a1ecmcdowell

[a1ecmcdowell]

u guys dont want me to finish spn and meet demon dean bc i fear i will hyperfixate for the rest of my days and then in the next life

[a1ecmcdowell]

what is this genre of dean look because it makes me cream my patns every tiem i see anything regarding it I ENED COMMITTED IMMEDAITELY EMERGENCY EMERGENCY EMERGENCY

[a1ecmcdowell]

i need to wrap up the reaper fic before the soldier boy prequel show comes out bc not a single soul can make me rework everything bc my lore is wrong u CAN'TTRT TUIRKJH U CAN'T.

and again if any of my lore is right i expect a fat check in the mail from eric kripke i know that's right

[a1ecmcdowell]

soldier boy social media fic where hughie tried to show him Some kindness by making him a few social media accts and a tinder bc u know. soldier boy. and the whole fic is just reader taking pity on him bc yeah ur dick did trend. yeah it is bc u posted it on ur twt timeline instead of sending it to me. wdym wtf is a timeline how do i even explain that to u. why would i spell words out when texting dont give me shit

[a1ecmcdowell]

i am too much of a lil chicken to go in anyones asks but if u guys ever need to yap PLSSSS DO TO MEEEE I LOVE IT SM ALL MY MOOTIES ARE MY BELOVEDS EVERYONE OF U IS BELOVED TO MEEEE I STILL CB ALL OF U CHOOSE TO WANNA SEE ME BE ANNOYING OR MAKE VERY RANDOM WRITING THJNGS 😭😭 IT LITERALLY MAKES ME 🫶 ok lemme chill out now BUT REALLY 🥺 ILY ALL OK BY E

[a1ecmcdowell]

LMFAOOSSIOIO

[a1ecmcdowell]

abt to change my theme it's a miracle it lasted this long as is nobody look atm e

[a1ecmcdowell]

pls pls pls dean x angel 🙏 love this trope can be nsfw too if you want

or just more dean in general i need him bad

i literally made this in like an hour flat just for u omfg i cld NOTTT get this out of my head hehehe here!!

[a1ecmcdowell]

dean winchester x angel!reader — innocence is a virtue.

or, how on earth is he supposed to corrupt you? you? or, dean's newest passenger princess is killing him slowly and violently.

cw, fluff but with sexual elements. mostly fluffy though. reckless driving DO NOTTT do this!! professionals only!! dirty minded!dean. honestly just horny!dean really. innuendos galore.

word count : 2.9k

notes, guys can i be so honest i have not even gotten to the seasons where angels come into spn. this is all based on the lil bits n pieces i know of the future stuff ok. ik i'm a fraud but BE GENTLE IF IT'S OOC OR ANYTHING < /3

req. by anon & in honor of kas's dean & angel fics bc i LOVEEE them

★ ˚⋆

dean, honestly, had never met someone quite like you. when he'd told cas in passing that he was about the most naive, innocent thing he'd ever met, all he did was give him one of those looks he reserved only for dean. he thought, then, that it was just because he was being a bit of a shithead, and cas was telling him without telling him so.

very quickly, he found out how wrong he was about both of his assessments.

the day you came down to earth and graced everyone, literally, with your presence, dean was smitten. never before had he met someone so sweet. so honestly pure. until you, he thought that purity was nothing but an ideology based on impossible feats. a pipe dream and a half for the faithful. no, the reality was that he just hadn't met you yet.

sam was pouring himself into research, too focused to realize that dean was all but whittling away in his starvation, so when he offered to go grab some cheap shit from the diner a few minutes from the motel, all he got in response was a mumble of agreement and a wave of his hand from him.

but you, who'd been sitting on the motel bed, stiff as if you had something stuck up your ass holding you in place, turned to him and asked to come with. that struck dean off kilter immediately, because he hadn't been asked for anything in a long ass while. sam just usually assumed he'd be writing shotgun wherever they went. john — no, he'd never ask his son anything, usually buried that sentiment in harsh demands and orders. cas asked him lots of questions, but permission was not often one of them.

and when he looked at you, read over your features and saw the genuineness in your wide, expectant eyes... god, how could he say no?

so you sat there in the passenger seat. dean had to buckle you in with a joke that flew right over your head — another joke you would not get, even though he was fucking killing it with them right now — about not wanting to send you flying if they got into a wreck.

you proceeded to unbuckle and buckle and unbuckle again a few times, seemingly fascinated with the click of the mechanism. dean wanted to be annoyed. genuinely. if sam had started pulling this shit, dean would have pulled over and drove a few feet ahead as a warning to cut it the fuck out.

but with you, it was adorable in its own right. god, it was! somehow it surprised you, every time it clicked, even if you'd already done it eight times. like, how did anyone expect him to get pissy at you when you were doing those sharp, surprised gasps every few seconds? a few more times and he'd be pulling over to give you something to gasp at, he thought idly.

and then winced, scrunching up his face, when he realized how deep in the gutter his head was. no, he wouldn't touch you. wouldn't even try to plant that idea in your pretty little head.

dean didn't want to corrupt you. if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he wanted to keep that pretty little head as clear as his nose was, alright? he wasn't going to be the one to break you into what this world was, its hardships and its cruelties — and its more deviant pleasures.

but fuck, you made it so hard to keep his head straight.

you did this thing, he realized too, on that silent, clicky drive, where you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth when you were in deep thought. thought about what, fuck if he knew, because if you said something to him in the moments that he watched you do it, he'd never know. he was watching your mouth but not to listen.

dean was about to start reprimanding himself in his head, for what must have been the third time already, when you said something, nearly making him slam on the brakes in his surprise.

"how are you doing this?" you asked, as if that wasn't the vaguest question he'd heard in his entire life.

dean blinked a couple of times as he waited for elaboration that never came. he switched hands on the steering wheel, resting his right loosely over the gearstick. "doing..." he trailed off, shaking his head slowly in a gesture to make you keep talking, "what, exactly?"

you did not catch the hint, and he was probably a fool for expecting you to. it took a few more seconds of you staring very intently at his thighs for you to speak up, and by then, he was fucking squirming in his leather seat, trying to not let it get to either of his heads that you were so blatantly staring at his dick.

"this," you answered, twinges of frustration evident in your tone. he couldn't blame you. he was getting frustrated in this car ride, too. "making it move."

christ. he was going to hell. he was going to hell again, this time because of his own drifting thoughts.

"you're gonna have to be a little more clear, dove," he managed through his teeth, voice strained, "'cause i don't think we are on the same train of thought right now."

another blink, and another few seconds pass. your hand shot up in his direction and he flinched, honestly flinched, convinced from the filthy thoughts circling in his head that you were about to grab him by the—

"this," you repeated, and he almost bristled at the attitude, almost told you off about virtues or whatever, when he finally got it. your arm stuck out in gesture to his legs, which pushed the gas pedal and rested against the doorframe, as he drove.

dean closed his eyes briefly, metaphorically swapping his metaphorical wrist for his headspace. he was not, was not, the person that should be introducing you to this world.

dean shifted again, bringing his left leg closer to the leather seat as he readjusted into more of a comfortable position. he hadn't even realized how tense he'd gotten on this short car ride until now. he was as straight backed as you were, and breathing just as slow. "driving?" he asked anyways, like an idiot.

"driving..." you repeated, like the word was as fascinating to you as the process was. "how?"

the diner sign was right there. it was teal and glowed, retro in style, announcing benny's bistro as open.

he drove past it.

dean knew that you did not sign up for a driver's ed course with him with your question, knew even more that he was risking his baby for a pathetic attempt at flirting with someone who did not even know the definition of the word, but to hell with it. you'd asked to come along with him, and therefore placed yourself in his hands for his guidance. the least he could do was make some sort of effort, couldn't he?

"c'mere," he grumbled once he'd pulled baby off into an unassuming back road, parking it dead in the center. you'd need all the open space. he patted his spread thighs a couple of times.

your stupidly pretty pink lips sucked into your stupidly straight teeth. fuck. "why?"

"just—" he cut himself off when he realized he was about to get snippy. you didn't deserve snippy. he was just hungry and horny and you were pretty and he was...

he was pathetic. looking for reasons to get you into his lap. he'd already been to hell, what are they gonna do, drag him back by his ear?

"just do it," dean finished on a sigh, his hand dropping to the front of his leather seat, grabbing the handle and shoving the seat back as far as it could go. there you were, staring at his dick again, making him feel hotter and more bothered.

he felt his heart stop solidly in his chest when you started to climb over the middle console, so oblivious to the faceful of ass he was getting. dean was practically praying to god at that point. he knew he'd been a shit until then, and definitely a sinner by every means, but if he could grant him a little fucking strength—

you plopped your happy little ass right between his muscular, jean-clad thighs. you were warm, was his first thought. he was screwed, was his second.

"what now?" you asked him, that innocent lilt to your voice as you did, and he felt like a dirty little freak for wanting to bend you over the steering wheel moments before ( who was he kidding? for still wanting to bend you over the steering wheel ).

dean took both of your hands and placed them on the steering wheel. once he'd closed your fingers around the wheel, he dropped his hands to your thighs.

"this one," he patted the left one, and nearly went molten behind you, when you lifted that thigh and placed it on his palm. "nuh uh," he tried to lightly correct, "this one you don't use. jus' keep it out of the way." dean's voice was strained in his ears, in his throat.

you slipped your thigh out of his grasp, pressing it up against the inner of his own thigh, your foot tucked around his ankle. you were so trusting and compliant. he was so, so screwed, and so, so awful for thinking about breaking that sweet naivety.

"this one," he said, patting your right thigh, and when you didn't move it this time, he smiled, just a little, to himself. "you use to make it move."

the flush on your cheeks that followed his tease was so damn pretty it took his breath away.

he lifted his leg, not able to reach the pedals with you sat between them and his seat all the way back. he pointed his boot at the left pedal, knowing you were watching each of his movements intently. "that's the stop pedal. push it down to stop." he repeated the process he'd done with your legs, boot pointing at the right pedal as he explained it. "that's the ignition."

pause.

"that's the go," he corrected, sparing you any momentary confusion and any more questions, he hoped. dean could not keep sitting here idle with you between his legs. "makes the car drive. harder you push, faster it goes."

hell, hell, hell. he wasn't going to hell, because he was already in it, strung up and burning.

"i'll handle the gears," he added quickly, when he caught your head turning downward to the shift stick. "don't wanna overwhelm that pretty little head of yours, dove, with too much at once."

dean rested his right hand on the gear stick, his left hand gripping the handle on the driver's door for dear life. he needed the support; you were driving him up a wall with his claws out, and you were about to be driving him. driving his baby. it took a lot of coaxing from sam for dean to let sam behind the wheel. all you did was ask how do you make it move? and he was letting you drive.

you. who did not even know what a car was. who was learning how to drive literally that moment.

god help him. he'd prayed more in this fifteen minute drive than he had in years.

you pressed down on the gas pedal, and the car revved all pretty and loud. dean watched with bated breath as the response to your efforts registered in your head, the way your eyes lit up in that curious glimmer, the fucking teeth biting on your lip.

once you let up, he pushed on the gear stick's release, and tugged it down from park to drive. the car slowly began to move down the dirt path.

you slammed the brakes so hard that his head knocked into the back of your shoulders. "fuck, dove, gentle."

and you were, when you shifted your foot over to the gas pedal again. you pushed it down on it tentatively, the car starting to glide down the dirt road, the sound of pebbles grinding beneath the tires.

"better," he mumbled in your ear, leant forward to keep his eyes on the windshield. it's not that he didn't trust you, he just... yeah, he didn't trust you. "just like that, dove."

the praise, though, goes in one ear and out the other, because the gentle ease of baby's tires along the road is interrupted by you slamming the gas. the tires squeal. clouds of dirt and dust puff out from behind the car as it takes off.

dean's heart went from in his ass to in his throat in a manner of a second. "whoa, whoa, whoa!" he exclaimed, a nervous laughter bubbling out of his throat. "slower, slower, will ya? crashin' in the middle of nowhere is the last—"

you hit the brakes again, still hard but less this time. just enough to send his head knocking into your shoulder again as the car slowed.

slowed, but still headed toward the ditch. "right, see your hands?" he asked, chin nuzzling into the plush spot between your neck and your shoulder so he could see better. "twist 'em. nice n' gentle for me, to your left, yeah, good girl. makes the whole car move, yeah? jus' keep it on the dirt, not off "

you follow his instructions, and dean feels a swell of pride at this. maybe he should have gone into driver's ed or some shit. he was a good ass teacher.

"like this?" you asked, drawing him out of his self glazing. your voice, soft and hesitant, breathless with your excitement, has his chest heaving.

"yeah, dove, jus' like that," he rasped, his left hand moving from the doorframe to rest where your thigh met your hips. the car kept its slow pace down the long dirt road, and for the first time since you'd gotten your hands on the wheel, his heart doesn't feel like it's pounding in his throat. "no, no, don't stop. keep goin', you're doing so good for me."

his phone starts to buzz in his pocket, and like that, his self indulgent driver's ed lesson comes to a screeching halt. "you jus' keep on going like this, alright?" he asked you, patting your hip with his hand before he reluctantly let go.

he definitely answered the phone with more attitude than necessary. couldn't help it. he was having a great time. "what, sam?"

"everything alright?" sam asked, and then dean felt like a prickhead for giving him shit at all. "s'been thirty minutes."

dean sighed, his eyes lifting again to look out the front windshield. a stop sign was quickly approaching, and you didn't even need his guidance for that. you were slowing to a stop all on your own. he was so fucking proud, it was sick. "all good. long line at the burger place."

it was dead empty, four miles back.

"we'll be back in a few, alright? chew on one of your books or somethin' while you wait, make 'em useful."

"dean—"

he hung up before he could hear sam's sighed response.

his hand fell to your waist again, squeezing lightly to stop you from lifting your foot off of the brake just yet. "play time's over. calvary's callin' us back."

dean pushed the gear stick into park again before he moved both of his hands to your hips, helping guide you back into the passenger seat.

he adjusted the seat again, his hands finding their typical place on the wheel. he did a very illegal u-turn at the four-way intersection and headed back down the road that you'd driven him down.

"have fun?" he asked after a beat, eyes flicking over to see you. you looked so pretty in the orange glow of the sunset, your face lit up in deep gold.

you turned to meet his eyes, and he had to look away quickly, the bright glimmer of adrenaline in them knocking all the wind out of him. "yes."

"good." dean meant it. there were so few things he'd risk everything for, but that toothy smile of yours jumped to the top of that list.

"dean?" your voice rung out again, earning him another glance your way in acknowledgement. "what part of the car was in my back the whole time?"

dean faltered, eyes blinking in a bout of surprise and lips parting, searching for a response he did not have. his eyes dropped down to his lap for a second, dread and embarrassment pooling like ice water in his stomach at what he hoped wasn't— yeah. yeah, it was.

"i dunno, dove," he mumbled through his teeth, staring straight ahead, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, doing basically anything to not meet that curious look of yours. especially knowing you'd have your lip in your teeth all over again. "might have t'take it to the shop, while we're in town... get it checked out or somethin'..."

he was so damn screwed.

tags, @figthoughts @jasvtsc @titsout4nicholas @deanswidow @deansbite

[a1ecmcdowell]

THE REAPERㅤㅤ—ㅤㅤFESTERING FEELINGS.

THE REAPER disappeared off the face of the planet in the 20th century. SOLDIER BOY is the only one who holds the answers. A WAITING GAME ensues to see which, if either, makes it out of the depths of the unknown first.

includes, they're fighting </3ㅤㅤㅤthere's gay implications if u squintㅤㅤㅤi SWEAR this is the last frederick vought inclusion 4 at least a while

word count : 2k

notes, next chapter is short so i will post it right after ok. short but necessary.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤprev part!ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterpost!ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnext part!

03.

THE WAIT OUTSIDE of Dr. Frederick Vought’s lab is agonizing. People pass by Cole and Ben in the halls, and they practically fall all over themselves, slurring praises through their starstruck lips. 

Cole barely manages to resist the urge to hurl. If he cared at all, he’d grab them by the shoulders and tell them that he served too. He didn’t end the damn war, but neither did Soldier Boy. He’s the prop and poster child for the upcoming era of peace. That’s it. 

Stratostorm pushes through the shut, blurred glass door, doing a double take at the sight of Cole and Ben both waiting in the hallway. 

His eyes rake over Cole before they land on Ben, and his masked face breaks into a grin. He nods his head at him, black spandex suit flexing under his crossing arms. 

“Heard about Germany,” he hums, eyebrows lifting from behind the eyeguard he wears over his eyes. “Congrats.”

Cole doesn’t know what the hell his powers are, but they must be intense, if he’s decked out head to toe in a full body suit and a strip of metal over his eyes. 

Ben’s lips quirk in one corner. “No big deal,” he says, as if he hadn’t been walking around like hot shit since the moment Cole laid eyes on him, “jus’ doin’ my civil duty.” 

Oh, give him a fucking break. 

“Reaper,” the cool, wiry voice of Dr. Vought says from the open doorway. He’s like a mouse; sneaking around undetected until he squeaks. “Thank you for understanding the… developed circumstances with our meet. Come on in.”

Cole didn’t agree to shit. Ben just tagged along like a fly on shit. He wasn’t going to tell Vought this, though. 

Vought holds the door open for Cole to walk in behind him, and Cole promptly lets it shut before Ben can slip in. There’s a string of indeterminable curses that fall from the older man’s mouth, muffled by the closed glass, before it shoves open again. 

“I hope you’re goin’ to do something about his goddamn attitude,” Ben scoffs, throwing his hand up in gesture to Cole. “Or let me.” 

Dr. Vought tsks, his attention turned to the tray of supplies atop his wheeled table next to the hospital bed. Cole used to be afraid of this part — the unknown of Vought’s tests making his already weary nature even moreso. But they’d done this for the last few months. 

Take some blood. Test the capacity of Cole’s powers, make sure they weren’t festering or whatever option Vought expected that was equally godawful. Run a physical. Send him on his merry way, thoroughly poked and prodded. 

“Quite need his attitude, unfortunately,” Vought mumbles to himself, prepping the needle for Cole’s blood, “maybe you’ll grow to appreciate it as I have, Ben.” 

Ben scoffs all over again, his thick arms crossed firmly over his chest. Jesus. Like a giant, brooding mountain. 

“Just a couple of vials today, Cole,” Dr. Vought says, patting Cole’s elbow with a gloved hand. “Will be our last appointment like this. My research with all of you Six, so far, has proven that my serum has done nothing but enhance you.” He wraps the scrap of cloth around Cole’s bicep, and Cole instinctively curls his fingers into a fist. He knows this dance. There’s a pinch in his elbow, and a content hum from Vought’s lips, before he adds, “just make sure you phone if anything feels wrong.” 

Ben’s eyes are scrutinizing when they land on Cole, and when Cole catches that gaze, he curls his lips into a sneering smile. 

“Sounds like you’ve repeated that speech a couple of times or so already today, Doc,” Cole remarks, not moving his eyes off of Ben. God forbid he jump ship and go rogue and test his capabilities while Cole is debilitated and unable to use the extent of his in defense. 

Behind him, he hears the scrape of Vought’s clipboard as he lifts it from the countertop. He scribbles something, the pen scratches loud in the echoing silence of his lab. “Could say that, yes.” 

He caps the vial of blood and plucks the needle out of Cole’s elbow, pressing a small square of gauze to the bloody mark in his skin. 

These circumstances are unfortunate. Ben’s watching Cole like a hawk, as if he’s more than aware of the next part of this assessment. He’d been too busy in the barracks to know a thing about Cole’s powers, beyond—

“S’it time to kill a couple of civilians?” Ben asks, eyebrows flicking up and disappearing behind the fabric of his mask. His smile is wide, fucking beaming, and — is that gum he’s smacking on? Christ. 

Cole’s face remains impassive. “Accident.” 

“Yeah you are, princess,” Ben shoots back. “C’mon, then. Get those pretty little eyes burnin’.”

That wasn’t all he could do. But the more blissfully ignorant that Ben was, the better off Cole was. It was, frankly, none of his fucking business. 

Dr. Vought steps back up to Cole’s side, nodding at him. “We’ll start with the light,” he says, glancing down at the checklist on his clipboard. The pointed tip of the pen taps idly on the paper. “Dim it.” 

Cole’d rather not. He doesn’t like when it gets dark. But he can’t just deny him and put a big red flag on his ass. 

He glances up at the bright bulb in the center of the ceiling. The dome around it casts a shadow against the plaster behind it, and he focuses on that — tugs the dark over the light until it dims a couple of shades, wisps of smoky black dancing around it. 

It’s already starting to whisper. Cole gives the shadows two seconds of attention, and they beg in his ear for more, more, more. 

“Impressive,” Vought remarks, a lilt at the end of his words, “not what I asked you for, though. Release them and try again.” 

Cole snarls in annoyance. “I know how to dim a goddamn light. It’s just—” 

“Performance anxiety,” Ben chimes in, arrogance dripping off of every syllable. “Happens to the best of ‘em. Not me, though. You’ll get through it.” 

Cole’s eye twitches. Break his neck. Break his neck. 

He’s not going to break his neck. Cole stares straight at the dimmed overhead light and heats the metal socket inside of it so much, so quickly, that it shatters. Glass coats the glossy tiled floor and ricochets onto the countertops, the hospital bed he sits on — and Ben’s boots. 

Ben’s jaw visibly ticks. His tongue pokes in the inside of his cheek, a pissed off dimple deepening his scruffy cheek. 

A blink, and he’s stood still, seething like a viper about to strike. Another, and he does. 

That stupid shield of his raises, assumedly, to knock the edge into Cole’s jaw, but he tosses his head back out of the way before the titanium steel can shatter his bone. He’s on his feet and off of the edge of the paper-coated bed in an instant, his eyes ablaze.

Fire burns through his retinas, golden and bright, the heat of the rays radiating off so hot that he can hear it sizzling. Ben doesn’t buckle for a second, though, and that only fuels Cole’s aggravation. 

Fuck him. Fuck him for ending a war. Fuck him and his fucking—

Ben raises the shield between him and the blast, and Cole pushes harder, desperate to break the indestructible titanium, to blow Ben’s fucking brains out—

“Enough, boys,” Dr. Vought shouts over the deafening hum of Cole’s laser beams and the smell of burning metal, the black whisps of smoke billowing off of the shield. “You have caused enough destruction in my lab for one day. For one lifetime.” 

Cole blinks the beams away, managing to suppress the burning heat behind his eyelids as his eyes come back into focus. 

Of course, the shield is undented, unaffected. It smells godawful in the lab, though; like a welding factory tenfold. 

Ben’s suit, though, has a hole in the center. Right over his heart. The edges of the burn in the fabric curl and shrivel. 

Vought’s lips press into a thin line. “I will make adjustments to the tailoring in your suit.” He flips papers around on his clipboard before he starts to write. “Cannot have you fighting wars with a flammable suit, can we?”

“It’s already inflammable,” Ben grunts out, his glaring eyes directed, still, at Cole.

Vought pauses. He flicks his eyes over at Cole, that blood curdling grin on his lips. “Interesting.” 

Cole blinks furiously, trying to get his fucking eyes to stop feeling like they’re melting, too irritated to put up with Vought’s odd mannerisms and eerie behavior. “What?” 

“Sunlight.” He taps his index finger on Cole’s temple. “Sunlight, and darkness, all wrapped up in a Cole-shaped bow.” 

The sound of his fountain pen scratching on the paper is seconds from sending Cole into an overstimulated meltdown. Luckily, before any of the new shadows in the room can start to try and give him ideas on how to mutilate the two others in there— 

“Cole Granger, you have proven interesting indeed,” Vought hums, that horrible grin still on his mouth.

Cole scoffs. Months ago, he would have been glad to be yielding satisfactory results. If he’d been as useless as Stratostorm was after falling over himself trying to get a dose of the test Compound V serum, he would have probably let Ben kill him ages ago. 

Now, though, he was fucking sick of this. Sacrifices were necessary, he guessed; Stratostorm had to wear a visor over his eyes at all times now, Bloody Mary’s teeth had all fallen out and been replaced with venomous fangs, and Obsidian was pretty much housebound so as to keep gravitational peace in the world with his body functioning as a conduit. 

If he’d known that he’d be losing his eyesight and getting terrible ideas implanted in his mind because of the taunting shadows that existed everywhere, he would have let his family stay sick. He didn’t even see them anymore, constantly wrapped up in Vought’s shit. At this rate, let them fucking die. 

Cole physically bites down on his tongue. The sharp pain that tremors down his nerve system pulls his brain out of the deep rut of thoughts it was starting to slip into.

“…still having trouble with your eyes?” Vought asks, looking up at Cole expectantly. 

Cole grits his teeth. He doesn’t look anywhere in Ben’s direction in the darkened laboratory, because he has no authority or business in Cole’s life. 

“It’s fine,” Cole sneers, lifting a hand to shove the little flashlight in Vought’s fingers  out of his eyesight. His eyes were too damn sensitive right then to stare down the barrel of pure light. 

Vought tsks again. “Mmm, disagree. The burns on your retinas are—” 

“Stop.” 

“—worsening every time I see you,” Vought finishes regardless, jotting down some sort of note about it. Whatever. He was already being prescribed glasses. What else could he possibly be making notes about? Getting him a monocle? 

The doctor doesn’t get the hint, or doesn’t care, about Cole’s growing irritation. Bold, considering Cole would have blown Ben’s head off with nothing but a thought and his eyes if Ben wasn’t so goddamn strong. “Special glasses for Reaper, and sunray proofing Soldier Boy’s suit.” He nods his head, as if clarifying it for himself. “You two are making my job as difficult as you possibly can.”

Ben grumbles something under his breath, walking up to the bed Cole stood beside. “Get the hell outta the way,” he rumbles, nodding toward where he’d been standing moments before. 

Oh, Cole was not going for a fucking round two. “I have to stay for his shit?” He asks, eyebrows raised when he turns back to Vought. 

“No, you’re all finished here, Cole. I’ve gotten all the information I need on your status.” 

Great. Cole salutes them both before turning on his heel to get the hell out of there before the darkened room starts trying to tell him to kill them again. 

There’s a brief splutter of noise from Ben’s lips as Cole pushes open the glass door, crunching on the lightbulb glass beneath his boots. Luckily for the both of them, Cole slams the door shut before he can hear Ben’s protesting of his leaving. 

Not. His. Business.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤFEEDBACK & REBLOGS ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤGREATLY APPRECIATED!

tags ( i am kissing u all btw ): @jasvtsc @voidsuites @figthoughts ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤask here to be added to the taglist.

[a1ecmcdowell]

i hope everyone knows i've had a crashout jj smut in the drafts for like 5 days but i cannot bring myself to finish it or even look at it still. every time i think i am done grieving i remember he's fr gone and i go

the day i post it is the day sns pt 2 will come and then ... u will know i am healed.

[a1ecmcdowell]

all the times mechanic!dean was humbled by bimbo!reader - 18+

★ ˚⋆

dean was convinced, a lot of the time, that not a single coherent thought existed in the white noise of your brain, just accepting that you were one of those girls with a pretty face to her legacy. it wasn't a bad thing. he'd never admit it, but seeing your face light up when he explained something to you was one of his favorite looks on you - the glimmering wide eyes, the o-shaped part of your glossy lips as the pieces clicked into place.

other times, he was floored by the capacity of that pretty little head and the information it held. completely floored. you never said anything with malice either, or chastised him for not thinking in the same way that you did. just stated the things like fact, typing away on your pretty pink iphone with your pretty pink manicured nails, not even looking up to see that you'd taken his breath away.

there were a lot more of these instances than he cared to admit. he was a proud, prideful kind of guy, often convinced that it was his way or the highway.

until you came around.

he'd started a list on his phone, of some of those times, cementing them into a vault of your history. maybe he'd show it to you on your wedding or something cheesy like that, that he knew you would love. or maybe he'd keep it to himself, as to not humble himself further.

when you'd called a car's failing engine a "tummy ache", and that was how he figured out that the cause was the owner putting in the wrong gas.

the first time you talked him into trying on your panties, and he'd tried to deny it heavily, and you'd said, "it's just clothes." and it was so simple but he'd never thought of it like that. like holy shit, yeah, it's just clothes.

when you'd tried to hook up with him at his work, in the backseat of his car no less, and dean desperately tried to keep some semblance of professionalism at his job, and you were like "who's gonna see? no one comes here." and he proceeded to fuck you into the leather with, you guessed it; not a single customer to see the fogged windows and the rattling frame.

you got him to start saying things are cunty and that's not even the humbling part. the fact that he could not fucking stop himself from calling everything cunty when you were around was.

when you'd called the stars "little suns" and now every time he looks at the night sky, he can't help but think if you're looking at the little suns too.

he'd been staying late trying to finish a car and you'd gotten upset and told him "who's gonna need their car this late?" and yeah. who the hell was? he made it home in five minutes and made up for his time away.

he told you that one day he'd take you to meet his family and you called them the witch burners with the straightest face he'd ever seen. yeah. they did do that sometimes. but don't say that to their face.

sometimes his old habits would kick in and he'd start doing everything for you, like he did growing up with sammy, and you remind him every time that you were his baby but not his baby.

he joked that you were baby vers. 2, and you'd said, "you can't call everything you park yourself in baby." he started calling you princess immediately after.

he'd grabbed your hair once when you were bent over during sex and you whirled around so fast he honestly thought you were going to kill him. like there was more fear in his eyes then than there was in some of the hunts he did before he retired.

when you insisted in front of his coworkers that, no, you did not want to drive your car if he was there to tote you around already. like, fuck him, honestly, for not assuming you would want to be chauffeured. he was still living that shit down.

"no, dean, i'm not blowing you right now, this is a chanel lip gloss." right. because he was supposed to know what that meant. "i am not wiping chanel off with a paper towel, dean." tell chanel to get off her fucking high horse, thanks!

he tried to be romantic once and put his hand on your thigh while driving and you glanced down with a pout and said, "your filthy oil hands :(" with that exact sad face. he didn't know how else to convey the utter devastation in his typed list without the fucking emoticon. you'd have thought he ran over your baby or something.

notes, guys ... i fear they are rent free rn. something ab grumpy/sunshine in any form is going to do it for me every time.

tags ( if some of these dont work im gonna run up and down the street butt naked on god ) @titsout4nicholas @deans-yn @dipperscavern @devoursweetly @jasvtsc @panickedbitch @t3l3vangelism @jensenacklesfan69 @manicjk @mkendlic @hischrrypie @deanswidow @figthoughts

[a1ecmcdowell]

mechanic!dean x bimbo!reader headcanons!

you have a car that he fucking loves and he tried to tell you when you brought it in for the first time and you were just like

"yes i love the white ones!!"

because of course daddy bought it for you and you knew nothing about it

just that it's white and it goes really fast

and that it breaks when you accidentally run over the curb in the mall parking lot, yes the one that is taller than a speedbump for the very reason of keeping people from hitting it

he knew he'd be in for it when you hopped out of that driver's seat in pink heels and a little black dress

and when he saw the dash and back glass lined with pretty pink tulle and those stupid pink fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror

and dean could not resist teasing you at ALLLL then like

"how can you see through the mirror with all that glittery shit in there?"

and proceeded to actually stop dead in his tracks when you, without looking up from your phone, said "that's what the mirror is for?"

like he honestly could not believe it

he's like ... oddly endeared by your antics but also so fucking stressed out

because at one point before you started dating it was like you didn't know that you could just. come in and see him

no you were popping tires and busting your radiator and, at one point, casually confessed to a hit and run on someone's mailbox

just so you had a reason to show up to his work

like ??? he did not even know what to do about that. call the police ??? no. fuck the cops

but one time he was driving down the backroads himself in baby, heading a longer way home from work and he saw a mailbox on the ground

and he knew you did that. like he just knew

that was the moment he realized that he was going to ask you out. something about the fact that you were so desperate to see him that you saw a mailbox and promptly went "whoopsies!" before ramming into it

omfg he was sold

at one point early on, too, so he didn't have any secrets from you, he tried to tell you about the family business that the winchesters had, at one point, before sam went to college and he shifted into mechanic work instead of demon hunting

and you were perched on the hood of your car, him next to you, as he poured his heart out

and the very first thing you said after he finished, terrified that you'd run for the hills, was "so you just put seasoned the floors and read the bible?"

there's just something so INNOCENT about your naivety that he gets so attached to it

of course he calls you princess. you are his princess. his pretty pink princess

he drops 75 bucks on your fresh manicure every paycheck too

and you are so excited to show him what he paid for every time

it's like when you pretend to care about his work rants, while barely even knowing what a spark plug is

because he has no idea what pink aura acrylics with chrome means

sometimes you offer to drive on your dates and he's like NOOO it's okay baby let me treat you alright let me do this right

but really he is fucking terrified that he's going to end up an accomplice in one of your mailbox murders

and he really can't add that to his criminal record.

that you know about btw. ate him up too about it like "y'know college kids make fake ids. you don't have to like ... steal them"

those random moments of clarity in your pretty little head were always at his expense and it never failed to catch him off guard

the backseat and the passenger seat's leather are literally embedded with your perfume

he gets into the car and takes a big ol whiff every time. like habit

yes you do let him try on your pink satiny underwear HEHEHE

and yes he DOOO LIKE IT HEHEHEEH

he did not like when you made him do a spin like he was a little puppy in a sweater or something

you tried to teach yourself how to bake for him so he could have a treat after the longer shifts at the shop

and it was a travesty really. you knew the pie was burnt but like ... thought it was salvageable ?

and dean still ate it yessir. to keep the tears out of your eyes at your disappointment that it flopped

"i'm jus gonna eat around the burnt parts pretty thing no big deal!!"

it was such a big deal to you though. every little misstep even if it was so silly

you have big feelings alright. big feelings for someone who was so small

even in your heels dean towers over you

he lets you paint his nails. complains like "can't let the fuckin' rednecks that come to the shop see this shit" all grumbly like

but then you find another pretty color and he's got his nails already ready like 💅

notes, omfg i hope u guys like this this was so fun. i just wanted to try something new while i'm on like ... very minor writing block rn </3 i think "tough guy" dean x soft ditzy girl who keeps him on his toes but softens his edges and the walls he put up is just SOOOO < 3333

[a1ecmcdowell]

and if i post part 2/3 to this after 283450438 years of letting it marinate what then. huh what then

ㅤㅤ SHARDS OF MEㅤㅤ . . .ㅤㅤpt 1 !!ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ( 🍒 )

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤor, ben mcdowell's dna made TWO clones . . . one just got to live, while the other got locked away.

NOTES. this will have three parts!! i rly hope i wrote alec somewhat ok bc despite loving and adoring him... i've never done it until now ik... so if it's wrong b gentle. dean's not introduced ( yet! ) but baby sammy is!! and i hope tht makes up for it at least a lil < 3

it was raining the day that x5-494 was born. 

sheets of drizzle and droplets clung to the trees and their leaves outside of the wyoming facility, falling wave after wave – a perfect mimicry of the screaming cries of the baby just born inside of its walls. 

and he was not a special baby, that one. the doctors and the overseers realized it quickly enough as the baby wailed on and on throughout the night, desperate for care and comfort that he would not be given. 

the others created from the dna of x5s did not cry. did not wail. and surely, if they ever were going to, certainly would not have done it throughout the entirety of the night onwards. 

they had to think fast, you see, because a genetically crafted baby could not just be dropped off on the doors of an adoption facility in a box with a blanket and a note. unremarkable as he was, this baby was still handmade and not just a mistake or a regret. no, the only regret that came from x5-494 was the fact that he held no purpose to their greater picture. 

they had a filing cabinet for the list of mothers who birthed their children in the facility’s main office – for the ones who could have been released back into society, that was, and did not kick a fuss and need to be dealt with – and so that was where they started. some of those mothers wanted babies, after all. that was why they’d volunteered to be the vessels for the x5s. 

it was settled, then, and perhaps a bit cruel, that x5-493’s birth mother would get the baby she desperately wanted that day. mary mcdowell. now married, now living in lawrence, kansas. 

mary winchester came back to gillette, wyoming, in an instant, however, when she got the letter. a baby. a baby that, while not directly birthed from her, was genetically hers. technically speaking. 

she whisked away the failure that was x5-494. x5-494 died that day, and became dean winchester. 

9 months later, another x5-494 was born, and he was perfect. so perfect that, once the time came that he was old enough to function on his own, he was thrown into psychology operations as a precaution — project manticore could not handle another 493. 

x5-494’s first mission was to hunt down dean winchester. not engage, not attack, but monitor. it was something that the higher-ups at manticore did often – check up on those they’d set free. the escaped x5s were proof of that, though they were a special case on their own, but the mothers, and now dean, needed to have tabs kept on them. 

and it was weird, wasn’t it? autumn had turned the leaves to auburns and umbers and maroons, and, well… 494 did not see a lot of trees. nor did he see a lot of families, who held small children’s palms in between them as they walked up and down sidewalks, as those little ones chattered mindlessly about god knew what. 

until then, all he knew were concrete walls and no windows. no windows, he remembered this specifically, because sometimes he thought it’d drive him crazy. hearing the sounds of cars outside, rumbling down roads and pavements he couldn’t see, wheels turning over rocks, and he would never see it. 

and now, here he was. outside. sun shining down on his skin, wind chilling the same skin that the light toasted, and cars drove on the pavement right there next to him, he saw it. 

weird, weird, weird, how free a life could be, and how solitary another was. 

494 doesn’t even realize that he is standing in the middle of the pavement until a child runs up to his leg, and he expects some snarky little comment, or maybe a soft voiced sorry! but the kid just stops. he’s got this floppy brown hair, and a coat about three sizes too big on him, and a gap between his two front teeth. 

and he’s saying nothing, but looking up at 494 with that toothy grin, and this was not a part of his training — dealing with children. 

“what do you want?” he asks, and it’s a bit harsh, sounds it to himself, too, when it spits out of his mouth, but. oh well. the most he can do is wipe the irritated, confused sneer off of his lips.

this is all just – a bit too much for him, really. 

the kid doesn’t even fucking falter though; that smile just widens. one of his littler hands shoots out and grabs 494’s and starts to yank. 

“dean! you came back!” 

the kid doesn’t falter, but 494 does. 

he plants his feet, and of course he’s stronger than this little guy — genetically altered dna and all, and plus, he’s double his size — so of course the kid stumbles backwards. 

his face contorts into confusion, pinched eyebrows, pinched lips, everything pinched. “what’s wrong?” 

and, like, what’s he supposed to say? honestly? his orders were do not engage. the kid engaged him. that’s not his fault. they should have had some sort of protocol prepared for–

“i know y’wanted to go t’that halloween party with casey,” the kid starts saying, and he’s got a lisp because of that gap in his teeth, which really just makes 494 feel a bit softer for him – surefire sign he needs to disengage, “but thank you. for comin’ back and all. i like trick or treating with you the best.” 

the kid loses him again, because what the fuck is a trick or treat? 

luckily, he starts to tug 494 along again, turning his back before he can see the sheer befuddlement morph onto his expression. and, that means that he doesn’t have to look him in the eyes when he– 

“i’m not dean.” 

weird, too, that is. giving something a name. he’s used to numbers and labels and codes, not humanizing things or people to keep it easy and simple. 

the kid skids to a stop, little shoes scuffing on the pavement. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, but the silence is enough. the only thing 494 can hear is the fucking wind whistling through the red and orange leaves, the giggling toddlers with their parents on the other side of the street, and it’s a bit suffocating, and now all he wants is for this one to go back to talking his ear off. 

“you… that doesn’t…” the kid stumbles over the words just like he stumbled over his shoes, and before 494 can let him turn around again and see that this entire thing is fucking killing him, he rips his hand free from his small grip. 

he walks at a leisurely pace, refusing to look over his shoulder, hoping that the kid will lose interest by the time 494 chooses to leap into the trees. he has to dodge around the even littler kid, a girl, being bounced up and down between her parents by their grip on her hands as they walk, her squealing loud even as they disappear out of sight. 

and it’s all too much, really, isn’t it? 

so he decides fuck it, and jumps up into the nearest tree, his hands closing around a branch of umber and maroon leaves, climbing higher up it until he can’t hear the sound of cars skating by on the road below, to make the journey back to his home of stone walls without windows.

[a1ecmcdowell]

hang on guys lemme cook for a second

negan but he and lucille had a son long before the apocalypse started.

negan who kept treating his mom awfully and his son became sick of it.

negan but suddenly his wife is dying and his only son just up and left him to take care of her, and was forced to get the fuck over himself because his son wasn't there to keep doing it for him.

negan but suddenly the world is ending, and it's damn hard to find any chemo for lucille, even though he'd taught himself how to administer it, and his son is probably dead. he hasn't called or bothered, so of course he had to have croaked now, in the early starts of the apocalypse.

negan but lucille dies, and it's all his fault, in a way, and he fucking snaps. his only family left is now dead, and his son is dead or gone ( he hasn't bothered to come back home; this is the time to come back, his fucking mom's dead! ) and what else does he have to be good for when this same world took away his kid and the love of his life?

negan who starts the saviors. who wreaks havoc on the other survivor groups. who terrorizes, and kills, and destroys, everything he touches.

negan but he finds one group that fights back, that doesn't take his shit, and it pisses him off because these people are just like his son used to be. pisses him off more than it should, because on top of their defiance, there's someone in their ranks that looks like colt and it can't be. literally can't be.

and colt, who's known the entire time that the man with the barbed bat was his dad, knew it from his face and his rage, from him having the fucking audacity to name his killing weapon after his sweet, kind mom. colt, who watches his dad go further and further off of the rails, and it's just the same as it'd always been; his dad taking what he wants with no regard, even when it's from his fucking son and he knows it's him, can see it in negan's eyes. has no idea his mom died alone because of that same selfish nature embedded into negan's bones and blood.

this has been stuck in my head all day sorry had to get it out immediately. if i do end up writing it pls know it's inevitably gonna turn into a daryl dixon fic slowburn 40589408k words enemies to lovers type thing ON TOPPPP OF THE FAMILIAL ANGST UNDERTONES.

I JUST MISS TWD OK 😭

[a1ecmcdowell]

nobody ever can get upset w me for slacking on updates bc i got the devil on my shoulder telling me to start new things thank yewWWEeeWw

name blurred bc she don’t have tumblr i’m not doxxing 🙏😭

[a1ecmcdowell]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ─ㅤTHE REAPER ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMASTERPOST!

notes, ㅤㅤㅤ figured i needed to do this EVENTUALLY SOOOO HERE IT IS!! obvi will be updated frequently but if i fall behind pls forgive me. just look at the reaper tag on my blog if this isn't updated ok. i WILL get around to updating it eventually okay </3

general content warnings/notices, ㅤㅤㅤ 1945-present timeline ㅤㅤㅤ internalized homophobia ㅤㅤㅤ no hea ㅤㅤㅤ unreliable narrator ㅤㅤㅤ rivals to lovers ㅤㅤㅤ eventual sexual content

quick access, lore cheat sheet! ㅤㅤㅤ send taglist reqs here! ㅤㅤㅤ ao3!

00. INTRODUCTION

01. BEGGARS, CHOOSERS

02. PUT IT IN A PIPE & SMOKE IT!

03. FESTERING FEELINGS

04. OH, HOW HE BURNS

05.