to frown when you were met with the sight of mikasa just a few tables away.
"she's out of your league, man. not to mention having a thing for jaeger already, and not to mention that jaeger wouldn't hesitate to hand your ass to you again if you pissed him off like you always do. cut it out."
"connie, that's mean!" sasha feigned offense on jean's behalf, most likely for the sake of goading the reply that came as a distraction to snatch the remainder of bread from his plate.
"i'm just being honest with him here. he's asking for advice, so i gave him some. jean always talks about being realist and yet he— hey is that my food?!"
you turned away just as connie was lunging himself across the table, hearing the sounds of his fruitless efforts to tear the loaf from the girl's mouth, propping yourself up on your elbows and allowing your head to fall into your hands with a heavy sigh.
"what do you think?" in an instant, jean's eyes were on you, amber irises looking so intently at you that you could already feel a bothersome heat flushing your face. but registering his question sobered you, and stealing a glance at the beautiful dark-haired girl seated somewhere to your left was all in took to snuff out the light flutter in your chest.
"i don't know, jean. i think connie's kind of right about the whole eren thing." you were honest with him on a surface level, but it still didn't feel good to see him frown when you told him something he obviously didn't want to hear. you tried to remedy it by offering something more introspective—something a bit more true to your heart. "what i mean is that.. i think you're selling yourself short. mikasa obviously has her sights set elsewhere at the moment, and i just think you deserve someone who can bring the same sort of.." you struggled with your words for a moment, how could you not when he was leaning forward like that, listening so intently to you and you alone. "the same sort of passion. someone who can reciprocate." someone like me. but you bit those foolish words back.
"you understand, don't you?" he implored, looking past the bickering mess that sasha and connie had devolved to and gazing with such longing in the other girl's direction, "i mean.. i've never seen anyone like her, no one as beautiful.." each word gouged at your heart, a cold, empty sensation that left your chest feeling painfully hollow. "i know you're a girl, but you can see it too, right?"
you could see it, you were painfully aware of how you could never match up to her unfamiliar yet alluring features, that graceful, slender frame that could somehow soar through the air with ease and still thrown you down onto your back so hard it would knock the wind out of you, introversion that gave off such a charming air of mystery to her admirers.
"yeah," you mumbled back, ignoring how a huffing connie fell heavily back into his seat beside jean, defeated, sasha happily gulping down her unfairly earned chunk of bread, only taking notice of how jean was too fixated on mikasa to pay your dismay any mind, "i see it alright."
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
the air was thick with an unrelenting heat, stinking of steam and coppery with fresh blood, your vision fading in and out. your head was ringing with a deafening, high pitched peal and such an unbearable, crippling pain. you could feel your boots dragging across the hot dry dirt as something tugged you back by the collar of your shirt, and the terror of a titan with its misshaped limbs and mouth hauling you to your demise made you thrash aimlessly, screams for help spilling out as a disjointed groan of pain. and though it almost sounded as if you were underwater, sinking further and further beneath the lapping waves of your impending unconscious, you heard it, muffled, desperate, thick with tears, your name spilling from his lips.
and suddenly you remembered, you remembered the kidnapping and the unfaithful comrades and the mission to save humanity's last hope, your former friend now an almost unrecognizable abomination with ymir, bertholdt, and eren sitting atop his shoulders, clasped in his monstrous hands, that had now resorted to flinging titans in his primal desperation for escape. and as you blinked away the spots blacking out your vision, head lolling uselessly to the side, you could see your horse, half crushed in a puddle of red on the yellow grass, and realized that the warmth streaming down the side of your face is your own blood.
"jean..?" you mumbled, uselessly, barely coherent, but the near sob of relief from behind you is like an anchor back to reality.
you could see his calves on either side of you, feet kicking up clouds of dust as he pushed you both back, further from the fray and carnage, as far as he could muster. one of your blade scabbards was missing, you could feel that the clip on your gas tank had snapped off in your spectacular fall caused by the titan that was flung down in your path, irreparable damage most likely made to the fine mechanisms within the housing of your gear. you felt utterly hopeless, watching as the shade of a tree just barely shielded you from the blazing light of the sinking sun, hearing jean's gasping pants from behind you, feeling how rapidly his chest was rising and falling against the back of your head as you slumped into his body, leaden limbs weighing you down uselessly.
"jean." you wheezed, trying desperately to crane your heavy head back to meet his eyes one last time, eyes that no longer harbored the naive passion of youth but still gleamed so radiantly, "leave me.. here. you're g'nna— gonna die.. if you stay..."
you could feel his violent trembles now, feel him rip his green cloak from his shoulder to press against the throbbing wound on your head. "no. i-i'm staying. i n-n-need," he was scared, you knew he was terrified of allowing what happened to marco to happen to you, or sasha, or connie, or anybody, even if the boy's death was nowhere near his fault, "i need to s-save you."
but you could also feel something else—feel it coming—the terrible, earth trembling footfalls of a titan making a shambling, uncoordinated advance to you and the scent of your blood. and suddenly jean was screaming, a sound so raw and petrified that you couldn't help but cry yourself at the sound of it. he laid you down on the ground, bunched cloak pillowing your bleeding skull, unable to push himself to his feet but still drawing his last blade to swing at the thing coming to kill you both, covering your battered body with his own.
and in that moment, you hated yourself. though your head was swimming and your lucidity was waning, you knew that you would both die there, under the baking sun and in the jaws of a titan, and it would be your fault. every regret that you'd ever harbored flooded your mind: not hugging your mother long enough when you still had the chance, not drinking that liquor when squad leader hange had offered it to you, and, most of all, never having the bravery to be honest with jean.
and you mourned all that lost time in those final moments, every late night you'd spent as trainees under the stars when you and your friends would sneak out of the dormitories to talk at some ungodly hour, every shared meal where you didn't speak nearly enough to him, every second of the crushing embraces you'd offered each other when the thought of your fallen friends caught up to you and proved to be far too much to handle on your own. how could you have done so much yet so little with your life?
and just as the titan was stumbling upon you, jean's scream of terror dampening out into a faithless cry, the thing was gone, galloping away to join a newly assembled horde descending upon one single point on the plain. but somehow, you felt no relief, not as you reached out a weak, trembled hand to grasp the blood and dirt streaked fabric of his shirt.
and as he turned to you, eyes still wide and body shaking with horror, thrumming with the adrenaline of near-death, you whispered, hoarse and tired as your grasp on the world slipped away. "i love you, jean. i love you."
your eyes fell shut, the involuntary spiral down further and further into the deep waters of unconsciousness pulling you in deeper and deeper by the second. you were grateful that you at least got to say something meaningful as your last words.
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
there was a bright light, delicate, billowing fabric flouncing about in your bleary gaze as your eyes barely opened, something wrapped tight around your head, not making the pressure of the pounding headache any better. you couldn't fight the groan that even the small movement of turning onto your back caused, but you tried to force your lids open just an inch more at the sound of a gasp coming from somewhere in the room.
there were fast footsteps, a few shouts of "sasha, no!" and then a crushing weight on your chest, squeezing around you, pulling you up in bed as a tearful sob of your name came from a comfortingly familiar voice.
"sasha. please. h-hurts." you barely managed to croak out, feeling yourself been torn free—or rather, her torn away—as connie yelled.
"get off them, you moron, they're fucking injured!!"
"i'm s-s-sorry!" she wailed, allowing herself to be dragged to the door by the disgruntled boy, "i'm j-just so happy you're s-s-still alive!!!"
"and i am too, but that doesn't mean i'm gonna go throw myself on top of them while they're in the hospital!"
their bickering was almost comforting in a way, allowing the strain in your chest from sasha's hug to ease as you watched them elbow each other in the sides on their way out of the room to take their loudness out into the hall, blowing raspberries and struggling to not laugh through their feigned anger. and finally your gaze was allowed to wander over to the furthest wall from your bed, and you saw jean, staring down at his shoes, brow furrowed and lip bitten. and he seemed almost startled to find yourself in his gaze, feet slowly taking him to your side.
"i owe you my life, you know?" you said as he settled himself on the edge of the mattress, still not meeting your gaze.
"you don't owe me anything. you shouldn't feel in debt to me."
"but i do," you risked to settle your hand over his, finally drawing his worried, amber eyes onto yours, and you could feel your heart beginning to pick up, the butterflies that you had always forced to settle with a pessimistic thought to squash your optimism light in your chest, "i meant what i said before i passed out in the field. i always have."
and for just a moment, you thought that this was finally it, that you would no longer have to languish over wasted time and wasted words, fingers just barely curling around his warm palm. then, a knock at the door, light and delicate before the handle turned, pushing open to reveal mikasa.
and you caught every small movement of jean's features, the way his eyes sparked with a familiar light, the sudden, faint flush of color across his slender face, lips parting and just barely perking up at the ends. an endless, unwavering adoration.
"eren is awake, if you'd like to talk to him." that was all she had peeked in to say, but jean was still gazing at the door for a moment too long after she'd left.
"u-um.. if you don't mind—"
"go ahead." you told him, gently, pulling your hand away, retreating as far as your body could into the mattress, under the covers, turning your gaze away.
and though he'd slowly, almost nervously exited your room, you could hear the clear pick-up in his pace as soon as he'd shut the door behind him and exited into the hall, probably rushing to try and catch mikasa for a moment alone in the hallway before he had to share her attention with everyone else.
and it hurt, like a blade buried between your ribs, being jerked and twisted with every memory of his affinity, the one that was never directed at you despite how you craved it. and you'd realized that you had melded a life in his shape, a life where you were always just a few steps too far behind, hand outstretched, reaching for him as you hurried to grasp at any minuscule opportunity to be with him, speak to him, hear his laugh and see his near blinding smiles that never seemed to last long enough to you.
but, perhaps one day, someday farther into the future. and if not then, maybe in another life.
#jean kirstein#jean kirschtein x you#jean kirstein x you#jean kirstein x reader#jean kirschtein x reader#jean kirschtein angst#jean kirstein angst#snk x reader#snk x you#aot x reader#aot x you#shingeki no kyoujin x reader#shingeki no kyojin fanfiction
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