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67midnightwriter · 3 months ago

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I can think of someone that I want to be this kind of unprofessional with...

It's Fucking Unprofessional

A Story from The Boys Universe

~ While working as a PA for Vought, Y/N has made one promise to herself: to stay the fuck away from Soldier Boy. Some promises are too easily broken…~

Soldier Boy x F!Reader

2,434 Words

NSFW. Snark. Cursing. Assholery. Fucking.

For @jacklesversebingo “You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions”

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He was terrifying up close.

It wasn’t just the knowledge that he could rip her apart with a simple flick of his wrist, or shove her so hard she’d splatter against the wall like a bug on a windshield. It was much worse than all that. It was the fact that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His green eyes behind that mask were piercing… the way his muscles pulsed beneath the suit was mesmerizing… the way he walked with that bow-legged swagger was sexy as hell. Being attracted to the epic piece of shit was way more dangerous than the threat of death.

When Y/N got the job at Vought Studios, she made a promise to her diary and herself. In no way would she get so close to him as to give away the fact that her innocent pussy dripped whenever he was around. She would ignore him entirely. Besides, his behavior was reprehensible. His attitude toward women was disgusting. His ass was so perky and tight and… No. She was going to be strong. She was going to steer clear of all that nonsense.

Not that he’d ever pay attention to someone like her. The key aspect of her job was to be neither seen nor heard; just a person waiting in the wings to hand off a prop, run and get coffee, and clean up the dressing rooms. It would be easy to stay in the shadows, completely off his radar.

Soldier Boy was pissed.

He may have actually been pissed as well as just angry: he stank of rye and stale cigarettes, and fumbled over his lines more than a few times.

For over an hour, he held the crew hostage while attempting to film his required Anti-Drug PSA. Vought was trying to score some points with the public by helping out D.A.R.E. by pimping out their celebrity supes for commercial spots. Soldier Boy was next in line and very unhappy about it.

After the twentieth take, he demanded caffeine and production halted until Y/N returned with a styrofoam cup full of black coffee.

Y/N held her breath and tried to walk away without really looking at him, but Soldier Boy flipped. He sniffed the drink and sneered.

“Is this hot?”

Y/N stepped back as he stared into her eyes, daring her to say something. A wave of arousing fear washed over her as he slammed the cup to the floor. It splintered like rotted wood and the hot liquid went everywhere.

“Iced!”

She jumped.

He raged on.

“Iced coffee!” he screamed. “It’s not hard!”

Nerves ran down her spine and Y/N moved to grab a rag from the craft table.

“It’s fucking unprofessional!”

A knot formed in her chest and instead of shying away, she felt a surge of defiance.

“You’re fucking unprofessional,” she ripped under her breath.

Soldier Boy’s head cocked to the side. She felt his eyes on the back of her neck, digging in.

“Excuse me?”

Y/N turned back with the cleaning rag in hand. “Hmm?”

His jaw clenched and his upper lip twitched. “The fuck did you say to me?”

Batting her eyes innocently, Y/N shrugged and bent down to mop up the spill. “I didn’t say anything.”

His anger followed her down, watching as she dabbed at the floor. Leaning close, he whispered a warning. “I have super hearing, you know.”

Y/N hummed as if she found him boring even though she was screaming inside. “That must be fun for you.”

Again, his teeth gnashed together and she swore she could feel the air around them grow hotter. A deep growl rumbled in the back of his throat and Y/N met his gaze, unfazed but terrified. He was taken aback by her bravery and somewhat impressed by her attitude.

“You know-”

The director called for attention and Soldier Boy sat back up, getting ready while keeping one eye on the mouthy PA.

“OK! Let’s run again!”

If he got through two lines in a row, it was shocking. More than once, he stopped just to glare at Y/N. She couldn’t tell if he was contemplating snapping her neck or undressing her with his eyes, so she kept her arms crossed and her expression cool.

“If taking drugs is uncool,” he mumbled, laughing at himself, “then I’m the most uncool motherfucker on the planet…”

Some of the crew laughed along, but Y/N sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “You really are,” she muttered.

His laugh died away instantly and he threw daggers with his eyes. “Fuck you.”

Y/N cocked a brow. “Like I’d let you,” she laughed.

Soldier Boy straightened up, surprised. His annoyance turned to interest and he licked his lips. “Oh, I think you’d let me.”

She tongued her cheek and popped a hip. “You think?”

“I know.”

“Pfft.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.”

His smile faded and she turned away, giving him a literal cold shoulder.

The air shifted and her heart stopped when his big hand wrapped around her upper arm, jerking her back a step.

His lips grazed her ear. “You wanna rethink that last statement, sweetheart?”

Y/N tried to wrench her arm away but his grip was absolute. She spun around to face him and nearly lost her footing. He was impossibly close and regrettably gorgeous. She gasped.

“Get off me.”

He blinked slowly and looked her over. He could hear her heart pounding, see the blood rush to her cheeks, smell her arousal. “You’re so… interesting.”

She swallowed hard. “W-What?”

“Defiant and bitchy, but oh so hot for me.”

“Fuck you, no I’m not.” Again, she twisted her arm to break free but it was no use.

His fingers tightened, bruising her flesh. “You are,” he grinned. “I can smell it.”

“You’re disgusting,” she spat.

Behind them, the director tried to regain control.

“Um- let’s uh- if we could just go one more time-”

Soldier Boy shook his head. “No. We got it.”

“We really didn’t,” the man pleaded. “I really think we should go again from the top.”

“No,” he repeated, dragging his eyes down her trembling body. “That’s a wrap!”

She wasn’t sure if he was carrying her or if they were simply moving too fast for her brain to register her feet on the ground.

Soldier Boy broke the lock on a random office door and shoved Y/N inside. He flipped on the lights and kicked the door shut as he turned to smirk at her.

“Now, where were we?”

Y/N backed away, internally battling her desire and aversion. “I believe I was telling you what a piece of shit you are.”

He laughed at her daring words. “You’re something else, you know that?”

She shrugged, playing it cool. “It’s been said.”

“Yeah, but not by me.” With a smug smile, he pulled the mask from his face and ran a hand through his hair.

Y/N felt her defenses crack. Her vision blurred for a second. “Um… I… really don’t care what you think, actually.”

He clicked his tongue and took a step closer. “I think you do, actually.”

Her heart skipped two beats in a row and then struggled to catch up. “Actually, you can fuck off.”

“Maybe.” Soldier Boy grinned and closed the space between them. “Or…” He reached for her throat and her body tensed. Instead of a death grip, he slipped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close. He was gentle, but she could feel the strength pulsing underneath his touch. “I can fuck you.”

She couldn’t think of a protest that would even remotely come off as true but it didn’t matter anyway. Before she could speak, his lips were on her and her mind melted. He slid his tongue between her lips and her breath stopped. He ran his left hand across her tits and her legs went weak.

When he pulled back, she swayed forward, caught in his pull and utterly on fire for him.

His laugh was smug. His lips were wet and plump.

“Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teased. “But it was a nice try.”

Every bit of resistance faded into his grin and Y/N dove at him, grabbing a fistful of the fabric collar loose around his throat. He laughed into her hungry kiss and set his hands on her hips. He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather, and slammed her down onto the desk like she was simply a toy for his amusement.

He rocked into her and Y/N moaned loudly. His cock was hard and she reached down, rubbing him through the spandex tights.

“How- how do these come off?” she whimpered, tugging at his bottoms.

Another deep kiss blew her mind and Soldier Boy held her chin in two fingers, stretching her throat and setting her face where he wanted. She held the pose while he backed away and stripped for her. Layer after layer of forest green and woody brown fell away and Y/N clenched her thighs tight as more muscle was revealed.

“Fuck… you’re gorgeous,” she breathed.

He smirked and spread his feet apart. “I know.” Grabbing his dick, he stroked himself slowly and nodded at her. “Now you.”

Y/N shivered and hopped down from the desk. Nervously, she tugged at the hem of her oversized periwinkle sweater and yanked it up.

Soldier Boy sucked his teeth. “No. Slowly.”

She took a breath and started again, this time lifting away the soft polyester slowly and deliberately. Next came her jeans and he hummed in lustful admiration as she tugged the acid-washed denim down her thighs.

“Very nice.”

Embolden, Y/N turned and shook her ass for him as she unhooked her bra.

“Go on…”

She tossed the garment over her shoulder.

“Keep going.”

Aching with anticipation, she slid her hands into her panties and inched them down, bending at the hips and showing him everything.

“Fucking hell…”

He was on her in a second; big hands tight on her hips, hard cock snug between her thighs. He settled there for a moment, letting her juices drip down onto his throbbing shaft. She leaned back and he scratched his fingers up her sides and scooped her tits into his warm palms.

“Fuck… your hands are so big,” she mewed.

He jerked his hips and the tip of his cock slid against her clit.

“Just my hands?”

Y/N bit her lip and wiggled against him. “Let’s find out.”

He flipped her over like it was nothing and threw her down on the edge of the desk. She spread her legs wide and he set up camp between them.

“You ready?” he asked, already lining up.

She nodded breathlessly and arched her back off the desk, begging. “Do it. Please!”

It was almost painful the way he snapped his hips into her. His thick cock spread her apart and her flesh burned at the pull. She bit back a scream when he pressed all the way in; dropped her jaw when he tugged her hips down off the desk. His blunt nails sunk into her soft curves, nearly drawing blood. She held her breath. He thrust his cock deeper inside. She lost her mind.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” It was all she could say and it amused him like nothing else.

With a grunt, Soldier Boy lifted her legs high and pushed forward, bending her in half. The new angle pushed him in so deep Y/N thought she could feel his cock tap against the base of her throat. She gagged and her eyes rolled. He laughed and dipped down to lick at her lips.

“What a good little bitch,” he teased. “Taking my cock so good.”

She moaned with each hard thrust and her tongue rolled out of her mouth. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. There was nothing but mindless, pounding pleasure and his bright green eyes.

He ran his tongue up hers and hummed. “That’s a good idea.”

In a flash, she was on her knees, swaying side to side as he stroked his cock. His fist was a blur, her eyes were white.

“Open wide.”

Y/N dropped her jaw and he slid inside.

“Suck.”

Her lips clamped down and she took a deep breath, pulling at his velvety skin. Her tongue undulated against the pulsing vein of his big cock and Soldier Boy fit his giant hand on the back of her head. He held her in place and bucked his hips, jabbing his cock down her throat. She choked on him, moaning in bliss and protest as spit spilled from the corners of her mouth and coated her tits.

“Fucking perfect,” he grit, throwing his head back and enjoying her desperate whimpers and the tightness of her throat.

Her eyes began to water and he could hear her lungs screaming for air. He set her free.

“Fuck!” Y/N wobbled on her weak knees and nearly fell to the floor.

Soldier Boy caught her quickly and set her back on her feet, bent over on the desk. Her tits smashed against the wood and he kicked her legs apart.

“You’re one hell of a PA,” he praised.

Her cunt pulsed as he ran the tip of his cock across its lips. “It’s… my… job…”

He grinned. “Sure is.” He pushed inside. “Gotta give the talent your full attention.” He slapped her ass hard. “Give them anything they want.” He grabbed the back of her neck and lifted her off of the desk, arching her spine awkwardly. “Isn’t that right?”

She moaned. “Yes!”

“Correct.”

He let her go and she fell back down, just a ragdoll for him to fuck to his satisfaction.

When he was done he slapped her ass, leaving a welt behind as a souvenir.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, already forgetting about her as he tugged his suit back on and fixed his hair.

Y/N crumbled to the floor, her legs spread wide, her back against the desk. She sat there for a long while, feeling his palm print burn on her bottom and his cum leak from her cunt. He didn’t look back as he left, didn’t even shut the door.

Soldier Boy disappeared down the hall and Y/N shook herself, wondering how the hell she’d broken her promise and let him get to her.

Not that she was mad about it.

Just sore.

#iykyk

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67midnightwriter · 3 months ago

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God this is just… heart wrenchingly perfect.

Be My Mistake

A Short Story

~ When Rebekah is asked to write with Jensen on his first solo album, the chemistry extends past the page and bleeds into real life. Both happily married, they tried to fight the spark between them, but some things aren’t so easy to ignore… ~

Jensen Ackles x Rebekah Jordan

6,211 Words

Romance, Angst, Infidelity, Sex and Love and Heartache

Inspired by the song of the same name by The 1975. Written for @jacklesversebingo “Bad Decisions Were Made” was my prompt. I was also challenged to put myself into a fic, so here we are!

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

He kept a guitar pick in his pocket.

It wasn’t just any pick. It was the blue one with her teeth marks dented into the top. She’d stolen it from him that night on the beach when the wind was gently lifting her long hair and the fire lit the gold in her eyes. Bare toes dug into the warm sand, they spent the evening writing songs and drinking too much wine. The wine was cheap but the lyrics were good. Her voice was soft and blended almost too perfectly with his. It was magical the way she matched his harmonies, beautiful the way her soft lips danced around his words. The flames transfixed them both and he fell deep into her that night.

He never left home without that pick in his pocket, never let it out of his sight. It was a secret bit of her that he’d stolen, a tangible memory of the feelings she’d sparked within him.

Maybe it kept him grounded, maybe it kept him from making the same mistakes again. He didn’t really know why, but the reasons didn’t matter. Whenever he felt the prickling hand of anxiety curl around the back of his neck, a touch of that pick was all he needed to push it away. If the stress of home was growing too strong or another woman turned his head, he’d run his thumb across the pick, feel her phantom marks, and remember the beauty and pain of loving her.

It was hard to keep it a secret, but happy was easy to fake. He smiled for the cameras; laughed when he needed to. He turned up the charm so those around him couldn’t tell he was shattered inside.

There was sand on the sheets and salt on their skin.

Jensen pushed up on his strong arms and hovered over her, staring into her eyes and making her blush for the thousandth time.

Rebekah bit her lip and shied away, unable to stand the way he looked into her heart so deeply, so contentedly.

“Don’t do that,” she whispered, turning her head.

Jensen chased her gaze. “Why not?”

“Because you’re freaking me out.”

He grinned and drew his pink tongue across his plump bottom lip. “Why’s that?”

Beka’s throat tightened and her eyes burned. Emotions were too high, she was too drunk, and he was too beautiful. “You’re like… digging into my soul. It’s strange. No one looks at me like that.”

He sighed gently and sat back on his ankles between her knees. “They should,” he answered. “They’re missing out.”

Embarrassed, she tried to hide her face in her hands, but he wouldn’t let her. Tender fingers wrapped around each wrist as he lowered her hands and set them down on her hips.

“Don’t…”

Jensen dipped his chin and let his gaze sweep over her nakedness. It was dark in the room but the moon sent streaks of pale silver through the sheer curtains, highlighting every soft curve. “You’re beautiful.”

Her body tensed. She tried to squirm from his grip and grab the sheet, bury her face, and hide herself away. “Stop it.”

“No.” He released her wrists but held on, slowly sliding his big hands up her arms. “You are. I’m sorry no one tells you that.”

His hands went higher and her chest grew tighter. She blinked a tear away but he never closed his eyes, watching every flinch, every breath.

“You should hear it every fucking day.”

“Jensen-”

When his palms settled on her cheeks, her protests fell aside. Transfixed by his gaze and the song of his voice, Beka melted into his touch and invited his kiss with a shy smile that drove him wild.

“We really shouldn’t be here,” she whispered before his lips found their target.

“I know, but…” He closed his eyes and his lashes brushed across the apple of her cheeks. His hands pushed through her black hair, holding her close. “Just one night. Please.”

She always turned off the light.

It felt safer in the dark. She pretended to believe that if she couldn’t see him then it wasn’t really happening and if it wasn’t really happening, no one would get hurt. No vows were being broken, no hearts would shatter.

She wished she’d kept the lights on.

Wished she had kept her eyes open, memorized every line on his face, every hair out of place, every tiny smile. She should have studied him closely, tucked away his image in her mind, and savored his taste on her tongue. She should have stayed focused and pushed away the mind-numbing pleasure and the time blindness that adrenaline brings. She should have tried harder to remember every second with him.

“This just isn’t fucking working!”

Jensen ripped the headphones from his head and tossed them across the room. They hit the wall with a crackling thud and Beka watched the black plastic pop off the band and shatter.

He spun away from the microphone and raked a hand through his hair, aggravated at himself and the time they were wasting. His face was red, his jaw tense, eyes wild.

Beka leaned on her guitar and watched him pace. He could spend hours like this, running his mind through every tiny mistake, desperate to perfect each note. She sighed.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” she told him.

Jensen laughed bitterly as he kicked at the broken headphones. “Yeah. Right. Did you go deaf in the last ten minutes?”

She could tell they wouldn’t get anywhere with him throwing a fit. She huffed her cheeks up and let the air out in a half whistle. “Jack?” She waved at the sound engineer watching them through the big glass window. “Wanna take five?”

A thumbs up appeared and Jack left them alone.

Carefully, she set her guitar on the stand and hopped down from the stool. Barefoot, she padded over the worn Oriental rug to the door and turned the big dial next to it. The overhead lights dimmed and Jensen froze in place.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you a break.”

He balled his fists and rolled his shoulders. His body was tense; his blood pressure was high. “I don’t need a break,” he growled. “I need this fucking song to be done!”

Rebekah wet her lips and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

“It sounds like shit! Everything I fucking do sounds like shit!”

She kicked her right foot back and leaned against the door, watching.

“Fifteen fucking takes and it’s still wrong! The whole fucking thing is wrong!” He threw a punch at nothing, expending a surge of rageful energy that had collected in his bicep. “This is pointless!”

“I don’t think it’s pointless.” She kicked off the door and took a step into the room. “I think it sounds great so far.”

Jensen looked up at the dark ceiling and sighed. He waved her away, annoyed. “You don’t get it.”

“I don’t get what? That you’re a perfectionist and it’s giving you an ulcer?”

His jaw twitched. Green eyes pierced through her like daggers. “You don’t understand what kind of pressure I’m under all the fucking time! It has to be perfect! I have to be perfect!”

His voice echoed through the studio but did not escape the expertly crafted walls. It simply bounced back and slapped him in the face.

Beka sucked her teeth and took another step closer. “You’re right.”

He balked; eyes narrowing at her.

“I don’t understand what it’s like,” she went on. “I don't know what it’s like to spend every day working my ass off and every weekend being talked at, screamed at, and touched by strangers.”

Jensen sighed heavily and shook his head, annoyed. “That’s not-”

She kept going. “I don’t know what it’s like to absorb a million camera flashes or hear my name said over and over.”

“I don’t mean it like that-”

“I don’t understand what you go through, Jensen.”

He softened. His shoulders dropped, his hands unclenched, his breath slowed. He closed his eyes.

“But I do understand what I hear in your voice.” She finished closing the space between them, standing only inches away. “I understand what I feel when I read your words.”

He shook his head, still unbelieving and frustrated.

Her voice dropped low. “I know what I know when I’m with you.”

Jensen opened his eyes and met her gaze.

“And what I know is that you are… amazing and talented and truly… incredible.” She smiled and he dropped his head, too tired to fight and needing every word. “You awe me every day, Jensen. Every part of you is simply incredible.” She lifted her hand to his chin and drew his face up to hers. “And if you want to spend the next… forty years getting these songs out of your beautiful mind… Spend a decade recording them over and over again until they’re painfully perfect, I’ll be here at your side until you’re satisfied.”

A peaceful warmth washed over him and she could see it in his eyes. He grinned. “Until I’m satisfied?”

She rolled her eyes at his teasing joke. “I should really choose my words better.”

Jensen reached for her. “I think you chose them perfectly…” His big hand wrapped around the nape of her neck and he pulled her close.

His lips were cracked and dry but his tongue was hot, wet; hungry. She sighed into him and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, digging her fingers into the soft black cotton.

“You’re fucking amazing,” she whispered as he walked her backward; his long strides forcing her to keep up until her back was flush against the wall. “So fucking amazing.”

He licked into her mouth, dragged his hand down her body; rocked his hips against hers. She tugged at his hair and gasped as his teeth scraped over her pulse.

“We shouldn’t do this here…”

“I know…” Jensen sucked a mark behind her ear.

She shivered at the hard pull of his lips. “Maybe… just a quick break…”

He never slept much.

The hours just before dawn were the worst. He’d lay awake staring at the clock on his phone, begging the minutes to pass or the kiss of sleep to return. Too early to move, too anxious to rest. He still craved those midnight masses in her arms, those nights when nothing mattered but her breath on his skin and her lips at his ear. Her sacred whispers too blasphemous to repeat but too beautiful to forget.

Some nights he would wash his face in the blue light of his screen, scroll until he saw her face, and then hug the phone to his chest. Could she feel him across the miles? Did she know she was on his mind?

A gentle buzz woke her, the vibration of her nightstand made her move.

Blinking into two a.m. darkness, Rebekah grabbed her cell and swiped quickly to shut off the alert. Her husband snored beside her, halfway across the world in their king-sized bed.

The light burned her eyes but the message soothed them instantly.

‘You up?’

Jensen. She smiled and rolled onto her side with the phone clutched tight.

‘Kinda. why are you? Can’t sleep?’

‘My head’s too busy. Can I call?’

She closed her eyes and took a breath. Hubby shifted in his sleep.

‘Yeah. lemme go outside’

‘Meet you there.’

Carefully, Jensen slipped out of bed and crept down the hall. He avoided the creaky spots on the floor and held his breath when he passed the twins’ bedroom.

The night air was warm and he sat on the patio, staring at the moon’s reflection on the surface of the swimming pool, wondering how cold the water was. He thought to stick his toes in, but before he could move, his phone vibrated.

“Hey.”

Beka exhaled a sweet breath into the phone. All nerves and worry faded when she heard his voice. It was always like a blanket around her, warm and safe. “Hey, Jen.” She sat on the back deck under the stars, a bit chilly but it felt good. “What’s got your brain running around?”

“Oh, you know. Work. Life. Wife.”

She laughed softly. “Yeah, I get that.”

The quiet between them was never hard, the distance never awkward. Just hearing her breathing was enough for him. His gentle hums made her smile.

“Wrote a new song this morning,” he told her. “One of those ‘in the shower’ moments.”

“I don’t think you can put out a song about jerking off in the shower, sir.”

He laughed. She could see it in her head: that brilliant smile, his head tipping back, his shoulders quaking.

“Not like that!”

“Yeah, yeah. Dirty old man…”

“So what, you never jerk off in the shower?”

Her cheeks burned. “I’ve been known to rub one… or two… out in the shower, yeah.”

He licked his lips, intrigued. “And what do you think about when you do?”

“You.”

Jensen shifted, unconsciously spreading his bowed legs. “Oh yeah?”

“Generally, yeah.”

“What are you wearing right now?”

She chewed her lip and slid down in her chair. “PJs.”

He laughed. “Tell me.”

“Um… burgundy tank top…”

“Nice… and? Shorts?”

“Nope.”

“Those cute lacy panties I like?”��

She clenched her thighs. “Perhaps…”

He hummed in lustful approval.

Beka ran a hand slowly down her body. “And you?”

“Boxers. Blue stripes.”

“Nothing else?”

He laughed quietly. “It’s warm here.”

She moaned. “I wish it was warm here.” Her fingertips grazed her nipple. “I wish you were here.”

Jensen sighed. “Me too, Bek…”

They watched the sky slowly lighten. He caught the rays first and then a few moments later they hit her face. The hour had come to tear them apart, but neither wanted to move. It was too easy to keep talking, too perfect to give up.

“The man will be up soon,” Beka said finally. She let out a heavy exhale and sat up, pushing her bare feet onto the old wooden planks. “I should go.”

“Not yet…”

Jensen closed his eyes against the light and pictured himself next to her. The pink sunrise glowing on her pale skin, the June breeze lifting her long hair. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to sweep the hair off her shoulder and kiss her there, to pull her close and spend the morning in her arms.

“Jen- you gotta go, too. She’ll be up any minute.”

He swallowed down the fantasy and huffed. “Yeah… I know.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

He smiled sadly. “Not soon enough…”

His wife was still out cold when he laid back down. Jensen closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand down his face. Calls weren’t enough. Texts were pointless. He needed to see her, needed to feel that rush again.

Beka rolled toward the middle of the bed and tucked her phone beneath the pillow. None-the-wiser, her husband breathed deeply and woke, stretching his left arm out to catch a hug. She curled into him and won a kiss atop her head.

“Morning, Princess.”

She breathed back a tear. “Morning.”

She always loved the little bottles of alcohol they hand out on airplanes. A few sips of vodka did wonders on a flight from coast to coast. A mini bottle of Jameson masked turbulence enough for the clouds to rattle through the plane without invoking any fear. A nip of Bacardi helped lull her to sleep when the cabin was freezing and her neighbor sat too close.

Tiny bottles of magic. Magic that made long journeys seem a little shorter, a little easier. They helped lessen the guilt that struggled to hold her back, the pain of wanting, and the fear of the eternal end.

The carpet was thin but her ass was numb. She sat on the floor, leaning against his hotel room door, lamenting her choices and hating her circumstances.

There hadn’t been nearly enough booze on the flight to Chicago to erase the sins graffitied on her heart, but there had been a liquor store.

She took a long drink straight from the bottle and hummed as the sweet honey glaze of the whiskey coated her tongue. The sting was long gone. She swallowed hard as the elevator door opened and looked up.

Through the drunken blur, she saw him. Boots first. The brown ones with two-inch heels, muted gold rivets, and tan laces. The cuffs of his dark jeans were turned up at the ankle and she followed them up his bowed legs. She’d know those legs anywhere. He was so perfectly imperfect that it made her want to cry. Everything about him was wrong in some little way, but it all came together in a heavenly masterpiece. Crooked nose, rocket-fin ears, bowed legs- he was beautiful.

Tears welled at the thought and Beka wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

Jensen stopped a few feet away, eclipsing the light above and casting a shadowy figure over her face. “Waiting for someone?”

She laughed despite the tears and cleared her throat, trying to hide the emotions running rampant. “Well, I was supposed to meet this guy for dinner but apparently his photo ops ran long and he didn’t feel the need to call and tell me…”

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He hung his head and sucked at his bottom lip. “Things were crazy today; everything was off schedule. A light popped during solos and the rig almost fell over and crushed Chris and-”

Beka was staring up at him with disappointment written on her face. He sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

She took another drink and shrugged. “Shit happens.” The bottle, half empty, found a nest in the carpet fibers as she dropped it beside her thigh. “What can ya do?”

“You drink all that yourself?” he asked, crouching down to catch it before it tipped over.

“Well… yeah.” She sat forward and leaned close. “Ain’t nobody else here, is there?”

He grabbed the neck and she grabbed his wrist, wrapping her fingers around tight. Her bottom lip trembled and a dimple in the center of her chin appeared. She pulled in a deep breath.

“I really wanted to see you tonight,” she whispered.

“I’m right here.”

“You know what I mean!”

He closed his eyes for a moment as her anger dissipated. She was never mad at him for too long but she needed to let him know she felt slighted.

“I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “I know. I am too.”

Carefully, he took her other hand. He rocked back on his heels and stood up, dragging her with him. She stumbled on a sleeping left foot and fell against him.

“Oops.” She laughed and wrapped her hand around his neck; nuzzled her lips against his ear. “You caught me… my hero.”

His laugh tickled her cheek. “You’re very drunk.”

“No shit.”

Jensen stepped toward the door and shifted her in his arms while trying to dig the key from his back pocket. Beka held on as if the floor would open up and swallow her whole if she let go.

“Oh! I got you a present,” she said, remembering the tiny plastic bottle in her pocket. “Lady on the plane gave me gin.”

“You hate gin.”

The lock clicked and he opened the door.

“I know. That’s why I saved it for you and your stupid negronis.” She let him lead her into the dark room and stood still while he flipped on the light. “I know you like those things. I don’t know why. They taste like shit and-”

His hands were on her in an instant, knocking the words from her mind as he spun her around.

“Please shut up and kiss me,” he begged. “I miss you.”

“But I’m drunk,” she reminded him, smiling in his arms as his fingertips brushed the bangs out of her eyes.

Green eyes lured her in, plump lips sealed the deal.

“I don’t care.”

Sometimes he had trouble remembering.

One moment, he would be flooded with memory- the taste of cold coffee and stale cigarettes in the diner that first week; the feel of the old, ratty air conditioner blasting down on the back of his neck. The accidental touch of her knuckles as he reached across the table to steal her pen. He’d smile, breathe deep, and linger in the phantom feelings. Then it would all fade. He’d struggle to bring back the taste of her skin, the sound of her humming harmony to his melody. She was slowly fading and he hated it.

He kept her words in his wallet: a worn slip of paper from the register covered in her handwriting. The first song they’d written together seemed to come so easily in that little diner in the middle of the night. Words and a feeling. Rhymes and a shy smile.

He missed every part of it.

The brewery was buzzing with excitement. The crowd was grooving; the band was on fire.

Jensen clung to the mic stand as if it were the only thing keeping him standing. His knuckles were pale, his cheeks burned bright red.

Rebekah kept her eyes glued to him, ignoring the crowd and the friendly faces that stood out. She watched his stage fright slowly subside as the audience accepted his new songs; saw his shoulders relax and his smile soften. His voice grew stronger and his confidence soared.

When he looked over his shoulder, she was there just like she had promised. He smiled when their gaze met, so ready to sink into the rich brown of her eyes, the warmth of her body, the taste and smell of her. She blushed and hit a wrong note, her fingers sliding off the strings, distracted by his freckled beauty.

He had his brewery ballcap on backward and she wanted to reach out and whack the bill, flip it off his head, and let his long hair cascade into his face. She wanted to grab him by the collar and tug his lips down to hers. To crush her guitar between their bodies and lick deep into his mouth, suck gently on his plump lips, take his breath away.

Applause broke her fantasy and she ended the song with a dramatic sweep over the strings.

Jensen gave the crowd a little wave and a humble nod. “Thanks so much, guys. Thank you!” He paused and took in the room. The energy was high and so was he, drunk on beer and the moment. He sighed heavily and happily. “Thank you so much for coming out tonight and helping me launch this album. I’m really proud of it and I hope you like it.”

A pop filled the room and he bit his lip at the adulation.

Beka was close to tears as she watched him. Incredibly proud. Perfectly amazed.

“So, uh, I want to just take a second to thank my writing partner…” He turned and waved at Beka who winked in return. “Rebekah Jordan, everybody! Doing everything behind the scenes- writing, singing harmonies, playing drums… badly.”

“Hey! I told you I wasn’t a drummer!” she shouted back.

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me you were so bad!”

She shot up two middle fingers and Jensen smirked. A spark of clear arousal struck them both and he quickly looked away, back to the crowd.

He cleared his throat. “And- my beautiful wife! Thank you for all the support and inspiration.” He gestured to the back of the room where she stood behind the bar. Arms crossed in obvious displeasure, she simply nodded at her husband.

“Anyway- this is another new one. Hope you like it…”

Four simple chords rippled through the air and Jensen closed his eyes. He held the mic in both hands and let his voice float like honey, covering every person there until the audience was swaying in time with the band.

“So long gone, too far away,

Spent my life on the road.

Whipping wind and freezin’ rain,

Crossing the river as it overflowed…”

Jensen looked back at her, singing their words and missing her touch.

She lifted her head to find the microphone, ready to sing behind him, but she caught his eye and gasped. He was too beautiful. He was staring too hard.

“But ever since I met you I’ve been home.

Doesn’t matter where on earth I roam.

All I have to do is reach out for your hand and I’m

Right back where I’m meant to be…”

She kept his bandana. Even though she couldn’t look at it, couldn’t touch it without breaking down, it held too much of their time together to get rid of.

The black fabric was soft from years of use, the white design dingy and nearly see-through. It had collected his sweat and wiped away her tears, even staunched the blood when she’d scraped her knee outside of that bar in Pittsburgh. He kept it tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, ready to dab barbeque sauce from his lip or dry a spot for her to sit after a rainstorm.

It lived forever in a box hidden in the back of her closet somewhere between her winter boots and pants that fit two sizes ago.

She never took it out, but she knew it was there.

Ten shows under their belts. Ten small stages knew their chemistry; heard their voices mixing like cream and sugar. Perfectly blended, perfectly in sync, perfectly unable to keep their smiles casual or their eyes from lingering.

When they sang together it was like there was no one else in the room. Jensen would lose himself in the melody, letting her voice wrap around his mind and heart. She’d be stuck staring at his hands so tightly wound around the mic stand, or the way he leaned back to hit a high note. They were too comfortable with each other, too obviously connected.

For an hour and a half each night, they were in their own little world.

For hours after they’d lay in each other’s arms, watch the sun come up over a different city, and share their dreams.

One Saturday night after a show Rebekah was lingering around backstage, feeling a little out of place around the actors there for the convention. She knew them all from afar but never dared to mingle. It felt strange to insert herself into his life in that way. She was only there for the music, only there for Jensen.

He was off talking to a short blonde, laughing and enjoying the buzz from being on stage all night. Now and then, he’d catch a glimpse of Beka on the sidelines and smile that secret smile he saved only for her. Every time, it made her heart swell and her cheeks burn. She’d wink back and look away, embarrassed by her girly reaction.

“Great job out there.”

She turned to find a shirtless Matt Cohen redressing in front of her as if to impress her. She clicked her tongue and looked around him back at the group.

“You too.”

He grinned and followed her line of sight back to Jensen. A knowing smirk turned his lips.

“You and Ackles are really getting along, huh?” He moved to stand beside her, his back to the wall, mirroring her stance.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, I guess. He’s a great guy.”

“The album is really good,” he went on. “That one song- what is it? Something about the beach?”

“‘The Salt on Your Skin’?”

He nodded and kicked a foot back against the cement wall. “Yeah. That one. Really nice.”

“Thanks.”

“Very romantic.”

He looked over at her. His green eyes were pale but intrusive. She shivered.

“I suppose,” she replied, trying to hide the nerves growing in her gut. “It is a love song, so…”

Matt tongued his cheek. “Very… personal, I think…” His eyes flew to Jensen and back again.

Rebekah tensed up and took a step away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do. We all do.” He shrugged and pushed off the wall. “But whatever. Have fun just- be careful.”

Her stomach dropped as he walked away. His warning wasn’t a surprise; she’d been getting looks for weeks, but hearing it out loud, knowing that people knew- she couldn’t stop the dark shadow of guilt from creeping over her face.

When Jensen finally broke free of the conversation, she was gone.

The back of the building was quiet and empty. Fans spilled out around the front, milling about and filling the bright walkways with laughter and excitement.

Rebekah stood in the dark.

She closed her ears to the distant noise, replaying Matt’s condemning words and hating herself. If he knew, then everyone knew.

Everyone.

Since they’d debuted the album, fans had been whispering online, sharing theories and conspiracies, pointing to lyrics and photographs, spinning a web of fantasy around her and Jensen. Mostly, they’d been wild, elaborate stories about a house at the beach, messy divorces, and a secret love child.

She barely paid attention, but there was a hint of truth in every speculation, and she knew what had to be done before things got out of hand.

Lifting her face to the pale half-moon, Rebekah let a tear slip and she closed her eyes. She saw her husband’s face in her mind, heard his voice, and felt his touch. She saw his wife’s hateful stare, her accusing gestures, her utter avoidance.

Things had gone too far.

“Bek?”

She sighed. “Yeah?”

The security door shut behind him. “You OK?”

She shrugged.

He moved to her side. “What happened? You just left.”

“I don’t know. I just… needed some air.”

Jensen reached for her hand and she flinched away.

“Did something happen? Cohen say something to you?” The worry in his voice made her turn to face him. His brow was creased, his lips tight.

“He did,” she confessed, “but it doesn’t matter. It’s…” Her throat grew tight, her eyes stung.

“Tell me.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to do this right now. Not here.”

Jensen leaned in. Worry warped his face, thickened his voice. “Do what? Beka- what happened?”

Her heart ached. “We happened.”

The meaning struck him in the chest but he refused to give it attention.

“What are you talking about?”

Rebekah spun away and hid her face.

“Hey, come on-”

“Us! Jensen. Us. We happened.” She dropped her hands and took a shaky breath. “We happened and everyone fucking knows.”

Stunned into silence, Jensen dropped his hands to his sides and stared at the light post across the alley.

“We have to stop,” she whispered, praying the wind would carry the words away and he wouldn’t hear it.

He heard it. He felt it.

“No.”

She turned back, brown eyes flooded with tears, pale skin glowing under the moon. “We have to. It’s gone too far and if… if some random soap actor who doesn’t even know me can tell… then everyone can. Everyone.”

Jensen refused her logic. “No. No one knows. No one’s said anything-”

“Matt did. And who would say something to you? ‘Hey, Jensen, long time no see! I hear you’re fucking your writing partner. How’s that going?’”

He sighed. His shoulders dropping as reality crushed down on him. “OK, so… maybe some people know but that doesn’t mean we have to stop. I don’t want to.”

A deep breath calmed her tears. “Jensen…” She stepped up to him and stared into the green eyes she dreamt of every night. “If this continues, there will be consequences. Real fucking problems. Your career, our families… it will all fall apart.”

He shook his head. Silent. Unyielding.

“If we keep going… if we…” She knew what she had to do even though it would rip her in half. “Everyone is gonna get hurt if we fall in love.”

He winced.

She swallowed hard.

He opened his eyes. “If?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “If.”

His jaw clenched and he held back a tear. “And if… I’m already in love?”

It felt as if her heart would stop right there and she’d fall dead at his feet. She cleared her throat, pushing all the pain aside. It had to be done and he wasn’t going to do it.

“Then this will hurt even more.”

His tears fell and she held her breath. Everything inside told her to shut up, to take it back, to ignore everything and hold on to him.

“I love you,” he breathed. “Don’t do this.”

She dug her nails into her right palm, a bit of pain to keep her on track. She shook herself and put on a mask of indifference.

“Come on, Jensen. This was never going to be anything more than a dalliance.”

He stiffened. “A dalliance?”

“A mistake.”

“You are not a mistake.” Anger lifted his voice. “This was not a mistake.” He pointed at her and then clutched his chest. “Not you and me. Never.”

Unable to think of anything else, any way to get him to understand, she turned away and wave him off.

“Go home to your wife.”

Desperate, Jensen rushed at her, grabbed her upper arm, and swung her around. Her long hair whipped around them both and she nearly lost her grip.

“Tell me that you don’t love me,” he said.

“Jensen, stop it.”

“No!” His fingers tightened. “Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll walk away right now.”

Her jaw dropped but the words refused to come.

“See? You can’t say it because it’s not true! You love me. You do.” He was insistent and breaking, so close to losing it all.

“Jensen…”

He grit his teeth, refusing to let her go. “You do. Say it. Tell me you’re in love with me, Beka.”

Shaking, she held his gaze and exhaled a deep breath.

“I don’t love you.”

It crackled through the air like lightning and she thought for sure they’d both be struck down.

His hand fell from her arm. He could see the lie written on her face, feel the pain pulsing off of her skin. “I don’t believe you.”

Slowly, Rebekah pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek. She held them there for longer than she should have, breathing in one last breath, savoring one last taste of him.

Without another word, she turned to leave, ready to step into the darkness and leave him alone to pick himself up off of the ground.

Jensen dragged his hands through his hair as he spun around, confused, hurt, and on the edge of insanity. After everything they’d been through, all the love they shared, all the promises they whispered in the night, he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t watch her leave without a fight.

“Fuck you.”

The words cut right through her and she froze on the spot.

“Fuck you for doing this!” His shout rang out and shook her to the core. “You’re breaking us. You’re breaking me!”

She tried to stay strong, appeal to his logical brain. “You’ll be fine,” she said calmly. “Your wife loves you. Your family loves you. You’ll be fine.”

He took a step forward but held himself back from rushing at her and demanding she stay. His voice softened. The tears fell heavy down his face.

“Please don’t do this.”

She turned back and her heart shattered. “Jensen, please-”

“Don’t end this,” he begged. “You bring something out of me. Something I haven’t felt in so long. Maybe ever. You can’t tell me that you don’t feel the same. I know you do. We’re better together.”

It took everything in her to stay standing. She wanted to run into his arms and scream her apology, take every word back and shove them into the depths of their forgotten memory, never to resurface.

“I do,” she said softly. “But it’s… It can’t go on. I’m sorry.”

His weight shifted. He started to go to her.

“What am I going to do without you?”

She met him halfway.

“Write me a song.” She smiled sadly. “Write me a song, just for me. And whenever you play it, I’ll know you’re thinking about me.” Her shoulders shook. “And… that will have to be enough. For both of us.”

The distance between them faded and Jensen lifted her chin with two tender fingers; kissed her lips with undying passion. She lay her hand on the nape of his neck and held on, saying ‘I love you’, saying goodbye.

He pressed his forehead against hers and clutched her hand between them, locking it to his heart.

“Every word I ever write will be for you,” he whispered. “Every song I sing… will be yours.”

It was never a mistake, not to him.

It never felt wrong when he was with her.

When the days were long and he felt like crumbling he’d pull out that old guitar pick and run his fingers over the dents her teeth had made. When the work was hard and his mind was a mess, he’d read her words and remember the way they were then.

So lost in love.

So wrapped up in the melody.

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67midnightwriter · 10 months ago

Text

Tourniquet - Chapter Five

A Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works ~ Get A Custom Story

How To Lose Friends and Knock on Death’s Door

She hadn’t been far when he called, which was always strange. Strange to think that out of the entire country, they’d accidentally ended up in almost the exact same place at the same time.

Y/N had just cleaned up a little ghost situation in Absecon, New Jersey and decided to treat herself to a little glitz and glamor down in Atlantic City. Sadly, she found none, but she did find a few really good margaritas which led her to relieve her wallet of a few bucks in Bally’s.

That night, she hung out on the boardwalk, boots thumping gently on the slatted wood. She took her time, nowhere to go, nothing really to do. The moon was bright and its glow reflected on the ocean like a million diamonds sparkling in the swells.

The November wind was slow but cruel and she tugged her jacket around her a little tighter.

Someday, she wanted to come back in the summer. To bring a book and sit on the beach under a rented umbrella and feel the sun burn her legs. To dodge the crowds on the boardwalk, walk through the casinos for a little air conditioning. Maybe she’d bring a friend. Maybe she’d bring Dean. She laughed at the thought of Dean lying next to her on the beach; his back red from the sun, his legs too long for the blanket, toes digging into the sand.

Dean.

She sighed and leaned against the wooden railing, staring off at the water. Her nose was freezing and she rubbed at it, deciding it was time to go.

As she turned, her phone buzzed and she smiled. His ears must have been ringing. Maybe she could get him to come out right now. Despite the late autumn cold, New Jersey was beautiful.

“I was just thinking about you,” she answered with a light laugh.

“Y/N/N…” His voice was panicked and rough.

Her heart sank. Another tragic call, another night of talking him off the ledge. Pushing away her smile and disappointment, Y/N squared her shoulders and focused.

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

“No.” He stumbled as if his tongue wasn’t quite sure how to form the words. “You- it’s- Y/N/N, you gotta come here. Now.”

“OK.” His panic drifted through the phone into her. “Tell me what’s going on. Where are you?”

Heavy breathing, a choked back sob.

“It’s Bobby…”

Thirty-one miles wasn’t very far, but she felt every bump in the road like she was running barefoot on broken glass. Her stomach ached; her muscles tensed. Twice, she’d had to slow down in fear of retching, but she grit her teeth, gripped the wheel, and pushed on.

The trauma rooms were on the main floor behind Emergency, and they were hesitant to let her in.

“Please… He’s my father,” she lied, but not really. Bobby had been more of a father to her in those early years after her mother and sister died than her own had been. He was the only one she would listen to when reprimanded or given advice; his house buried in the junkyard was the only place she could truly call home. “Please.”

The tears were real even if the genetics weren’t and they let her in; a short nurse pointing the way to the room in the corner.

Doctors ran in and out, white coats and blue scrubs blurring as tears filled her eyes.

She stood in the middle of the walkway, staring at the body in the bed, refusing to believe that it was Bobby.

The patterned gown was too big, hanging off his shoulders and tucked under in weird places. Plastic tubes came out of his mouth, his chest, his arms. Bright blood leaked through the white gauze on his head.

Someone called her name, but she couldn’t hear it over the monitors beeping or the racing of her heart.

“Y/N…”

Sam touched her shoulder and she jumped back and away, hunter’s instincts taking over.

“Whoa-” He held up his giant hands in surrender and leaned away. “It’s me. Sorry.”

She sucked in a quick breath and looked up into his worried eyes. His hair was a bit longer than she’d last seen; his sideburns a ridiculous mess. He opened his arms and she fell into them, grabbing the front of his green jacket and twisting it in her fists.

“What the fuck happened?” It came out in a wet sob, but the words were formed well enough.

Sam was shaking and braced himself by wrapping his arms around her. “He… we were…”

Confusion choked her. “Who did this?”

He couldn’t answer, he just squeezed a little tighter.

“What happened? What- I- Sam!”

She pulled back and looked up. His face was creased with pain, his gaze sad and empty with shock.

“Sam!”

Hazel eyes flit from her face to Bobby and back again. Unable to speak, he shook his head.

She tore at his jacket, tugging him closer. Her body burned with anger, not at Sam, but he was the only one around that she could beat up on and not end up in cuffs.

“Sam!”

“I’m-” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “It just… happened. I don’t-”

Y/N could tell how hard he was trying, how strong he was being. The simple act of standing there seemed to almost break him down, but he held himself together. She pushed aside her anger and pressed her hand to his chest in a calming gesture.

He looked down with the tiniest ghost of a smile.

She softened her voice. “Has a doctor talked to you yet?”

Sam nodded. “Just now.”

“What did they say?”

“He’s um… They have to wait for the swelling to come down and then-”

He shrugged, it was all he could do.

Y/N’s head was pounding, her arms felt like lead. She turned to look back at the bed, at the old man lying unconscious surrounded by machines. He looked pale, cold. The thin hospital blanket wasn’t enough. She wanted to run to her car and grab another, cover him up, hold him close, but her feet wouldn’t move. She was stuck in place, looking through the glass doors as Bobby clung to life.

Her whole world was shattering and autopilot took over. There were no more words, no more questions, there was only the eerie quiet between them and the constant mechanical beeping.

At some point, she and Sam found chairs and they sat stoically sharing their pain. He clung to her and she covered him the best she could with much smaller hands.

“He’s gonna die,” she whispered. She was staring, unblinking at the base of the hospital bed, wondering what all the different pedals and levers did. “He’s gonna die.”

Sam sucked in a shuddering breath. “Yeah. I think so.”

“He ain’t dyin’. Not today.”

Dean startled them both with his refusal to admit the truth and his sudden appearance. He towered over them and Y/N tore her eyes from Bobby and looked up at Dean.

His eyes were wide and bloodshot, the skin dark beneath. He was trembling slightly but doing his best to hide it behind a clenched jaw and tight fists.

She wanted to yell at him, to force him to see reality, but she was distracted by a drop of blood. It fell from his hand and struck the top of his boot, splashing like a raindrop onto pavement.

“You’re bleeding.”

He looked down and flexed his fingers. His knuckles were torn and bleeding.

“It’s fine.”

Y/N stood up and grabbed his hand, looking it over. “It’s gonna get infected,” she sighed. “Come on…”

They found an empty room down the hall that seemed unused. Most of the lights were off and the ones that were on were old and dim. They snuck in and Y/N forced Dean to sit on the edge of the bed. He was quiet but she could feel the anger pushing off of him. She could see it in his eyes; feel it in the tension of his fingers.

“What’d you do, punch a wall?”

Dean huffed and cleared his throat. “A- uh- glass window thing.”

Y/N sighed as she dug through a cabinet, plucking out alcohol swabs and gauze. “You think that was wise?”

Dean tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, scared, and running from defeat.

“Was that or the guy’s face.”

She pulled up a stool and steel tray, laid out her instruments and sat across from him.

“Then I guess you did the right thing.”

He let her examine his cuts, winced as she pulled a piece of glass from the middle knuckle, hissed when the alcohol hit his open flesh.

Y/N scoffed and hit him again with the cold fluid. “Baby.”

He cocked his head and looked at her. “You know I love it when you call me that.”

She met his eye and pursed her lips. “Of all the times, Dean. Now is not a good one.”

He shrugged and offered half a smile in apology.

“I’m glad you called.” She wrapped his hand up carefully, sure to make it tight but not too tight. “Thank you.”

Dean licked his lips and dropped his head, staring at the old tiles covering the floor. They were dingy and the glaze was cracked. Just like him.

“Thought you’d wanna be here,” he replied.

“I do. Thanks.” She smiled sadly and patted his arm. “All done.”

“You’re a hell of a nurse, Y/N/N.”

“Don’t you know it.”

She moved to stand, but Dean grabbed her. He pulled at her arms and tugged the stool forward until she was between his legs. She looked up in surprise and then blinked back a fresh swarm of tears.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered, cupping her cheeks in his warm hands and brushing away a tear with his thumb. “You do that and I’ll do that and then where will we be?”

“Crying in an ancient hospital room,” she teased.

He laughed.

She sighed.

He’d be OK.

“Dean, I-”

His kiss was slow but desperate. He held her face, kept her locked to him as his lips pressed tight against her mouth. She was surprised but not really. This is what he did. He called when he needed her, kissed her when he felt hopeless, let his hands roam when he needed to feel alive and connected.

It didn’t matter why, it just mattered that it happened.

Y/N melted against him, parting her lips for his tongue, and breathed him in. He smelled like cheap cologne and smoke, like whiskey and three days without a shower. He stank. He was filthy. His stubble burned her lips. He felt like heaven.

Dean seemed to find his breath again within her and he sucked at her lips, kissed across her jaw, sank his teeth gently into the crook of her neck. Y/N’s eyes were rolling, her skin burning, heart racing.

“Dean, we shouldn’t-”

He sat back, green eyes dark and wide as he looked her over. He ran his fingertips across the hem of her shirt, followed her collarbone across on each side. He was there but not; a mechanical body moving because it had to, but his mind was elsewhere. His mind was back in that room with Bobby.

“Dean…”

As much as she wanted his hands to move down a little further, to sneak up beneath her shirt, rip her clothing away, she knew she couldn’t do it. She placed her hands on his wrists and pulled them gently off of her shoulders.

He startled, shoved back into himself. He blinked quickly and then stood up, pushing her back on the rolling stool.

“I- I’m sorry, Y/N/N-”

Shaking his head, he wrenched the door open and escaped, leaving her alone in the dim light, surrounded by the ghost of a moment and bloody wrappings.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there picking at her cuticles and absorbing the night. She wanted to break down, to run away and scream as loud as she could until she couldn’t anymore, but that wasn’t her. She was the bedrock, the warm blanket, the calm in a stormy sea. If she wasn’t that, she wasn’t anything.

After some time, she managed to stand. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and his kiss from her lips.

She gathered up the mess she’d made and tossed it all in the bin.

She shut the lights and walked back down the hall.

A white coat flew past her, bumping her shoulder. She turned into the hit and watched the young doctor run towards an incoming trauma.

Outside, sirens were blaring and nurses were shouting, but inside there was a steady ringing. A long buzz that Y/N slowly realized had replaced the beeping.

She looked towards Bobby’s room, her vision blurred and her movements slow.

Dean was at the foot of the bed, his hands on his head as he spun away. Sam was doubled over off to the side, slowly sliding to the floor.

It didn’t make any sense.

A nurse in bright blue scrubs and a white knitted sweater reached over the bed and shut off a monitor. The buzzing stopped.

Bobby was dead.

Anguish pumped through her system and Y/N broke into a run, screaming for help as she reached the room.

“Please! Help him!”

Dean tried to grab her, but she slipped through his arms.

“Please! Why won’t you do something!”

Her hands waved over his body, unsure where to land, unsure what to do. Tears stung her eyes and she let them fall, crashing down like a tidal wave onto the thin blanket. She pushed at his shoulders, trying to get him to move, but there was no response.

“Please!”

She cupped her hands over his heart and tried to push down with all of her strength, to force his heart to start again, but it was no use.

“Bobby, please!”

She climbed up onto the bed and beat on his chest; her cries growing more desperate, more pitiful.

“Bobby-”

When he couldn’t stand it any longer, Dean grabbed her by the waist and yanked her off of the bed.

“Get off of me!”

She struggled against his hold, kicking at him to get back to the bed, but his arms were too solid, his grip too strong.

“Y/N, stop!”

She hissed and slapped at the arm around her middle, but Dean wouldn’t let go.

“Dean! Let! Go!”

She clawed at his hands and Dean pulled her closer. He dropped his head and pressed it against hers. His eyes fell closed.

“Y/N/N, he’s gone. He’s gone.”

Dean’s voice bounded off of every corner of her mind, echoed into the deepest parts of her. She stopped fighting and collapsed, legs giving out and sending them both to the cold floor. Dean fell with her and wrapped his arms around her, curling her into his chest.

“He can’t go,” she sobbed, fingers climbing up his chest to find something to hold on to. “He can’t. He can’t. He can’t…”

Dean cradled her head, rocked them both gently. “Shh… I’ve got you.”

“He can’t go, Dean… He can’t.”

He shivered against her and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’ve got you.”

She ran. As soon as the sun rose and she could see clear enough to drive, she was gone. She was broken and devastated and the worst part was, he hadn’t asked her to stay.

So, she ran.

Tourniquet Tags:

@prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303 @cookiechipdough @ladysparkles78

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05 @mariekoukie6661

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67midnightwriter · 10 months ago

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I’ve always loved this pair 🥹🥹

QUELIOT!

Quentin was trembling. Eliot could feel him shake as he ran his hands slowly up Quentin's back. His pale skin flushed and goosebumps broke out beneath the pads of Eliot's fingertips.

“Are you OK?”

Q's brows twisted and a nervous pang hit his gut. “Um- yeah. Fine. I think.”

Eliot laughed softly. “That's your problem. You think too much.” Carefully, he traced an invisible line across Quentin's shoulders. “Gotta turn that brain off.”

Swallowing hard, Q did his best to relax, to melt into the warm pool of Eliot's chestnut eyes. “Yeah,” he eeked out in a shaking breath. “Yeah. No thinking.”

It was easier said than done, they both knew, but Eliot wouldn't let him back away.

He smiled. “Just trust me, OK?”

Quentin sighed, finally releasing everybody of tension in his mind and body. He cupped his hand against Eliot's cheek and grinned gently. “I always do…

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67midnightwriter · 10 months ago

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I know how this entire thing plays out already and it doesn’t change how beautifully written this entire piece is, or how emotionally charged it is. Highly recommend 😍😍

Tourniquet - Chapter Four

A Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

The Things She Carried

She hadn’t seen him in years.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. God, she wanted to so badly. She wanted to run into his arms, bury her face in his chest and fall asleep. She wanted to wake up next to him, count each freckle in the golden light of dawn. She wanted it all, she wanted him.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to track him down, drive across the miles and land at his doorstep. She couldn’t imagine facing him after so long away, couldn’t bear the thought that he’d cast her away like some old trinket destined for the bin.

She couldn’t risk it. She was road-weary and drained to the point of constant pain. Every muscle ached; every bone felt hollow and brittle. She was exhausted in her soul. She was done.

Late at night she would lie awake and stare at whatever ceiling was overhead replaying her life, her choices good and bad.

Maybe things would be different if she had run away with him when they were kids. Maybe she should have crossed the little stream sooner, hidden with him in the tall grass until they could escape and disappear forever. Would life be so different? Would they be together? Alive? Would the world still be turning if not for the sacrifices he’d made?

What about the sacrifices she’d made? What about all the days she spent alone, holding herself as blood seeped through her fingers? All the times she dropped everything to be there for him, all the days she spent worrying, all the nights she spent giving him whatever he needed whenever he needed it. Would anyone even remember her when she was gone? Would he?

Fuck him. He ruined one of the most important moments in her life. He stole her chance to say goodbye. While she reeled from his kiss, tried to make sense of his affection, the only other man she had ever loved had died.

He died and she wasn’t there. He died knowing she wasn’t around.

Fuck him for that. Fuck him for sleepless nights on the phone calming him down, listening to every trial and tribulation of his life. Fuck him for miles spent rushing to his side to wrap her heart around his wounds, staunch the flow.

Fuck him for every kiss.

Fuck him for every touch.

For every fucking moment.

The boy with the green eyes.

Roswell, New Mexico, 2015.

A string of murders of suspicious nature led older residents to announce that the aliens had returned to take revenge on the naysayers and folks there only to make a buck on the sacred landing spot.

Y/N hadn’t been able to resist such a ridiculous scene and spent a week there investigating.

In the end, they were just regular old murders committed by a regular old crazy person. No demons, no ghosts, and certainly no aliens were to be found.

With nowhere else to be, she hung around the desert for a few more days, enjoying the sun and the dry air.

She almost didn’t answer the phone when it rang, but curiosity had brought her to New Mexico in the first place, so there was no reason to deny its hold.

Luckily, it wasn’t him.

It was Sam.

“Well, if it isn’t baby boy Winchester.” She laid back on the hood of her car and kicked up a knee.

“Hey, Y/N.”

He sounded terrible. Lack of sleep or too much stress, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t know Sam as well. Hadn’t studied him as closely, hadn’t learned every tick of speech, the meaning behind every subtle sigh.

Still, he didn’t sound great.

“What’s going on, Sam?”

He hesitated, swallowed hard, shifted the phone to his other ear. “I hate to ask you, I know you’re… Well, you’ve got your own thing going on, but-”

Her eyes closed, her stomach churned.

“Is he OK?” She couldn’t stop the tremble in her voice and she hated it.

Sam cleared his throat. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Shit.”

Last she’d heard through the grapevine, Dean had died, again, and come back as a demon. She didn’t get a call back then, so for Sam to ask for help now- it was bad.

“I think he’d, uh… really like to see you.”

The eleven-hour drive seemed endless, but it gave her time to think.

No matter what she did, he would always be a part of her. No matter how far she ran, tried to hide, he would always win out in the end. It was useless to fight it, stupid to even try.

Sam had given her directions to their place and Y/N stood outside of what looked to be an industrial hobbit hole.

She leaned on her car and stared at the hill. There was still time to turn tail and hit the highway. He’d never even know she had been there.

She fiddled with the chain around her neck, sucked on the metal pendant. It was warmed from her body heat though she always believed it got hotter when he was close.

“Damn it, Y/N/N, just go in…” She groaned and turned away, too scared to go inside. Scared or mad, she didn’t know which.

Just as she put one foot in the car, the big doors opened and Sam appeared.

He was tall and tired, with a shadow on his jaw and worry in his eyes. She wondered vaguely if she had ever seen Sam without that crease in his aura, if he’d ever been truly calm and happy.

“You gonna come in or-”

She sighed and shut the door. “How’d you know I was here?”

He shrugged and gave her a mischievous look. “I may have been tracking your phone.”

“What! Sam…”

He smiled and then pushed at the door, holding it open for her.

“You coming?”

“Well, it’d be stupid to run away now.”

She followed him into the hobbit hole and through another, heavier door. The first room was basically a dark hallway, four steps down from the outer doors and a few paces to the next. The walls were old concrete and the light was dim. She held no hope for nicer things to come.

She was very wrong.

Her little gasp echoed when she walked through the second door. The cave-like entry gave way to an expansive room that took her breath away. A wrought iron balcony met intricate stairs that wound down forever. The room below was set up with a large, map-covered table that glowed, antique computers and machines that looked as if they were sourced from a 1950’s horror movie.

Clasping the rail, Y/N leaned over a bit, trying to comprehend the size of everything but her head hurt. She looked back at Sam and shook her head, eyes wide with awe.

“You live here?”

Sam nodded and shrugged. He smiled at her wild wonder and stood beside her at the railing. “There’s more. It’s, uh- it’s a really big place.”

“Tell me you have a bowling alley or an arcade hiding somewhere in here.”

He laughed. “No, but we do have a tv. Well, I do. In my room.”

Y/N whistled, mockingly impressed. “Wow. Real rockin’ bachelor pad, Sam.”

He licked his lips and looked down at his hands. His knuckles were pale, fingers cold against the metal. “Yeah, well, we don’t get many visitors.”

She covered his hand with hers and squeezed gently. “Wanna show me the rest?”

The Men of Letters Bunker was just as impressive as he made it sound. They toured the halls while Sam explained how they came to be there, speaking candidly about his grandfather’s reappearance and how strange it was to finally have a real place to call home.

She listened to every word, now and then offering a kind word or an interested hum. Her mind was reeling at the enormity of the Bunker. She ran her fingers over the dips between the tiles on the walls, listened carefully to how Sam’s voice echoed off of the cathedral ceilings and back again. She counted their steps, tried to construct a map in her mind so that she could find her way back to the front door, but the path was full of turns and every corridor looked the same as the last. The numbers on the doors changed, however, but they weren’t in any order that she could define.

They stopped in front of door number eleven, and Sam shoved his hands into his pockets. His gaze narrowed on the gap between the door and the jam. The light inside was on, but he knew Dean wasn’t there.

“This is his room?” she asked, wanting to push her way inside but afraid to pry.

Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

She placed her hand on the door and closed her eyes. She wanted to go in and wait for him, be laid out on the bed like some porn star when he walked in, but she knew better.

The kitchen was impressive in an old restaurant that had never been upgraded kinda way, but the pantry was pitiful. Thankfully, there were a few eggs in the fridge and a half of a loaf of white bread on the shelf. Sam left her to it and she got to work making an utter mess of the counter and stove.

She didn’t expect him back soon and he hadn’t expected to see her at all.

“Y/N?”

Her entire being tensed when she heard his voice and she took a breath, closed her eyes, and turned around. Spatula dripping in her hand, she screwed up a smile.

“Surprise.”

Every emotion imaginable flowed over his freckled face and Y/N waited for him to process before saying another word. Green eyes worked her over, lingering on the smudge on her cheek and the mess on her shirt.

Finally, he smiled.

“Nice surprise.”

Her body relaxed. “Is it?”

“Of course.”

Dean rushed forward, rounding the giant stainless steel island, and scooped her up into a hug.

Relief trickled down her spine and she wrapped her arms around him, pushed her face into the crook of his neck. He smelled like whiskey and sleepless nights.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” He whispered into her shoulder and held on a little tighter.

He was big and strong, solid and safe. She melted into him; listened for the comforting, steady beat of his heart.

The necklace burned into her chest and she smiled.

After a minute, she pushed at his shoulders but he refused to let her go.

“You’re gonna make me burn your toast!”

He stood up straight and held her arms. “Toast? You’re making a real big mess for toast.”

She squirmed out of his grip and turned back to the stove. “It’s French.”

They sat at the little table in the corner and drowned the snack in maple syrup and butter.

Y/N couldn’t stop staring at him. His face was thin; his beard slowly sneaking out of captivity. His eyes were dark, lined with red, and he held himself differently, as if every second was painful, as if he was having trouble sitting still.

He was staring just as hard, shocked that she was there after being gone for so long.

“Your hair’s different,” he said around a mouthful of French toast.

She cocked her head and ran a hand through her locks. “I guess,” she laughed. “It’s been a while since I cut it. Probably should.”

Dean shook his head gently. “Nah. I like it.”

It wasn’t even really a compliment but she took it as one. Her stomach flipped and she hated herself for enjoying such a tiny amount of attention. She was older now, wiser, stronger. She didn’t need his approval or his affection.

“Thanks.”

“This is…nice. Thank you for cooking.”

Y/N laughed and choked down a corner. “It’s terrible and you know it.”

Dean shrugged and took another forkful to his lips. “It ain’t that bad.” He shoveled it in and then cringed, plucked a crunchy bit from his tongue. “I… think there’s shell in this one.”

She grinned. “I’m surprised there’s not more, actually. You know I’m a shitty cook.”

He laughed. “Always have been.”

“It’s kinda my thing.”

A strange moment passed between them like an autumn breeze. The air was warm but the wind was too harsh, chilling their cheeks. Y/N looked away, crossing her arms and rubbing her hands up the sides. Dean swallowed and sat back; knife and fork in his fists beside the plate.

“So, how ya been?”

Y/N looked around, pretending to inspect the kitchen walls, but only trying to buy herself time to think up an answer.

“Oh, you know me, Dean. Another day, another highway, another monster to kill.”

He licked a drop of syrup from his lip. “Musta been busy.”

She nodded. “Yeah, pretty busy.”

“Too busy to answer a text? Pick up the phone now and then?”

Her guts churned. “Dean, it’s not like that…”

He slumped forward, set his forearms on the table. “Oh, it’s like that. You vanished, Y/N/N.”

His tone was biting and she shivered.

“Dean-”

“You just took off. No goodbye, nothing.”

Anger was brewing inside and her leg bounced uncontrollably under the table. “Dean.”

“We burned him. Without you.”

Something inside of her shattered. The words cut through her like a scythe; his tone burned like salt in the sliced flesh. She clenched her jaw, closed her eyes, and tried to push it all aside.

“You left,” he seethed, upper lip trembling and exposing his tiny canine teeth. She always thought they looked like fangs, always loved the way they scraped across her throat. “We burned him and you weren’t there. I- we needed you and you left. You ran away to God knows where and that was it. We needed you, Y/N. I… I needed you.”

With fists balled, she stood up, spun away from the table. She bit her tongue so hard she was sure her mouth would fill with blood.

Dean laughed sarcastically. “Yeah. Walk away again. That’s awesome.”

Her spine twitched. Nails dug into her palms.

She tasted blood.

“So fucking good at walking away when people need you.”

She snapped.

“Excuse me?”

Her spin around was so fast, her hands slammed onto the table so hard that Dean startled and dropped his utensils. Unconsciously, he sat back, putting as much distance between him and the lioness he’d just unleashed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her words curled but there was no question. She was giving him a speck of a chance to apologize before she truly exploded. “Well… are you?”

Dean sucked his teeth, crossed his arms, sat forward. He met her gaze head on. His nostrils flared.

“You left,” he said again, slowly, venomously.

Y/N pulled in a deep breath but instead of calming her, it only added to the fire. “You didn’t ask me to stay, Dean.”

He shook his head, confused. “Huh?”

“You didn’t ask me to stay, Dean,” she said again, injecting as much slashing accusation into her voice as she could. “You never do. You expect me to show up whenever you want me, drop whatever I’m doing to come meet you somewhere so you can fuck your frustrations out on me then kick me out of bed in the morning. Do you know how many bruises I have from tripping over the curb when you drive away? How many nights I’ve stayed awake worrying about you? Praying for you? Not to mention all the nights I had to stay on the phone with you while you blubbered on about this and that, and your brother, and your angel, and your destiny. Do you know how much of my life I’ve spent waiting on a fucking phone call from you? How many days I’ve wasted just hoping you’d ask to see me? You can’t imagine it. You wouldn’t. Because you don’t care.”

Anger and guilt flooded his face. He swung his legs around from under the table and stood up, towering over her with a puffed chest and searing eyes.

“You think I don’t care about you?” He hunched his shoulders, leaning down to let it all sink in. “Is that really what you think?”

She took a step closer. She wouldn’t back down no matter his size or the angry fire pulsing off of him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah, Dean,” she said sharply. “It is. Because it’s fucking true. You don’t give a shit about me, you never have. I’m just a goddamned Band-Aid for you. Something you put on when you’ve got a booboo and then rip off and toss away. And the one time I needed you. The one fucking time…”

Dean was seeing red; his blood was boiling and brightening his pallid face.

“When? When the fuck did you need me so badly!”

She grit her teeth, showed her fangs for once. “He was my father, Dean.”

He scoffed. “No. He wasn’t.”

“Fuck you for saying that! He was my father the same as, if not more so than he was yours and he died while I was in the dark wondering how I could help you. You! You fucked me up in that hospital room and then you left me alone to deal with it. And he died while I was in there! He died and I wasn’t there because I was dealing with you!”

Dean straightened, but he didn’t move to speak. He only absorbed her ire and let it burn inside of him.

“Always dealing with you! My whole goddamned life revolves around Dean Winchester! And you know what I got for all the care and time and worry I poured into you? Nothing. I get fucking nothing. I have never been so lost as when he died and you… You didn’t ask me to stay. Didn’t… didn’t check on me. The only calls I got were from you begging me to help with Sam and to meet you in Oswego for a fucking booty call. That’s all I am to you. I’m your fucking whore.”

He huffed, chewed his lip. “That is not true!”

She wouldn’t stop, couldn’t. The simple act of raising her voice, of confronting him after everything had opened a tap that she couldn’t close.

“And you spent a whole goddamned fucking year with her. A year! I didn’t even know if you were alive, dead, nothing. You promised to call me. You swore. And nothing. You went to her. You- did you even think of me? Did you even think, ‘oh, maybe I’ll go be with Y/N for a while’? Well? Did you?”

His eyes closed. “No, Y/N. I didn’t.”

“I have given you years of my life and you’ve just… Fuck, I don’t even know if you take me for granted or if you don’t even notice if I’m around or not. I honestly don’t know.”

She turned away, exhausted and aching.

She couldn’t see the way he rubbed at the curse on his arm, didn’t notice the rage glowing in his eyes. She didn’t feel the danger because she never felt it around him. She could scream all she wanted, but she knew Dean wouldn’t hurt her.

“If you hate me so goddamn much, why are you even here? Huh? What, did Sammy call you? Tell you I wasn’t doin’ so well?”

Each word snapped at her like kitchen shears and Y/N spun back around.

“Fuck you, Dean.”

As tears fell, she raised her right hand, ready to slap him hard; show him she wasn’t fooling around.

The Mark swelled on his arm and shot demonic power into his veins.

Dean grabbed her wrist before she made contact with his cheek and took two steps forward, forcing her backwards into the wall. He slammed her hand onto the plaster and followed suit with her left hand. She gasped, scared but daring him, and he sneered down at her.

“Don’t. Fucking. Ever. Hit me.”

The Mark glowed beside her head and she looked from it to him, stuck and devastated.

“Do you hear me!”

Strength pulsed through him and Dean lifted her away from the wall only to crush her back into it.

Her eyes blurred, her head ached; her ears rang.

“Dean-”

“You think you know anything about me? You don’t know what I’ve been through! You haven’t been around!”

His grip tightened on her wrists and she felt the bone in the right twist.

“Dean! You’re hurting me!”

It seemed he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t let the anger dim. His breath came out in heavy pants through tight lips and clenched teeth; his eyes were like lasers targeting her arteries and setting him up for the kill.

“Dean!”

Another tear trekked down her cheek and it caught his attention.

Dean blinked quickly, clearing his head, and then backed away. He dropped her hands and covered his face, turned his back on her.

Y/N couldn’t move.

Silence filled the room and their heads. Guilt ravaged their bodies.

Her knees gave out and she slid down the wall, slumped to the floor.

When she could finally speak, her voice was small and pathetic and she hated herself even more.

“I… I’m sorry, Dean.”

Calmer now, Dean turned to find her in a heap on the floor and sank down as well. “Don’t be sorry, Y/N/N. I… fuck. Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head and sat up straight, kicked her knees up to her chest.

He crawled to her, tried to lay a hand on her knee, but she flinched away.

“Shit,” he hissed. “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N let out a hard breath and let her shoulders fall. She trusted him. She didn’t trust that thing on his arm.

She nodded toward it. “Is it really bad?”

He rolled up his sleeve and showed off his brand. Curious and horrified, she unfurled herself and leaned in, running a careful finger across the Mark. The flesh was hot, the skin raised and rough. She covered it with her hand and looked up into his face.

“I can’t take it much more,” he whispered. “It’s gonna take over and I don’t wanna go back there.”

Her heart hurt. “You don’t have to let it take you. You’re strong. You’re so fucking strong, Dean. So brave. So good.”

He smiled softly and bent over; kissed her hand.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

She sniffed back the tears and reached for him.

“I coulda just kept my mouth shut,” she confessed.

Dean lay his head on her shoulder and tugged her close. “No. You shouldn’t have to. I’ll be better, I promise.”

“You don’t have to be better, Dean.” She turned inwards and pressed her lips to his ear. “You just have to be you.”

His arms closed a little tighter, he breathed a little slower.

“I really don’t deserve you, you know that?”

She sighed and rubbed at the nape of his neck.

“Shut up, Dean.”

Tourniquet Tags:

@prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303 @cookiechipdough @ladysparkles78

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67@k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05

#spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean/reader #dean/you #angst #series #tourniquet #supernatural #supernatural fanfic

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67midnightwriter · 10 months ago

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This story just popped to the forefront of my mind and I went scrolling through reblogs and this reblog still makes me so proud. I don’t want this story to be my swan song, but it’s the last piece of writing I ever finished 😅

Angel Down

A/N: I wrote this for @impala-dreamer Make Me Feel It Challenge, and it took a little longer than expected, but I really hope you consider it worth the wait! Thank you @thoughtslikeaminefield and @boondoctorwho for the read through, and the amazing aesthetic.

W/C: 2,887

Dean x Cas

Warnings: Angst, Heartache, Gore, Nightmares, Soul-Crushing

Summary: Cas takes on the Mark of Chuck, and Dean makes him a promise.

It wasn’t something that had hit him out of nowhere, a life-changing bolt of lightning sent from Zeus. Rather, it was something that came second nature, a reaction rather than revelation, akin to how the human brain knows instinctively to take in oxygen. Dean had heard somewhere you couldn’t successfully drown yourself, and while he had never tested that himself, he knew trying to stop loving Castiel would feel about the same, and that he had put to trial. Time and time again they had pushed each other away, been torn apart, lost to the other, but in the end, they came back together.

“It has to be you.” Cas’s gruff voice was loud compared to the soft clinks of spell ingredients hitting the bowl. Dean huffed, not answering an unspoken question he refused to acknowledge. He tore herbs mechanically, losing himself in the instructions on the aged paper to his left. Cas reached out and laid a hand on top of his, and Dean noticed his own hands were trembling. “Dean.” The tone was soft and commanding, tearing Dean’s gaze from his hands and directing it to deep blue eyes. “Promise me. It has to be you.”

Keep reading

#destiel #destiel angst #angst #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural #dean winchester #Castiel

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67midnightwriter · 1 year ago

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When he had to watch the empty take Cas

would you be so kind as to either reblog this and answer or send me a message/ask with

that once scene in SPN where you wished with all your heart that you could reach into the screen and comfort Dean Winchester... the one that every time you watch it, your soul aches for him and you wish there was anything you could do to save him the pain...

this is one of mine:

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67midnightwriter · 1 year ago

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Literary Giveaway!

Young women around the country are going missing and the only one who seems to care is unlucky FBI agent Nora Hammond. Not even her partner, ladies' man Jason Carter, thinks it's worth looking into.

Meanwhile, the TruLove Corporation has a new line of luxury sex dolls that will truly love you back - for a price. When the dolls start attacking their owners, the FBI is called in to investigate and things with Nora and Jason get a little sticky...

INSTAR Meditations by Rebekah Jordan is available now at Barnes & Noble or Amazon on paperback and ebooks!

But you can snag your own free, personalized, autographed copy by entering this giveaway! Just reblog this post as many times as you'd like and each reblog will be entered into the drawing. (Must be over 18 years old and have a mailing address within the Continental U.S. Giveaway dates 10/2/23 - 10/23/23)

Additional titles by Rebekah Jordan can be found on her author page on Amazon.com ~ More short stories and inside info on Patreon ~ Support your local independent authors ~

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67midnightwriter · 1 year ago

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Ok, this might not seem too impressive to most of you, but for me... the new book, Instar Meditations, has already outperformed all of my other titles in just 10 days and is constantly climbing the amazon kindle rankings. (I still can't see sales... waiting on the publisher, but anyway). To me... these numbers are amazing.

In comparison, my other books are in the 4 millions on kindle store and over 500,000 in romance books. So... 1900 in my genre is kinda huge for me.

Basically, I'm freaking out lol

Thank you so much to everyone that has purchased a copy. Thank you to those who have recommended it to others. This is so cool and really has me itching to get back to my writing 💖💖

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67midnightwriter · 1 year ago

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The Book is in hand...

Check out the info below, and if you'd like to order a signed copy from the source... shoot me a message ;)

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67midnightwriter · 1 year ago

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HIGHLY recommend. And not just because I’m biased lol

Now Available at Barnes & Noble and Amazon

INSTAR MEDITATIONS by Rebekah Jordan

Young women around the country are going missing and the only one who seems to care is unlucky FBI agent Nora Hammond. Not even her partner, ladies' man Jason Carter, thinks it's worth looking into.

Kidnapping Investigations, Sex, Hypnosis, Corporate Intrigue, Technosexuality, and Love... All packed into this awesome new story by Rebekah Jordan!

Get it now at now at Barnes & Noble or Amazon on paperback and ebooks!

More titles by Rebekah Jordan can be found on her author page on Amazon.com

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67midnightwriter · 1 year ago

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I love Cas so much

His Charge

A Supernatural Story

~Y/N is remanded to Castiel's care while the Winchesters go take care of a very angry deity who had taken her hostage. While they wait, she and Castiel get into an in depth conversation about the metaphysics of his being, and she gets him to show her his wings...~

2,562 Words.

Warnings: NSFW. Talk & Loving. Fluff

A/N: Been a hot minute since I've posted any Castiel. I think you'll enjoy this. It's super good... I just reread it. lol. If you enjoy it, please reblog :)

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

“What do they look like?”

Sapphire eyes looked up through thick, black lashes to see beautiful gems staring back.

Y/N smiled behind her whiskey glass and Castiel blushed. He was far from used to such adoration or attention.

“What do what look like?” he asked, countering her question with another.

She laughed softly and set the glass down on the table. The glowing map beneath illuminated the amber liquid and cast a strange array of orange prisms across the table.

“Your wings.”

Her voice was as soft as a song, but held a hint of mischief. Castiel felt something stir deep inside of his vessel as her eyes drifted down from his face to his chest and shoulders. She lingered on his right shoulder and he denied a shiver.

Castiel cleared his throat. “They are… quite large and impressive.”

Y/N bit her lip and laughed. “That’s what she said.”

His head tipped to the left, his nose bunched in confusion. “She?”

“Never mind.”

She looked away, dipping her chin to look down into the whiskey and then back up. Only her eyes moved back to him and Castiel’s face burned hot. He hid the blush, but beneath the surface, he was going wild. His body yearned for her, but he couldn’t make himself take a chance. He hadn’t exactly had the best experiences with human women, and besides, Y/N was barely a friend, almost a stranger. She was his charge. He was there to watch over her while Sam and Dean tracked down the Druid God that was after her; his job was to save her life, not get involved sexually.

If, he thought, that’s what she even wanted.

He often had trouble discerning flirtatious behavior from simple polite conversation. Dean once slapped him on the arm and told him to read their minds, shocked that Cas had such a power but never used it to get any, but that wasn’t something Castiel could bring himself to do. Not unless they asked.

Still, without even trying, he could tell that her heart rate increased slightly when he met her gaze, that her skin flushed nearly imperceptibly when he stared a bit too intensely. He knew that her nipples were hard because he could see with an Angel’s vision through the thin fabric of her t-shirt and cotton bra. He could even smell that faint wetness that dripped down into her panties.

But still, he couldn’t make himself move.

Castiel jolted when Y/N spoke again, her fingers running slowly over the rim of the crystal tumbler. Her tone was deeper, words spilled from her lips slowly, coating him in thick warmth from head to toe.

“I wish I could see them,” she said, lifting the glass to her lips. “I bet they’re beautiful.”

She took a deep drink and Castiel watched as her body took it in. He saw the whiskey splash onto her tongue, flood her taste buds, slither down her throat as her muscles contracted. He could smell the woody scent of it, feel the heat as it burned the back of her throat. His stomach tightened and a wave of heat washed over his manhood. His cock twitched but he took a breath and did his best to keep his vessel under control.

He swallowed hard. “Thank you, but-”

“But what,” she interrupted, licking a drop of liquid from her lip. “They’re too big to fit in this room? They’ll knock the walls down?”

Castiel laughed bashfully. “No-”

“They’re so amazing I’ll die from a peek at them?”

He looked directly into her eyes, unconsciously reaching down into the depths of her. “Most humans cannot handle the sight of them, no.”

“That’s… horrible. What, do they explode?” She laughed gently and took another drink, emptying the glass.

“No.” He sighed. “Most cannot handle the sight of the Divine purely because their minds cannot comprehend the truth of its existence. If I were to show you my true form, for instance, it might, as they say, blow your mind.”

Y/N bit her lip to hold in a drunken laugh. She inhaled deeply, drawing herself up in her seat as she took him in. “Well, I bet they’re magnificent.”

The way her tongue curled around her words, the brightness in her darkening eyes made his stomach tighten. She was definitely flirting, of that he was now sure.

He gave a subtle nod of thanks and tried to look anywhere but at the swell of her breasts. It became increasingly difficult as she leaned onto the table on her elbows, deliberately showing them off.

“So, what other magic powers do you have?” she asked slowly, her mouth a bit numb from the drink.

“I saw you shoot lightning out of your hand, so that’s one…”

Castiel smiled and turned to set his hands on the table casually. “Not lightning, no. Grace.”

“I thought that was just something you said before dinner.”

“No?”

Y/N laughed gently. “I’m teasing you, Castiel. So your Grace is like your superpowers.”

He puckered his lips in thought. “I suppose, technically, yes. If I were a superhero.”

She laughed again, this time easier, as if comfort had truly set in. She ran her eyes over his handsome face and Castiel swallowed hard.

“Oh, you’re a superhero.”

“I don’t have a cape,” he offered.

“Capes are for attention seekers. Trench coats, however…”

He looked down at his coat, suddenly a little self conscious.

Y/N licked her lips and slowly drew the bottom in snug between her front teeth. “Every badass character I’ve ever seen on t.v. wears a trench coat.”

He relaxed, smiling. “Well, then, I suppose- thank you.”

Y/N finished her drink. “I almost died today,” she said solemnly. “A few times. Like… more than once. I think I heard Gabriel blowin’ his horn for me.”

Castiel shook his head. “Gabriel was nowhere near-” She grinned and he laughed at himself.

“You’re not one for jokes, huh?”

“I enjoy them. Just takes me a moment sometimes.”

She was quiet for a bit, watching him, deciding. Then:

“So, you’re this giant ball of light, essentially, crammed into a human body.”

He shrugged but agreed. “Essentially.”

“And where’s the… uh… human that lived there first? Or is it like a snail situation?”

“His name was Jimmy Novack,” Castiel explained softly. “And he was a true believer. He offered me his vessel and we went through many trials together.”

“But he’s not here anymore?”

The Angel shook his head. “He is up in Heaven somewhere. Hopefully happy.”

“You don’t know for sure?”

“I could go look for him, I suppose, but-” He paused and looked off, flashes of guilt-ridden scenes raging through his head. “Best not to disturb him.”

“I getcha.” She leaned back and crossed her arms under her chest, making her breasts pop up deliciously. Castiel held his breath. “So, you’re all alone in some human body. All the same feelings, needs… urges?”

He felt the heat rise to his cheeks and this time, he let it linger. “I do not suffer human needs, no,” he said, almost instantly regretting it. Y/N nodded, a bit disappointed, and looked away. He cleared his throat and softened his tone. “I am in complete control of my vessel and I can do… those things…” Her eyes shot back to his. “If I choose to.”

A half smile turned her lips and Castiel let the warmth inside of him spread through every cell.

“If you choose to,” she echoed, biting her lip seductively. “And how often do you choose to?”

His mouth flooded with saliva and his blood began racing downwards. “Not… very often.”

Boldly, Y/N stood up and set her hand on the table. She dragged her fingers over the Pacific Ocean as she rounded the table to stand before him. Castiel could smell her arousal, feel the heat radiating off of her. She looked down at him and he met her gaze, wanting to grab her hips and pull her down, but afraid to move.

“And now?” she asked, sliding her fingertips up the California coast to steal the drink he’d never touched. Eyes still locked together, Y/N knocked back his whiskey and swallowed hard. She came back up with a slight cough and let the glass slip back over Oregon. “What do you choose now?”

He felt his testicals tighten and every part of his human body wanted to sink deep inside of her. His fingers twitched on his thighs and Castiel grabbed her hips just like he’d imagined, dragging her down into his lap.

“I choose this,” he groaned, leaning in to taste her lips while she rubbed down on his erection. She opened for him, parting her lips with a sweet slowness that nearly drove him mad. His tongue dove inside and she relented, letting him move and lick, suck and nip as he pleased.

Her hands pushed through his black hair, curled around the nape of his neck. She moaned into his mouth as he pawed at her left breast, sneaking his fingers into her shirt to pluck at her nipple. She arched into him and held on tight, dragging her hand down the center of his back.

His spine lit up with sensations and Castiel moaned loudly, pulling away from her mouth as she hit the base of his wings with her exploring hands.

Surprised, she blinked down at him. “Are you OK?”

Breathless, he nodded. “Yes.”

Y/N kissed the side of his mouth and then danced along his jaw, her hands scratching through his hair, tugging at his tie, working their way beneath the layers of suit and coat. Castiel massaged her ass, rolling his hips up into her jeans at a steady pace, loving the way she responded so easily to his motions.

She sat back suddenly and looked at him with wide eyes, irises fully blown and dark. “How- how long until the others get back?”

Unsure, Castiel closed his eyes and set out his spirit to find the Impala. They were still a state away. “A few hours, at least,” he replied, sneaking a hand up beneath her shirt.

Y/N smiled and yanked the shirt away, then her bra, coming back to him with renewed fervor. She sucked at his ear, nibbled on his non-existent pulse, kissed his stunned lips as he toyed with her breasts.

“Fuck, you feel good,” she whispered, nearly whimpering as he pinched her nipples in tandem.

“As do you…”

Y/N reached down between their legs and rubbed gently at the head of his cock. He was lost beneath too many pieces of fabric and she struggled to open his belt.

“Do you have any idea how much clothing you have on?” she teased.

Not catching the tone, Castiel’s brows furrowed. “Yes…” He gasped as she ripped the zipper down and shoved a hand into his slacks. The thin cotton boxers were no match for her probing fingers and Castiel let his head fall back as she stroked him to full hardness.

When she hopped off of him, blue eyes flew open wide, but all was understood as he watched Y/N peel her jeans away. She smiled as his gaze hovered over her plain blue panties and she held her breath while shaking those away as well.

Naked and dripping, she stood before him like a Renaissance statue. Curves and bumps, bruises and scrapes, the cream of her skin, the imperfect perfection of her; it was all there, on display, and Castiel reached for her, snaking his fingers between hers as their palms met.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, guiding her back into his lap.

She smiled against his lips and sank down onto his cock, drawing a deep moan from him. “So are you.”

She rode him slowly at first, rolling her hips gently as they kissed. When her hand slid behind his back again, he shuddered so deeply and jerked his hips upwards so quickly that she shivered and picked up her pace.

“Let me see them,” she whispered, running her hand over that sensitive spot on his back again.

Castiel groaned beneath her, his face smashed in the valley of her breasts. “I-I can’t.”

She took him in as deep as his thick cock would go, and kissed his panting lips. “Then let me feel. I want to feel the real you…”

Hands tight around her body, Castiel kissed her back, licking at her lips until she swooned in his arms.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered, “keep them closed.”

She did as he said, screwing her eyes closed tight while his wings unfurled. She felt the rush of wind, heard the sound as they grew to full size. He could see her struggle to keep her eyes shut, so he kissed her again, distracting her with his hot tongue.

Castiel bent his wings around them, encasing their bodies in the invisible feathers. She felt the tips caress her flesh, smelled the sea and the sky all around her. They were cool yet created a comforting warmth as they touched her, every graze sending blissful sensations through her body.

“My God,” she moaned, “Castiel… they’re… beautiful.”

He smiled and licked at her collarbone, thrusting upwards, fucking into her as she regained her barings.

One hand on his shoulder, the other wandered through the forest of feathers, gently stroking his wings as if touching the very essence of God.

Every brush of her fingers over his wings made his cock twitch and Castiel moaned without care, hiding his face in the crook of her neck as he fucked up into her dripping cunt.

“You’re so fucking amazing,” she cried, reaching back to caress the root of his wings, the source of it all.

Gritting his teeth, Castiel’s nails dug into her shoulders and hips, forcing her to work with him. He sent out a wisp of his Grace to fill her clit and Y/N screamed with orgasmic pleasure as she came hard and wet on his throbbing cock. One more jab of his hips and he came, shooting his load up into the depths of her.

It leaked down onto his slacks as she lifted up and collapsed into his arms.

“That-” Her head lolled against his shoulder and he held her close. “Amazing-”

Castiel kissed her cheek as she drifted into unconscious bliss, her body giving up after the intensity of it all. The long two weeks held captive by an insane deity, the realization of the Horrific and Divine, the orgasm he’d just thrust upon her; it had all caught up at once, and Y/N went limp against him.

He kept his wings out and around them as he carried her to his room.

It wasn’t truly his room, not really his bed as he never slept, but it was where he felt comfortable when he was relaxing. The pillows were soft and the blanket was always tucked in perfectly.

He lay Y/N down and untucked the blanket for the first time ever, gently draping it around her as she rolled onto her side.

Hand on her forehead, Castiel sent another faint wave of Grace through her, sending her into a deeper sleep.

“Rest well, Y/N…”

She smiled in her sleep, somehow whispering his name. “N’ght, Castiel.”

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67midnightwriter · 1 year ago

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This series is an AMAZING read I HIGHLY recommend!

Captives of The Court - Masterlist

A Supernatural Series

~Strange things are brewing in Connecticut, so Dean and Y/N go check it out. After stumbling through town, they fall into something that's been going on a very, very long time. Can they put an end to the bloodshed and make it out unscathed or will they need a little help this time?~

Starring Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N

Featuring Cameos by Sam Winchester, Rowena MacLeod, and OCs

21,500 Words - 13 Chapters

Series Warnings Include: NSFW. Magic. Angst. Captivity. Pregnancy Talk, Sex. Oral. Threesomes, Slavery, Murder, Blood, NonCon/DubCon, Bickering. Also lots of love and fluff.

Chapters:

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen

#dean winchester x reader #spn fanfic #signal boost

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67midnightwriter · 1 year ago

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Captives of The Court - Chapter Eleven

A Supernatural Series

~Strange things are brewing in Connecticut, so Dean and Y/N go check it out. After stumbling through town, they fall into something that’s been going on a very, very long time. Can they put an end to the bloodshed and make it out unscathed or will they need a little help this time?~

Starring Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N

Series Warnings and Info may be found on the Masterlist Here

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

Once every few generations, a child is born with such amazing and natural talent that, with the proper instruction and will, can become one of the most powerful witches alive. They can suspend time, force nature to bend to their whims, control the hearts and minds of men.

Bronwyn Cromwell was one such witch. Born to the teenage mistress of a Puritan minister, Bronwyn grew up in the shadows, cast aside by the colony and condemned to be treated as an abomination until the day she died. As she grew, however, her natural talents became apparent and she defied fate and became its mistress instead.

Her magic was strong, her desires great. Anything she wanted, she could have, anyone moving against her was well punished.

Cunning and intelligent, she moved under the radar during the Witch Trials and came out the other side stronger. Over time, she gained the trust of locals who came to her for everything from sudden fevers to love spells and she honed her talents on the colonists of Connecticut.

Three hundred years later, Bronwyn was one of the most powerful witches in the country, known and feared by many. Including, The Grand Coven, who, upon many occasions, tried in vain to get her to join. Forever declining their forceful invitations, she was content to live in her small town, working her magic on the townsfolk and keeping a select few loyal followers young and prosperous through her hand-crafted spellwork.

Sure, a dozen or so people needed to die every ten years, but that was a rather insignificant price to pay for keeping herself young and beautiful. Besides, she spread the wealth with others, and her brand of magic was rather delicious to experience if you were among her chosen acolytes.

Y/N was teetering on the very edge of consciousness, her body laid out and trembling beneath Dean’s heavy nakedness. He sucked at each breast, licked at the scrapes his teeth made down her sides, drew his fingertips across her flushed skin. She was trapped in moments of bliss, straining to clear her head and focus, to push Dean away and confront their captor, but his mouth was so hot, his perfectly plump lips tasked with driving her wild.

She raked a hand through his hair and tugged, hoping to wake him up even a little bit, but the pain only spread through him and made his suckling mouth work even harder.

She gasped and a gentle laugh sounded above her.

Bronwyn was circling them, watching as they fucked again and again. She had changed into a tight black dress of lace that clung to her curves and exposed her arms and shoulders. The leather corset bound around her middle accentuated every inch of her, and for a second, Y/N felt her mouth watering at the sight of her milky skin.

Dean shoved his face between her thighs and she startled.

“Wh-what are you doing to us?” she panted out, barely about to think about more than Dean’s nose thumping against her clit.

The witch smiled, ruby painted lips curling at the edges. “Just watching… I enjoy watching.” She paused and leaned in a bit, eyes on Dean as he licked through Y/N’s slick cunt. “He looks like he’s good at that. Is he?”

Y/N shook herself, trying to wake fully. It felt like kicking for the surface in a black ocean; hard to know which way was up.

“He’s…” She let out a deep moan and bucked her hips uncontrollably into Dean’s face. “Yes…”

Bronwyn hummed in appreciation. “Lucky girl.”

Y/N lifted her head from the plush carpet and hissed. She tried to move more, to swat at Bronwyn as she came near, but her arms were limp, hands capable of littler more than clinging to the carpet or Dean’s broad shoulders.

“What do you want from us?”

Bronwny knelt down beside Y/N’s head and smiled sweetly. “I just want you to cum, Y/N.” She dragged a finger down Y/N’s face from temple to jaw and her eyes rolled in ecstasy. “Will you cum for me?”

The witch’s touch was like a drug that seeped through Y/N’s pores into every cell. Her heart pumped the tainted cells through her body, flooding every inch of her as Dean devoured her aching cunt.

“I just need all those yummy little orgasms…”

Pleasure surged inside and Y/N screamed in unadulterated bliss as Dean tipped her over the edge. She came hard, pulsing on his thick fingers, and a wisp of purple light floated from between Y/N’s legs and up over their heads.

She tried to follow it, confused about what it was and why it was, but Dean had quickly shifted between her open thighs and fit his heavy cock against her heat.

“Dean… wake up, baby. We gotta-”

He thrust his hips and her vision went dark. She sank down again, lost in the pleasure, trapped by the spell.

The light continued its journey, slipping into a brass jar on the stone altar. Bronwyn grinned and snapped the lid shut, keeping their power safe.

It was all about the power. The act of sexual pleasure expelled an amazing amount of natural power and Bronwyn had long ago found a way to capture and harness that power for her spells. Every little act extruded a bit of power. Sex, love, impregnation, birth. It was all magic. One simply had to know what to do with it…

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67midnightwriter · 1 year ago

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Tremble Like A Flower

...Wanna keep reading? It's live on patreon rn...

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67midnightwriter · 1 year ago

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Captives of The Court - Chapter Nine

A Supernatural Series

Starring Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N

Series Warnings and Info may be found on the Masterlist Here

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

Y/N looked through the window of the little shop and nodded to herself. “Crystals and fuckery.”

Dean cocked his head and peered through as well. The sill was lined with gemstones and crystals that glittered in the setting sun, jars of herbs and hanging things that made him sigh. “Seems so. Ready?”

She shrugged. “Don’t touch anything.” She wagged a finger in warning. “This can’t be a coincidence and I don’t feel like getting cursed, OK?”

He grinned. “When do I ever touch anything I shouldn’t? I’m a professional.”

He reached for the door and Y/N ticked off incidences on her fingers.

“Well, that time in Richmond where you picked up that cursed coin… Minot when you touched that painting and your skin started melting off… The rosary in Peekskill…”

Dean huffed. “I get the point. I won’t touch anything. I promise.”

Bells chimed as they entered and a short, perky redhead looked up from behind the counter.

“Welcome!” Her smile was bright. “How can I help you?”

Dean screwed on a charming smile and walked towards her as Y/N turned left, scanning the place.

“Hi,” he greeted, tugging his fake badge from his jacket. “Agent Don Henley. We’re in town investigating some homicides. Wanted to ask you a few questions about an ex employee of yours.”

The girl swallowed hard and her blue eyes went wide. “Oh! Um. I’m not- I don’t work- I mean, I work here but I’m not the owner.” She smiled up at Dean. “I’m Lydia. I just work here on Tuesdays and Thursdays after school.”

Dean nodded and smiled back, still charming his way in. He leaned down and set an elbow on the countertop. “Lydia. Lovely name. Tell me, did you know Lisa Abbot?”

Lydia cringed but tried to hide it. She stiffened, straightening up to her full height of just over five feet. “N-not really. I mean, she worked here for a while but I never really talked to her much. She was really quiet and stuff. Wasn’t until she met Dan that she opened up at all.”

“Dan?”

“Dan Thacher. He um…”

Dean squinted and rolled the name around in his head for a quick second before pinpointing the familiarity. “He was found with Lisa… Ah.”

Lydia bowed her head slightly. “Yeah. It was real sad.”

“I bet it was.” Dean pressed his lips together and leaned closer, gaining her attention and trust. “Why don’t you tell me more about them?”

Meanwhile, Y/N was searching the shop, mentally sorting through what was novelty magic and what was potentially dangerous. A few things stood out, but for the most part, it was oils and herbs and crystals wrapped in wire and hung on leather necklaces. Some stones with protection sigils carved into them stood out on a back shelf and Y/N leaned close, squinting at the talismans.

In the farthest corner, she spied an amethyst with what appeared to be Enochian writing etched onto each side. She reached for it, but pulled back at the last second, remembering her warning and admonishment of Dean’s habit of touching everything shiny.

“You can pick it up if you’d like.”

Startled, Y/N stood and turned to see an absolutely stunning woman staring back at her. “Uh-” Her jaw went slack as the woman took a step closer. “N-no, that’s alright.” She smiled but her brain couldn’t quite click back into working order.

The woman was breathtaking. Long golden brown hair hung past her slender shoulders; milky skin shone with a rosy undertone, and the plumpest, pinkest lips Y/N had ever seen curled into a gentle smile. Her eyes were gray but picked up every color around her like a kaleidoscope and Y/N got lost for a moment, staring in deep, desperate to name a color and lock her into a category.

“Please, go ahead.”

Her voice was sweet and heavy like honey and Y/N shook herself to break away.

“No,” she said again, taking a step back and clearing her throat. “But thank you.” Digging into her purse, she pulled her badge out and flashed it quickly. “Agent Smyth, FBI. And you are?”

A flash of pink tongue through a sly smile. “Welcome, Agent. My name is Bronwyn, this is my little shop.” She held out her arms and gestured to the shelves. The bell sleeves of her lilac dress waved like butterfly wings and Y/N found it hard to focus. “How can I help you?”

Y/N blinked slowly, her gaze drawn upwards to the cinched bustline of Bronwyn’s dress and the perfect curve of her breasts. “Uh…”

It wasn’t like her to be so easily distracted, especially by a woman, but Y/N was struggling to keep her mind clear and not stare too hard at the delicate flesh of Bronwyn’s throat or the way her hands moved so languidly through the air almost in slow motion.

“Um…”

Bronwyn laughed gently and Y/N snapped back into the moment.

She squared her shoulders and inhaled deeply, a mixture of dried herbs wafting through her head. “Well,” she began again, forcing herself to look anywhere but into the woman’s eyes. “We’re here to talk about… the… Lisa. Lisa Abbot. She used to work here.”

Bronwyn frowned gently. “Yes, what a tragedy. She was the sweetest young woman…”

“Anything you can tell me about her that might help us piece together what happened?”

Pink lips puckered and Y/N’s heart skipped.

“Well, I just don’t think I have any relevant information, Agent, I’m sorry.”

For some reason, Y/N believed her and couldn’t come up with a single question more. “Oh well.” She smiled and fell into staring again.

Dean’s laugh tugged her away and Y/N looked across the shop. He was fine, flirting with the college student and basically doing nothing of import. Y/N shook her head at him.

Bronwyn zoned in on the moment.

“Your partner?” she asked, eyeing Dean.

Y/N bit her lip and tried not to smile too hard. “Yeah. Um. Yes. He’s my partner. We, uh, work together.”

Bronwyn grinned knowingly. “There’s a bit more to it, I think.”

Y/N laughed. “What are you, psychic?”

She shrugged and waved her hands dramatically. “A witch. But, I can tell… you have strong feelings for him.”

Just then, Dean looked over his shoulder and caught Y/N’s eye. He smiled and her cheeks burned.

“And he for you, I see…”

Y/N nodded noncommittally, still trying to maintain her professional con. “I suppose.”

Bronwyn moved closer, slipping up against Y/N, and lay a hand on her shoulder. The touch was electric and Y/N sucked in a deep breath.

“You’re in love,” Bronwyn continued, her voice a sultry whisper in Y/N’s mind. “You both are.”

Y/N sighed happily. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Ready to settle down and start a family…”

That made Y/N jolt awake and she laughed, moving back a pace. “Uh, no.”

“You wouldn’t want to have his child?” She looked over at Dean. “He’s gorgeous. Strong, caring, brave…”

Y/N agreed, staring at her lover. “He is, yes. But… I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t have his kid, I just… I don’t want to.” Suddenly annoyed, she turned back to the witch and crossed her arms defensively. “Why is it some imperative thing that I have a baby? Just because I’m a woman I have to have children to fulfill some societal task? Conform to everyone’s idea of a contented female? I love him, he loves me, that’s enough.” She shook herself and calmed a bit, not sure why she was being so blunt with a stranger. “Besides, our lives- the way we live… it-it wouldn’t be fair to bring a baby into any of it.”

Bronwyn watched her spin out, interest in her gray eyes. “Government go you down, huh?”

Y/N shrugged. “Something like that.”

Her hand fell to Y/N’s shoulder again and a warmth spread through her body.

“I think things will change soon,” Bronwyn whispered. “You just have to let them.”

The warmth traveled her system, and Y/N smiled dreamily. “Maybe… yeah…”

“Love is a powerful thing, Y/N. Touch, sex, conception… creation…”

Something stirred in Y/N and her nose scrunched up. “How do you know my-”

Dean appeared before them both, his gaze immediately drawn to Bronwyn’s ample bosom. “Well, hello…”

Y/N jerked away from the witch’s touch and spun to stand beside Dean. She brushed his hand with hers and shivered.

“I… think we got all we need,” she said, tugging on Dean’s sleeve.

He did not seem interested in leaving just yet, but Y/N cleared her throat. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Cromwell.”

Bronwyn bowed gently and smiled. “If you need anything else, you know where I am.”

Y/N raced to the Impala and locked the door as soon as she was inside. She rubbed her palms down her thighs, ground her teeth tight, breathed slow and steadily.

Dean ambled behind her, taking his time.

She watched him approach, eyes wide with unease. His strides were terribly short, his bowed legs moving like slugs as she waited impatiently.

Once he was inside, she reached over and slammed the lock shut with a quick slap.

Dean jolted back in surprise. “You OK? You seem spooked.”

She crashed back into her side of the car. “Yeah, I’m spooked! How are you not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Seemed OK in there. Standard new agey crap. Chick at the counter was clueless.”

Y/N swallowed hard and looked out of the window, staring at the little shop. “That was not standard crap, Dean. There was some major mojo in there. Including that… Bronwyn person.”

Dean grinned. “That Bronwyn woman,” he corrected. “I’ve never seen you so… taken with a girl before. Gotta say, it was pretty hot.”

“Excuse me?”

“It was workin’ for me is all…”

“I wasn’t taken,” she snit, “I mean- she was… beautiful but-” Her mind churned and her skin prickled with dangerous arousal.

“But?”

“But my bat hasn’t swung that way since senior year of high school and it ain’t gonna again any time soon.”

Dean clicked his tongue. “Shame. You two woulda been… so hot together.”

“Yeah, well…” She huffed and crossed her arms over herself, hiding away while her worry grew. “Look, I don’t want to be super obvious but I’m pretty sure she’s why we’re here.”

“You think?” Dean tipped his head to the side, looking at her and the shop at the same time.

“You don’t?”

He shrugged. “You’re the one that talked to her. You’re the one’s been having feelings around town. If you say we got something, I believe you.”

A trickle of relief ran down her spine and she relaxed into the worn leather seat. “Thank you.”

Dean leaned across the seat and nudged her thigh with the back of his hand. “How about… we grab some food, head back to the motel, slip you out of that blazer, and play some naked Twister?”

He winked and she softened, letting go of her nerves and laughing.

“Naked Twister, huh? You really wanna get your right hand on red, dontcha?”

He grinned, all teeth and ideas. “Always.”

Dean was pretty skilled with chopsticks that night but not so much at getting Y/N naked. She was too intent on digging through town records and researching until her eyes were tearing and weary.

The take out was good though, and he was content with slurping down lo mein and scrolling through hospital records.

Some hours in, Y/N threw her hands up and tossed her head back, dramatic and whiny and done. She growled loudly and Dean popped his head up, a noodle hanging from his lips.

“You ‘aight?”

“No!” She pouted and rubbed at her eyes. “I hate this place. I hate this computer. I hate fuckin’- cold Chinese food.” She pushed at the half-empty carton of rice. “I hate murders and witches and stupid dead people. I hate it!”

Not wanting to be another thing that she hated, Dean simply nodded silently and sucked in the dangling noodle. He stood up and went to the mini fridge, pulling out two icy beers and popping the caps off. He perched one on Y/N’s shoulder.

“I think you need a break,” he said softly.

She took the beer but sneered up at him. “I think you need a break, break guy.”

He laughed. “Great come back.”

“Shut up.”

Dean sighed and gave her a moment to lament her choices in life. As he did, he scanned her computer screen and something caught his eye.

“This what you’re working on?”

It was rhetorical and Y/N rolled her eyes as he leaned in and pulled the laptop closer.

“I was trying to match the carvings on the bodies but I’m coming up pretty short. They’re almost like partial symbols and I can’t get them to make sense. It’s like doing a puzzle without the edge pieces.”

Green eyes squinted and a long finger poked at the screen, pressing against one symbol. “Well, I recognize that one.”

Y/N perked up, scooting her chain in and shaking off the fatigue. “What? What is it?”

Dean stood up and took a sip from his beer. “I don’t know what it is, but that witchy lady had it tattooed on her left wrist.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

He shrugged and pulled up his sleeve. “Yeah. Like, right here. It was faded, and there was an extra little squiggly line in between the triangles, but it was there. About an inch below her wrist. You didn’t notice?”

Y/N’s memory blurred and she bit her lip. “No. I was a little… OK, a lot distracted. How did you see that?”

He winked. “I’m very observant.”

“You were staring at her tits and got lucky.”

“So were you…”

She slapped his arm and he huffed, going back to his seat.

“Anyway- what is it?”

Y/N clicked away at the keyboard and shook her head. “Not sure, since you said there was another line to it-”

“A squiggle.”

“A squiggle.” She rolled her eyes again. “But if it’s the two triangles pointed like that… it basically symbolizes fertility and the connection between the male and female elements in the universe.”

Dean tipped the bottle back and took a sip. “So, it’s a sex thing.”

“It’s not a sex thing.” She sat back, eyes on the screen, and took a drink. “OK, it’s not not a sex thing. But what does that have to do with the bodies piling up? And why was that… woman… all up on me? It was creepy. She was asking about us having a baby.”

Dean choked on his swallow. “She what?”

“Yeah. Going on about how I should want to have your baby and how much in love we are and yada yada. It was gross and frankly a little misogynistic and outdated and-”

A switch flipped in her head and Y/N fell silent, staring at the space between her and the computer screen.

Having seen this before, Dean waited patiently for her to return to reality.

She gasped.

“What’d ya get?” he asked, enjoying her thought process. It was almost as if he could see an actual lightbulb flickering on above her head.

“Outdated.”

He cocked a brow. “Huh?”

“Outdated. This whole town is kinda… outdated. It’s clean and fresh. Everyone’s happy, and way too beautiful and young and- Well… It’s kinda… stuck in time, don't you think?”

He shrugged. “I guess. What does that have to do with us having a kid? Which, again, we should discuss because frankly-”

Caught in her rambling mind, she stood up and spun, waving him off. “I already told you, I’m not getting pregnant. Not unless Chris Evans walks in here and asks nicely.”

Dean scoffed. “Asks nicely?”

She shrugged. “I mean- it’s… Captain America.”

He was on his feet in an instant, beer wobbling on the table where he dropped it. “Captain America?” He stalked towards her, eyes narrowed and tongue darting. “What’s he got that I don’t got?”

Twinkle in her eye, Y/N spun towards him and batted her lashes. “Oh, couple million bucks and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of.”

Dean tensed up, squeezing his muscles. “You can bounce quarters off me.”

“I could bounce a nerf ball off you, perhaps…”

Growling with interest, he leaned down and licked at her lips. Y/N shuddered and craned her neck up to him, wanting his kiss, wanting everything.

He cupped her cheek and wrapped his right arm around her back, drawing her even closer. She mewed as his tongue passed her lips, melting for him.

“Oh fuck…” Her body responded, tightening and heating up. As his kiss deepened, the light throbbing between her thighs caught her attention and she pushed at his chest, breaking away. “Wait. We can’t.”

He pouted. “What?”

“We’re working,” she whined. “I wanna get this shit done.”

Dean dropped a hand to grab her ass. “And I wanna get this shit done…”

The force of his grip sent a tingle through her but Y/N stayed strong. She clapped her hand on his shoulder and twisted away.

“I’m sorry, but we’re almost done. Just gotta figure out the why and the where and we can go cap this bitch.”

Dean sighed dramatically. “If you’re even sure it’s her.”

The memory of Bronwyn’s touch flooded her mind and Y/N grit her teeth against it. “Oh, I’m sure.”

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