#// glad to see dean continues to be my only straight muse

[gwinnetts-archive]

// seeing all the “my muse is [orientation]” posts makes me, as a multimuse, weep gently bc i dont wanna spam everybody by reblogging them. SO here’s a post with a listing of my characters’ labels instead, which is something i... don’t think i’ve done anyway

elle — panromantic gray asexual zetta — demisexual and not as straight as she expects she is riley — bisexual bellamy — aromantic asexual, borderline sex repulsed maccready — bisexual

dean domino — heterosexual edward deegan — bisexual shaun — aromantic asexual x6-88 — [redacted] xavier — homosexual

jack cabot — oblivious but he ain’t as straight as he’s expecting either, he just hasn’t put any thought into it emogene cabot — bisexual link — he aint know, i aint know braska — bisexual xion — she aint know, i aint know saïx — homosexual will turner — elizabethsexual

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Partying and Poker Faces

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Word Count: ~3350

Warnings: Errbody gettin drunk. Terrible zamboni puns. 

A/N: No, seriously, it’s just random drunk conversations. They are ridiculous. It’s fun. Thanks to @stunudo​, @fookinghelljensensthighs​, @lastactiontricia​ and everybody else in the Slack chat who listened to me ramble and helped with Nutcracker jokes/Winchester band names. Hair clip scene inspired by this post. 

Part 6 of the Rockstar AU! 

-

-

The “Wayward Sons” World Tour: Pre-Tour Kickoff Party

. . .

“Okay, seriously though, my friend found all these pictures of them at Bonnaroo walking around with a girl with blue hair, right? So she did a side-by-side analysis and she swears it’s Harry Styles in a wig. Like, honest to god.” 

“Who’s Harry Styles?” Spencer asks, putting his book down and rubbing his eyes as he comes out of his reading trance.

“Only the love of my life,” Penelope tells him. 

“Penelope,” Emily interrupts. “You are not allowed to ask him if he’s really friends with Harry Styles.” 

Penelope deflates slightly. “But -”

JJ tells her, “You are definitely not allowed to ask if you can have Harry Styles’s phone number.” 

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Apparently there’s a whole group of crazies who think he and Sam are actually dating. There are conspiracy theories and everything.” 

“Let’s just outlaw the subject of Harry Styles altogether,” JJ says hurriedly. “Okay?” 

“Oh my God, I wouldn’t actually ask. Are you ready yet, Em?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Emily replies, glaring at her reflection. She’s been trying to even out her wings for like half an hour now. “I look like a raccoon.” 

“So… normal then?” Spencer asks, with his cheekiest smile. 

“Uh oh, we’ve got Sassy Spence tonight,” JJ says. She grabs Emily’s arm to tug her away from the mirror. “You’re gorgeous. Let’s go.” 

“Forward, march!” Penelope orders. “To Suite 202!” 

. . . 

“So then Sammy asks if she’s his daughter,” Dean finishes. 

Hotch and Spencer laugh; it makes Hotch look about ten years younger. 

“What did she say?” Spencer asks, tucking his hair behind his ears again. With his legs crossed in his ratty Chucks, he looks too young to be drinking. 

“Just said ‘I’m his wife,’ ice cold, and walked away.”

“You should’ve seen the look on Sam’s face,” Cas adds. He settles down next to Dean, handing him a fresh drink and sitting close. For a moment Dean forgets that they’re allowed to be close, that he’s not in public any more, and then he puts an arm around Cas, smiling to himself. 

“What about you?” Dean asks. 

“I haven’t gotten starstruck since Kurt Cobain,” Hotch answers. “But you should ask Spencer what happened when he met David Byrne.” 

“Spencer, what happened when you met David Byrne?” Cas asks with a smirk. 

“Well… you know how Freud talked about seeing the Acropolis for the first time? The feeling of derealization?” 

“No,” Dean says, raising his eyebrows. “Should I?” 

“What you have to understand is that my mom was playing me the Talking Heads while I was in the womb,” Spencer continues earnestly. “Remain In Light, mostly, because it came out that year, but — anyway. Research shows —“

“David Byrne is his Acropolis,” Hotch translates. “He didn’t speak for almost two hours after they were introduced.” 

“And I get the feeling there aren’t many things that render him speechless,” Cas says dryly. 

. . .

“Hey there, hot stuff,” Penelope says, and she sits in the empty spot next to Derek on the couch. She almost kicks Spencer as she does so; he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, hunched over one of the acoustic guitars that everybody’s been passing around. 

“You know there’s another chair, right?” asks Sam, who’s sprawled out in one of the armchairs opposite their couch.   

“Trust me, it’s pointless,” Derek tells him. “He hates chairs.” 

“That’s not true,” Spencer says absent-mindedly, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I like the ones with wheels.” 

“Wait, you play keys, right?” Sam asks, watching Spencer pluck out a quick, dexterous open-tuned thing that Penelope is pretty sure he’s improvising. 

“And synths,” Spencer says, pushing his hair out of his eyes again. “But also… a little bit of everything, I guess.” 

“Guitar, bass, drums, violin, cello, saxophone, clarinet,” Derek rattles off proudly. “What else? There are some weird ones.” 

“Didgeridoo!” Penelope adds. 

“She calls it my didgeri-don’t,” Spencer says, and it’s true; it’s her least favorite instrument, which is unfortunate because it’s one of her favorite words.“And there are a few things I built, I guess, but haven’t really named yet.”

“That’s awesome,” Sam says, looking suitably impressed. 

“You need a goddamn haircut, Pretty Boy,” Derek says, as Spencer tries to get his hair out of his eyes again. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Sam tells Spencer, running a hand through the shampoo-commercial situation he has on his own head. “And don’t let my brother start in on you, either.” 

Penelope rummages in her purse for a second and pulls out a neon green butterfly clip. She combs some hair back from Spencer’s forehead, twists it, and secures it so that the butterfly is right on the crown of Spencer’s head.

“Thanks, that’s much better,” Spencer says, giving her a quick smile over his shoulder. Sam stifles a laugh. 

“Hey,” Derek says, in an undertone. “Got any more of those?” 

“I love the way your brain works,” Penelope stage-whispers back. She digs around until she has a whole handful of aggressively colorful glittery barrettes (some are shaped like flowers, some have pom-poms) and passes half to Derek. She leans down and starts to braid a little section of hair near Spencer’s temple. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

. . . 

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Hotch asks, as he starts mixing himself a drink. “I don’t think we met at the surprise show.” 

“Jack,” the kid says, with a sweet smile. He’s all fresh-faced and earnest. Hotch has concerns. 

“I’m Aaron, but everybody calls me Hotch,” he says. “What‘s your part in this whole circus?” 

“I’m their guitar tech,” he chirps. “Cas is my uncle, also. He’s the one who got me the job.” 

“Uh-huh. First tour?” 

He nods. “I’m excited! This is going to be great.”

Hotch has a feeling this is going to be trouble. 

Jack has a hand on the whiskey bottle when Hotch notices and asks, “How old are you?” 

“He’s twenty,” Charlie interrupts, snatching the bottle from Jack’s hand. “Down, boy.” 

Jack shrugs, not seeming particularly bothered, and wanders away with his soda. 

“Good to know,” Hotch says wryly. 

Charlie gives Hotch an apologetic look and says, “I feel like a spoilsport. Like, let the kid have some fun, right?”

“So you followed all the rules when you were his age?” 

“Well, no, not so much, although I wasn’t into drinking so much as… um. Mild felonies.” She wrinkles her nose expressively. “But I have strict orders from Cas. He might look like a teddy bear, but Cas can be scary.” 

“Felonies,” Hotch says, trying to keep a straight face. Charlie nods. 

“Hacking, mostly?” she says tentatively. “There was some… environmentally focused cyber-terrorism, I guess you’d call it.” 

“You should talk to Penelope, she used to do that sort of thing as well.” 

Charlie looks over dubiously at Penelope, who is pulling up the hem of Derek’s shirt and showing off his abs, Vanna White style, for Sam’s benefit. Sam looks shockingly unaffected, so odds are he is straight, in which case, Rossi owes Hotch some money.

“Really. She was actually contacted by the FBI, they wanted to hire her, but.” Hotch smiles at the way Charlie’s mouth falls open. “She has a whole… sordid history. They used to call her the Black Queen.” 

“Are you… what?” Charlie asks incredulously. 

“I know, it’s a ridiculous name, but —”

“No, that’s — I can’t believe it,” Charlie stutters. “Really?” 

Hotch raises an eyebrow. “Really. Does that mean something to you?” 

Charlie shakes her head, eyes wide. “You don’t understand, she’s a legend. She’s like a frakking rockstar.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“No, like an actual rockstar,” Charlie insists. “Not that you’re not a rockstar, I didn’t mean — holy crap.” 

“Would you like me to introduce you?” Hotch offers. 

Charlie goes pale. “I don’t — um.” 

“I think you’re the first person who has ever been intimidated by Penelope Garcia,” Hotch muses. 

Charlie does a quick shot of whiskey before nodding. “Okay, I think I’m ready.” 

. . . 

“I am so fuckin’ glad I don’t have to deal with this every night,” Bobby says gruffly, with an expansive gesture at everyone in the room and their varied levels of inebriation. “We’re too old for this shit. Don’t know how you still want to go out on the road.” 

“Of all the groups I’ve managed, believe it or not, this one’s the easiest.”

Bobby looks across the room to where JJ is passing around shots and Emily is talking everybody into a game of Truth or Dare, as a “bonding exercise.” Spencer is clinging to Morgan’s back like a gangly white Yoda; Morgan, who’s serenading Sam with “Wonderwall” (Sam is covering his ears and looking pained) doesn’t seem to notice his weight. 

“I don’t believe it, actually,” Bobby tells Rossi, who shrugs. 

“They take care of each other, really. No ego involved, with any of them, which is rare enough in this business.” Rossi pauses as Penelope shrieks; Hotch, who is standing between her and Charlie, looks vaguely alarmed, but nobody seems to be in any real danger. Rossi adds, “They may act like a bunch of assclowns sometimes, but they’re much smarter than they look. I told you, didn’t I?” 

“Fair enough,” Bobby says. He’d called Rossi on a whim, looking for an opener for Dean’s surprise show and hinting about “discretion” and “liberal types,” trying not to give too much away. He’d expected Rossi to put him in touch with a friend of a friend, or something. He didn’t expect this to work out so well.

Bobby’s not used to things working out well. It’s a nice change. 

“Good to see you again, anyway” Rossi says. “You’re coming out to a few more shows, right?” 

“Course. I’ll be around here and there.” 

“Bet you’ll miss them soon enough. I was bored stiff when I was retired,” Rossi says. 

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to get those two through their teenage years,” Bobby grouches. “Just about put me in an early grave.” 

“They seem like good kids,” Rossi says. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since they were… how old?” 

Bobby can’t help but smile at that. “Yeah, they’ve got good heads on their shoulders. They grew up. Just in time, too. I kept tellin’ them, success is going to change things, but I don’t think they believed me. Idjits.” 

Rossi nods knowingly. “Cheers to success, then. And old friends.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

. . . 

“Pastor’s son, in the church,” Emily says. 

“Twins,” Dean replies smugly. 

“Nice.” Emily gives him a fist-bump. “Backstage during a performance of The Nutcracker.” 

“I’ll be very disappointed if there were no nut jokes.” 

Emily smirks. “Well, there were no actual nuts involved, but the fairy did, in fact, taste like sugar plums.” 

“Yeah, okay, not bad,” Dean says. He clinks his beer bottle against hers and they drink. “On top of a zamboni.” 

“You mean zam-bone-y?” 

“Thank you! Sam rolled his eyes so hard I thought they were gonna fall out when I said that.” 

“The Roxy.”  

“Green room? C’mon,” Dean scoffs. “Amateur hour.” 

“Nope,” Emily says triumphantly. “In the crowd, during a Guns N Roses show.” 

“Okay, that’s fuckin’ awesome,” Dean laughs.

“It really was.” 

Dean’s eyes flick across the room, following Cas, who just deadpanned something that’s making Hotch double over with laughter. Dean’s eyes go crinkly at the corners as his smile gets even brighter — a full-on megawatt movie star smile — and his expression is so sweet and soft and utterly adoring that Emily melts a little bit. 

“Gross,” she says, elbowing Dean. He elbows her right back. 

“Shuddup,” he mutters. 

“No more twins for you,” Emily sing-songs. 

“Worth it,” Dean says firmly, and even she can’t think of anything snarky to say to that. 

. . . 

JJ can only understand about one in five of the words Penelope and Charlie are chattering to each other, so she gives up and leaves them to it. She’s slightly concerned they’re plotting to take over the world, or something. They don’t seem to notice her leaving. 

Dean and Emily are side by side on one of the couches, both slouching, with their feet up on the coffee table and beers resting on their stomachs, giggling about something as if they’ve been lifelong friends. The whole tableau is unexpected, but not in a bad way. 

There’s something about Dean that JJ just didn’t like, at first. It’s mostly that he’s too likable. In every interaction they’ve had, he’s been incredibly charismatic, warm, polite, funny… but it’s not him. 

JJ is an expert at getting people to trust her without ever showing her hand. She recognizes a bluff when she sees one. 

She’s been watching Dean, whenever he thinks she’s not paying attention. He lets his guard down, sometimes, when he’s with his brother or Cas, but there’s a well-disguised wall that goes up when he talks to anyone else. It’s defensive fortifications camouflaged as charm. 

Apparently Emily’s shoved through whatever wall Dean usually puts up when he’s around strangers. Emily can do that to a person, though. JJ knows that better than anybody. 

Emily’s clearly teasing him about something. He’s grinning, boyish and bashful and genuine, and JJ likes him a hell of a lot more, suddenly. 

She heads over to join them on their couch, sliding over the armrest to sprawl halfway over Emily’s lap and cuddle in close. 

“Are you two still playing Truth or Dare? This doesn’t look very daring.” 

“Debauchery pissing contest,” Emily informs her. 

Dean is watching her, and his walls are up again: pleasant smile slapped on his face, eyes calculating, playing it close to the chest until he figures her out. 

She raises an eyebrow and prompts him: “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me?” 

He looks suspicious, but he goes with it. “What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” JJ says primly, and for a second Dean’s actually thinking about taking her seriously. She rolls her eyes. “Kidding. Middle of a Guns N Roses show.” 

He looks confused for a second. Then Emily and JJ high-five, and Dean barks out a laugh. 

“I didn’t know you —” 

He hesitates. 

“Swing that way?” JJ supplies. 

“Yeah, that.”

“Most people don’t, and we’re gonna keep it that way. Understood?”

Dean seems surprised by the sudden sharp edge in her voice. “Gotcha.” 

“I used to think she was crazy for not coming out publicly,” Emily tells Dean, but she’s looking at JJ with a little half-smile on her face. “But now that people are starting to give a shit about us, sometimes I think she might’ve had the right idea.” 

“Don’t lie, you love being an ‘inspiration to the youth,’” JJ says, with mocking finger quotes. “And you’ve been disappointing your mom for years, she’s used to it. Mine would probably have a heart attack.” 

“Yeah, but the number of times I get that fucking ‘Does that mean you’re attracted to pans?’ bullshit, I swear to God…” 

Dean’s looking at JJ again, but this time it’s less calculating and more admiring. He nods slowly like something just started to make sense.  

“Helluva poker face,” he says approvingly.  

JJ grins. “Yours isn’t too bad either.” 

. . . 

“I gotta ask,” Spencer says, slurred and slow. “How’d you choose the band name? The Ceiling Fires?”

Sam shrugs. “It was a recurring dream that Dean and I both used to have.” 

“Weird image.” Spencer makes a face as he undoes one of the tiny braids Penelope left in his hair. “Not that — weird isn’t a bad thing. It’s memorable.”  

“Yeah, I guess so. Dean called it that as a joke, to start with, I think, but...” Sam rambles. He’s right at that point of drunk where words just keep rolling off his tongue. “Feels like a long time ago. I mean, I did not in a million years think we’d end up here.” 

“Linear time,” Spencer comments. 

Sam waits for him to finish the thought, but apparently that’s it. 

“Linear time,” he repeats agreeably. “It’s not just… time, though, you know? It’s the whole deal. Success, I guess. People listening.  Expecting you to look a certain way, or… I don’t fucking know.”

Spencer nods pensively, combing his fingers through his hair again. “We did a magazine photo shoot the other day and they wouldn’t let me wear any of my own clothes. I like my clothes. And people keep asking if I’m dating anybody.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been getting that question too.” Spencer doesn’t know the half of it. Sam laughs to himself, rubbing his forehead, and takes a big gulp of his drink. 

Spencer pulls out another barrette with a grimace. “I mean, why would anyone care if you’re dating… who was it? Harry Styles?” 

Sam chokes and spits whiskey everywhere. 

“Who —” he wheezes, and has to stop to cough. “Fucking — how did you know?” 

“Wait, really?” 

“What?” 

“Penelope said it was just a stupid rumor,” Spencer says. He’s squinting at Sam like he’s seeing double. 

“Shit.” The adrenaline rush is going a long way toward sobering Sam up. He shakes his head and tries to pull himself together. “Shit. I just… shit.” 

“Is that a big deal?” Spencer asks, with a mild sort of confusion. “Penelope made it sound like a joke. She called it a conspiracy theory.” 

Sam stares at him, open-mouthed, before dropping his head into his hands with a groan. “Yeah, let’s just keep calling it a conspiracy theory, okay? I already owe his publicist a fucking… fruit basket, or maybe just a lot of wine.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t actually know who that is,” Spencer offers. Sam laughs weakly. “No, really, I won’t tell anybody. Even Penelope. Especially Penelope.” 

Sam studies him for a second. He looks earnest enough, in a boozy, unfocused way, but Sam’s learned the hard way that most people can’t be trusted. 

Still, worth a try. 

“If you could — yeah. Please? Just… please don’t tell anybody.” 

“Believe me,” Spencer says. “I know how it goes. If you let people see the things that matter…” He trails off, his eyes sliding to a point somewhere over Sam’s shoulder, and his voice gets unexpectedly clear and fierce. “People can be vicious. I wouldn’t give them a weapon like that.” 

Sam’s pretty sure he shouldn’t feel so reassured — Spencer still has a glittery butterfly clip sticking out from behind one ear — but he is, somehow. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. 

Spencer shrugs, like it’s nothing, and settles the guitar in his lap again. “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”

“Oh hell no,” Sam grumbles, and throws a couch cushion at him.  

. . .

“Okay,” Hotch says decisively. “Everybody have their room keys?” 

“Aww! He’s like the world’s cutest drill sergeant,” Charlie says. Hotch scowls at her, but he has a feeling it’s not very intimidating. She just giggles.

“Rossi?” Hotch asks, looking around and doing a quick head count. 

“Went to bed an hour ago to listen to the latest episode of his fucking true crime podcast,” Emily says. 

Hotch frowns. “Without me? Sneaky bastard.” 

“Of all the weird fucking hobbies…” JJ mutters. “Hey, Morgan, is it my turn to be the jetpack?” 

“Fuck no. I am way too buzzed to be carrying any of you home tonight. You can walk.”

“I’m not sure I can, actually,” Spencer says morosely. He looks like a rag doll, sitting on the floor, propped up by the side of the couch. 

“Somebody come get Schroeder,” Dean mumbles, from where he’s curled up on the couch with his head in Cas’s lap. 

“We got this,” Penelope says determinedly. She grabs Spencer by the wrists and hauls him to his feet, and they lean against each other heavily, somehow managing to stay upright. 

Sam opens the door for them, smiling bemusedly as they all start to trail past: Morgan first, uncharacteristically wobbly on his feet; Emily and JJ, with their hands tucked into each other’s back pockets; Spencer and Penelope, staggering dangerously; and finally, Hotch bringing up the rear.

“Thanks,” he tells Sam, and waves at the others. “See you tomorrow.” 

Before the door closes behind him, Hotch hears Dean say, “It’s gonna be a fun tour.” 

.

.

.

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

The Mistakes We Made - Chapter Eleven

Summary:  When her high school girlfriend comes back to town after two years with a baby and a terrible story she won’t tell, the Librarian has to deal with the feelings she had worked so hard to keep at bay.

Notes:  This was the chapter I wrote with the nice anons cheering me on! Thank you, nice anons! Also, trigger warning for descriptions of violence and early stage emotional abuse.

Read it on ao3: (chpt1) (chpt2) (chpt3) (chpt4) (chpt5) (chpt6) (chpt7) (chpt8) (chpt9) (chpt10) (chpt11)

Torrin had been silent all day long. He had woken up quite content, but as soon as Johanna talked to him about her plans to visit her parents, his face had become unsmiling and remained this way all through the small trip to Trolberg and their visit, and that’s how he still was when they were driving back to their cabin. It had been making Johanna uneasy, but she had thought maybe the best to do was to wait until his bad mood went away. However, since it was showing no signs of doing so, she finally gathered the courage to ask him about it when they were going home.

“Is everything okay, love? You’re looking sad.”

Torrin sighed. He had driven on their way into town, but since he’d had a few beers at her parents’ house, he had allowed Johanna to drive for the trip back. He wiggled himself in the passenger seat, sitting straighter. “I’m just… sad you prefer them over me, you know?”

Johanna stared straight ahead, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” He began, dragging a hand though his face. “You spend a lot of time at Ericsonberg with your friends during the week, and I don’t begrudge you that. But I had thought we would have the weekends to ourselves. We are a married couple now, we should spend the most time as possible in each other’s company!”

Johanna felt a small pull at her heart. Had she truly upset him? “But we were together.” She argued softly.

“You know what I mean. Alone time.” He turned to look out of the window, facing away from her.

“I get it, but… you did go out to see your friends two weeks ago. It’s important to keep contact with the people we love.”

He turned his face to her, and with the corner of her eye she could see that he looked somewhat angry. “Yes, but that was when you were busy with college stuff and couldn’t give me attention anyway. Isn’t the point of being married beginning a new life together?”

Johanna’s expression softened as she tried to see his point. “Torrin… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t.” He sighed, sitting back against his seat. “It’s just that you’re my whole world, you know? It’s painful that I’m not yours.”

Johanna’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He had changed because of her, he had changed for her, and she loved him so much for it. She couldn’t have him feeling unappreciated. “But you are!”, She insisted, moving one hand to grab his, which felt way to warm and tense at the touch.

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it, Jo. I don’t need you to pity me.”

“I do mean it!” She protested, practically begging for him to believe her. “What do you want me to do to prove it?”

he looked at her from beneath his untamed hair. “Just… try to show a bit more of commitment to us, okay?”

Johanna squeezed his hand, infinitely glad to have him in a good mood again. She couldn’t stand to see him upset. “Okay.”

_#_#_#_

Ridiculous, Maven thought. This is all ridiculous.

She looked around the place. It was a party house that the City Hall had rented for this event, excessively decorated with orange and black colours. Few were the surfaces that didn’t have a fake pumpkin laying upon it, or at least a plastic skeleton of an animal that didn’t even have bones in the first place. How did they even manage to get a spider that wrong? And if that wasn’t enough, she still had to deal with the awful Halloween music blasting from the speakers. She was really not in the mood for ‘monster mash’.

But at least it wasn’t a costume party, Maven guessed. Given the Mayor’s taste for drama, that had probably been in the realm of possibility.

From her side, Mr. Kavindi cleared his throat (he probably had also been astounded by the eyesore that this whole party was) and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes in accusation. He was the reason she was in this hell, he had dragged her into this.

“Come, Maven.” He said, ignoring her murderous glare. “Let’s find ourselves a table. Maybe on the outside.”

Liar. Traitor. He thinks a table away from these goddamned red lights is going to help? Well, maybe it will. But still, traitor, she mused as she allowed herself to be guided through the tables and the other guests. This had all been his idea. It had began quite innocently, with him saying that he had figured the perfect way for them to advertise their Halloween event for children at the library.

The mayor had made a sort of tradition out of Halloween parties. Of course, he usually only invited the people he deemed important, but with the elections coming this year, he had decided to invite some public workers as well. When Mr. Kavindi revealed that his plan involved attending such a party, Maven had been ready to take the Nope train straight to Screw-This-Crapville, but then he’d pulled puppy eyes on her, and she was now almost certain she knew why it was her college’s dean had done him a favour. The man was a master in the art of persuasion!

When they were finally outside again, Maven felt like she had been set free from a jail, and she filled her lungs with the cool night air. The older librarian dropped his hand from her lower back, where he had been gently guiding her, and pulled himself a chair in one of the two tables that had been set on the outside.

“Is your wife coming?” Maven asked, looking around. It was supposed to be a back garden to the building, but truly it was just a lawn. She supposed that it was like that in order for it to be possible to put up tents and stages in there, but she still thought it looked hideous. Lawns were such an aristocratic France thing. It would have looked much more appealing if they had planted native flowers.

“Maven.” He called, snapping her out of her musings. “I know this look. Stop judging the place, we’re guests. It’s impolite.”

Maven huffed and marched to the table beside him, sitting with her right elbow on the table and her chin on her hand. “No, she’s not.” He answered.

Maven scrunched her nose, her eyes being drawn to the sky above her. At least the stars looked as beautiful as always. The moon had been full just a few days before, now it was heading to waning. Mrs. Kavindi was one lucky woman.

“Now we wait? Because I’m certainly not going to even try to mingle.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You know, the reason we arrived earlier was precisely to try to mingle. Convince them that we are planning nice things at the library, you know?”

Not even taking her eyes from the sky, Maven chuckled. “Trust me, no one is going to come if I’m the one who tries to convince them.”

Looking at his young colleague, he sighed. Such a good woman, he would never be able to understand why everyone seemed so scared of her. In the end, he couldn’t deny that she was probably right.

“Don’t worry, then. I’ll handle a little talking. You can wait here until the time comes.”

_#_#_#_

And wait she did. Mr. Kavindi left and returned to the table a few times, going inside to check if there were any approachable people that had arrived to whom he could talk to about their project. The other table next to theirs remained unoccupied, and the only people who Maven talked to besides the librarian were the waiters who walked by with trays of expensive looking finger food.

Finally, eight thirty arrived. Both of them were called inside by a man who was also wearing the same uniform as the waiters, but was holding no tray. Probably an organizer. They were led among the crowd into the center room of the mansion, where they were told to climb the first few steps of a big, ivory staircase that split into two some steps above.

Maven wasn’t one to feel nervous about public speaking, but the crow gathered there was making her feel sweaty and dizzy. Before her, she could barely spot one friendly face. There were a few people who looked at them with interest and smiled, sure; it would be impossible for the whole town to be brainless. But the great majority of the guests were people she knew saw her as less than human, either because didn’t agree with what she was or because they just gave that treatment to anyone who wasn’t as important as them.

She shouldn’t have looked directly into the crowd in front of her. She should have just let them be individual blurs of disinterested faces, waiting for her to go away, but she did look. Just as the music was lowered and the organizer raised his voice to call for silence and attention, she looked into the crowd.

The first people she unfortunately recognized was a couple, although you wouldn’t be able to tell they were together if you didn’t know them. They had their eyes narrowed to her in anger, and she quickly looked away. Johanna’s parents. Why were they here? Sure, Kate was a doctor, so maybe she had come as a public worker?

Or maybe they had come because they were the in-laws of the mayor’s son.

That… made sense.

She continued scanning the crowd, and didn’t notice that Mr. Kavindi had began speaking. He introduced them as the library staff and listed a few of their programs, briefly explaining them. She knew that he was saying his speech, and that she should be paying attention, but his words barely registered in the back of her mind. She ought to be paying attention, but she really couldn’t. Not when she spotted an angry frown in the crowd, staring directly at her, his blue hair for once combed into something respectable.

Her blood froze at seeing him, even though she knew he would be there. It took a humiliating few seconds for Maven to realize Mr. Kavindi had stopped speaking and was looking at her.

She sucked in breath when she noticed every eye on the room was locked on her. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, and she had to clean her throat before she began speaking. She had practiced her speech many times, with Johanna and Hilda as her encouraging audience, and the words had been flowing smoothly by the time she considered herself ready. It was a little different now. She wouldn’t go as far as to say it was a disaster, but her speech didn’t come out as easily, she sometimes needed to stop and think about what came next, and her body felt full of tense energy. She hoped she wasn’t fidgeting too much.

When she finished what she had to say, inviting them for the Halloween event and asking them to bring their children, Mr. Kavindi wrapped it up for her, and when he had finished there were a few weak, odd claps of hands. The crowd quickly dispersed, and Maven stepped down with the librarian, making their way back outside. However, barely after they had taken two steps away, a tall man, with dark skin and kind eyes clasped Mr. Kavindi’s shoulders, making him turn towards him. He smiled when he recognized the man, and the two of them began talking.

Maven was sure that, if she stayed by his side, Mr. Kavindi would introduce her and include her in the conversation, and that’s the reason why she didn’t stay. She wasn’t in the mood for talking.

So she continued walking straight on, ready to grab her purse and go away, and she was nearly at the door to the back garden when she heard masculine voices talking.

“Are you kidding me? She really did that?” One of them asked, sounding moved.

There was a beat of silence before an answer. “Yes. It was weird behavior from her part, I never expected it from her. She always wanted to keep the baby a secret, at least until one of us had a stable job, you know? And now she’s using her against me. I really don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

Maven stopped straight on her tracks, her heart at her throat. Her fists closed as she recognized that voice, and she slowly turned to the circle of people nearby. Amidst them, she recognized some of her old high school classmates, Johanna’s mother (and how come, Maven wondered, she was just standing around and listening someone say these things about her daughter?), and of course, at the heart of the conversation, Torrin.

At this point in her life, Maven supposed she had already learned to stay out of trouble, to ignore the voices of people who only wanted to get others down and to continue on her own path with her chin up. But it wasn’t her they were insulting, it was Johanna. And, at this point in her life, she had already understood that her mind didn’t really use logic when it came to her.

The music wasn’t as loud as it had been before; they probably hadn’t turned it all the way up after their speech, so the group that hadn’t even noticed her before could clearly hear her when she spoke.

“Weird behavior? Really?” She said, firmly and with a sharp edge to her words. Those in the circle who had their backs to her turned to look at who had spoken, and those who hadn’t fixed their eyes on her. Johanna’s mother’s face soured even further. “That’s how you’re getting them to believe in something so wild that anyone can see that it did not happen?!”

Torrin’s face began to melt into a scowl, but he schooled it into a look of annoyed disinterest before anyone could notice it. “What was that, Miss… Amarylis, isn’t it?”

“You’re telling a lie, and you know it!” She snapped, ignoring her mistaken name. “How could you betray Johanna like that? She trusted you!”

All he did was raise an eyebrow, along with a corner of his mouth. “If I’m lying, then what is the truth?”

The question was like a bucket of cold water, putting out some of her impulsive anger. She was hit by the realization that she did not, in fact, know the truth. But hell, she knew enough. “I don’t know.” She admitted. “But I know who Johanna is, and I know who you are, and I know you’re lying!”

Distracted by the situation as she was, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a gentle had touched her shoulder.

“Maven.” Mr. Kavindi whispered near her. “It’s not worth it. Whatever you do, they will twist it against you.”

And it was true. But instead of listening to him, she shouted. “I don’t give two fucks about what this idiot says about me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t stop him from doing this to Anna!”

Every person in the group was now frowning at her, no doubt thinking her mad. Torrin looked around them, a smile on his face showing that he liked what he saw; no one was going to stand up for her.

“Maven.” He called, taking a step towards her, and she shuddered at his use of her first name. “I know we never got on very well, but let me talk to you. You’re clearly being precocious, so let me tell you my side of the story.”

“I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say.” Maven said, even though she knew she would have to. There was no escaping, not in front of these people.

“Mr. Librarian, I believe my father wanted to talk to you.” He said once he had gotten closer. Mr. Kavindi raised an eyebrow, but took a step back and began looking for the mayor anyway. Once her colleague had released his gentle hold on her, Torrin put a hand on her back and tried to lead her outside. She walked a step in front of him, so as not to be touched.

She opened the doors and slipped outside, realizing with a start that she was alone with him once the doors closed behind him. But there was nothing she could do now.

“Now.” He said diplomatically. “I don’t know what Johanna told you, but you have to believe me when I say that she was lying.”

Maven squared her shoulders. “I don’t have to do anything!”

Torrin exhaled, the friendly façade falling down with his breath. He looked around, his mouths set on a thin line. “Then take this as a warning.”

She barely saw his fist coming, she only felt it colliding painfully with the side of her face, making her teeth clatter and her skull throb. She fell heavily upon the table behind her, glasses smashing under her weight and cutting her back. Then her body was pulled to the ground by gravity, where she lay hurt and confused.

Torrin was walking towards her again, probably to get her to leave by one of the exits that didn’t require coming back into the mansion, when the door opened again, and two people came in. As Mr. Kavindi saw her and ran to help, Torrin didn’t look worried at all. The other librarian was only just more creditable in the eyes of the town than she was. He could easily claim they were both lying, or had drunk too much and confused him with some other person at the party. But when he turned back to the door and saw the second person, which stood by it open mouthed and looked at Maven in horror, then she could see true fear in his eyes.

Standing at the edge of the garden with a slack jaw and unbelieving eyes, the last thing Maven saw before she felt a deep sleep claim her, was Johanna’s mother.

_#_#_#_

She truly didn’t know what she’d do without Mr. Kavindi, and what she would have done if he hadn’t been smart enough to stay close and watch Torrin go outside with her, following them when he heard the sound of her body hitting the table. She didn’t know what happened immediately after Kate had appeared; she had fainted for what apparently had been a few minutes, from what he had told her, but she imagined he had run. There was no way for him to lie himself out of this one, not when Kate had seen it with her own eyes.

When she came back to herself, she was being carried through the poorly lit streets of her neighborhood, one arm across the librarian’s shoulders, his arm holding her waist, and another arm being supported by Johanna’s mother. When they noticed her blinking awake, they stopped to check on her again. She had some cuts in her back, and bruises on her head from the punch. The scratches she got from the fall completed the image.

There had been nothing they could do to help her in the middle of the pavement, of course, so they just kept on walking her home. It was a very silent walk, not only because Maven lacked the energy to talk, but because they all knew there was an outsider in their trio. Ironically, it was said outsider who broke the silence.

“Are you going to tell this to the police?” Kate asked, and even though Maven pretended not to notice it, she sounded worried for him.

She chuckled darkly, but stopped it as it made her head and back hurt more intensity. “No, I think I’ve had enough of being called a liar for today.”

After that, they were in silence until they arrived at Maven’s house (and thank the universe she’d once asked Mr. Kavindi over for tea and he still remembered the way, because Maven wasn’t in the right mind for giving directions at the moment.)

Mr. Kavindi knocked when they arrived, not wanting to make Maven look for the key in her current state. Kate looked surprised at that, not knowing that the young woman lived with anyone, so she was startled out of her mind when her own daughter answered.

When Johanna opened the door, she stared slack jawed at her mother, but then the librarian cleared his throat, calling for her attention. Then she noticed Maven, and gasped loudly.

“What happened?!” She opened the door wider and stepped out of the way. Maven let her left arm fall from Kate’s shoulder, and let her colleague half carry her inside, to one of the sofas in the small living room. Johanna’s eyes followed them, horrified, but the shock kept her rooted in place.

“She’s telling the truth.” Her mother told her, clearly confused by the words coming out of her mouth. Johanna looked at her, at how her face contorted as if she’d tasted something sour, fighting a battle inside herself.

She didn’t stay. She only uttered her daughter a ‘good night’ before she disappeared again, leaving Johanna finally able to move. She rushed to her friend’s side; the librarian was kneeling beside her on the floor, examining her back where she’d lifted her shirt. Johanna gasped once again as she saw the thin stream of blood running down the cuts there.

“Maven!” She got closer, her hands fluttering uselessly around as she tried to make sense of the situation.

“I’m fine, Anna, don’t worry.” Maven said, at the same time Mr Kavindi asked her if she knew how to clean and bandage these wounds. She nodded, determination coming to her eyes as she ran away toward her room, coming back as quick as lightning with what looked like a first aid kit.

Maven heard her spray something, and soon she put a wet piece of cotton on one of her cuts. Maven gasped and shifted away from it. It stung.

“Let her do this, Maven.” Mr. Kavindi said. “Or you might develop an infection.”

She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath, willing her body to be still as Johanna continued to apply the wet cotton and make soothing sounds. She felt a bit like a dog for it, but the sweet nonsense she was whispered did make her feel calmer.

“I’ll get her some water.” Kavindi said, getting up. It took him some time to find his way around the kitchen, but eventually he returned with a glass of water, which she emptied in big swallows, feeling it return some of her strength.

“What happened?” Johanna asked again, using a dry cotton to finish cleaning her wounds. She hadn’t found any pieces of glass in them: the librarian had taken the shards away when Maven was still unconscious, and held the blood flow with napkins from their table.

“She was hit.” He answered calmly, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“By who?!”

Maven gave a small chuckle at her surprise. “Take a wild guess.”

Johanna lowered her hand, her brow furrowing. She wasn’t sure she wanted to understand.

Mr. Kavindi cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows at Maven when she looked at him. He knew she got snappish when she was tired. He didn’t want her to say anything she would regret, and she seemed to get the message.

“It was Torrin.” She said with a sigh.

A deep silence followed Johanna’s “oh” of surprise, until the librarian got up and said he didn’t think there was anything else he could do for her for now, but asked her to call him if she needed anything, and then left the two of them alone.

“Maybe I should take a bath?” Maven said. “That should make me feel a little better.”

Johanna swallowed and nodded. “Yes, do that. Did you eat well at the party?”

Maven gestured negatively with her head.

“I’ll fix you some dinner, then. And then I’ll take a look at those scratches.”

_#_#_#_

Willa was the last of the group to go away. Other four students had just left, two of them climbing into a car who belonged to a third, and the other had his car for himself. They had come for a study session, in order to try and help each other with the approaching finals. They were already starting their engines when Willa finished putting her stuff away in her backpack and hugged Johanna.

“If you need help.” She whispered into her ear. “Call me. Or any of us. We can keep him away.”

Johanna hugged back, but frowned into her classmate’s ginger hair. Willa had made it clear, ever since she met Torrin for the first time, two meetings before, that she didn’t trust him. She’d voiced her concerns to Johanna before, but she’d always waved her off. Her worry seemed to build up, though, and not dissipate like she had thought it would the more she talked to him. And the thought of calling someone to keep her own husband away from her was laughable. They loved each other! He wouldn’t ever hurt her, of that she was sure.

She drew back and gave Willa a smile. “I know you could, but I don’t need you to. I don’t want you to. Trust me, it’s fine.”

Willa nodded and said her goodbyes, walking out of the cabin and climbing into her motorcycle, which she had parked near Johanna’s car (it had been a wedding gift from her parents!). She gave one last look to the bucolic house before driving away, lifting a cloud of dirt as she went.

Johanna closed the door, not bothering to lock it; there was no danger to be found around their home. She turned around, heading for the coffee table at the center of the living room, where her text and notebooks were still scattered, but stopped when she realized Torrin was watching her from the door frame that led into the kitchen. He looked displeased, and she had no idea why. It unsettled her to no end.

“Hey!” She chirped, wondering that maybe if she sounded cheerful enough his bad mood would go away. “I hadn’t seen you there.”

“I don’t like them.” He stated firmly, walking towards her at the same time she went in his direction.

“Why not?” As soon as they were close enough, Johanna raised her hands to his arms, rubbing soothing circles through his shirt.

“They don’t trust me. They don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

Johanna tried to break through the tense atmosphere with a chuckle. “They just don’t know you. If they spend a little more time with you, they’ll begin to see what a wonderful person you are. It took me some time as well, remember?”

He didn’t become any less tense with her words. Instead, he stared at her with an impenetrable gaze. “Johanna, they will try to get between us. We can’t have that.”

Johanna looked down, gazing not at his eyes but at his chest. She thought she knew what to do to please him, but… she didn’t really want to do it. She was getting along smoothly with these people, she’d go as far as considering them friends. However, the last time she’d ignored her loved ones when they disapproved of a friend, she’d ended up hurt. Used.

When she looked up into his face again, she could see that he was trying to tell her as much. That she didn’t really know when someone could be trusted or not, but he did, and he was telling her that those friends didn’t mean well.

Gods, how she hated this feeling of not being able to trust her judgment, to trust herself. But he had a point.

“I… guess I can ask some other classmates to study with me.” She said reluctantly, and he finally, finally smiled.

“Thank you, baby. It makes me feel happy, you know? That you’re putting as much effort into our marriage as I am.”

Johanna mustered a smile for him as well, even though she didn’t really like the idea of walking away from relationships that were going well. But he had proven himself to be a better judge of character than she was. They would probably turn out to be jerks in the end, anyway.

“Of course, Torrin.” She said as he closed her into an embrace. “Anything for us.”

_#_#_#_

When Maven walked down the stairs, she looked and felt more put together. Her dirty clothes had been replaced by a cozy pajama, and the scent of soup lured her into the kitchen. She had expected to have to tell the whole story of how she got hurt, word by word, and she had been right.

Although Maven felt a little flustered about having to say that it had happened because she’d been defending her (it sounded like the exact type of thing people said to gain other’s sympathy), she told the whole story like had been requested of her. Johanna was perfectly silent during her account, only her facial expressions giving away her feelings. In the end, the asked.

“My mother…?”

“I don’t know why she showed up, but she looked extremely startled. I think she followed us in order to defend Torrin.”

They stared at each other, and then Maven realized what she’d said: that Kate would defend Torrin rather than her own daughter.

“I’m sorry!” She said. “I didn’t mean to imply-“

“It’s okay.” Johanna cut her off gently. “I… I think you’re probably right.”

There was more silence. Their bowls were already empty, so they simply sat at the table, doing nothing and saying nothing. Johanna was staring at her hands with a thoughtful expression.

“I’m sorry.” She said, finally. “I’m just trying to make sense of things. I think I’m… finally beginning to understand.”

Maven blinked. “Understand what?”

Johanna didn’t look at her for a few more breaths, and then stared directly into her eyes. And oh, how they had changed in a matter of seconds. There was a new light to them, a clear recognition, like something had snapped inside her. Like she was the carefree and bold Anna again.

“You weren’t lying, were you? That day in Ericsonberg, when you told me he had tried to hurt you.”

Maven sucked in breath, secretly hurt by the question but trying not to show it. “Why the fuck would I lie?”

Johanna just looked into her eyes for heartbeats, and Maven realized there was fire burning behind them. She nodded.

“You like stories, right?”

Maven’s lips fell open. Of course she liked stories, she was a librarian for crying out loud. But she couldn’t see how this had anything to do with their current situation.

“I do.”

Johanna took a deep, fortifying breath, raising her head to the ceiling and rolling her shoulders back before looking at her again.

“Good. Because it’s past time I told you a few.”

[writtingsofspn]

I’ve got your back

Request: could you do an x reader where the reader is a young teenage girl who’s a bad ass solo hunter. In the hunters world there’s been talk about a solo hunter who is one of the best hunters of the century and sam and dean put two and two together and she saves their ass.

Pairings: Platonic all around

Warnings: Swearing probably but nothing more

A/N: As always feedback is very much appreciated. Also running low on requests so if you have any send ‘em my way!

You took a step out of the bathroom, breathing icy cold air for the first time in what felt like hours after having steamed up the bathroom with a shower that you had hoped would clear your head from the case. But of course it didn’t, you have been doing this long enough to not be surprised by that. Nothing quite took the edge off of a case for a few hours like being unconscious, if only it were easier to get to that state.

You threw your towel onto a nearby chair and put on some pajamas, grabbing a gun and checking through the blinds one last time, an unfortunate habit that had saved your life on more than one occasion.

You hadn’t expected to see anyone out there, you haven’t been on this case long enough to draw attention to yourself. But instead you were greeted with the sight of a grown man admiring your car parked just outside the window. Normally you wouldn’t have done anything about it but given that it was nearly midnight you felt you had reason to be suspicious.

Cautiously, you tucked your gun into the waistband of your pants and walked outside, clearing your throat loudly to catch the attention of the man “Can I help you with something?”

“Do you know who’s car this is” The man asked, tossing a quick glance in your direction before directing his gaze back to your car. A car you were rather proud and protective of.

“Mine” You answered simply, crossing your arms over your chest.

At this the man turned towards you with furrowed brows “Are you even old enough to drive that thing?”

You felt your jaw clench and your hands ball up into fists, beyond sick of jokes about your age. You hear enough of them in the hunting community you did not need it from some rando standing outside your hotel room. “That thing is a souped-up off road volvo and I recommend you show it, as well as it’s owner, some respect.”

“Get your Dad out here and I will”

“bold of you to assume it’s a man’s car” You could feel yourself smirk at him “not only do you blatantly ignore me when I tell you it’s my car but you automatically assume it’s a man’s car”

“No-I-uh-that’s not” You already had his stuttering, you fought off a smile as you tried to keep a straight face.

“Let me guess it’s cause women can’t be interested in cars” You prodded him further “no that’s a man’s job of course”

“Shut up”

“How eloquent”

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of breaking the tension, knowing he had nothing else to say.

“Just tell your parents I like their car” He muttered before turning around and heading for the door right next to your own.

“Just me here asshole” You muttered before walking into your own room, slamming the door a bit harder than you probably should have.

-

“You got into a fight…with a little girl”

“Well I wouldn’t call her a little girl…”

Sam stared at his brother with raised eyebrows, silently waiting for him to continue the story, he desperately needed to defend himself better than this.

“She had to have been at least old enough to drive a car”

“That still doesn’t explain why you decided to pick a fight with her… in a motel parking lot… at midnight”

“Well if you say it like that it sounds ridiculous” Dean mumbled as he aggressively shoved hash browns into his mouth.

“Ok then how would you describe it?”

“…can we just focus on the case”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh at his brother. Enjoying the picture of him getting his ass handed to him by a teenage girl in his mind.

“Police found a twelve year old boy ripped to shreds. They’re thinking it’s some animal in the woods.”

“Werewolf?” Dean asked.

“That’s what I’m thinking” Sam nodded as he pulled out his phone scrolling through the articles he had saved on it “but he’s not the first victim. My guts saying there are more than one of them”

“Great” Dean grunted, silently flagging down the waitress for another cup of coffee.

“We could always ask for help” Sam mused, putting his phone back into his pocket.

“From who?”

“Rumer has it that the nightingale is around here” Sam shrugged “We could give her a call”

“We’re not asking help from a hunter who doesn’t exist.”

“What makes you think she doesn’t exist?”

“Have you heard the stories?” Dean all but laughed “They’re ridiculous, there’s no way anyone is that good let alone some teenage girl”

“Considering you just got your ass kicked by one I wouldn’t be putting them down like that” Sam muttered, ignoring the glare Dean shot him. “Besides legends have to start somewhere. Maybe the stories aren’t 100% true but that doesn’t mean she’s not an amazing hunter”

“Regardless we can handle this we don’t need someone tacky enough to have the tagline ‘greatest hunter in a century’”

“you’re just jealous you don’t have it”

-

You hated research enough as it was, but being unable to gather it directly from the source made it so much worse. No matter how much makeup and pantsuits you put on you could never convince anyone you were someone of enough authority to give information to. Most assumed you were a kid playing dress up.

That didn’t mean you were through trying though. You were fixing bright red lipstick in the rearview mirror of your car parked outside of the police station. FBI badge ready in your pocket and lock picking kit in another one, you were prepared for any situation.

You kicked open your door and slid into heels that had no business being as high as they were when you stopped dead in your tracks, recognizing a certain light brown-haired man walking into the station in a cheap suit. Immediately you were running up behind him, heels in hand slipping them on just before you came into the building and planting yourself on a bench before anyone could notice you.

“Hi I’m agent Smith and this is agent Smith” The man introduced him and the tall man standing next to him, each flipping out FBI badges that looked remarkably like your own. “We’d like to talk to someone about the recent death of a twelve-year-old boy”

Immediately you put your head in your hands, doing your best to disguise yourself as a kid who got in trouble as the two men were led down a hallway to the chief. So they were here on the same case as you were. Your gut said they were hunters too, there wasn’t really a reason for the FBI to be here, but you sure as hell weren’t ready to take that risk.

You made quick glances around the lobby, careful to make sure the secretary wasn’t paying attention to you before you slipped down the hallway after the two agents, stopping in front of the chief’s door and pressing your ear to the wall, glad to know you could hear all that was going on within the room.

Eagerly you began taking notes, scribbling answers to all of the agents questions quickly before having to run off down the hallway at the sound of footsteps being taken in your direction from the room. Planting yourself back on the bench just in time for the three men to exit the chief’s office.

“I assure you gentleman your help is not needed, we have this all under control” The chief said as politely as possible, obviously having no clue how untrue that sentence really was.

“we just go where the burro tells us to, this is more a formality than anything” The man you had fought with tried to calm the chief, assuring him he was still top dog in his town before he made a move for the door, stopping as soon as he made eye contact with you, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s nice to see you too” You grunted, happy to see a smirk appear on the taller man’s face. “I’m Y/N”, you introduced yourself to him, already deciding you liked him better.

“Sam” The man shook your hand with smile much to his partners displeasure.

“Is there anything I can help you with little lady?” You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the chief’s nickname, putting on your best fake smile.

“No actually I already got what I needed. Thank you though”

“Well can we give you a ride back to the motel” Sam offered

“No thanks I have my car here” You smirked at his partner.

“Alright well if you need anything” Sam continued hesitantly “I hear we’re neighbors so don’t hesitate to come over”

“Thanks” You smiled at him before following the two of them outside. Feeling Sam’s partners eyes on you as you got into your car and pulled out of the lot.

-

The agents conversation had been a gold mine, so paired with the statements you got from the victims families, who thank god did actually talk with you, you had a good idea where the werewolves were hiding out.

You figured you could take care of them tonight and head out in the morning, word was there were some hunters who could be in need of some help just a few hours north of here.

A knock at your door startled you but you didn’t think twice before answering, almost figuring it was a pizza you had forgotten you’d ordered. Instead you found standing the two agent smiths standing there.

“Oh-uh-hey” You greeted them opening the door wide enough to show the rest of your body, not even thinking about the gun exposed in your holster on your thigh.

Sam’s partner, however, didn’t miss it, immediately drawing one of his own and pointing it right at you sending your hand to the handle of your own gun.

“Dude” Sam hissed, grabbing his partner by the elbow and pulling him into your room and shutting the door quickly.

“Why do you have a gun?” His partner demanded, dropping the aim slightly as he saw you weren’t going to point yours back at him.

“I’m a teenage girl alone in a motel room. I’d like a litter security” You lied easily, Afterall it was practically in your job description,

“What about all of this?” Sam asked pointing at a table covered in your research, god you were getting sloppy.

You paused for a moment, less prepared for this question “The latest victim, Trevor, he was a friend of mine”

You could tell neither of these answers flew well with the agents as Sam’s partner kept his gun trained on you.

“Look-“ You started to explain, ready to tell them you didn’t want any trouble and ask them to leave when Sam interrupted you.

“nightingale” He all but whispered, as if he were more explaining the situation to himself than you.

“Your hunters” It clicked as you dropped your hand from your gun.

“No way you’re the nightingale” Sam’s partner shook his head.

“In the flesh” You assured him with a slight smirk “and if you’re Sam then you’re Dean? Winchesters?”

“You know who we are?” Dean asked, finally dropping his gun to the floor and tucking it away.

“Everyone knows about the two responsible for nearly destroying the world god knows how many times” You chuckled.

“Oh, that” Dean muttered.

“Never mind it tho” You brushed the topic off tuning back to business “I think I know where the wolves are hiding out, I was just heading there now”

“Alright just go let us grab out stuff and we’ll be ready” Sam shrugged making eye contact with his brother checking with him silenetly

“Oh no” You quickly interjected before they could move anywhere “I usually work alone, usually safer that way”

“It’s our case too” Dean objected “plus we think there’s quite a few of them out there you can’t take them all out yourself”

“Sure I can” You shrugged “not something I haven’t done before”

“But now you don’t have to” Sam jumped in “we’ll have your back”

You bit your lip, partners have never really gone well for you but these guys were Winchesters, apocalypses aside they were known to be good hunters, surely it couldn’t hurt.

“Alright but we’re taking my car”

“Fat chance” Dean laughed before walking out of your room before you could argue any further.

-

You hoped out of the impala as soon as it parked, you had to admit it was a nice car, had a good classic feel but pride wouldn’t allow you to ever say that out loud.

“How many silver bullets you got?” You asked, checking your own clip.

“Bout a clip each” Sam answered, checking his own quickly.

“Me too but I’ve got about a dozen knives as well”

“Knives?” Dean questioned looking at you skeptically.

“They’re easy to throw and silent” You shrugged, “going in guns blazing definitely isn’t the best move here”

Sam just nodded in response, looking up at the abandoned building. “front or back you think?”

“We’ve got the man power for both” You followed his gaze “As long as we’re quiet and pick them off one by one we should be fine”

Dean nodded at you and cocked his gun. Accepting a few knives from you as you passed them around.

“Hey” he started awkwardly as Sam began walking towards the building “I’m Dean by the way”

“Yeah…I know” you furrowed your brow.

“Yeah I just figured, you’re gonna have to trust me tonight, I should really introduce myself at least”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought, extending your hand “It’s nice to meet you Dean, I’m Y/N”

Dean gladly shook your hand with a small smile “We’ve got your back tonight Y/N”

“I know, I’ve got yours too”

Dean nodded with a grin before turning on his heels and heading with his brother to the back of the building. You took up position in the front, giving the brothers ten seconds before you slipped into the building.

Immediately you ducked behind a chest of sorts, throwing a knife at the first thing that turned the corner, hitting one between the eyes knocking it to the ground. You ran towards the body and pulled the knife out of its forehead and turning the corner, throwing knives quickly and easily.

Everything was going perfectly, you had to have gone through a handful of werewolves at least, when a loud gunshot startled you. Immediately howls and long toenails scratching on hardwood echoed through the house.

You swore under your breath and ran towards the gunshot, knowing that wasn’t a good a sign. You arrived in the back of the house to see Sam on the ground with a wolf snarling and gnashing its teeth above him, gun kicked somewhere across the room. With no hesitation you fired at the wolf, the beast slumping over immediately allowing Sam to simply throw him off.

“Where’s Dean?’

“Upstairs” Sam panted, pushing himself to his feet.

“This floor’s clear lets go” You said making your way to the stairs, Sam right on your heels.

You quickly made your way down the hallway, clearing each room as you walked by it. Stopping as soon as you saw Dean stuck in the same position you found Sam in earlier. Again you fired easily at the wolf, helping Dean to his feet as he pushed the body off of him.

“Are there any more?” You asked him as he caught his breath.

Dean shook his head “Not that I saw”

“Alright cool” You laughed “That was easy”

The brothers looked at you, their chests rising and falling rapidly as they struggled to recover from nearly dying “right, easy”

“Alright well…” You began, dusting off your hands “didn’t think I’d ever say this but I’m glad we teamed up.”

“Believe me we are too” Dean chuckled as he led you back down the stairs.

“Well…” Sam mumbled, running a hand through his hair “what if we made it a usual thing”

“What do you mean?” You asked, not wanting to jump to any conclusions.

‘We’ve got a place” Dean jumped in “A permanent place, no more motel rooms”

“You could even go back to school if you wanted” Sam finished giving you what you could only call puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t know” You answered honestly, playing awkwardly with your hands “I’ve been alone for so long you know, it’s what I’m used to”

“We’re just saying we make a good team” Dean tried to explain, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder “so just think about it alright”

“Alright” You nodded, getting into the back seat of the impala, your gut already telling you what you should do.

[hunterswearingplaid]

The Delay (Dean x Reader) - Part 2

Summary: The reader finds a way to pass some time at the airport.

Pairing; Dean x Australian!Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings; None

Author’s Note; I hope you liked part one! This part has some portions that I’m really proud of :) Enjoy!

Author’s Note 2: I might have said some things about some Brooklyn 99 characters, which was just for some dialogue! I like all B99 characters equally, I promise!

Read Part 1 here!

For some stupid reason, you wanted to know how nervous-dude was doing. Nope. Just the same. Still just sitting, eyes flitting around the airport. He looked miserable. Maybe he really disliked flying. There was something in your head telling you to make the situation better. Of course, the other part of you wondered why you had to. There was no incentive to help the man out, other than the fact that you were too kind for it to be normal.

You turned around to get the barista’s attention, calling out, “Could you please split the croissant into two parts?”

You kept telling your brain to shove off as it dragged your feet across the hall, the thudding in your heart getting louder and louder. Your brain didn’t seem to be listening, though, because before long you were holding out one part of the croissant, held in a tissue, to nervous-guy.

“Some food might help,” You said as he turned his attention to you, letting yourself sit down next to him before he could say anything, “My name’s Y/N.”

“Dean, thanks." He didn't wait a single second, taking a (large) bite out of the baked good almost immediately. "Damn, I was hungry," he said, mouth full of food. He turned towards you. “Seriously, thanks. I owe you one.”

You were yet to take a bite out of your croissant. You smiled, “Would you like this half also?”

Dean squinted, turning his head sideways. He had an ashamed smile on his face, his hand scratching his head. “No, I—”

“You owe me one,” you cut him off, smiling.

Dean looked at the ground, smiling. “I owe you one.” He looked back up at you, his eyes bright. “I’ll make it a big one.”

You laughed. You weren’t quite sure what Dean meant by that.

“Seriously. Just wait till mealtime.”

“Whatever you say,” you played along, handing over the other half of your croissant, balancing your coffee tumbler on your thigh. You could hear Dean fishing for something in his backpack, mumbling to himself.

“Aha!” You heard him exclaim after a few seconds. “Y/N, would you like a kiss?”

“Excuse me?” You asked, turning your head towards him, only to find him holding a tiny little Hershey’s kiss in his hand. You dropped your shoulders, feeling like an idiot. “Yes, please. Thank you.” You said, taking it and ripping it open. Dean spoke up as you savored the taste of the tiny chocolatey button on your tongue.

“You going to San Francisco for work?”

“I live there.” You crossed your arms over your chest, slumping in your seat.

“Ah. With your family?”

“Um, my fiance.” You said, clearing your throat as you slowly stood up. “My luggage is back there,” you said, pointing awkwardly to where your luggage was.

“Oh, bring it here,” Dean said casually.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I could really use the company, if you couldn’t already tell.” He grinned.

You went back to retrieve your luggage, bringing it over to where Dean was sitting. You skipped the seat right next to his — where you were sitting earlier — choosing instead to sit one seat away.

It seemed like Dean had other plans. He immediately moved to that seat, so you were sitting right next to each other. You could smell the sweetness of his leather jacket, finding it strangely comforting.

“We don’t have to talk or anything…” Dean said, sounding nervous. “I just felt a little lonely.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, you know what, it’s fine if you go back. It was silly of me to call you here.”

“No, no worries, Dean. It’s fine.” You assured him.

Dean smiled wide. “I like how you say my name in your accent.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you simply shot him a smile back, feeling the tips of your ears get warm. You didn’t generally get compliments like that, even in San Francisco. The only person you could remember having said that was Austin. Wow, seems like everything today was drawing your mind to either Dean or Austin.

“What about you?” You asked, seeing no harm in striking up a conversation. “Going to San Fran for work?”

“You call it San Fran?” Dean asked, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. “I live there too.”

“San Francisco is such a mouthful!” You countered, continuing after taking a breath, “What do you do?”

“Freelance advertising. It’s not too bad. You?”

You sighed, chuckling through your words, “Actuarial analysis.”

“Aaahhh,” Dean drawled out, not sounding too pleased. “What do you wish you did?” He asked slowly as if asking you a big secret. He turned his body towards yours, gripping the sidebar of his chair. You looked right back at him, staring into his forest green eyes.

“I wanted to go to clown school,” you whispered, your face completely serious.

Dean’s expression changed to one of confusion. “Oh,” he said, inspecting your face for a few more seconds to see if you were joking. When you remained serious, he went on, “Wow. That’s nice,” he nodded, smiling. You stared at each other for a few seconds before Dean said comfortingly, “I think you’d make a good clown,” he clicked his tongue, shooting you a thumbs up.

“I think so too, thank you, Dean!” You said, slapping his hand. “I’d make a beautiful clown.”

“Yeah,” Dean said at that, raking his eyes all over your face.

“It’s a shame I was joking,” you said, finally breaking into a smile.

Dean’s face broke into relief. “Oh!” He exclaimed, “Wow, you really managed to keep a straight face.” He watched you with a smile as you laughed, saying, “Acting?”

You sighed, nodding. “Not a very stable profession.”

“No, it’s not.” Dean crossed his arms, turning to look forward again, slumping into his chair with his arms crossed.

“What about you, Mr…”

“Winchester.”

“Winchester,” You mused, liking the sound of that on your tongue. “What about you, Mr. Winchester?”

“Music. Or cars.”

“As in, mechanic?”

“I don’t exactly know,” Dean said in a wondrous tone. “I just love cars. So much.”

“Do you have a fancy car?”

“Yes,” he said, breaking into a smile. “Her name’s Baby.”

“Baby,” You repeated.

“Everything sounds so nice in an Australian accent,” Dean said through a smile, “Can you say ‘baby’ again?”

Dean’s enthusiasm was amusing to you. “Baby,” you said again.

Dean’s voice dropped, almost unnoticeably. “Say my name. My full name.”

You smiled at him for a few seconds, observing the happy glint in his eyes. You felt weird. Not a bad weird. A strange, happy weird. “Dean Winchester.” You drew the syllables out.

“Dean Michael Winchester!”

“Dean Michael Winchester,” you threw your hands out to your sides, your voice filled with grandiose. You and Dean laughed for a moment. “Not to shit on America of anything, but things don’t as good in an American accent.”

“Try me,” Dean rubbed his hands together, rolling up his sleeves.

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.” You said, a challenging expression on your face.

Dean repeated, somehow managing to make it sound nice. You were almost sure he winked as he said your name, which you tried to brush off. You brought a hand to the back of your name, rubbing to try to alleviate the funky tension coursing through your body. “It doesn’t sound nearly as nice in when my fiance says it.”

“Well, your fiance isn’t trying hard enough,” Dean said playfully.

Your face fell. Dean’s words rung a little truer than he had meant to make them sound. He was right. You looked at your feet, biting your bottom lip.

“Y/N,” Dean called out, his voice sounding distant, till he put a hand on your shoulder to get your attention. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I hadn’t meant it like that.” He rubbed lightly, trying to offer comfort — which he somehow managed. “I’m sure your fiance is a great guy.”

“Austin.”

“Austin is a great guy, I’m sure. I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” you said, trying to smile. “It’s just… Austin’s birthday is tomorrow, and I had to plan a party for him. He’s going to be upset now.”

“Oh, you won’t be there to celebrate with him.”

Yes, that too. You almost said it out loud.

Dean could sense your uneasiness. He clapped his hands, trying to bring some levity the conversation. “Okay. Favorite movie. Shoot.” He shot one hand ahead of him, looking right at it. There was a middle-aged man who was watching Dean, slightly repulsed. You smiled internally at Dean’s goofiness, thinking.

“Um, Sunset Boulevard? Yeah, Sunset Boulevard.”

“Hm. MIne’s DIe Hard.”

“Which one?”

“Can’t pick one, they’re all frigging amazing.”

“Jake Peralta,” you scoffed.

“Hey, no,” Dean said, turning towards you once again. “I’m more of a Terry.”

Your mouth fell open. “I haven’t known you for too long, but you’re a total Peralta. And there’s nothing wrong with that!” You argued.

“Says the Amy Santiago.”

“Says the Rosa.” You corrected.

“Please. Actuarial analysis? You’re a total Amy. And there’s nothing wrong with that.” He mocked you.

You laughed. A proper belly laugh. It had been a while since you’d enjoyed yourself this much simply having a conversation. You stared at Dean, taking it all in for a moment.

“What?” Dean smiled.

“I’m having fun, y’know? Sitting here with you.”

“I’m having fun too,” Dean smiled — almost shyly. He bumped shoulders with you.

“No, I’m having real fun. I have a very busy, almost sad life. I hardly get to just sit and talk to someone. I’m glad I came over and gave you that croissant.”

“I’m glad I took it,” Dean said. His cheeks looked rosy. Was he… was he blushing?

“Y’know, I think it’s mealtime in San Fran,” Dean said, putting emphasis on the last two words.

You shot him a glare, “It may be.”

“I said I would make it special.”

“Yes, you did.”

Tag List:

Forever Tags: @hobby27 @thirdwheelchurchill @emwinchester1 @mcallmestiles @unicornblood4ever @bakemaster93 @elliewithcellie @yallgotkik @burningcoffeetimetravel @cupofkauffie @samuelwillliamwinchester @spnobsidian @norawritestrash

‘The Delay’ tags: @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce

All my tag lists and requests are open! I would love it if you left me feedback, it keeps me going! :) 

[rambling-at-midnight]

False Image: Part 2

At this point, you’re pretty sure the universe hates you.

You don’t know what you did to piss off fate, but it seems like everywhere you turn, there’s one of the Winchesters, or some appendage of them—Bobby, Jo, Gabe, and Cas don’t have the last name ‘Winchester’ but they’re all connected in some way.

At least none of your coworkers know Sam and Dean. From what you’ve seen of the boys’ fans, if someone does know them, they’d never stop talking about them. You’re surprised you haven’t fallen to what you’ve started to call the Winchester virus—yet.

You’ve never seen such a close-knit group of people and it’s really sweet, how much they seem to care for each other, but they’re always talking about Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean this, Sam and Dean that, Sam and Dean saved kittens from a house fire yesterday, this morning they saved one of their colleague’s lives.

Not that they aren’t great, because they are. And you’re glad they’re saving kittens’ lives, because you love kittens, and you’re glad nobody’s dying in local fires, but you’ve got a problem.

You blush.

A lot.

At a lot of things, like having to speak in front of small and large groups of people, you saying something dumb to someone you don’t really know, someone asking you a question you don’t know the answer to, someone teasing you, someone questioning you in general, lying, and so much more.

Basically, if no one looked at you, everything would be peachy.

And for some reason you don’t really want to know, the mere mention of Sam freakin’ Winchester makes you red-hot like the firetrucks he rides in.

Oh, and did you forget to mention, you blushing so much makes you embarrassed, but the more embarrassed you are, the more you blush?

So, it’s either you start wearing an unholy amount of makeup to stop from looking like a tomato every time someone mentions Sam’s name—and jeez, are the boys, like, local celebrities or something? Everyone knows them—or you, like, get over this weird crush thing. You’ve not spent an hour in his presence, so how could you be so flustered over even his name ?

At least he’s not one of your patients. You’d probably catch fire if he came around and you had to sit in a closed-off room with him for a half hour.

Good thing he’s a firefighter, you think and chuckle aloud.

“What?” Your secretary and first friend in this town, Charlie Bradbury, asks without taking her eyes off her computer screen. You don’t know what she’s looking at; it’s all a bunch of black and white gibberish on the display.

“Sorry.” You shake your head and stow your phone in your coat pocket. “Just… thinking of a funny scene from a TV show I watched last night.” You can feel the heat rising up your cheeks and pray she isn’t looking at you. Charlie rarely takes her eyes off her computer screen, especially because she works another job while being your secretary. It’s not a lot of work, so she also works for the government in hacking into people’s electronic stuff. You’re not very good at all that stuff. Thank God she is.

“Hey, remind me who’s coming today?”

Charlie rapidly clicks the mouse, minimizing the gibberish screen and pulling up multiple files before finding the right one. She recites, “Brutus Crowley—” You smile at that. “Missy Walker, Dagger Chambers, Lola Banes, and Bailey Hanscum. Garth is taking care of all the other patients. Speaking of—” Charlie checks her watch. “He’s cutting it close again.”

“Cut him some slack, he’s an excited newlywed.” You sigh. “I think it’s sweet.”

Charlie pushes away from her computer and wheels over to you. “What’s that sigh for?”

“What sigh?” You look away and pick up your file for the day just to have something to do.

Charlie exaggerates a sigh and repeats, “‘I think it’s sweet.’ What’s that about?” She gasps. “Is there someone? A boy?” She wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“No!” You crinkle your nose as if disgusted, but really you’re trying not to smile at the mental image of Sam that pops up in your head.

“A girl! I like girls, too, I’m not judging.”

“Speaking of, you need to bring Kara around sometime! You guys are still together, right?”

“Yes, we are, you would know if we weren’t, and you’re changing the subject.” Charlie puts her hands together prayer-style and regards you with squinted eyes.

You start to get red and look away, pretending to shuffle through the case files. It’s just a checkup for Brutus, but Missy’s been refusing food. And Dagger—

“You like someone.” Charlie gasps. “You don’t like Dean, do you? You’ve been talking about him a lot. You know he’s with Cas, right?” She grimaces. As if you’d ever be a homewrecker like that.

You pull a face. “No! Ew! I don’t like Dean—wait, you know Dean? And I haven’t been talking about him, like, at all!”

Charlie laughs. “Hey, look, as your closest friend, whenever you mention a potential love interest, I notice. It’s taken you long enough to get over Brady. You were talking about the Winchesters, especially more recently, and well… even I can admit they are smoking . And the tone of voice you used when you were talking about them… Besides, who doesn’t know Dean? Everyone knows Dean and—” Charlie’s mouth drops open. “Sam! Oh my God, you like Sam !”

“You do?”

You and Charlie turn at the sound of Garth’s voice. He shuts the back door and hangs up his coat and briefcase without taking his eyes off you.

“Hey, Garth!” you say loudly, trying to convey that you’re going to kill Charlie with your eyes. “How’s the wife?”

“She’s great. You like Sam?” he asks again, like you hadn’t heard him ask the first time. “Wow! I love Sam! I bet you guys will be great together!”

“No, I really—I really don’t ,” you insist. “You probably don’t even know the Sam we’re talking about—”

“Well, Winchester, duh.” Garth smiles and chuckles. “Are there any other Sams in the town?”

“Um, yes, three others, and Charlie’s just being stupid and projecting her happy lovey-dovey feels onto me. I’m focused on my work now. I don’t have time for distractions.”

“Y/N, you’re getting red,” Garth points out in a sing-song voice and picks up a sheet of paper from Charlie’s desk. Of course, that only makes you redder. “Oh, hey! Mrs. MacLeod is visiting with Leo today! I love Leo. He’s my favorite snake.”

“I think he’s our only snake,” Charlie muses, finally distracted, and you breathe a sigh of relief and check your watch.

“Oh! We’re opening in one minute! Is everything set up?”

“Y/N, relax. Even if things aren’t ready, the only person scheduled exactly for 9 is Crowley, and he literally could not care less.”

“Speak of the devil,” you say while poking your head out of the employee’s room. Crowley stands in front of the glass doors with Brutus at his side. The enormous Neapolitan Mastiff sits at his feet, perfectly obedient as always.

You mouth ‘one moment’ to Crowley, who rolls his eyes (you blush) and duck back into the room. “He’s here. Where are the keys?”

Charlie tosses them to you. “Did you know, Asa always puts them on the coat rack when he’s finished with the night shift? It took me forever to find them the first time and we were fifteen minutes late to open…” She continues to speak to Garth, who listens intently while preparing himself some coffee, and you welcome Crowley and his dog in with a large, genuine smile. Crowley is definitely an acquired taste and so is Brutus, but they’re both sweethearts once you get to know them.

“How are you today, Crowley?”

“I’m perfectly well, Y/N,” he responds in his dry British accent. “How are you?”

“I’m all right,” you reply. “A little stressed because of the move, but I’m excited too. And how is Brutus doing?” You crouch down to the dog’s level and scratch his head. “Just the checkup, huh?”

“That is correct. You are satisfied with the help you received through my company, though, aren’t you?”

“Oh, Mr. Asmodeus was lovely,” you assure him. “Packing up is just a hassle. You never know how much you own until you have to box it all up, right?”

Crowley laughs, probably only out of courtesy, but that’s one of the reasons why you like him. He’s always perfectly polite and courteous. You would think he’s only being nice to you because he’s nice to everyone (and that doubt does still cross your mind at times) but he’s taken to calling you Bird, and Charlie tells you he only calls people animals when he’s especially fond of them.

“You know, I almost wish Brutus would get sick more often,” you remark off-handedly. “I hardly ever see him, do I, boy?” You pat his head and lead him by his collar to the scale. “Not that I’d like to see him sick, though,” you add hastily.

“No offense taken, Bird,” Crowley assures you. “I did hear something about a training center for dogs…”

“I guess word has gotten around,” you say while writing down Brutus’ weight. “I mean, it is a training center and Brutus is, obviously, an angel. The sentiment is kind, though.”

“Wouldn’t it help to have another dog along to set an example?” Crowley asks.

You frown and tap your pen against your chin. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Perfect.” Crowley straightens his already-straight suit. “Then you’ll send me the schedule?”

“Y-yes.” Feeling yourself get redder, you change the topic. “Brutus has only gained a tenth of a pound since we’ve last seen him, so that aspect is fine.” You give the dog a treat, one of the many stowed in the pockets in your coat, and wink at Crowley. “Off to a private room, then.”

“Heel, boy,” Crowley commands and they follow after you.

“Now, I don’t suppose any of the answers from last year have changed?” you ask while listening to Brutus’ chest with your stethoscope.

Crowley settles himself into a chair with a regal dignity you didn’t think possible for a mere human. “Well, as the town grows, I become busier and busier, but I have hired a dog walker to take Brutus on his regular walks, and then I obviously exercise him in the park while I eat my lunch. Apart from that, nothing has changed.”

You mark that down on your clipboard. “Oh, I forgot to ask—did you bring in the feces we asked for?”

Crowley flourishes a Tupperware container full of Brutus’ poop that he’d pulled seemingly out of nowhere.

“Perfect, I’ll have Garth go over that immediately.” You stick your head out of the room and call, “Garth! We got poop !”

“That is a lot of poop,” Garth comments as he takes the container from you.

“Brutus is a big dog,” you reply. “Make sure you wash it out well, all right?”

Brutus seems perfectly healthy, so you send the two men off a few treats lighter and with Crowley’s number in your pocket. You have no idea where Crowley put the Tupperware container after you gave it back to him, but that’s just Crowley for you.

The rest of the day is a breeze. Gordon Walker was probably more worried than he needed to be, since his cat only has a small cold, but you sent them away with medication. Krissy Chambers’ bunny, Dagger, had a UTI.

You had a small break after that and got to hold Leo during his wellness examination and talk with Crowley’s mother, Rowena. You don’t know how she looks so young, considering her son is at least 45.

After that you got to meet Lola Banes, Alicia Banes’ new white rat. It was just a wellness examination for him as well, but he wasn’t exactly friendly. And Donna Hanscum’s energetic cocker spaniel, Bailey, has fleas.

At the end of the day, you sit slumped in the employee’s room, sipping out of a coffee. It’ll keep you up tonight, but at this point you’re too tired to make it back to your apartment. You need the caffeine.

“Long day, huh?” Charlie spins around in her chair once, a blur too fast for you to make eye contact with, before she gets back to typing.

You nod and heave a sigh. “I just need to get on a good sleeping schedule again, that’s all.”

“You’ll be back to yourself once the move is over.”

“God, I hope so.”

“Hey, you wanna head home now?” Charlie stands up from her computer and cracks her neck. “Garth and I can handle cleanup, or even Asa and whoever he works the ER with. You’ve earned a good night’s sleep.” Charlie takes the coffee cup out of your hands. “You won’t be able to sleep if you drink this.”

“I won’t be able to drive back if I don’t drink it,” you correct and grab for the coffee cup. All that happens is burning-hot coffee slops over the edge and you both snatch your hands away at the same time. The cup smashes on the floor and you hiss, shaking your hand.

“Fuck,” you both say at the same time, staring at the smashed cup on the ground.

“This is why we can’t have nice things, Charlie,” you immediately joke. “Hey, at least I’m a medical professional. I know how to bandage burns.”

“You know how to do everything,” Charlie grumbles as you wrap up her hand. “You should work the ER too, sometimes. Asa had to call Garth in because some cat was having troubles that he didn’t recognize. You’re the boss. The boss should be doing the hard work.”

“Yeah, Charlie, I’d sure love to work 24/7,” you say sarcastically. “I work the ER on Saturdays. Sundays are my off days.”

“I’ll clean up the mess,” she says, ignoring your sarcasm. “You go home.”

You start to walk away but stop in the doorway. “Hey, Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you—forget it.”

“No, what?”

“I’ll get back to you after I ask Garth about it,” you evade, turning red again. You don’t want Charlie to know anything about it. At least Garth is moderately subtle. Charlie would probably punch Gordon in the face, and he hasn’t even done anything.

Garth is just finishing up with someone’s dog when you knock on his door.

“Bye, Mrs. O’Connor!” he calls cheerily. “Have a nice day!”

“You too, Mr. Fitzgerald,” she responds.

“Hey, Y/N,” Garth greets, turning around to grab a Clorox wipe. “Buddy really sheds a lot. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you could take Missy Walker from now on?” You hold your breath as your face turns red.

“Why?”

“I don’t really like her.”

“What?” Garth laughs. His back is still turned and you’re grateful. You’re blushing hard right now. “Missy’s super sweet and you love cats. What’s really up, Y/N?”

“Nothing!” Your shoulder slips off the doorframe and you stumble. “Nothing, really, Garth. I just—she only comes in once in a while and most of the time I’m really busy and Krissy and Lee had to wait a long time while I was with Missy.” You take Missy’s file out from behind your back and shove it at him. “If it’s not any trouble…”

Bemused, Garth takes the papers and skims over them. “If you really don’t want to, Y/N, then sure, but—”

“Perfect! I’ll tell Charlie. Thanks, Garth!” You call, already out the door and down the hall so he can’t change his mind.

Charlie’s just finished cleaning up the spill when you hurl yourself into the room. “Garth’s going to be taking care of Missy from now on, all right?”

“Huh?”

“Garth agreed to take on Missy Walker from now on because I’ve got so many other patients,” you say slower and avoid where she’s crouching as you walk across the floor to grab a few coffee K cups for your one at home.

“Any reason why?”

“I felt super rushed today,” you fib and hang up your coat in the closet. “Oh, can you hand me a ‘Clean’ sticker? I didn’t get peed on or anything today.”

Charlie hands you the sticker you’d asked for so Asa won’t put it in the wash unnecessarily. You stick it carefully onto the shoulder of your coat and shut the closet door.

“What time is it?” you wonder while checking your watch. It’s 5:34. You’re running a full hour ahead of schedule.

“Bye, Y/N,” Charlie calls after you as you shrug on your real coat and exit the clinic through the back door.

Since you’re turned back to yell “Bye!” you don’t notice the large form in the doorway and hit it full-speed.

“Sorry!” you squeak, taking a step back to look at the person’s face.

Asa grins at you. “Where’s the fire?”

“I drank some coffee,” you admit. “Just now.” You grin and bounce on the balls of your feet. “Good luck tonight, A!”

“See you, Y/N!” he calls after you as you hurry past him. Hopefully no dogs get hit by cars tonight. He’d love a nice, quiet night.

During work, you’d forgotten about your annoying crush and terrible luck, but the second you get into your car it all comes rushing back. You’re running a full hour early—will you see Sam when he’s coming home tonight?

You can’t help the rush of adrenaline that floods through you at the thought.

God, you really do like Sam, don’t you? That’s embarrassing. How do you make it stop?

You turn on your car and a blast of cold air slaps you in the face. It doesn’t warm up until you pull into the parking lot of the apartment building, and you roll your eyes. The car’s moderately old. You’ll have to get a new one, but not for a while.

You’d called it—Sam is in the elevator when the doors open, and you both step back with surprise.

“Sorry,” he immediately says. “Normally no one else is on the elevator at this time. You get off early?”

“Yeah,” you reply. Surprising yourself and Sam, you keep the conversation going by asking, “Were there any fires today?”

Sam shakes his head. “We cleaned up the trucks, mostly. Dean and Cas both got in trouble for making a mess in the vending machine room, but—” He stops talking and you look at him with surprise, but he’s looking down.

You’d reached for the elevator button with your bandaged hand. Sam’s eyes don’t lift from it as he asks, “What happened to your hand?” Is it just you, or does he sound… angry? Why would he be angry?

“I burnt it, actually,” you respond, torn between hiding the point of conversation so Sam will get back to talking about Cas and Dean and whatever they did because the more Sam looks at you the more you blush, and acting nonchalant about the whole thing so Sam doesn’t think you’re a wimp. “Charlie tried to take my coffee mug when it was still hot. Really, really hot. I didn’t think coffee could get hot enough to burn people, but Garth likes his drinks especially hot so I think he adjusted the machine somehow.” You stop your rambling and suck in a breath. “It’s really not a big deal,” you add as if that’ll make you seem tougher when in reality you’d just admitted you’d bandaged up your hand after spilling hot coffee on it.

“Oh. I actually heard something about that a while ago. Some woman sued McDonald’s for serving her coffee that gave her serious burns and she got compensation because McDonald’s apparently knew their coffee was dangerous and was serving it at a dangerous temperature on purpose,” Sam rambles and you frown. For some reason you’re having a serious case of deja vu, and you instinctively flinch, imagining that something just lunged for you. Why would something lunge for you?

You clear your throat after a moment of silence and prompt, “What did Cas and Dean do in the vending machine?”

Sam looks away from your hand and then at you. Dimples appear in his cheeks (you want to swoon; he has dimples?! ) as he chuckles. “They were having an indoor picnic for a date since Dean’s hours are all screwy at the moment.”

“That’s sweet,” you say softly, imagining you and Sam having a picnic inside because one of you is too busy working to have seen each other properly. When you realize what you’d been imagining, you blush and look away.

How is Sam Winchester so goddamn beautiful?

“I thought it was corny,” Sam admits. “Probably because he’s my brother.”

You duck your head. To spare you from an awkward silence, the elevator doors finally open and the two of you practically sprint to your rooms.

You heave out a sigh as you lean against your closed apartment door. You’re a mess.

Crookshanks trills at you from his spot on the counter, delighted that he’s getting treats earlier than he normally does.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you mutter, pushing yourself off the door to him. Unfortunately, you hadn’t been looking at the ground so you hadn’t noticed the liquid on the floor as well as the glass.

Your foot slips out from underneath you and you cry out as you fall back. Your hands brace your fall, but your bandaged hand smarts. You curse loudly as you roll over, shaking out your sore hand. A drop of liquid hits your face. Your fingers come away red when you touch it. There are broken glass shards sticking out of the heel of your hand and blood wells up from them quickly and stains the bandages on your hand red.

You get up carefully, minding the liquid and glass and cradle your hurt hand so as not to get blood everywhere as you pad to the sink. A steady stream of curses fall from your mouth. Crookshanks swipes at you when you walk past him without giving him treats, but you don’t even bother to humor him.

Loud knocking at the door makes you jump. “Y/N? Are you all right?” It’s Sam. Oh, so he’s conscientious as well as beautiful? There’s got to be something wrong with him. No one can be that perfect.

“I’m fine!” You call back. “My damn cat—”

“Do you need help?”

You survey the scene: you, with a bleeding and burnt hand, water and glass on the floor, Crookshanks sniffing at the crime scene—

You yelp. “Crookshanks! Get away from that! Just a second, Sam! Sorry!”

You want to wrap a towel around your hand so you don’t get blood everywhere but that would push the glass shards deeper into your skin so you just lunge for your cat and scoop him up with your good hand. You toss him into your bedroom and slam the door shut so he doesn’t hurt himself before opening up the door.

Sam takes in the drops of blood on your cheek, collarbone, and shirt, and finds the source immediately. “What happened?” he asks, carefully taking your hand by the wrist and leading you to the kitchen sink, being mindful of the mess in the hallway. You almost slip again on a drop of your own blood but he holds you up. The only thing you can think about is how embarrassed you are, and how impressed you are that he can literally hold you up with one hand without any struggle.

“My dumbass cat knocked over the cup I left out and I slipped on the water and cut my hand,” you grumble, embarrassment making your cheeks flaming. “This is just not my day, I guess.”

“That’s why you should get a dog,” Sam jokes.

“Yeah, I will, once I move,” you say, immediately brightening at the thought. “I hope Crookshanks gets along with it.”

“What kind of dog are you going to get?” Sam asks. He puts your hand over the sink and hunches down. His broad shoulders keep you from seeing what he’s doing.

Your hand is immediately the most sensitive part of your body. You feel every twitch of his fingers as they touch yours.

You wince as your hand stings and instinctively try to bring it closer to your body. Sam’s hands don’t let your hand twitch. He’s so strong.

You hate that you sound like a teenage girl with a celebrity crush.

“What are you—”

“I’m trying to get the glass out of your hand and distract you at the same time.”

“How do you know how to do that?” You’re genuinely interested; you’d thought that you would have to patch yourself up.

“Well…” Sam pauses and you wince as he gets another piece of glass from your skin. How his large fingers can be so gentle and precise, you don’t know. “My dad liked to leave beer bottles all around the house in precarious positions. Me and my brother got good at getting glass out of skin. We were pretty clumsy kids.”

It sounds like a lie, but you let it slide. It’s not like you two are close enough to be sharing family secrets.

“But back to the dog you want,” Sam says. “Describe your ideal dog.”

“Um…” You bite your lip as you stare at his muscular back and broad shoulders. “I really like—” Your voice turns into a squeak as he pulls what feels to be a particularly large shard out of your hand. “I really like big dogs, you know? So maybe a Briard—they’re really obedient, or a Neapolitan Mastiff like Brutus, Mr. Crowley’s dog. I would really like a Portugese Water dog, though. When I was younger I had a Labradoodle but she never liked the water and I really want a dog that likes to swim. My family has a lake that I own now—”

“Done.” Sam lets you go and the first thing you feel is disappointment, and then surprise. You hadn’t expected to get so distracted you wouldn’t feel the pain. You’d been so distracted you’d started to babble.

“Thanks.” You grin at him. “Can you grab the first-aid kit? It’s in that cabinet.” You point with your good hand. It’s in the only cabinet you can reach without getting on your tiptoes.

Sam hands it to you. You stick your bad hand under cool water from the faucet and pick out everything you’ll need to bandage yourself up with your other hand.

Once you’re all bandaged up, you turn around to see that Sam had cleaned up the mess on the floor.

“You didn’t need to do that,” you say, staring at the ground. You’re not quite sure what to say to Sam, the perfect gentleman.

“It really wasn’t any trouble,” he says gently, smiling down at you. The dimples hit you full-blast again.

You don’t have a response for that, so you just stare at him, and the smile slowly drops off Sam’s face as he takes a step closer to you. “Y/N—”

Your cat interrupts with a howl behind the door as he scratches it. You both look away with heated faces and you almost trip as you skirt around Sam to open the door and let him out. Crookshanks, ever an oblivious fuck, just beeps at you indignantly for locking him up and jumps onto the counter for treats.

“Thanks again, Sam,” you say with your back turned, an obvious dismissal. “If you ever need anything, let me know.”

He sighs. You don’t know why (you think you do, but there’s no way). “You too, Y/N.”

You don’t turn around until you hear the door open and close. Then you turn and slump against the counter. You shouldn’t feel this way about Sam, he’s your brother…

You frown and raise your hand to your temple. Where did that come from? Sam’s not your brother; you barely know him. You’ve been his neighbor for two years after you moved to town and only noticed him a few months ago.

You feel a headache coming on.

Crookshanks rubs his head against your arm. “I know,” you say absently to him and scratch the base of his tail. “I know. Weird.” You pick him up.

He meows, only the sound comes from behind you and not from in your arms.

You whirl, your hand flying to where you keep your gun, only there’s no gun in your waistband. You’ve never even held a gun. Why would you keep a gun in your waistband? You are crashing hard from that cup of coffee. You need to sleep.

After setting an alarm on your phone for 8 o’clock and making sure it’s plugged in and charging, you fall onto the bed. It only takes you a few minutes to fall asleep, which is a new record for you—it’s hard to relax sometimes.

For some reason you dream that Sam and Dean Winchester are standing over your sleeping form and shaking you. You wake up halfway multiple times, positive that someone actually touched you, but it was either only Crookshanks or your imagination.

You scowl in your sleep as Dream-Dean and Sam beg you to do something. You would do it if you could make out what they want you to do.

Sam can’t seem to take his eyes off your lifeless form, face paler than he’s ever seen.

“I don’t understand,” Dean says. “Y/N knows what a djinn world looks like. Why won’t she wake up?”

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes

[fierycosmos]

YGO GX: ChazzxReader - Tomorrow

You and Chazz Princeton had never been friends, but you could say you and him were longtime acquaintances. your family was quite wealthy like his and so your parents would run into each other every so often and so you don’t despise each other’s mere existence. It’s a tolerable existence. It started to waver though as you both joined Duel Academy. You didn’t share the same friends but at least you were in the same dorm so saw each other on more than one occasion. Speaking of the Obelisk dorm, you were visiting a friend on permission from the dean to study with him, but as you approach where you were told his room was, a door flew open and out stomped a familiar figure with the usual messy black hair. “Hey…” You stated a bit surprised as you recognized the rich boy. He shot up straight from his angry posture and whipped his head to face you before he turned around to face away from you again. “Oh it’s only you.” He sighed. “Charming as usual, Chazz.” He didn’t retort back like usual, you tended to enjoy the playful mocking dialogue you would exchange every so often. Something was definitely off. “Is, everything all right?” “Yeah, why wouldn’t be?” He tried to criticize but it came off as a weak attempt. “I’m Chazz Princeton…” “But you don’t sound like Chazz Princeton.” You noted offhandedly as you strolled closer to him and linked your arms behind your back. “Huh?” He started to turn more towards you but when that didn’t satisfy you, you huffed and grabbed one of his elbows. “C’mere.” You mutter as you turn him around to face you. He’s startled and it’s practically written on his forehead and you’re taken back by how out of character he’s acting and he freaks and turns his face away from you since he couldn’t move his body. “What?” He grumbled. “I’m sorry you’re upset.” You said, trying to sound soothing but he stiffened and pulled his elbow out of your gentle grip and turned to face you to yell at you.   “How did you—” “You’re not the most subtle person.” You stated with a slight smirk on your face as you cut him off but keep your tone soft and not mock him. He looked at your oddly when your faces goes blank and you approach him further. “Now blink.” He looks at you incredulously. “Just do it.” You push. And when he does his eyelashes that you never knew were so long and alluring became damp and you wiped it with your spare handkerchief you pulled from your pocket. He almost flinched at your touch and he stood rigid when you moved away. “There, no more worries.” “I must be really out of it to have even shown any fear.” He retorted sourly. “Sometimes it’s hard to be brave all the time.” You reasoned. “And you’re welcome.” He huffed as he wasn’t having any of the teasing antics as usual. You sigh and regain your calm mannerisms. “It’s okay to let go, relax and just let things flow.” “I can’t afford to do that.” He turned his head away. “Even Richy McRich has time to relax.” You nudge him, trying to lighten the mood slightly but he wasn’t having any of it. “I may not be for much longer.” He said dryly. “My brothers are threatening to cut me out of the family.” “They what?” You gaped, not expecting to hear that. “They don’t believe in me anymore. I’m unnecessary baggage.” He replied bitterly as he practically quoted his brother Jagger as his other older brother Slade looked down on him too. “Well you should know you’re obviously better than that.” You almost laughed at how obvious it was. “Why didn’t you tell them off like I expected you to have done?” “Because I didn’t see it coming.” He rushed to say almost sounding embarrassed and you tried to hide your smile as he was actually being cooperative instead of mean spirited as usual. “Don’t you usually not get along with your brothers?” You noted as you thought back to how Chazz always loved distancing himself from his whole family when at fancy dinner parties. “This time was different. They were serious, no more open-ended threats, it was real.” He admitted as his fists tightened into balls of fury. “Well they’re not the boss of you.” You grab his hand and you feel his arms stop shaking slightly and he looks at you with slightly wide eyes. “Show them what you’re made of! You’re Chazz Princeton, are you really going to let them get to you? That’s like accepting the fact they won.” You shook his arm a bit and then let of him to put your hands on your hips. “You have a chance here, to show them who you really are!” He noticed your face brightened suddenly as something dawned on you. “You have that duel coming up don’t you?” “Yeah, so? not like it’ll change anything.” He practically pouted and you shook his arm in a way to distract him from his sad thoughts. “Chazz Princeton’s not a quitter. You have to try your hardest and show them you’re no one to be reckoned with. Like they could duel to save their asses.” He blinked at you, his mouth slightly open and for a minute you thought you offended him and suddenly blushed at your rashness. “Sorry, I guess that was going too far.” Before you could apologize further, he began to laugh. “What’s so funny?” “Hearing you get fired up like that - it’s priceless!” He couldn’t stop laughing. “Well excuse me for trying to help!” You huffed, not liking that he was laughing at you so you slightly turn away from him with your arms crossed and your face heating up. His laughter dies down a bit and he gently tugs your elbow to face him again and you silently gasp at how genuine his smile is. It’s not cocky like usual or sinister like he is when around Jaden, this time it was soft and endearing almost. “You did help, more than you know.” He practically whispered. “You’re weird, weirder than usual.” You noted as you relaxed slightly and kept facing him but intertwining your fingers behind your back as nerves started spiraling through your stomach. “Time to get out of this funk and be an asshole again.” You felt the need to change the mood of the conversation, going back to a place that was more comfortable would help. “Hey I’m not always an asshole.” He pointed out. “Could’ve fooled me.” You smirk and he smirks back at you slightly but then his face changes slightly as he looks deep in thought and you let your hands fall to your side and you take a step closer to see if he’s all right. “Will you be there?” He asked quickly. You blink as you barely caught the question. “Be where?” You ask slowly. “Tomorrow - at my duel.” He elongated in slight annoyance. “Course, if you need the extra support that is.” You say softly as you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “No! I’m Chazz Princeton, I don’t need a fan club!” He scuffed but then his tone changed to something more encouraging. “I just wanted you to see how I’ll wipe the floor with the sap tomorrow.” “Now that sounds more like you, keep this up and you’ll be on the right track.” You smile at how his confidence was growing once more. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You spun on your toes, wanting to head back to your dorm to finish up some homework. “Hey…!” His call abruptly stopped you in place, you falter a bit but turn around. “Hm?” You mused. “Thanks, you know…” He scratched the back of his head, like not knowing how to properly thank someone and you smile at how silly he looks. “Sure.” You nod, also biting your lip to suppress the laughter. “Tomorrow.” “Tomorrow.” He says more to himself but you could hear him as you two were the only ones in the hallway and your heart kind of tightened at the softness in his voice. It was weird having this sort of relationship with him, not really being friends but sometimes him needing you, but at the same time, you couldn’t really picture it any other way…Well, you could technically but those thoughts you managed to push to the wee corners of your mind and let them stay there like always. Besides, Chazz Princeton is meant to be a bachelor type character for life, no tying him down. ~Tomorrow~ You smiled to yourself as you exited the dueling arena as people were cheering their heads off after watching the exciting duel that happened between Chazz and his opponent. It was intense but you knew deep down that Chazz was going to win. You could also tell that during the duel Chazz was slowly gaining more of his charm and confidence back and the school started to side with him again even after he left to join North Academy. She quickly made her way out of the arena and around the hall where she was trailing the said winner. You clear your throat to show him you were nearby and he stopped abruptly and soon you saw he was with his other Obelisk Blue friends. When he turns around and sees you see him make a shooing motion behind his back and his friends quickly and nervously scatter out of sight. You smile at the fact that he wanted to talk with you privately. “That was some duel.” You say after a beat when you peer over Chazz’s shoulder to make sure his friends were gone. He breathes your name and your heart tightens again like the day before but you continue to keep your cool and approach him. “I’m glad everything worked out.” You note as you’re almost toe-to-toe with Chazz now. “Wouldn’t have tried so hard if it weren’t for you.” He said as he looked at you sincerely and gave a small but noticeable smile that made you grin. “Aw, you’re just saying that.” You laugh and put a hand to your face as you feel it start to heat up but try to pass it off with a hair flip for jokes and you both laugh. There’s a beat and you’re just staring at the other not saying anything and inside you’re panicking as you think something’s wrong. “I do mean it.” He said as he never broke contact with you. “Well, thank you.” You bow your head a bit and smile despite your blush. “But you know…” He coos suddenly as you look up and see a smirk on his face. “Hm?” You dared to muse. “I was going to call my brothers and tell them off but I think it would be better to show I won the duel and show off my beautiful girlfriend.” He stated as he leaned against the wall with his arm slightly above your head and you gulp slightly at the mention of a girlfriend. You didn’t think he had one and suddenly you felt kind of down as your heart became very heavy. “Girlfriend?” You question as you look to the side, trying to not look disappointed. “You.” He whispered. You gasp and snap your head up towards him and stare into his dark gray eyes and feel your heart go from drowning to soaring high like a firework. “M-Me…you-you think I’m—” “Yes, you’re quite beautiful.” Chase smiled and tried to keep the laugh from escaping his lips at how obvious it was to him. You stare up at him for a moment to make sure he wasn’t just playing with you and then you see how kind his dark eyes were and you swoon a bit. “Wow…” You duck your head again as your face flames up but no matter what you can’t hide the goofy grin off your face. “So, what’d you say?” He asks with a smile as he tilts your chin up with a finger. “Wanna witness my brothers crap their pants?” You hold back a roar of laughter at how unromantic that statement was but you couldn’t keep a blush off your face no matter what. “Well if I get to have a handsome boyfriend…then why not?” You shrug as you try to sound not too excited but the smile on your face wasn’t fooling him and he suddenly blushed a bit and smiled as well. “Really?” He asked like he needed a reminder. “Really.” You smile and lean up to kiss him. He’s shocked a bit by how forward you were being suddenly since you were sometimes a subdued person but he didn’t hesitate to move from the wall and wrap his arms around you encouragingly and you wrapped your arms around his torso to get closer to him too. After a few moments of giving small pecks before separating for real, you look up at him and see him smiling as he leans back slightly from the embrace and looks up at the ceiling. “Wow, I’m really happy that worked out.” You laugh as you see him blush deepening as you kiss him on the cheek and snuggle into the embrace.        

[pinknerdpanda]

Christmas Eve

Word Count: 1341 (including lyrics, in italics below) Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean, Cas Warnings: All the fluffiest of fluffs Requested by: My amazing and wonderful and sweet and kind and hilarious Soul Sister @wheresthekillswitch. Love you, boo.

A/N: This was written for my Merry Manda’s Panda Presents celebration. This was beta’d by @hannahindie and @trexrambling. The beautiful aesthetic was made by my lovely reptilian friend @trexrambling. Thank you my love!

Masterlist

Christmas Eve

“Sam?” Your voice is a choked whisper in the dark. “Sam?!”

A deep, rumbling groan from your left makes you jump. “Yeah, yeah. I’m here. You ok?”

“I think so.” You take a silent inventory of your limbs and vital organs, thankful to find only minor aches and scrapes. You hope it stays that way when the adrenaline wears off. “You?”

The sound of boots and fabric scraping on concrete is deafening as he shifts his position. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“What happened?”

He sighs, “They got the jump on us, I guess. They must’ve been expecting us.”

You push yourself up, carefully, unsure of your surroundings. Fear seizes you from the inside, swirling in your gut and spreading slowly, but steadily, like a flame. Sucking in a deep breath, you count silently to yourself. Five...four...three...two...one.

“Y/n?” Sam’s hand slaps gently along the floor until it finds yours. He gives it a gentle squeeze before releasing it, but you clutch on to him desperately, something you are sure you wouldn’t have done if there’d been any light at all in this godforsaken hellhole. Sam’s voice is soothing as he rubs circles against your hand with his thumb. “Stay with me, okay? We are going to be fine. Dean is still out there, and Cas was on his way. They’ll find us.”

You nod and then roll your eyes. It’s dark, dumbass. “Thanks Sam.” You give his hand a limp squeeze and let go, wrapping your arms around your knees and drawing them to your chest. “Where are we?”

“Cellar, I’m guessing.” He sighs. “And of course my phone's dead.”

You smack yourself in the forehead. “I left mine in the car on the charger. Great.”

There’s a soft rustling and a faint zipping sound before a flicker of light burns through the darkness.  The amber flame in Sam’s hand casts a small circle of warm light, dancing briefly over the planes of Sam’s handsome face before extinguishing. Sam lights another match, and this time you turn your attention to your surroundings. The room is small and bare, and it’s not immediately clear if Sam would even be able to stand up straight. The match burns out and he lights another. This time you hurriedly scan for a door before the light is gone again.

“Door’s over there. I think you’re right. Looks like a cellar.”

“Yeah, and not a very tall one at that,” Sam groans.

You both begin trying to find the door, hitting tentatively at every surface your hands brush. After a few seconds, a loud banging rattle sounds from your left, and you can tell the locks aren’t budging.

“Well, looks like we're waiting for the cavalry. So much for a milk run.” Sam’s shoulder brushes yours as he settles beside you.

You're not sure how long you spend in the dark, talking about everything from your childhood to Sam’s top ten favorite books, but just as the conversation reached a pause, a sound from above you catches your attention; twelve deep, rich chimes from a clock , their cadence slow and somber. You chuckle sadly.

“It's midnight. Merry Christmas, y/n.” Sam’s voice is thick and full of exhaustion.

“Merry Christmas, Sam.” It's hard to contain the sadness in your voice as a single, small tear falls from your lashes, trailing slowly down your cheek. For the first time all night, you're thankful for the pitch black of the cellar.

Sam's hand finds yours again, and this time his long, slender fingers slot with yours as he scoots closer to you. “Hey, it's going to be ok, y/n. Dean and Cas…”

“No it's not that,” you interrupt him, hating the fact that he knows you're upset. It's even worse that he thinks it's because you're still afraid. “It's just...I had planned on going home to go see my sister for Christmas. I was going to surprise her and go to the midnight candlelight Christmas service with her.”

Sam sighs, “I'm sorry, y/n. I really thought this job would be pretty cut and dry, and I knew you were in the area, and it had been awhile… I should never have called you in on it.”

“Don't do that whole ‘shoulda woulda coulda’ bit, Sam. I'm glad you called me. I've missed you.”

Sam's grip on your fingers tightens, and he’s silent for a minute.

“I've missed you too,” he whispers, and then falls silent again for a while. “You know, if you wanted to...we could...I mean...since it's midnight…”

You can almost hear him rubbing the back of his neck raw with his free hand. Giggling lightly, you squeeze his hand. “I would like that.”

He releases your hand and there's another zipping sound. After several seconds of rustling, Sam lights another match, this time pressing the tiny flame to the tip of what looks like a crayon. The tip ignites, the flame from the makeshift candle only minutely brighter than the match itself.

“Is that a crayon?” you muse, and Sam nods, proudly. “Why do you have a… Oh my Lord, what is that?” You point, horrified, at his waist. “Sam, please don't tell me that's a fanny pack.”

“Hey, it's functional*, ok?” He grins. “It's so much easier than having my pockets weighted down with salt and matches and extra ammo.”

“Hey, you do you, Winchester. But you can't expect me not to laugh about it.”

“You sound like Dean.” Sam’s brilliant hazel eyes twinkle in the fragile light. “Ok, what’s next?”

You sigh and tug on your bottom lip with your teeth. “I don't know, really. It's been years since I've been to one. I remember they always sang Christmas carols.”

“What's your favorite?” Sam tips his head toward you, his chestnut hair falling over one eye. He casually smoothes it back out of his face and chuckles when he meets your gaze. You divert your eyes, cursing yourself for staring.

“It's…Uh… My favorite carol is….uh…’O Holy Night’,” you stammer, avoiding his gaze.

“That's a good one. Will you start it?” he encourages.

O holy night the stars are brightly shining It is the night of our dear Savior's birth Long lay the world in sin and error pining Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth

You sneak a glance at Sam, his eyes fixed directly on you. Your voices, warbled and lacking finesse, swell as you continue. This time, it's your hand that finds Sam's.

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

Your crescendo is interrupted abruptly as the small cellar door swings open, a pale rectangle of moonlight flooding the small room. You and Sam wrench your heads up, preparing for the worst, and find Dean and Cas, crouched around the door. Dean’s voice is obnoxiously loud as he belts the next line.

Fall on your knees O hear the angels' voices

“Come on, Cas, let ‘em hear that angel’s voice.” Dean slaps him on the shoulder, and Cas turns his head slowly toward him, tipping his head to one side and frowning.

“I do not sing, Dean. That is the job of the Heavenly Host, of which I am not a member.” His voice is low and his tone sarcastic. “And besides, the song says ‘angels’ voices’, implying there is more than one present…”

Dean cuts him off, “Ok, forget it, moment’s ruined.” He turns his attention back to you and Sam. “Ho ho ho, and a merry Christmas. Let's get you two out of there.”

Sam rolls his eyes as he huffs out the now superfluous flame. He holds it out to you, hesitantly, and your fingers brush his as you accept the half-melted red crayon. There’s the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his lips as he looks away and stands. He turns to offer you a hand, but you’re already up and dusting yourself off. His smile grows to its fullest dimpled potential.

“Merry Christmas, y/n.”

*A/N 2: I take no credit for the idea of Sam wearing a fanny pack and/or the line “it’s functional”. This is the pure genius of @wheresthekillswitch and only intended as a nod to one of my favorite drabbles of hers. Love you babes. :)

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :)

My Forever Tags - Stay weird. I love y’all: @wheresthekillswitch @pretty-fortune @arryn-nyxx @emilywritesaboutdean @fandommaniacx @cookie-dough-lova @impandagrl @maddieburcham1 @trexrambling @beachballsizeladyballs @hannahindie @rosie-winchester @winchesterprincessbride @that-writer-one @deansdirtyduchess @fandomismyspiritanimal @angelsandwinchesters @cfordwrites @zenia3 @charliebradbury1104 @9769997118 @mogaruke @luulaachops @supernaturaldean67  @barbedwireandbubblegum @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @muliermalefici @galaxy-jellyfish-queen @canadianjelly @kathaswings @almusanzug @feelmyroarrrr @captainradicalpassion @bethbabybaby @thinkwritexpress-official @akshi8278 @hexparker @emoryhemsworth @boxywrites @atc74 @anticipate1003 @super100012 @lovesj2m  @easelweasel @masksandtruths @ellen-reincarnated1967 @growningupgeek @there-must-be-a-lock @sylverminx @mrswhozeewhatsis @amanda-teaches @cassieraider @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @its-my-perky-nipples @squirrel-moose-winchester @carryonmyswansong @sandlee44

Christmas Tags: @sillesworldofwriting

[demondeanismybaby]

A Devil and Angel Sitting on my Shoulder (Part 1)

Pairing: demon!Dean x reader, Cas x reader (future parts), Sam (future parts), Hannah (future parts) 

Word Count: 1536

Summary: You get in a fight with your ex and end up stranded at some crappy small town dive bar, but after you meet a handsome stranger your night starts looking up. 

Warnings: Drinking, flirting, demon!Dean, naughty language, smut in future parts

A/N: So I have started this series, involving a love triangle between demon!dean and Cas. It is going to be fairly long so if you like it and want to be tagged in future parts just let me know! 

You threw yourself into the first vacant seat at the bar, you barely registered any of the other patrons or even what the bartender sent sliding in your direction you just reached out your hand and took a slug and let yourself relax into the burn that was coursing down your throat. It had been a long night, and now you were stuck out at some random dive in the middle of nowhere and unless you had the sudden desire to walk for twenty or so miles in the middle of the night you were stranded.

As you felt yourself heating up with the bodies that were pressed in tight beside you and the liquor that was coursing through your veins you paused to take in your surroundings. It was pretty typical of any small town drinking establishment, there were some pool tables and a cramped looking stage set up with a mic and flashing lights for karaoke, God, you thought to yourself, who would do something so embarrassing in public?

A man was currently sauntering up to where the microphone was standing, he had the well-built look of someone who did a lot of physical labor, well-defined muscles were visible even under the red button down shirt he was wearing. His blond hair and scruffy half-beard had the grown out look of someone who was on an extended vacation and you shook a little when his eyes landed on you and he threw a wink in your direction.

“I’m too sexy for my shirt,” the man danced around looking drunker than you had taken him for originally, or maybe he was just putting on a show it was hard to say. The song was atrocious and off key, “so sexy it hurts,” he continued to sing.

You still found yourself tapping your foot along with the melody that was playing behind his singing but you weren’t sure it wasn’t more from nerves than from actually enjoying what you were witnessing. Something about the way he had winked at you, it had made you feel off, it was like he knew you. More than just a random attempt at seduction at the time it had seemed strangely personal.

You were so lost in your musings you didn’t notice the music had paused, for the time being, your foot was still restlessly bumping against the leg of the bar stool. Suddenly you felt something brush against your arm and you choked out a tiny scream at the unexpected sensation.

“Hi sweetheart,” the man from the stage looked even sexier up close and his white teeth gleamed at you in a sharp smile, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Uh-it’s uh,” you tried to think to clear your mind and reply with something witty or sarcastic but his presence at your side was causing you to go completely blank, “it’s fine.” You finished lamely.

As the bartender went to hand him a drink, it looked like whiskey or scotch served straight up, the man now sitting on the stool next to your motioned for another. A quick roll of the ragged looking man behind the bar’s eyes had you wondering if maybe the two of them were familiar with each other.

It didn’t bode well for you considering that it probably meant that this guy was basically an alcoholic if he spent enough of his free time in a place this far out of the way drinking.

When the man came back toward the two of you holding a second drink, the man beside you pushed it in your direction, “my name’s Dean by the way, can I buy you a drink?” His eyes were narrowed as he gauged your reaction waiting to see if you were going to throw the alcohol at him or down your throat.

You thought about it for all of two seconds, you now ex-boyfriend had already ditched you for the evening and probably for the rest of your life, the least you could do was spend the night with a good looking stranger getting blitzed. You tried not to scrunch up your face as the whiskey, it was definitely whiskey, burned its way down the back of your throat.

“Thanks for that,” you said as you slammed the glass back down on the bar, you noticed your voice was a little horse from the booze.

“Hey in a joint like this, it isn’t too often you get to be in the company of a lady as pretty as you,” his voice was deep and rough he sounded like he spent days throwing back whiskeys and smoking Marlboros.

You threw back your head, laughing, feeling giddy from the buzz of the drinks you had had. You were a total light weight and the warm glow of the liquor had you wondering if maybe you would be able to salvage this terrible night after all.

His hand brushed lightly against your elbow, it sent a spark of electric energy through your body and landed somewhere in the vicinity of your pubic bone. He was smoking hot regardless of the fact that he was probably only being polite to you in an attempt at getting in your pants.

You spent some time bantering back and forth about nothing in particular. It was mainly the type of boring thing that you typically exchanged with strangers when you didn’t really trust them enough to give them any personal details about your life. But, once the topic of weather and sports were exhausted, which considering you knew very little about both subjects, was very soon after you had started talking the air became thick with the sexual tension passing between the two of you.

“Hey, do you got a room nearby?” You said, even as the words came out you were kind of shocked at your bravado but at the same time you were already five or six shots deep and most of your typical inhibitions had vanished.

“Sure do,” Dean, you reminded yourself of his name, said. You were ready for him to lead the way but he stayed seated, his eyes traveling over your body.

“Well...” You shoved his shoulder playfully, “are you going to lead the way?”

“Actually,” his mouth shot upward with a smug smile, “I think we should talk for a minute first,” he started to stand up, “outside.”

He reached for your hand and began to drag you out of the crowded bar. Pulling you easily through the throngs of people milling around the room. When the night air hit your face, you savored the way the coolness helped bring you back to your senses a little, but it was soon replaced with nerves at being in a dark alley along with a guy you hardly knew.

“So, um,” you kicked at the gravel underneath your feet aimlessly, “what did you want to talk about?”

His hand stretched out, passing right by your face where you couldn’t help but flinch, to land palm outstretched on the wall behind you. Suddenly his bulky muscles seemed more intimidating than attractive. The smell of whiskey was thick between the two of you, alcohol rich and heavy on both of your breath and it mingled with the stale smell of the ashtray that was at the edge of the wall you were currently leaning your back against in an attempt to pull your body further away from the man. His largeness seemed to be pushing you deep into the bricks behind you.

“I had a question for you,” he spoke completely uncaring about your growing discomfort, “I think it would help me get to know you before I take you back to my place.”

“Go ahead,” you wanted to get this over with, there was a least a chance this strangeness could be forgotten when you were wrapping your legs tight around his waist.

“I’m just wondering,” he moved so his face was so close to yours you could have easily kissed him, “do you believe that people have a soul?”

You bumped your face against his forehead, and even though you wanted to rub a hand against the sore place on your chin where you had smacked into him, you couldn’t  do anything other than lean back and laugh. You head scraped against the rough texture of the bricks but you just kept laughing.

“A,” you tried to breathe, “a, a, s--oul,” you were panting as you got yourself under control, “no.”

His smile grew even larger, he looked like a shark, “that’s good.”

A hand was placed on your chin, you winced at little it stung from where it had banged against him, and he moved your face so you were looking directly at him, you smiled back at him, “well glad I could clear that up for you.”

“So,” he continued, “if I were to ask you,” he suddenly pressed his lips against your neck and then drew back, “what would you sell your soul for? I bet you wouldn’t even want something that crazy because you don’t even believe it exists.”

You were distracted you wanted nothing more than to have those lips back on your skin, there was something about the way his teeth had momentarily scraped against you that was leaving you craving more.

You didn’t hesitate before slurring out feeling a little drunk and very horny, “I’d sell it right now for a night in bed with you.”

[escriimatiic-archive-blog]

Well, it looks like I’ve hit several milestones all at once here, so consider this my bias list/follow forever for my 200+ followers, my one month, and my thousandth post. 

So, I want to start this by saying OMG GUYS STAAAAHP!! When I came to a new fandom, the third I’m juggling rping in at the same time, I expected the usual quiet first week and things to pick up the following weeks, but that was not the case. Since I’ve shown up people have consistently come here and have shown my nothing but love and support the whole way and I’m so blown away by it all. 

I honestly can’t thank you all enough for this, I didn’t expect to be this successful on a character already so well represented here and I certainly didn’t expect to become friends with so many of you so quickly. 

My main fam (that I probably ruin with ship feels on a daily basis)

@thatgreengirlfrommars We only just met and we’ve really only talked a little bit, but in that short time you’ve let me ruin you with my ship feels and they’re taking me over bit by bit. You made the mistake of saying shippy was good around me and now you’re never escaping my grasp and I’ll always be here storming you with cute things, maybe angsty things... and probably a bit of NSFW things cause I now have a need for these two and you’re the only one to talk to about it so... whoops... sorry. 

@troia-donna-troy We’ve only talked a little bit and it’s mostly been about rping so I really don’t know you that well, but I do know that Donna and Dick are the cutest little beans ever and I adore this so much. They’re absolutely amazing and you willingly offered to enter this hell of shipping with me so thanks for that. It’s only a matter of time before I’m in your IMs 99% of the time talking about a million things with these two and never shutting up.

@canary-noir I really don’t know anything about you and we’ve only talked a tiny bit but I put you here because you were one of the filthy enablers that told me to make that Ollie blog and one of the few of them I can actually rp with since they have canon interactions. So, thanks for rekindling my love of Oliver Queen and pushing me to make the blog, I’m sure it’ll be fun.

@nottheheroyouwanted CASPER YOU ARE SO GREAT!! Honestly, I don’t know how to start other than saying that I hope you’re feeling better. You have become a treasured friend and of course one of the recipients of my shipping hell. Whenever we talk I can’t stop smiling and it always ends in us having cute things with these two. Honestly, you’re so great and I love you to death and I hope you get better and come back soon because I miss rping with you. 

@thebrokenrobin Honestly, to think we started out with you thanking me for following you back is kinda bizarre, it feels like we’ve been friends for years. Seriously, we talked so much for a while and you’re the kindest bean ever. You kept shoveling me angst and I kept trying to deal with it but it just ended in the DickBabs sitcom and I’m not even sure how I kept doing it, I just did. But anyway, thanks for putting up with my ass.

@perfectforayear GUILI! Where do I even start? We’ve practically been IMing for like 2 weeks straight at this point and I don’t want it to stop. It’s almost never about us but it is always about these two and they’re the cutest. It kills me how you’re just as into this as I am and I love that I don’t have to run in there being all excited to get something out of you because you do it to me and just UGH! It’s so great when you get to ship with someone as happy about it as you are.

@ofamazonia Don’t even ask me why I chose to put you on this portion of the list, there’s just something about our interactions that makes you stick out enough that I wanted to. I know next to nothing about you and we’ve only had awkward kisses between our muses but I adore you and your portrayal and hope we continue our strange half romance half mother-son thing forever because I love it to death. 

@stillabat OMG Do I even need to say anything? Seriously, you give me DickBabs and you straight up offered to do it, I don’t mean subtle hints you just straight up told my ass to ship with you and I can’t tell you how much it made me smile. I expected to have to look for someone to give me my otp feels for so much longer but within the first week we met and started doing it and I just can’t stop. I adore these two nerds and always have a million things in my head about them. 

@darkmeditation Out of all the people I talk to, I probably talk to you about personal life things the most. Honestly, you’re so damn nice and I can’t help but smile at the thousand cute nicknames you give everyone. I can’t get over the fact that yesterday you just kinda opened the door to my shipping hell yourself and were like “Bring it the fuck on bitch” because usually I’m the one doing that to other people. I adore these two in all their shippy glory and I’m sure I’ll have tons of cute things, a few angsty things and probably NSFW things too because I have no chill. 

@ms-feline-fatale Um, I don’t have too much to say, but I wanted to say stuff cause you’re always so nice to me and have been here since day one. I can’t even get over how awesome you’ve been to me ever since I showed up here and even wanted me to be your main? Like I was blown away. Also the fact that Dick lowkey admitted to having a childish crush and you were just like “DO IT BITCH” still astounds me. So thanks for all the love and support and eventually we’ll have seriousish things. Also, I know it’s my turn on our thread, I’m just slow as shit.

@bleedingpurple AMY!! We’ve only talked a but due to you leaving to do that play, but I love you so much dammit! You’re so great, so nice and just my kind of weird. You gave me DICKSTEPH and I’m such a whore for DickSteph it’s not funny. I didn’t even have to like talk it over or anything you were just like “I’m down” and I’m so damn glad to have someone to join me in my sassy, rare pair hell here. Soon we’ll have to do shippy things and enjoy them so damn much. 

@rxsurrxcted I don’t know what to say about you other than you were literally in my first 5 followers and are now the reason I see Dick and Jason as Sam and Dean forever and I can never take that back so thanks and fuck you at the same time you fuck that I love. 

@onlytalia​ We’ve never talked and normally I’d just throw you with the others I haven’t talked with but I just wanted to say how you were my first Talia and I’m such a GODDAMN WHORE for her and Dick’s aesthetic/interactions so thanks for that. You’ll now have me constantly loving you forever even if Talia is just a constant bitch to him, deal with it.

my main shits that I’m always doing shit with 

@flashgotthis | @doctorinsxnity | @theredwonder | @cassies-comics | @thedarkempath | @redxbird | @addictarcher | @arkhamgenesis | @whizkcd | @capedfound | @selfdxfined | @b-atmans | @cxttingties | @vcspertiilio | @domigerium | @twerpzilla​

the people I am totally lowkey stalking and want to do things with cause I adore your shit so damn much (chances are I have a million shippy things in my head and I’ll just never tell you)

@fishnetisms​ | @offershope​ | @notbctmcn | @elextrospeed | @zatannazannataz | @felisfemina | @her-own-rules | @highxflyer | @dawian | @foundwonder | @etnonhominibus | @headofghul | @ofredcapes/@bethewhitecanary | @dawnoftroy | @sicutxfur | @keystone-city-speedster | @grrlwonder | @ofscarllet | @priincesswarrior | @americanalien | @amazonchosen | @magictricked | @heroheart | @crimsxnbolt