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angelicjackles · 7 months ago

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— reckless heroine.

cw: fem!reader, best friend!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a smidge of fluff, injuries and blood descriptions — 2.2k a/n: this is the first time I've posted anything publicly in years so consider this a testing the waters fic, trying to find my groove and decide if i want to make this a regular thing.

summary: after a rough, but successful hunt, you and dean arrive back at the motel, only you were reckless and got injured, some duct tape patching up ensues from an angry dean.

The storm had arrived just as Dean and her pulled into the grimy parking lot of the Twin Pines Motel, how very Montana. The heavy raindrops pummeled against the windows like a stark warning. The sky rumbled with low growls, and flashes of jagged light illuminated the dim, rundown building. Inside their basic motel room, the air was thick with tension and the unmistakable smell of almost damp carpet—a cheerful welcome after a semi-successful hunt with a werewolf.

Dean slammed the creaky motel door shut behind them, the force alone almost enough to splinter the plaster around the hinges, his expression a maelstrom of anger and concern blended into one explosive temper as he flicked the lightswitch, the gross orange-ish glow of the overhead bulb highlighted the unsavoury nature of their accommodation. They’d come a long way from Kansas for this hunt.

Sam and Cas took off East together for a potential case, something something bizarre circumstances, frankly, there’d been little resistance offered when the duo took off to the east coast, leaving her and Dean to take Montana—although if they were real, they’d probably have taken anywhere over the east coast.

The door was barely closed for a moment before his gruff voice crackled through the air like a whip. “Did that brewing concussion knock all damn common sense out of your head?” Dean snapped angrily, his demandingly sharp voice rising above the impending storm. “You got a fucking death wish or something?”

She grimaced, carefully moving to sit on one of the twin beds, feeling the throbbing pain radiating from the gash on the back of her shoulder, the wound still steadily leaking blood, instinctively rubbing the spot on the back of your head that had collided with the concrete earlier in the night when he mentioned a concussion.

“Very funny,” she retorted in deadpan, infusing her tone with a touch of biting sarcasm that was quickly becoming a defence mechanism, and all but guaranteed to rile him up further. “The victim needed help, she was bleeding out and scared, and unlike you I actually gave a shit about more than ganking the mutt.” The implication that he didn’t care if the victim survived so long as they handled the werewolf wasn’t helping Dean’s mood, but the remorse she showed was negligible. “Besides, I handled it, didn’t I? And it worked—aren’t you always telling me ‘trust your instincts, your instincts are good’.” she added on before he had a chance to respond, putting an emphasis on the drawl of his voice. The mock only made that muscle in his jaw clench so hard it wouldn’t be a surprise if his teeth shattered. Heed the warning.

A growl bubbled in the back of his throat, but somehow he managed to keep it partially contained and tossed both his and her bags down onto the bed she hadn’t plopped down on. He may be pissed at her right now but that didn’t mean he was going to let his injured best friend carry her own bag. “Trust your instincts?” He gestured wildly with his hand, like that would somehow show just how worked up he was right now. She was getting to him, bad, and it was taking every ounce of willpower he was summoning from Chuck only knows where to stop from lashing out at her. “You were reckless and got yourself attacked in the process of playing heroine!” He rasped, his low voice reverberating off the thin motel walls with how loud his words escaped.

Just for good measure he had to force his eyes elsewhere, just so he’d stop being faced with those claw marks on your shoulder, every glance at them made something in him coil and burn. Stomping towards the foot of the unoccupied bed, he aggressively unzipped his duffle bag and rummaged through it. Meanwhile she was busy shedding herself of the unnecessary clothing and gear, kicking her shoes off and abandoning them on the mysteriously patchy carpet next to the bed, unbuckling her belt and unlatching the clasp on the blade sheath on her hip, tossing both onto the lone chair off to the side of the beds.

Finally after a few long moments his fingers found the squished edges of the first-aid kit he’d grown used to keeping in there—the first-aid kit that only remained stocked up because she meticulously replenished what she, him and Sam went through after every hunt—Snagging it up, deft fingers were quick to unzip and flick through it haphazardly, plucking out several different medical supplies.

When he realised she hadn’t responded to his last few retorts, which was uncharacteristic for her, his eyes flickered back towards her, forest green eyes darkening at the blood leaking against her pale skin. “You put yourself in danger, again, and walked away with a souvenir I’m not too keen on.” He continued despite his better judgement, gesturing angrily at the deep werewolf claw marks on the back of your shoulder blade, having torn through her flannel and undershirt, soaking both in bright crimson and leaving her down to a base layer tank top.

The retort had her glancing over her shoulder, but able to see little more than the dark streaks of blood sticking to wet skin. The amount of blood she’d lost so far wasn’t enough to be life-threatening, but it was definitely a worrying situation that needed attention. God forbid the pair didn’t do their back-and-forth arguing before that though, not like she was bleeding out over here or anything. “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.” He grumbled, not so hotly as before, the edges of concern leaking into his voice. “These are gonna scar ugly...” The last part was more of an afterthought.

“More to add to the collection,” she mused out far too casually for the situation. “What did you ju—” He interjected, a warning hiss in his voice, but she was quick to wave a dismissive hand over her shoulder at him. “Forget it.” She brushed off, cutting off his warning remark.

‘It’s like she’s trying to piss me off,’ Dean thought to himself, and hell maybe she was. “For once, couldn’t you have followed the game plan, sweetheart? Fuckin’ hell…” His tone was a mixture of worried fondness and scolding terseness. Either way, she was quick to turn her entire body around on the bed to glare at him, ignoring the searing pain from her wound with the quick movement.

“Oh? Am I supposed to bow down to Dean Winchester’s expert advice? Follow orders blindly?” She shot back at him, a chilling kind of coolness to her voice. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure that’s your speciality,” she added, venomously, the tension in her voice masking the discomfort that coiled within her body.

And she could have sworn she saw him flinch as soon as the words tumbled out of her mouth, making a low simmering pit of guilt fester inside her, knowing she was out of line. Low blow. His gaze pained for a fleeting moment, pretty green eyes widening and mouth falling open the smallest amount like those words had quite literally taken the breath from his lungs; but it quickly hardened again as he stewed on those words, cracking open a bottle of antiseptic with more force than necessary. “Just— shut up, for once.” It was almost a plea, more of a pained demand, but she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Sit still and let me patch you up, okay? I may not be a doctor, but I can keep your ass from bleeding out.”

She rolled your eyes, watching as he pulled out a smorgasbord of supplies from the first-aid kit. “I’m perfectly capable of handling my own medical emergencies. This isn’t my first skirmish with fangs and claws, Dean. I don’t need your help,” her voice came out more snapped than intended.

Despite the fact they both knew the precocious positioning of this wound left her unable to attend to it herself, she’d have to be a pretty fine contortionist to deal with it without help. Dean opened his mouth to inform his best friend of just that but thought better of it in the final second, slowly his mouth slipped closed.

A frustrated grunt slipped past his lips and one hand racked impatiently through his short, messy locks. “Well, congratulations on surviving past encounters, but this looks like a crime scene,” he replied tersely before sighing in frustration, the adrenaline of the situation beginning to die. “—plus, you’re bleeding on my marginally clean bed,” he added on, in an attempt to diffuse the situation, which pulled a scoffed laugh from her mouth before it could be helped.

His tense shoulders dropped slightly in relief when she responded by gingerly peeling the fabric of her black tank top away from the wound, letting it slip down off her slender shoulder so he’d have access.

The next fifteen minutes were deafeningly quiet, the only sounds were the soft pained noises that left her mouth, and the heavy breaths of concentration from Dean as he worked at disinfecting and patching up the wound on her shoulder as best as possible - Would this be easier to do in the bathroom instead of on the bed? Absolutely, but here they were.

Thankfully the wound didn’t need stitches, the claw marks the werewolf had left her with were nasty but not deep enough to be genuinely worrisome—not that it would stop Dean from worrying like a motherfucker. They’d leave some impressively disgusting scars, and hurt like a bitch for the next couple weeks as they healed, and as much as he was tempted to suggest going to the nearest a&e to get her properly seen to, just to be safe, he knew what her answer would be, so that wasn’t a battle he’d win. His basic hunter duct-taping would have to suffice.

The mood wasn’t great, both seething with worry and anger and pain that blended together into a chokingly intense thickness that lingered like smoke in the air, so it was in everyone’s best interests that they shut up.

“Done.”

Those words out of his mouth seemed to break the atmosphere and she slowly glanced back at him over her shoulder right in time for his thumbs to smooth out the medical tape that adhered the thick, white dressings to her pale skin, his touch extremely gentle despite everything, ensuring the tape wouldn’t come loose.

Turning on the bed so she was facing him as he remained stood up, her shoulders rolled back slowly, testing out the movement with the fresh patch up, it seemed to be healing. “How’s it looking, doc?” She quipped, her voice slightly lilted, making a weak attempt to lighten the mood up, too damn tired to argue further with him. His mouth quirked up in what could be described as a lazy grin. “Think you might just survive the night, thanks to the tireless effort of your handsome doctor.” He teased, only because he wanted to see her roll her eyes in that fondly affectionate way, and he got his wish.

The way she made a point to shake her head at him was all he needed to see to know that the sparky atmosphere had diminished; even though it was likely due to the adrenaline dying out and the pain kicking in.

His eyes followed her when she pushed herself to stand up, hands instinctively reaching out to steady her. “Mm, I don’t know, can’t say the bloody hands add to the sex appeal.” She hummed, eyes flicking down to his hands that were stained with her blood, hands that were now staining her arm in deep crimson too, her brows furrowing in distaste, but he didn’t seem in a rush to pull his hand back so she didn’t move to knock him off either. His gaze dropped to the offending hands in question, nose scrunching up at the sight of the blood as his thumb stroked against her elbow. “So… you’re saying I have sex appeal?”

The tone of his voice in that moment was the most playful thing she’d heard from him in a long time. She couldn’t help but laugh, a real hearty ‘you’re such an idiot’ kind of laugh, the kind that had him grinning crookedly at her in return.

“Your ego needs no further stroking, I’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.” She held her hands up in mock surrender, which only rumbled an amused laugh from deep in his chest.

“That’s my girl.” Dean beamed, running his tongue over his teeth with a soft sigh. The adrenaline had long since faded and now he was left with that anxious worry and tired stress lingering in his body. “Fuck… C’mere, you,” he beckoned suddenly, barely giving her time to register his words before he was pulling her in against his chest, strong arms wrapping around her in such a delicate way, careful of her injuries while somehow managing to squish her into him. The height difference leaving the top of her head tucked perfectly underneath his chin as his fingers carted through her messy hair.

“Look... Call a truce, sweetheart?” The gruff hunter muttered into her hair, his arms cradling her close to his larger body. “Truce.” She conceded, placing a complacent kiss against his clothed shoulder, which earned a soft little rumbly hum from him.

The storm raged outside, but within the cramped motel room, a warmth had blossomed between the pair of them—a reminder that despite all the chaos of the job, it was them against the world and in this tempest, as the thunder rolled across the darkening horizon and the lightning split the sky, they both knew they’d face them together, side by side.

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester oneshot

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ninii-winchester · 8 months ago

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Behind Closed Doors (Part 1)

Pairing : Boss!Dean Winchester X Assistant!Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff, not proofread, and tbh I don’t even know where this is going.

A/n: new series (hopefully) First time writing an AU. Don’t let this flop please🙏🏻

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Dean Winchester is the CEO of Winchester Co. for the past four years. He’s the oldest son of John Winchester, the founder and owner of Winchester Co., a real estate business. His office corner suite on the top of the floor in the building with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The décor is modern yet understated, featuring a large mahogany desk, plush leather chairs, and abstract art on the walls. Behind the desk is a sleek bookshelf lined with awards, framed contracts. A smart wall panel controls lighting, climate, and the room’s privacy settings.

On the top floor other than the CEO’s office is his personal assistant’s work space. It’s a sleek, efficient area with a streamlined desk equipped with multiple monitors for scheduling, managing calls, and overseeing the flow of appointments. The space is minimalist, with soft lighting and ergonomic seating, offering both a professional and welcoming atmosphere for visitors waiting to meet the CEO

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester.” Y/n said entering his office. Dean looked up from his computer and glanced at the woman standing in the doorway with a styrofoam cup in her hands. “Got you your coffee.” She said holding it up. The man nodded and she entered the room completely, moving to hand him his daily dose of caffeine, which has been the routine for the past four years.

Y/n reached his side and he took the cup from her hands gracefully and placed it onto the table before pulling her down onto his lap. Y/n gasped at the sudden pull and he grinned up at her.

“Good morning baby.” Dean leaned up to place a soft kiss to her lips. “You’re late.” He commented resting his hands on her hips.

“Sorry boss, my boyfriend is a bit clingy in the morning.” She replied with a mocking smile. “Acts like a baby doesn’t let me leave when I spend the night.” She added with a pout. Dean barked out a loud laugh and it was moments like these that he was thankful for having the whole floor to himself.

“Acts like a baby, you say?” Dean feigned curiosity. “Well tell him you’re my mine and I need you here on time.” Dean mock reprimanded her. Y/n rolled her eyes at his teasing.

Dean Winchester is a private man. He doesn’t like expressing his emotions or talk about his personal life. He’s a workaholic and is married to his work. He had been working at this company ever since he was in college. While perusing his degree in business he did part take in business matters, worked as an assistant for his father. He’d worked hard for this title and four years ago he was appointed at the CEO of the company when his father stepped down.

When Dean was appointed CEO, he clearly needed an assistant too. He confided in his best friend, Castiel. Although Cas also had a degree in business administration he was not interested in taking over his father’s business and was rather interested in charity work and philanthropy. Castiel had suggested Dean to appoint Y/n as his PA, since he knew her from college and she had remarkable skills as well.

Although Dean did appoint her on Cas’ insistence he was a bit skeptical of her skills she needed a ‘recommendation’ to get a job. For the whole year, Dean made her work relentlessly, putting her skills to the test and demanding a high level of performance to prove her worth. And she did. With her hard work and extremely remarkable skills she impressed Dean, more than professionally.

In a typical cliche manner, the grumpy boss fell for his assistant. Though persuading her was a challenge for Dean. She was hell bent on keeping things professional and not wanting to cross the boundaries at her workplace. She was a hard nut to crack but eventually Dean worked his charm on her, showing her beyond his grumpy boss personality and wooing her with extreme gestures.

Now the two had been dating for almost three years and the only person who knew about them is none other than Castiel, the one who introduced them. Even Sam was not in on the secret.

“Can I go back to work, now?” Y/n asked getting up from his lap but he kept his hold firm on her hips, not letting her leave.

“No.” Y/n pouted in response, she hated when he did this, holding her hostage while at work . She really wanted to keep her personal and professional life apart, not wanting anyone to find out or even think for a second she’s sleeping with her boss.

“Dean.” She scolded when he kissed her pouty lips.

“Relax sweetheart, nobody’s coming up here anytime soon.” He shrugged and she sighed loudly, indicating her defeated even if she was reluctant. “Besides, I’ve got news for you.” Y/n raised her brow in curiosity urging him to continue. “We,” he traced her arm with his finger. “are going on a vacation.” Dean beamed at her.

“A vacation? We?” Y/n furrowed her brows. “Who’s we?” She questioned, clearly not understanding the situation. Is this a office vacation or the top officers vacation or just the two of them.

“You and me. A week in Bahamas.” Dean replied casually.

“A week? You want us to take a leave at the same time? It’d rise suspicion.” She whispered alarmingly.

“Baby, if I’m on leave then you’re on leave automatically. Besides, I’ve asked Cas to manage for a few days for me.” Dean replied. “We both have been working our ass off for the past four years, I think we deserve a vacation.” Dean grinned at her and for the first today, she agreed without interjecting. She’s just as much of a workaholic as Dean. She had taken a day off here and there but never a complete vacation. “Besides I’m dying to spend some time quality time with my girl without her grilling me about work.” Dean sassed and she smacked his arm lightly making him laugh.

“I’m not gonna slack off at work just because I’m dating you.” She said matter of factly. “And I do think we could use a vacation.” She finally agreed making his smile broaden. “God, if anyone could you see right now, Mr. Grumpy Winchester.” She giggled when he rolled his eyes. He loved it when she teased him about being a grumpy ass to everyone else except her but he would never accept it in a million years.

The door swung open and sauntered in Castiel in the flesh. Y/n quickly jumped off of Dean’s lap but relaxed when she saw it was Cas.

“Ever heard of knocking, Cas?” She taunted her friend, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Ah lovebirds. Ever the cautious.” Cas sassed back and Dean snorted earning himself a glare from her. “Don’t stop on my account, just wanted to deliver these, personally.” He said holding up two flight tickets to Bahamas.

“Thanks man.” Dean said getting up from his chair and getting the tickets from his friend. Castiel shot Y/n a teasing grin and she rolled her eyes at him, clearly unbothered by his teasing. He thrives in teasing her because she was the goody two shoes in college and the two had become friends after being paired up for an assignment, so seeing a different version of her around Dean, leaves him anything but amused.

“You are a bad influence on the both of us.” Y/n said feigning an angry glare at Cas.

“Oh dear Y/n, I know.” Cas winked and Dean laughed at his best friends shamelessness. The trio’s camaraderie was a reminder of how personal and professional lives often intersect in unexpected ways.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkess @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

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rapz-rites · 2 years ago

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Oh Baby

Damian Wayne x Reader established relationship

Jon Kent x Reader (Platonic)

You’re not telling Damian something, and he thinks it’s that you're cheating

A/N: A lovely anon requested this. I hope you like it and feel free to send more requests or even message me.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: misunderstandings, pregnancy, secrets

You and Damian met sophomore year at Gotham Academy. You were in most of his classes. But he never truly paid any mind to you until your government class. It was a small class of 15 students.

Your government teacher was holding a class mock debate. 3 students would ask questions as there were 3 topics of discussion. The rest of the students would pair off into 2s and prepare on all the 3 topics as it would be random and no one would know which topic they might get.

“The three topics of debate will be abortion, racial discrimination, and immigration. And the 3 question leads will be Marcus, Catelyn, and Luca. Everyone else, pair up.”

Girls immediately started surrounding Damian and the boys with you. Damian saw how uncomfortable you were with the boys' awful advances at you. He continued to ignore the girls and walked to you.

“You can leave. I’m partnered with Y/N.”

Everyone was confused. Even the teacher. Damian never willingly chose to work with anyone. But you decided to take advantage of the opportunity before it went away.

“Yup. It’s true. So all can go now.” With that, you waved them off and Damian took a seat next to you.

Everyone else paired off and the teacher started talking. She explained the instructions for the debate and the rubric as it would be graded.

“There are 15 minutes left of class. You have this time to yourselves, use it wisely.”

You turned to Damian.

“When do you want to start working on the project? I'm available after school today to work in the library.”

“I can't today. I am tomorrow though. Let's exchange numbers.”

And that's how it started. The next day, you and Damian started going to the library after school and texted about the assignment. Even after the in class debate you two would talk.

Damian found you more tolerable than the rest of the kids at Gotham, and much smarter. He started hanging out with you more and more. In and out of school, obviously without his brothers knowing.

Eventually, he asked you out, you said yes, and both of you started dating. It’s been over 2 years since. You both have a lot into the relationship. You and Damian opened up to each other. He gave you his trust, which is difficult for him, and you gave him your virginity.

Though Damian wasn’t your first boyfriend or kiss, he was your first time. And you were happy about it. Even though it was a bit awkward, especially at the beginning, he made it special for you. He would ask if you were ok with something, how you felt, and he just took care of you. Something you never truly had with past boyfriends.

“Oh my gosh!”

You and Damian only had sex 2 times, both in the past 6 months. Damian took care of you after and you peed. You were both safe and used protection. That's why you couldn't understand the 3 positive pregnancy tests.

“No. It can't be.”

You suddenly started crying, collapsing on the bathroom floor of your one-bedroom apartment.

Since then you haven't been the same. After a few days of thinking, you decided that you would keep the baby. You lost your parents at 15, in an accident. They were wealthy. They had a mansion on the outskirts of Gotham, just like all the other socialites, and a condo near your school. In their passing your parents left everything in your name. You refused to go in the system. You were able to convince your old nanny to become your legal guardian, at least until you could get emancipated. You’ve always wanted a family anyways

You had to tell Damian. Your mind had been running through any possible reactions you'd get from Damian once you told him. Best case scenario he accepts it and decides to stay with you and be a father to the baby. Worst case, he leaves you and you have to raise the baby all by yourself.

Damian noticed your odd behavior. You were secretive, jittery and would always make excuses not to hang out with him.

“Sorry, I have a test coming up and need to study. I'll text you” you would say. But you never texted.

“I'm volunteering this afternoon. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you.” You kissed him goodbye on his cheek and walked away

You did the same to your friends. He didn't understand why. Did he do something wrong?

Keeping your pregnancy a secret was eating you alone. You had to tell someone. So you texted someone you could trust.

You: Hey. Are you busy? I really need someone right now.

Suddenly there was a gust of wind in your condo. Before you stood Jon Kent. Before you could even speak, that’s when he heard it. Not one, but 2 heart beats. Before you can even process him getting into your place, he hugs and spins you.

“Oh my gosh! Congratulations!” He smiles from ear to ear. “Wait. I probably should be spinning you.”

Once he put you down he started looking around. Where’s Damian? How come he isn’t here telling me with you? That’s when you started to break down crying.

“He doesn’t know. And I don’t know how to tell him.” You say hiccupping. Jon just comforted you until you stopped crying. You explained everything to him.

“You have to tell him at some point. He probably thinks that you're avoiding him because he did something wrong. But I'm here for you.” You hugged him crying.

“Sorry, it's the hormones.”

For the next 2 weeks, Jon comes to visit you whenever he gets the chance. No one knew.

Clark and Bruce had to collaborate on some League business. So, he and Jon would be staying in Gotham for a few days.

Jon was heading out when he passed the kitchen

“Hey Jon” said Dick.

Damian was paying no mind to them. He was testing you, hoping he could see you today.

D💚: Hello Beloved

Beloved💜: Hiii Dami

D💚: Are you available today?

Beloved💜: I’m sorry I can’t 😕

I promised Layla we could hang out today

We can hang out tomorrow tho

Pinkie Promise 🤞

D💚: Okay 🤞

Have fun and be safe

Beloved💜: I will try

Won’t be much fun without you 😚

Once, at school you were texting Jon. You were stressing over telling Damian for the 4th time that day… It was only 11 am. And you were spamming him phone

Jon 🦸🏻: OMG

We’re both at school go learn or something

My parents are going on a date tonight so I’ll try to swing by

Y/N🤞🏾: ok ok

See you tonight

“Hey Beloved. Who were you texting?” Damian came up to you. You quickly closed messages and put your phone in your pocket.

“Hey Damian. It was Layla.” You responded hesitantly. “It’s nothing really but I have to go. I have to study before my test next period” You kissed him goodbye on his cheek and rushed off.

He knew you weren’t texting Layla, he just saw her a few moments ago when he was looking for you. She told him that you were probably at your locker. Before he went to look for you she told him to tell you that her phone died last period.

Why were you lying and hiding stuff from him? Damian didn’t want to think it, but were you cheating on him?

Damian looked up from his phone to notice Jon wasn’t there anymore.

“Where did Jon go?” Damian asked.

“He said he was going to meet up with ‘a friend’, but it’s obvious he’s meeting with a girl/boy the way he was nervous.” Dick responded

“We should follow him,” Jason spoke up. Damian didn’t know why he was here. Jason wasn’t too fond of staying at the manor. Usually, he would do whatever business he had, get food from Alfred then leave.

“Sure. Why not” said Tim. Damian forgot he was here. But they all agreed.

You hated lying to Damian. You decided that when you were going to see him tomorrow, you were going to tell him the truth, everything. You were meeting with Jon to get everything ready to tell Damian everything tomorrow.

Incoming Call: Jon 🦸🏻

You immediately picked up. You were sitting in a booth at yours and damian fav coffee shop. Damian thought that they had these great muffins that tasted even better the day after, so you were going to get him some.

You told Layla about your pregnancy after you told Jon. She was very upset with you. That you didn’t tell her first.

“I can’t believe it. I mean I can because between both of us, you would have kids and I would be the hot, rich aunt that they love.”

You laughed at her little rant on how your kid would call her “Auntie Lay” and she would bring gifts every time she saw them. How she would have a room for them to crash at her place for when they're a teen and they get mad at you, or they just want to spend time with their auntie.

“Thank you,” you said as you got up and hugged her “for being here for me. I don't know what I would do without you and Jon”

You were so glad that you had Jon and Layla.

Jon was walking up to the coffee shop when he saw your call.

“Hey Jon. Layla and I are at the shop, where are you?”

“I’m across the street I’m heading in now.”

Jon didn’t realize the boys were following him. They were confused as to why Jon was at this coffee shop. He had never been there before.

The boys watched Jon walk in and waited. Eventually, he would come out with whoever he's been secretly meeting up with for weeks.

Being the type they are, they didn't notice Layla coming out of the shop and getting into her car. She was waiting for you and Jon to go back to your place.

“He's coming out now,” Dick said excitedly. They all froze in anticipation. What they didn’t expect was to see you walking out after him.

Damian's heart was breaking. You were secretly meeting up with Jon and cheating on him behind his back. How could you? He kept watch in hopes he was wrong.

You walked out with a light brown paper bag in hand. You were struggling to seal it without dropping it. That’s when Jon took it from you and sealed it himself. They didn’t have audio but they had visuals. They could say thank you to him.

“Thank you my hero,” you said with a small giggle. Suddenly your face was serious.

“What if- What if even if Damian accepts this, he won’t regret it later? He won’t think we ruined his life?”

You started tearing up. From the angle the boys were at they couldn’t see your face. Jon hugged you.

“Shhh it’s going to be fine.”

“What if he thinks I’m trying to baby trap him and he'll end up hating me?”

You were about to cry when Jon took your face into his hands. You were like the sister he never had. He hated to see you cry.

“Listen to me. Damian could never hate you. He loves you.”

You nodded and hugged him again. That’s when Damian’s heart truly shattered.

“I can’t read lips that well but I saw something along the lines of ‘I love you’” Dick said. Damian took off is “disguise”, it was just a hat and sunglasses.

“So she's cheating on me?” Anyone could hear the pain in his voice, even Jon did.

Jon suddenly let go of you, and turned to look at Damian. He could see the pain written all over his face. Even though mind reading wasn’t a Kryptonian power, he knew what he was thinking: that you were cheating on him with him.

You were confused. You moved over to see what Jon was looking at. That's when you saw Damian with his brothers. Now he was looking at you.

“Oh no.”

Part 2

So… what do y’all think??? Please let me know.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian al ghul x reader #jon kent x reader #jon kent #damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #robin damian #dc comics #dcau #batfam #batfam x reader

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maybe-im-dark · 5 months ago

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IKEA adventures

Based on this post

(Artwork by: @shortkinglogan)

The mission had been grueling, and the aftermath had been worse. Logan and Wade had gotten into a heated argument back at home— about Wade’s “interpretive dance fighting style” distracting Logan. Wade had insisted it was the way his butt looked in the new suit the TVA had given him. Plates had shattered. Glasses had flown. Althea had intervened with her usual tact, which involved shouting at them to replace every last dish they’d broken.

And now they were at IKEA.

Logan stalked through the maze-like store, his yellow-and-blue pants, that he was still wearing —since Al had basically chased them out, shouting and swinging her cane— a glaring contrast to the neutral-toned displays of minimalist Scandinavian furniture. He’d thrown on a battered leather jacket to hide the top part of his costume, but he still looked like he’d escaped from Comic-Con. Wade, on the other hand, was proudly wearing his full Deadpool suit, sans mask. He’d insisted that IKEA’s fluorescent lighting made his complexion look radiant.

“This is the worst day ever,” Logan growled as they passed a display of perfectly arranged throw pillows.

“Correction,” Wade chirped, grabbing a stuffed shark off a shelf and tossing it into their oversized cart, “this is the best day we’ve ever had. Look at all these opportunities for chaos! And free pencils!” He gestured toward the tiny golf pencils in a nearby bin. “Do you think they’d let me borrow a hundred of these? For stabbing purposes?”

Logan rolled his eyes and kept walking. He had one goal: grab some cheap plates and glasses and get out before someone recognized them.

They’d just reached the kitchenware section when it happened.

A middle-aged woman with short, practical hair and an armful of Tupperware marched up to Logan, her face a mix of determination and exasperation.

“Excuse me,” she said, tapping Logan on the arm. “Can you help me find the lid sets for these containers? None of them match.”

Logan blinked at her, utterly confused. “Lady, I don’t work here.”

But she didn’t seem to hear him. “And another thing,” she continued, shoving the mismatched Tupperware at him, “these lids are clearly defective. I mean, who designs this stuff? Do they even test it before selling it? You should really bring this up at your next staff meeting.”

Logan stared at her, his mouth slightly open, his brain short-circuiting.

“I said,” he repeated, his voice growing more gravelly, “I don’t work here.”

Wade, of course, was losing it. He leaned against a shelf full of wine glasses, clutching his sides, his laughter echoing through the store.

“Oh my God, she thinks you’re the IKEA superhero!” he wheezed. “What’s your power, peanut? Superhuman shelving? Extreme customer service?”

“Shut up, Wade,” Logan growled, but the woman was relentless.

“Well, if you don’t know about the lids, can you at least point me to the dining room tables?” she demanded. “I’ve been wandering around for twenty minutes, and this place is a labyrinth!”

“Lady,” Logan snapped, pointing to his own chest. The veins on his neck were beginning to pop out. “I. Don’t. Work. Here.”

The woman squinted at him, clearly unconvinced. “Then why are you wearing those pants? They look just like the uniform. Yellow and blue.”

Logan opened his mouth to retort, but Wade beat him to it.

“Oh, he’s definitely an employee,” Wade said, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter. “In fact, he’s Employee of the month. Look at him! So dedicated.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan hissed, but Wade just grinned.

“Ma’am,” Wade said, stepping forward with mock sincerity, “this fine gentleman here is just a little camera-shy. Let me help you out.” He gestured toward a passing employee in a blue-and-yellow IKEA shirt. “Here’s one of his coworkers now!”

The actual employee, a bewildered teenager, looked from Logan to the woman, clearly unsure of what was happening.

“Oh, good!” the woman said, turning her attention to the kid. “Maybe you can tell me where the dining room tables are.”

As the woman finally walked off, dragging the hapless employee with her, Logan let out a long-suffering sigh.

Wade was practically vibrating with glee. “That was the single greatest moment of my life,” he declared. “You, my friend, are a beacon of Swedish efficiency.”

Logan didn’t dignify that with a response. He simply grabbed the nearest set of plates, tossed them into the cart, and started walking toward the checkout.

“Wait!” Wade called, jogging after him. “We haven’t even looked at the fake plants! Or the meatballs! Do you think they sell them in bulk? I could eat, like, fifty meatballs right now. I wonder if they are as big as yours. Logan! Slow down!”

Logan kept walking, his jaw clenched, but the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

At least Althea would stop yelling at them now. Hopefully.

#wolverine #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #ryan reynolds #poolverine #deadclaws #fanfiction #fanart #artists on tumblr #logan ikea employee howlett

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sagar96329 · 14 days ago

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caexamblog · 4 months ago

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How to Succeed with CA Mock Test Series: Foundation, Inter, and Final

For aspiring Chartered Accountants, passing the rigorous CA exams is no small feat. Whether you’re preparing for the CA Foundation Mock Test Series, the CA Inter Mock Test Series, or the CA Final Mock Test Series, mock tests are invaluable. They replicate the actual exam environment, helping you refine your skills, manage your time, and overcome the challenges of this prestigious qualification. This blog will guide you through the significance of mock test series at every stage of the CA journey.

Understanding the Importance of Mock Test Series

Mock test series are structured to simulate the ICAI’s actual exams, offering a realistic experience. They are designed for every level—Foundation, Intermediate, and Final—ensuring students get tailored preparation tools. Mock tests not only prepare you for the questions but also boost your confidence by familiarizing you with exam patterns and the syllabus.

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These mock tests are designed to test your in-depth understanding and ability to apply concepts in real-world scenarios. They also prepare you for the pressure of the final exam, helping you build the resilience needed to succeed. By taking multiple mock tests, students can track their progress and fine-tune their preparation strategies.

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Mock tests are crucial for success in the CA exams, regardless of the level. Here’s how they help:

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bharatseries123 · 6 months ago

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Unlock Potential with CA Inter Mock Test Papers: A Comprehensive Resource for Exam Success

CA Inter Mock Test Papers : Preparing for CA Inter exams can be challenging, but our mock test papers can boost confidence and performance. Designed to replicate real exams, these tests familiarize you with question formats and time constraints. Each mock covers key topics and includes solutions for assessing strengths and areas for improvement. Regular practice improves problem-solving, time management, and focus on essential subjects. Updated to align with syllabus changes, these resources prepare you well, whether aiming for top ranks or just to pass.

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studentsmotivation0234 · 7 months ago

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CA FOUNDATION

The CA Foundation Online Classes, which are taught by the leading CA-center teacher Sanjeev Varshney of India, have become quite a big thing among those students who are aiming to competitive exams. With practical knowledge of more than 25 years, they provide different teaching tips and interactive learning with their flexibility, availability, cost-effectiveness, and use of technology. Students from all over the world can take courses at their own speed and access the top CA Foundation coaching from any place they like., They can do this because it is from the comfort of home.

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dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy · 14 days ago

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Rearview - Chapter 8 - Somebody's Watching Me

Summary: Halloween nears and an annual party at Dante's, a popular club, is the heat of the action during this holiday. A lurking presence makes itself known.

Characters: Dean, Cas, Charlie, others mentioned

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: cursing, reader can never be happy, reader has gay thoughts?, reader definitely is into foreplay, dean is probably into foreplay, two bad bitches, grim themes, halloween idk, horny reader and horny dean,

Author's Note: heyyyy! im so sorry about the wait here is a short little update:

my health has continued to improve slightly, but im still going through series of tests and such, and I had to take some time off of work SO im playing catch up everywhere. im not in any pain thankfully, mostly just mild discomfort and general anxiousness bc im always scared that im dying (im not, im just dramatic). chapter lengths will probably be taking longer than normal, maybe every two weeks for right now? im trying to pump these out asap so I apologize for that bit. anyways thanks for sticking with me!

Songs: (Garth's) Walkman by Bad Bad Hats, (Walking to class) Tough to Be a Dreamer by Felix Hagan & the Family, (Dante's) Saturn Swallows the Sun by Ghost Twin, Vampires by Night Club, Somebody's Watching Me by Rockwell

Series Masterlist - Chapter 9

GARTH'S - TEA AND COFFEE BAR

“Mike and Sully?”

“No.”

“Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth Swan.”

Dean seriously considers it. He tilts his head with a thoughtful purse of his lips, and his eyes drift off to somewhere as he pictures it. It seems like a half-decent idea, that is until you add:

“I can deck you out in pirate makeup.”

He grimaces at the thought, shaking his head slightly, “Yeah, you had me at Jack Sparrow—but you lost me at ‘makeup.’”

You let your hand drop on the coffee table in frustration, scoffing as you look to him with disbelief at his finickiness. “It’s badass pirate makeup.” You tack on with a mocking grumble, “Your masculinity would still be intact–”

“I know that,” he grunts, rolling his eyes, “I just don’t want to be painted up that’s all.” Dean tenses his shoulders in with half-hearted defense. He then narrows his eyes with a challenging stare and subtle upturn of his lips, “What are you tryna say, sweetheart– that I need makeup?”

You don’t even give him the time of day with that one. You bite your tongue to try and be the bigger person– even though you both know Halloween was ten times more about the girls dressing up than the guys, but for some reason, you offered to compromise with him on the costumes. You didn’t expect him to be so selective on it, it was almost comical how much he actually cared. Dean was initially excited about the thought of doing something together for Halloween, and he had definitely contained most of his giddiness when the offer was brought up.

“I mean, yeah, if you wanna do something together that’s cool.”

But you could tell he favored the holiday after he started throwing in some ideas of his own. He mentioned a horror movie binge, carving pumpkins– he even brought up the idea of going out of the town to do a hayride.

He was pushing to get out of the city. And you knew why: he wanted you to feel safe. So you didn’t have to turn your head at every corner, or keep Nick and the stalking in the back of your mind. He didn’t tell you that was why, but the incessant coaxing of the travel was a hint enough. He would tug on your hand, playing into his own excitement because he knew you would be more enticed to agree with him.

So now the two of you sit at Garth’s, drinks in hand as you shoot ideas back and forth of possible Halloween costumes. The holiday is next Friday, which is particularly exciting for the two of you since it falls on your day off from work, and an evening where you don’t have to worry about waking up early for class. The idea of going to Dante’s floats between the two of you still, a place to showcase your costumes if you could ever settle on something together. Since you've been enrolled, you've always gone to Dante's for their Halloween event. This club is the only one you've been to where the music isn't just tolerable, but on par. Fitting to their aesthetic. The run specials on drinks, and have eccentric decorations. It's like stepping into another world. It was basically already decided that you two were going, even though Dean was hesitant at first.

“You’re making this excessively difficult.”

“What about Scooby-Doo?” He lifts his open hand– the one not holding his coffee cup– in a suggestive manner.

Your eyebrows meet in the middle, intrigued. “Like Fred and Velma?”

A look of true disgust passes on his face for a moment before clarifying, “No! No way in hell– I was talking about Scooby and Shaggy.”

“Oh, what– you gonna make me be the dog?”

He straightens in his seat, pointing his finger at you with a chiding expression. “That dog is a goddamn hero, you should be honored to be Scooby-Doo.”

“Oh, Jesus.” You chuckle under your breath at his scolding.

Your comment is almost forgotten as his gaze drifts off, deep in thought as he visualizes. “I will say, the thought of you being Velma, though…” He blows air sharply out of his mouth with a dazed expression, possibly reconsidering the costume.

“Not without my Fred. What about Pam and Tommy?”

Dean seriously considers this one. You can see him envisioning it in his head now, his eyes locking onto nothing particular in the room as he zones out to fully appreciate the picture in his head. You think he likes the idea, seeing his slow, maniacal smirk raise higher, his teeth lightly dragging against his bottom lips with a hunger to it– but his grin fades and he sits up awkwardly, leaning forward a bit, bringing his forearm to press into his lap some, you notice. He ultimately shakes his head, “No.”

Your shoulders drop. “What?”

“You. Tight dress, big hair, heels—I’d spend the whole night starin’ down every guy who so much as breathes in your direction.”

You can’t help but smile a bit, trying to hold back another chuckle. “Not sure if I’m flattered or concerned.”

“You should be flattered. Every other man in your near vicinity should be concerned.”

“Maybe that’s not a good idea then.”

Dean snaps and excitedly points a finger in your direction, and his wild eyes brighten slightly like he’s just figured out the cure to world hunger. “Batman and Robin.”

Your head dips forward and your gape upturns into an amused scoff.“No! I don’t wanna be Robin,” You laugh.

“Robin’s hilarious!”

You give him a look that says otherwise, proposing, “Batman and Cat-Woman.”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “That entails you in a spandex suit?”

“Most likely.”

He clicks his tongue, sitting back into the seat with resignation.“Might as well be Pam and Tommy, then. I’ll be too distracted– in more ways than you think.” He says the last part with a hint of a smirk playing out on his face.

Your head dips down as you gaze at him through your eyebrows with a tight expression. “Alright, killjoy. I can’t be anything sexy?”

Dean snorts, “You most absolutely can. Wear whatever you want, sweetheart. I just won’t be able to appreciate your costume in full if I’m staring down every guy who looks a little too long.”

His overprotective nature makes it difficult to contain your grin. A contrast to what you were used to in the past. Though, you know it’s all out of lo-

The goodness in Dean’s heart.

He has no intention of controlling anything you do, or wear. You know. You could dress as Pamela Anderson if you really desired. Dean would keep his eyes peeled as promised for any interested, lingering gazes, but he would dutifully slide an arm around your waist and return the gawking in your direction with a withering stare, then turn to you with the soft, smitten eyes and his tongue would roll over his bottom lip.

Though it would want to lick other places.

Once the drinks are finished, the two of you stand up and head out to the bustling streets, buzzing with afternoon traffic, sunlight glinting off car roofs and warming the buildings through their many windows, barely leaving any room for the stone and concrete foundation to see. You and Dean fall into step on the sidewalk with rhythmless strolling, as his hands interlocked with yours, keeping you nearby. There’s idle comments made about both of your classes and schedules and lives, catching up from the last time you saw each other. It had only been two days, but it was always so easy to talk about anything between the two of you.

It had been almost a month since you’ve unpinned part of your past with Nick—since Dean stood with your body curled into his, vowing without hesitation that he’d help you figure out this mess. And while the text message remained on your phone, the threat of Nick at any damn corner of the city, something about Dean’s presence at your side through it kept the dread at bay. A temporary low.

Dean had made it a point to walk you nearly everywhere. Whether it was the short trip to Garth’s or the longer haul across campus, he was there—hand in yours and his own watchful gaze scanning the streets for you, watching every corner with that guarding, perceptive gaze of his. It was subtle most of the time. He didn’t make a show of it. He didn’t hover. But you felt it—his presence, his awareness, like a lifeline between you both that held you steady without suffocating you.

To your own surprise, you’d begrudgingly agreed to let him drive you twice since the hospital. Though, it hadn’t been easy. The moment you slipped into the passenger seat of his car, your breathing had gone shallow, your hand pressing lightly to your ribs as if remembering the pain all over again. But Dean hadn’t rushed you. He hadn’t even started the engine right away. He just looked over at you, quiet and patient, one hand resting on the wheel, the other ready to steady you if you needed it.

“You alright?” he’d asked the first time. Gentle. No judgement or irritation. He had been ready for you to change your mind just in case. Ready to walk you without a second thought if it became too much.

And you’d nodded, shakily. He didn’t ask for more than that, knowing that you just had to get accumulated to the idea again.

The drives themselves were calm. He talked to keep you engaged in conversation as a distraction, sometimes raising the music to let you hum some of the songs you recognized on his tapes. Other times, the silence stretched comfortably between you while the city blurred outside the windows. He kept his speed low, kept his eyes on the road, but you could feel him tracking your reactions, checking on you with side glances that always softened with encouraging, almost proud grins when you met them.

And you weren’t okay—not really—but you weren’t completely falling apart anymore, either.

One cinderblock of five had been taken off your chest.

Progress is progress.

The black Challenger still made its appearances sometimes. Not often. But enough. You’d spot it parked far off down a street, or idling in the distance. It never moved. Never followed. Not with Dean nearby.

It lingered. That was all it ever did now.

And maybe that was what made it more unnerving—that constant, silent reminder that Nick was still out there, just on the edges of your world, waiting for a misstep. But Dean being near... it kept those edges from closing in.

Dean hadn’t pushed you. Not once. But he saw everything. He noticed the way your shoulders curved inwards, or the way you tensed slightly. The way your breath would catch just slightly at the sound of heavy footsteps behind you, even if they weren’t following. He never called attention to it, but he never ignored it either. He kept a steady hand on the small of your back when in big crowds on the sidewalk, or when he saw the falter in your expressions. He anchored you back to the present.

Even now, on this brisk October morning, with steam curling out of a paper coffee cup in your hands and your bag slung lazily over one shoulder, he was scanning your surroundings like second nature.

As open as you have been, you realize you haven’t really told him that it is better now. You’d show your appreciation for him, of course, but you hadn’t wanted to give him false hope in case one day you steep back down into a panicked craze if it ever escalated again.

Amidst your light conversation, a warning siren sounds interrupting you both, the wailing increasingly getting louder.

The both of your heads turn behind you, the two pairs of your eyes trained on the firetruck and ambulance jutting through the lanes with haste. The cars pull over to the sides of the road in a disorganized manner, making room for the vehicles speeding down the lane, blaring their horns.

Your heads follow the vehicle with a silent interest, peering in their direction to see if anything is unconsciously in view for what they’re after. Though it’s a short-lasted curiosity, and you both internally shrug it off once it’s out of sight.

After a quiet beat, you pipe up to Dean, “Did you ever check out the flyer I left for you?”

Dean furrows his brow slightly, blinking at you like it takes him a second to register. “The–oh, the volunteer firefighter thing?”

You nod, trying not to sound too eager. “Yeah. I left it on your fridge, right under the Zeppelin magnet.”

Dean exhales through his nose, a wry smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. “I, uh, I gave it a glance or two. Just been a bit preoccupied to really look into it.”

You nudge him softly with your arm that’s holding his hand below, “You should look into it. Just to humor it, you know? What’s the worst that could happen from just checking it out?”

Dean snorts bitterly, eyes flicking across the street like he’s mulling it over. “I regret my major that I’ve already spent four years of time and money on,” he says. “I don’t know if it’s worth it. Me looking into something like that when I’m this close to being done with school?”

“Why isn’t it worth it?” you press gently.

He shrugs. “I dunno. Because I made this whole plan, right? Get the degree, take over dad’s shop back home, make something solid of myself. And now—months away from graduating— I start debating whether to change my job completely.”

“Dean…” the hand once in his slowly unraveling from it as you lift it to his elbow with a light squeeze. “It’s okay to change your mind. You’re young- we’re young. Nothing is set in stone yet. And no one’s saying to pitch this whole idea of taking over your dad’s business.”

He looks down at your hand, then back up to you, raising his eyebrow with an expectant expression. “But?”

“But,” you coax, “it’s okay to want something else right now. Especially if it’s something that makes you excited.”

Dean’s jaw ticks as he looks down the block, like he’s trying not to let your words hit too deep. “I owe it to my dad though,” he says quietly. “I’ve promised him for years that I would revive his-”

“His, Dean. That’s the keyword. It’s his dream, or his plan,” you say simply, trying not to cross too many lines. “You don’t have to devote your life to his dreams because he had to give it up. It’s unfortunate that he couldn’t have it all, but that doesn’t fall on you.”

He lets out a slow breath, still walking, his shoulder brushing yours. He admits, “I did read the flyer. All of it.”

“Yeah?” You try not to smile too much.

“Yeah.” A beat. “I even looked up the station number. Haven’t called or anything… but it’s been on my mind.”

You let yourself grin, tucking your chin slightly so he doesn’t see how much it means to you. “That’s a start.”

Dean glances at you, and something in his expression softens. “Do you think I should”

“I think you should do what feels best for you, and only you,” you reply, voice unwavering. “But you don’t have to decide today. Or tomorrow. Just don’t bury it. You owe yourself that much.”

Another long pause hangs between you, and then Dean chuckles under his breath. “You have a future as a life coach, you know that?”

You purse your lips with thought. “A niche compliment- I’ll take it.”

“It was a compliment,” he says, bumping your shoulder lightly. “Though, you’re still making me question everything I’ve done these last four years in school, but, I’m not totally sure it’s a terrible thing.”

“It’s not a terrible thing to change your mind.”

Dean smirks. “Maybe. I haven’t decided on anything yet.”

You shrug as you comfortingly say, “You don’t have to.”

You reach the steps of your building, and Dean stops just shy of the door, giving you that look—the one that says he’s grateful, and probably a little in awe of you, even if he’ll never say it out loud.

“I’ll think about it,” he says at last, voice quieter now. “Seriously.”

You nod, hand brushing his on instinct and you let the silence in between you two hang for a moment before you give him an appreciative, “Good.”

He leans down to give you a quick peck on the lips. “Go learn somethin’.”

You laugh quietly, “Alright, I will. See you tonight?”

“You bet.” He dips his head with unwavering assurance, letting his hand drag against yours as he relinquishes his grip on you as you head into the building.

HALLOWEEN NIGHT - DANTE'S

The bass is so deep that the music rattles your teeth.

Dante’s is absolutely packed with bodies that sway and jump and grind in synchronized chaos under a kaleidoscope of flashing lights—neon strobes flash like it a rave over painted faces and glitter-slicked skin. The tang of alcohol scents mix with the wave of chemicals slathered on hair and skin and when you walk by a group or two, there is definitely an herbal essence that grabs your throat.

And for whatever reason it is– you could tell you would allow yourself to soak this in and enjoy it.

Your bootsteps echo as you step through the entrance in front of Dean, whose hand firmly at your waist, guiding you through the throng of fellow college students already three drinks in and multiple songs deep. It’s sensory overload, but there's something thrilling about it, something that makes the blood in your veins pump a little faster.

To be honest, you hadn’t expected the outfit to do anything when you pulled it on—but the second you stepped into it, confidence flooded into your brain.

The low-slung grey shorts and fitted tank top made you feel like you were straddling the line between the goal: Lara Croft– and someone’s fantasy, especially with the twin prop pistols holstered tight at your thighs and combat boots laced up over your ankles. The leather straps across your torso accentuated everything perfectly. The curves and features of your body are highlighted in a way that comes across so naturally, like the costume was a second skin to adorn your body.

And when you came out of the room earlier showcasing the outfit? Dean's eyes dropped, lingered, and then flicked up again to you, and he was damn-near salivating.

Yeah. You felt seen.

He hadn’t said much when he first saw you—just let out a low, appreciative whistle and muttered something hoarsly under his breath. It was some kind of curse word followed by a dirty compliment, then with a hungry promise– something about loving the costume on you, but even more excited to take it off you. But the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his hands had flexed like they were aching to land somewhere on you—that was enough of a tell to give you the idea that he, too, liked the costume.

Dean was your perfect Indiana Jones, in that weathered leather jacket (indeed, the one he does wear damn near everyday), a white, ruffled button-up shirt rolled at the sleeves, and khaki pants gave him a rugged edge. The belt slung across his chest had no real functionality here, but it did draw attention to his large frame. And by God, the whip he had in his holster…

Fuck.

And he wore his swagger in the costume, too. You can see it– he enjoys it as much as you do. And you can help but appreciate him. Your eyes rake his body with an amused smile, but your thoughts run more devilish. More sinful– though you try to conceal most of it. If it gets too far now, the two of you probably wouldn’t leave for the party. Your gaze falls to his chest where he has two buttons already popped, and his tanned chest peaks through. The next two buttons are practically begging to be snapped. And you are hardly sly with your looks. More than once, he’d caught your stare. And smirked.

“Like what you see?”

Damn right.

The two of you make a fine pair.

You look like an adventure, and he looks like he wants to chase it.

Dean’s classic Indiana Jones fedora is already slightly tilted back from the heat of the crowd, and your braid is already sticking to your neck from the slight sweat, but neither of you cares.

“Place is nuts,” he leans down to say above your ear. His voice is almost lost under the pounding beat, and he’s already speaking with more volume than he normally had too.

“It’s bitchin’ though. You’re not having second thoughts on agreeing to this, are you?” you shout back with a tease, lips brushing against his cheek.

Dean grins, “And miss you in this outfit?” His eyes make a slow trip down from your boots to the holsters on your thighs to the leather hugging your waist. “I’d be one dumb sunovabitch.”

You roll your eyes playfully and grab his hand, dragging him through to the bar. The bartender is dressed like a pirate, and you can’t help but notice how she rocks it. The striped blue pants hug her thick thighs tightly, while a red fabric is snugly tied to her hips, giving her frame a nice curve. Her white, puffed blouse can barely hold her breasts up, as they fold over a black, leather corset cinching her further. She’s busy, even just in her corner of the bar tops, and you can see the sweat collect along the hair framing her face as she rattles the Boston shaker with a bright, neon green drink that somehow sparkles in the light. After pouring and measuring and garnishes, she’s finally able to make it to you where you couldn’t help but appreciate her costume as well. You manage to get your drinks—Dean settling for a Jack and Coke, and for you, a themed cocktail called Witches Brew. The drink is an iridescent purple, shimmering with a special blackberry liqueur and edible glitter.

You know he can’t help but notice Dean watching your six as you order, as he promised.

And you don’t mind.

Once drinks are in your hands, the two of you find a less-claustrophobic corner to sip for a bit. You reach up and straighten his hat, smoothing your hands down his shirt like you're brushing off imaginary dust from his jacket. “Relax, Indy,” you smirk. “You’re off duty for the night.”

Dean lifts a brow, objecting to your coax. “I’m always gonna be on duty when you're next to me. Especially looking like that.”

You look away, unable to dim the smile that brightens your face. Turning back to him, you sweetly ask, “You’ll have some fun though, right”

“Sweetheart,” he says, “If you’re having fun, then I am.” And he means it.

You nod once, happily, as warmth blooms in your chest.

When the drinks are left to mere droplets at the bottom of the glasses, you tug him toward the dance floor. At first, he drags his footsteps, making them heavier— because Dean Winchester doesn’t “dance” so much as he stands and sways with a glass in hand—but here and now, he looks at you finally being able to let loose. This is the most confident and carefree he’s seen you. Something’s different about tonight. You catch him eyeing you, watching your hips bop to the rhythm, and the way you don’t hold back on the flash of teeth in your smile. He caves.

He joins you in the chaos, his hands finding your curvature and spinning you around so your back is to him. There’s no coordinated rhythm between you two, just proximity. A fiery chemistry. You lean back into him, and he leans into you. His hand spreads against the front of your belly, as your body-rolls fall into him with a precision, arching you back with ferocity and elegance. His fingers roam lower, coming to rest lower on your hips. His breath grazes your shoulder.

“Where have you been hiding this side of you?” he murmurs against your ear.

“I wasn’t hiding it, just waiting for you.”

“Well, I’m one lucky bastard then, aren’t I?”

You turn in his hold so you’re facing him, your hands slipping up to his chest. “I got a couple of other sides to me that I’m just waiting to bring out,” you purr, and now you know that the drink is flowing through you.

He bites his lip, his eyebrows flash up for a moment. “Aw, sweetheart, don’t be shy on me now.”

And so the dancing between the two of you intensifies as your bodies grow closer and closer, until you're pressed tightly together in the mix of the other couples in the crowd. The lights flash in a sequence of red. Deep purple. Green. Orange.

The beat picks up. Club hits and Halloween remixes thunder through the room, and for a while, it’s just the two of you. Your hands on him and his on you. His eyes devouring you in your element. You dance with reckless comfort as he watches like he’s never seen anything better.

Now, the two of you were tangled in the crush of the crowd, Dean’s hands firm at your waist while you swayed against him. The music throbbed around you, something slow and heavy with a sultry rhythm, and your movements matched the beat—deliberate, and ever-teasing.

You fold into him, dragging your fingers up his chest as you face him, and Dean’s gaze darkens. His jaw clenches slightly like he was holding back something rough and unfiltered. He lets you spin in his grip before pulling you flush against him again, one hand slipping just slightly lower as your hips met his. His breath was warm on your neck when he leaned in.

“You keep movin’ like that,” he murmured over the music, voice low and gravelly, “and I won’t last very long here.”

You smirked, grazing your fingers along his collar as you whispered, “Not my fault when you agreed to this. I could’ve gone as a cute, lovable Monsters Inc. character but you liked this idea.”

Dean goes to respond but, his body tenses—just slightly, a shift of energy behind his easy grin-turn-distracted. His hand tightens on your waist. You follow his line of sight but don’t see anything at first. Not until a group of loud guys finding their way to the bar almost brush past you a little too closely.

Dean watches them go, jaw clenched as he pulls you in closer to him.

“You okay?” you ask, voice low.

“Yeah,” he says automatically. Then he looks down at you and softens just a touch. “Yeah. Just making sure no one's getting too close.”

You nod. You know what he’s thinking. You’ve both been careful. You’ve both been vigilant. But still—Dante’s is the kind of place where someone could disappear into the crowd just as easily as they appeared.

“I’m good,” you reassure him, hands tightening around his. “We’re good.”

Dean leans in, brushing his lips against your temple. “Still keeping an eye out for you.”

“I know.”

Dean turns, one arm still around your waist, and his eyes land on Cas in the crowd. His face forever in a pinched expression as he scours through the crowd.

Cas is dressed in a white T-shirt that said I’m With Her with an arrow pointing right– yet, no one accompanies him to complete the puzzle. He wears attached plastic white wings to his back and a halo headband that sits just a little crooked in his dark hair.

Dean blinks, confused as he takes in the costume but waves him over regardless.

“Hey, bud,” Dean starts, but then can’t help his utter curiosity, “What the hell are you?”

“An angel,” Cas replied deadpan.

Dean’s eyes roll, and he reads the shirt again, making sure he hasn’t missed anything, “That explains the wings and the halo.”

You could practically hear him say And the rest? You laugh as you shoot a smile to Cas in greeting, and before you could respond, Charlie slid in beside him holding two drinks.

“Oh my Gods, I found him. I lost him at the door,” she said breathlessly, handing Cas a drink. “He doesn’t even look back for me.”

You immediately drop your hands from Dean and push him off you as if Charlie hadn’t already glanced over the two of you.

You hadn’t told Charlie about you and Dean becoming official.

Shit, shit, shit.

You can't help but catch the flicker of confusion and hurt that plays out on Dean’s face as you did so. You give him a quick look of apology, and direct your stance to Charlie.

“Hey!” Your voice higher than normal, “I thought you weren’t coming out tonight, I thought you’d be with your girlfriend.”

Charlie has no poker face. Her eyes dart between you and Dean with a questioning look, but answers steadily, “Oh, uh, she got called in to her job tonight, but I’m seeing her later when she gets off of work.” She smiles at you, and then looks to your left, “Hey, Dean!”

Dean still looks a bit baffled himself, not quite having put the pieces together yet before returning a warm smile to her.

Charlie, in black high-waisted pants and a fitted V-neck shirt, raised her arms dramatically. “Like the costume idea? Charlie’s Angel and Charlie’s Angel?”

Dean squints between them, before his smile widens with yours as you two realize.

“Ahh,” you both say together. Clever,

“I’m afraid I wasn’t given a choice in the matter,” Cas says plainly, sipping whatever Charlie handed him to drink.

Charlie winks at you. “He totally wanted in on it.”

Cas gives you a look that says otherwise.

Your lips press together in effort to hide your laughter, warmth settling in your chest at the dynamic of the two friends of yours. But the moment lasted only a beat.

“Soo, you guys definitely beat us here,” Charlie tries to gently assess your dynamic, “Did you guys come together?”

Dean looks to you now in understanding of Charlie’s own reaction. His pursed lips and a raised eyebrow are his way of screaming help to you, unknowing of what to say.

“Ha,” you try to laugh, but it comes out shaky, “Charlie, do you wanna let the boys catch up for a second? I gotta freshen up in the bathroom if you could come with?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go.” Charlie immediately hustles you away, leaving the boys to watch you both with uncertainty, and they both shrug to each other.

Once the door shuts out the noise from the dance floor, Charlie turns her back to the door, and gives you an expression that can only mean Girl, you have some serious explaining to do.

You sigh immediately at the look, dragging a hand over your face, “So, I might not have mentioned this to you yet.”

“Uh, you mean how you were practically on top of Dean out there?” She regards not in a cold way, but of pure shock.

You close your eyes briefly, “We’ve been dating for a bit. Actually–” you correct yourself, “Dean’s been my boyfriend since a little while after I got out of the hospital.”

Charlie called you that day too– when Dean took you out of the hospital. The conversation was frantic. She worried for you like a panicked mother hen, while you tried to calm her down on the phone by telling her you were alright and cared for at a friend’s…you didn’t specify which friend or what kind of friend, but you assured her you would be back soon.

Her face manages to morph into multiple expressions. Unexpectant, proud, weary.

“I can’t believe it!” Charlie gapes at first, “That’s good– really good! He’s a good boyfriend?”

You let out a huff of air.

Good doesn’t even cover it.

“He’s amazing, Charlie. I–” you couldn’t say it yet. “I really like him.”

“It’s about damn time you found someone who isn’t a piece of shit.” She smirks, and the comment actually gets a bit of a chuckle out of you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The soft, unavoidable question.

You shake your head a bit, “I wanted to, I promise. I was itching to tell you, but I didn’t want Jo to know just yet, and I didn’t want to make you lie–”

“Oh my God. Jo–” Charlie’s eyes bug out of her head with realization. “She doesn’t know?”

You grimace, “No, and I know about her and Dean and how she started to fall for him but... Dean never saw her that way. I felt bad– I still feel bad about it sometimes but…” you trail off, unsure of what to say, because you do still carry a slight guilt in remembrance of when Jo confided in you about with her feelings for Dean. Of course, once it was already too late.

Charlie inhales through gritted teeth with discomfort, “Yeah… well? What can you do? He didn’t like her like that…”

“I am not really inclined to tell her,” you preface, “But, I can’t ask you to lie to her for me.”

Charlie scratches her head, pacing the bathroom floor with contemplation.

“I don’t want to tell her anything, especially if you don’t want her to know, but I’m so bad at keeping these things to myself! If she ever asks me, I would have no idea how to get around it. I can’t lie for shit…” Charlie stresses.

“Then don’t,” you say, “Just… I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell her. If it slips, it’s not your fault, but…just don’t bring it up?”

She nods understandingly. “Yeah, of course, you know I’ve got you there.”

You exhale with a relieving breath, smiling at her in thanks.

The two of you return to the boys, and you make it a point to slide your hand into Dean’s to make up or the random shove earlier. He meets your gaze with a smile, showing you that he understands, and he squeezes your hand.

Another round of drinks are purchased, and around two hours later, the lot of you are ready to call it a night

Dean handed you his card when you mentioned you were closing out the tab. “Here,” he slid it to you from in between his fingers. “You want me to come with?”

“It’s right over there, you can see me from there. Finish your drink,” you gently tell him.

The walk to the bar was only a few feet, but you feel the weight of your boots more with every step. The pirate bartender is still incredibly occupied with making drinks, so it takes her a moment to find your tab, but just before you could hand her the card, she slides a cocktail toward you.

The drink is crimson, almost glowing under the dim lighting, and topped with a skewered gummy eyeball.

“Here, baby,” she said.

You blink at her, taken aback. “Oh... I didn’t order that.”

The bartender nods. “Yeah, some guy at the bar bought it for you.”

Your eyebrows knit together, “The Indiana Jones guy?”

She shook her head, “No, he had on some kind of weird mask with horns. Just the mask. Normal clothes.”

Your stomach drops.

You glance toward the edge of the bar, scanning the crowd. But there are too many masks. Too many faces…

“What is it?” you ask wearily, trying to keep your voice steady as you eye the drink. No pun intended.

Pirate looks over to you, studying your face sightly. “One of our specials tonight. The Watcher. Cranberry, vodka, triple sec, lime.”

Your skin turns to ice as you feel a ripple of fear shutter through you.

The Watcher.

You push Dean’s card toward her with urgency. “Uh, I think I’m done for the night. Can you just close me out, please?”

She raises a brow but nods, ringing you out. “Sure, baby.” She hands you the card back and you leave the drink untouched and beeline for Dean, heart hammering in your chest. The crowd blurs around you. All you could feel is the panic sneaking up your throat.

Dean sees your face before you can even reach him.

“Hey,” he said, his voice immediately shifting into alert mode. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, slipping a hand onto his forearm. “Can’t talk about it here. Can we just go?” It's nearly a whine as it leaves your throat.

Dean determinedly nods, gripping you tightly at the waist as his eyes scan the club instinctively, every bit of his body coiling with tension. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

The two of you barely say goodbye to Charlie and Cas as you exit the bar.

His arm wrapped around you in an instant, keeping you tucked close, eyes sharp as he led you out of the club—and whatever the hell The Watcher was—right behind you.

Into the now sharp, cold air of the midnight, Dean brings a hand to your elbow, bringing you to face him, “What happened?” He glances over you, looking to see if you were hurt or if there was anything physically done to you.

You blink back the panic, “The bartender– when I was closing us out, she slid me a drink and told me some guy bought it for me. And he disappeared apparently, and she said... fuck–” You just now notice the shortness in breath.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean bends slightly lower to meet your eyes, “I’m here. Nothin’s gonna happen, I promise.”

You let out a frustrated breath, “Dean… the drink was called The Watcher.”

His gaze hardens, eyes darting back to the club like he was planning to find the fucker.

“The bartender said he was masked. Horns and normal clothes. He disappeared after the drink got made but– Dean, I don’t think that’s a coincidence.” Your voice shakes.

Dean stands up straight, guiding you back to walk hastily next to him. “No, I don't think so either. But he’s gone, I guess, and so are we. This is just something we're going to add to the list when he go to the police at some point. And now, there's someone to back us up.”

You can’t bear to tell him that you don’t want to go to the police. How that terrifies you.

You let him tuck him against you, keeping his eyes open for anything as he walks you back to his apartment.

You dream of a masked man with horns that night.

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