#Dean is the hero of my story

[shadystranger]

"The fandom unnecessarily villainizes sam and dean for choosing each other over strangers when it's literally how humans work" great critic but I actually think the fandom (those interested in the brothers' relationship) are reacting to it how they're meant to: in a negative light.

To trace things back, yes, it's a given, kind of an innate human nature to respond in situations by prioritizing the people you know over ones you don't. That is true. On an individual basis, each person would do this, I would do this, and anyone'd be crazy to villainize this act on my and your part. But sam and dean do it, and it's painted in this hyperbolic moral degeneration light both by the narrative (we could argue) and by the fandom. Because see, sam and dean are a little different than you and me.

They're positioned in their world as tragic heroes who, given the nature of their job, are expectedly deprived of things the normal person could enjoy. They don't get to lead normal lives, they don't die by natural causes, and they must navigate through life bearing more than they must know with soul-crippling responsibilities. "We're the people who save the world," sam and dean don't spend much time before they assume the token role of saviors in their world. Along with that role comes even more imposed limitations.

They are more viscerally equipped and knowledgeable. They have access to things randoms could never dream of having (like death and god). The more you know, the worse you sleep and comes with the mere knowing is the obligation to do something about it. Someone ignorant to the whole ordeal simply doesn't have to answer to it.

Basically, they're soldiers. Imagine samdean reporting for duty, they preserve peace of the public and their blind following to decision moral rightness is taken for granted. It comes with the job. You don't get to make ill-advised progress in your self-interest as a person (sth random ppl can enjoy) when several lives are at stake.

At some point, sam and dean themselves are metaphoricaly acting Gods: people's survival or death depends on them. Sometimes, it's a city's worth of population. Other times, it's the entire world. Their right to free-decision making stops depending only on its virtuous intent and starts being consequential. They're elevated to adhere to higher standards and criteria than normal people are held to.

The rightness of their actions will not be determined among a set of feasible options but instead assessed by whether they chose the option with the best consequences. Or not. The main decision-making factor for "heroes" like them should be putting the general welfare at its fore interest. Not one individual's. Especially not if it's one individual's.

When dean and/or sam sacrifices someone stranger to save his brother, it's a subjective good call I can relate and see myself in it, but given their position within the universe it's irresponsible and far objectively wrong; especially if at the cost of saving his brother, several others suffered.

There are criteria for judging the actions of the pivotal role they uphold. From a subjective moralness standpoint, sam and dean are only humans, and they can be cut some slack or even not at all villainized for doing what their instinct demands. On the other hand, moral objectiveness influenced by the world-setting's structure deems the goodness or badness of how they behave based on the particular consequences of their given actions and whether said actions affected people in good or bad ways. If sam and dean did something that brought peace to the world on the whole and reduced suffering, it's good and logical, whereas if said action caused suffering and threatened peace, it's bad.

dean grudgingly accepting sam’s plan to overtake lucifer even though it meant losing his brother is the objectively morally good choice to make. He had to sacrifice his precious family, but he ultimately was rational and responsible enough to know his brother's life is not a fair trade-off to millions. both sam and dean here act in accordance with their positions within the story/world: they're heroes. But by S8 dean doesn't let sam make a similar sacrifice. He prioritizes sam's life over the many who'll be possessed and will either kill others or be killed themselves. sam releases a world-ending evil to save his brother, and later on, both take turns facilitating the guy who practically promises them an apocalypse to once again save each other.

"The good of any one person is no more important from the point of view of the universe than the good of any other." sam or dean's lives aren't more important than someone else's, this was a point so base sam felt the need to make because it needed to be addressed, their lack of changing anything about it is another matter. Thing is they're the world's designated saviors be it by choice or not, the narrative views them as the fact, they're expected to value the well-being of all individuals equally, regardless of their personal closeness. Imagine a firefighter postponing saving you because someone he knows is more important even when the situation for them is not as grave as you. It'd be unethical and worthy of condemnation because in this line of work, and in general when your job is saving people and work towards the greater good, you do it indiscriminately, you don't get to privilege the well-being of yourself or your family over the well-being of distant others.

sam and dean hold a rightful consequentialist commitment to their actions being as good as possible: the basis on which one outcome is better than another is only if it contains a greater sum total of people's betterment. No impartiality.

Yes, it's his brother, his only family, but it's still morally wrong to prioritize him (in their case). Let's use a patriotism allegory. Imagine a general of a losing army. He catches wind of the enemy's secret bases or is exposed to confidentials enough to turn the tide to his side. However, he finds out his family at home is being held hostage. The moment he reveals what he knows, they get killed. A man has to save his family it's the most basic human instinct, yes, but you'd think it's irredeemably wrong for him to prioritize his family in this case. You'd think he doesn't even have the right to choose when it's a choice between two insignificant people and the entire country being infiltrated and invaded, with the deaths of million soldiers and citizens. It's not even a choosing matter. sam and dean are the general in this scenario, and instead of the country being at stake, it's sometimes the entire population they're throwing to the fire for each other. Anyone'd think it's messed up. You're supposed to.

There is a good reason to save your family (brother) over a stranger (or two, or hundred or million); but labeling both actions as right would risk ignoring the important moral difference between the two. And we need to draw an account of what a hero is obliged to do in order to meet minimal moral standards. sam and dean's constant moral failure to meet such standard despite their role in their universe paints them as flawed, sometimes as the story's designated antichrist.

Their ceaseless prioritizing of themselves marks their moral debauchery and decline as heroes. they get away with not fulfilling their obligations that are thrust upon them by design, they're using a cheat code acting not how they're supposed to and that's the characters/narrarive's grip with them. I don't blame corbin for what he did, while It’s extremely wrong that he tried killing sam, it was a call for survival. Your savior normally doesn’t come with conditions. He was faced with an oddity from the typical rescue mission. And he did what he had to ensure the more number of people survives. We sympathize with sam and dean, so we criminalize corbin immediately and side with dean. We're swept by emotions and our judgment is clouded you could say but from a utility standpoint, dean's decision to stay with a dying sam would've lead to four people's death, or three and one heavily wounded meanwhile corbin's leads to three people's survival and the loss of one. With corbin, more lives are saved, with one unfortunate but necessary sacrifice. Morally and objectively, corbin was more right in choking sam than dean was in staying.

[ananke-xiii]

Breaking my silence: Orpheus and Eurydice myth is more applicable to Sam and Cas' predicament in s6 rather than to Dean and Cas. Because it's a story about the retrieval of the soul.

I mean, there's definitely no romantic aspect to it but Cas fancy himself a bit of a demigod/son of Apollo, goes to Hell/Hades to rescue Sam/Eurydice/Soul, doesn't succeed, goes back to earth, fall in love with a guy who rejects him, goes crazy, rejects Dionysus as his god (!!!) and then he dies torn into pieces by the women who felt scorned because he only favored men.

I MEAN.

I MEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAN.

The myth is there so the👏people👏are👏right but I don't see it the same way as most people do. It's true that the myth is ancient and has many variations but, like, the basis are still the same, so it's not about Cas and Dean. Well, no, it's about them too actually!!! but not in the sense that Dean is Orpheus and Cas is Eurydice. But in the sense that Cas goes crazy for many reasons and Dean is the biggest one of them and he gets punished for it. I THINK.

[soulmates-for-real-tranquility]

"actual heroism, like actual love, is a messy, painful, vulnerable business"

Happy Birthday my favourite hero! 🥲💗

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

Umberto Eco, 'Ur-Fascism'

[tyrion]

They both reached for the gun. or did they?

- Supernatural, seasons 1 - 5

Source (me): x

[zepskies]

Series Masterlist - Lost on You

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who's the predator, and who is prey.

Song Inspo: “Lost on You” by the Cubaneros (originally by LP)

AN: Oh, here we go! Get ready for another Boys AU. And in the immortal words of Cher, we're actually turning back time, to the '80s, no less.

Series Tags/Warnings: **18+ only! It's the world of The Boys, so angsty and messy, with morally gray and downright charcoal characters, including Soldier Boy, of course (and even the reader herself). **Smut, language, misogyny, violence, drug use, and other chapter-specific tags.

Chapters:

Part 1: Siren Song

Part 2: Foolish Game

Part 3: A Deal is a Deal

Part 4: Better Shape Up

Part 5: Eminence Front

Part 6: Drowned and Spellbound

Part 7: Welcome to the Jungle

Part 8: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Part 9: Free to Be You and Me

Part 10: I Need a Hero

Part 11: Heroes and Monsters

Part 12: A Fire in the Blood

Epilogue: As Good as It Gets

Series complete!

🎙️ Listen while you read:

The Lost on You Playlist: YouTube || Spotify

Lost on You Playlist Posters

"Interrupt the flow, they better not dare..."

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[take-it-on-the-run]

And I Love Her

Sam Winchester x Reader

The reader and Dean are being tortured by Gordon Walker because of her relationship with Sam, and all they can do is hope he'll get there in time.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Torture, graphic depictions of being cut into, descriptions of gore and severe bodily harm, Sam Winchester is out of character depending on who you ask

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Dean Winchester, Gordon Walker

@ghostlyaccurate requested: "Hii! Can I request a Dean and/or Sam Winchester (sepperate) x fem! Reader set in season two, with an established relationship, where it's like when Gordon kidnaps Dean, but instead of just Dean he also kidnaps reader. (I can imagine if it's a Dean x reader Gordon uses reader to get Dean to not try anything, and if it's a Sam x reader Sam just going even more ballistic than he originally does in the show). Thank you!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Beatles title. My first Sam fic! Honestly, it was really hard writing this one for some reason, and after five revisions I'm still not completely in love with it. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, and heed the warnings! Do not read if this will make you uncomfortable!

Sam Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Gordon stared blankly at the wall in front of him while you tugged at the ropes on your wrists. A bandana was tied tightly around your mouth that tasted like dirt and your own blood. Dean was tied up to the left of you in a similar state, and both of you were staring down Gordon like it would kill him.

Traps lined every entrance from the doors to every small crack in the wall. Sam was powerful, but you doubted he could break through solid brick. Grenades, tripwire, even a shotgun trap that looked like something straight out of a movie; Gordon wanted Sam dead at all costs.

You knew your boyfriend would come to you and Dean’s rescue, but damn was this cutting it close. Gordon had already tried his best with Dean, but when it was your turn, he took his sweet-ass time.

He punched you, kicked you, even spit on you. Now, you tried your best to not scream as he dragged a knife against the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder.

You failed.

Biting down on the bandana, a muffled scream ripped through your lungs. You tried focusing on Dean, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes which were spilling over with more tears than you thought were in your body.

You could feel your blood dripping down your back and your chest, slithering its way to the floor as Gordon wiped his blade with the rag in his back pocket. He wrenched your head to the side, forcing the fresh wound close and for more tears to streak down your face.

He repeated his process on you a few times.

Your arms.

Your hands.

Your legs.

Every time somehow hurt more than the last, the hunter pulling open your skin and snapping it back together like a rubber band. Your vision was spotty, but you held steadfast to the thought that your boyfriend would be here any minute to save the day like he always did.

Gordon took a step back, wiping sweat and blood from his face and arms. He looked down at you with a glare that you’ve held plenty of times for the less-than-human creatures in the world. You guessed that, in his eyes, you, Sam, and Dean, were held in a similar regard.

Snaps.

Taunts.

Cracks.

Screams.

All because you fell in love with someone born under a bad sign.

You didn’t regret meeting Sam. Kissing him, falling for him, even the idea of just having him in your life was enough for your mind to justify the situation you were in. It wasn’t his fault you were having your life drained out of you minute by minute, and you hoped he would be smart enough to know that.

“Sam’s going to be here any minute, you know. Gotta convince himself he’s the hero of this story, and I’m the big,” Gordon turned to you, knife in hand, “bad, evil dragon. But I’m not the one with demon blood, am I, Y/N?” He placed the edge of the blade against the bottom of your chin. You could feel the cold steel heavy against your skin, and any sudden move would surely spill even more of your blood.

Dean glared at Gordon, his face shades of purple and blue, which mirrored the pain you felt along your entire body. Gordon dug the knife into the bottom of your chin, piercing your skin ever so slightly, but not enough to fatally wound you. Your mind was trying hard to hold onto the cracks of reality that remained in your vision; the smell of the dingy house you were in, the feeling of the carpet making contact with your boots, anything that wouldn’t send your consciousness reeling over was enough of an anchor for you to hang onto.

Gordon walked away from the two of you, returning to his position of peering out one of the boarded-up windows in wait for Sam. You glanced at Dean, which granted you a glance back from him. His eyes were dry, but they held enough behind them to let you know what he was thinking. Sam was going to burst into this booby-trapped hellhole, and Dean could do nothing but blame himself.

It’s all your fault, really, a thought that smashed through what you knew was the truth said.

This isn’t any of our faults, you told it back, wanting to tell Dean the same. Sam wasn’t to blame for the two of you being taken, and neither of you was at fault for being used as bait; it all landed in the hands of the rogue hunter who deemed himself holier-than-thou.

Though you couldn’t see yourself, you knew you were starting to resemble a bloody pulp more than a human being. Dean could barely look your way for longer than a second, and deep cuts that surged whether you moved or not continued to scrape away at your consciousness.

Gordon disappeared, and as you tried to turn your head to follow him, you felt a burning pain across your chest. Highlighted by a spurt of blood splattering over your thighs, you wanted to vomit. The top of your head started to feel like it was being lifted off from the rest of your skull, and the black spots in your vision connected at the edges of your eyes.

You grunted, head going slack and opening wounds on the back of your neck. Either spit, blood, or bile dripped out of your mouth, but at that moment you didn’t care- the black at the corners of your eyes bled together, and all you could do was limply hope Sam would find you.

You blinked, slowly, noticing light creeping in from the boarded-up windows. The second thing you noticed was the searing pain in your body, coupled with grunting and what you could guess was a well-landed punch.

“Y/N!” Someone called out to you, but you could barely lift your head to meet their voice. The bandana in your mouth was pulled away and hands cupped your face, warming your skin that was ice cold after losing so much blood.

The hands left your face and moved to the ropes at your wrists, cutting them off quickly and placing your arms in your lap. You forced your eyes up high enough to see it was your hero, Sam, standing before you with tears starting to fill his eyes. If your face would’ve let your smile, you would’ve, but every movement flashed the memory of Gordon cutting into you.

Gordon.

“Where’s-” You managed to sputter out through a sore jaw and a severely dry mouth.

“Dead,” Sam answered coldly. For the first time, you noticed his knuckles were a hue of bright purple, complimented with blood splattering up his arm. Sam moved your arms around his neck and picked you up as gently as he could.

“Dean’s already in the car patching himself up. I’m going to try and lay you down in the back seat so we can get to the closest hospital. I left Gordon in the room by the first door, so keep your head to my chest if you don’t want to see him, okay?” He asked softly. The tears that were in his eyes had faded slightly, but you could see the emotions he’d no doubt try to hide later on. Regret, blame, guilt - the more he looked at you, the more you could sense that your battered state was tearing away at his consciousness. You wanted to reach out, hold his face, and tell him you’d be okay, you’d survived worse, that it wasn’t his fault, but your thoughts were halted by Sam stepping past Gordon’s body.

If you could call it a body, that is.

His nose was sunken into his face enough that his eyes were slightly popping out of their sockets. His mouth had more gums than teeth, which were scattered around the room. He was lying against a dresser, and his limbs were spread out in the wrong directions. You thought you saw a bone, but before you could look closer, Sam turned and shut the door behind you.

Sam laid you across the back seats of the Impala, trying his best to be gentle with the abhorrent number of cuts across your body. You couldn’t guess how the hospital wasn’t going to ask questions, but you hoped the brothers would figure that out. Your head laid in Sam’s lap, and he looked out the window as Dean buried Gordon.

“Sam,” you slowly moved one of your arms to his face, bringing his attention to you, “thank you. You saved us both. You had to do what you had to do.”

Sam smiled but still didn’t say a word as he dipped down and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You wanted to be able to tell him everything your racing mind was coming up with but were beaten by the overwhelming need to not move. Dean climbed into the front seat, beating the gas pedal to the floor and hitting the highway as Sam ran his fingers comfortingly through your hair.

[wellofdean]

I think there’s a connection between “The Boys” and “Supernatural,” which you had created. I like to consider what different shows say about the American story, and I actually spoke to [“Supernatural” co-star Misha Collins] a little bit about this at a Comic-Con a long time ago. He pointed out that the show’s overall theme isn't necessarily the vision of good and evil that the post-World War II version of the American story is deeply hooked into, that it’s mainly about American masculinity. I would love your perspective on whether there's any kind of continuum there, in terms of what keeps drawing you to these stories and what they might say overall about how America sees itself.

Kripke: I mean, look, we're all products of our experiences and our upbringing and the media we consumed. I'm a sucker for [Steven] Spielberg, [George] Lucas, you know — “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” “Star Wars,” the million subpar copies that are so deeply in my brain. Those were always the stories I gravitated towards.

But as I got older and a little more experienced as a writer, I learned quickly that character psychology is really everything, at least for me. It's how I make sense of the stories. And when you start breaking down the psychology of the traditional masculine hero, like for real — when you are like, “OK, what makes that person like that?” – you quickly reach the conclusion that they are so f**ked-up, so wounded and so broken. It's just natural. You just wouldn't run into that burning building and be making those quips and . . . diving off a skyscraper like John McClane. You’re just not doing that if you're not, like, a deeply f**ked-up person. And that became really interesting to me.

During “Supernatural” —  probably a little more Dean than Sam, because Sam was always meant to be like a regular guy. But Dean, the notion was like, “OK, but if you were Han Solo for real, like, how f***ed up are you to end up in that position, making those choices?” Then we started playing that, and Jensen [Ackles] was really good at it. And that became really interesting to me.

YOU DON'T SAY?!

[alexsoenomel]

Through The Amplifier

Summary: Seeing Metallica with Dean for his birthday 🎶

Based on: THIS

Pairing:  Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI , implied smut, actual smut (but cute fluffy smut), mentions of death, Dean and Reader being nerds

Word count: 8k (I like writing backstories sue me)

Song mentioned (The actual setlist btw): Ride the Lightning,  For Whom The Bell Tolls, Lux Æterna, Until It Sleeps, Whiplash, Too Far Gone? Welcome Home (Sanitarium), No Leaf Clover, The Call of Ktulu, Moth into Flame,  Wherever I May Roam, Inamorata, Blackened, One and Enter Sandman ( Also Wrong Side of Heaven and Jekyll and Hyde by Five Finger Death Punch)

Note: This year I saw one of my favorite bands and finally fulfilled my lifelong dream. I went by myself and had an absolute blast so this idea just came to me.

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)

“Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Sam?” I said as I pressed the buy tickets button. The website loaded for a couple of seconds before my phone went off. 

“Yeah, I'm sure. I don't listen to Metallica,” Sam told me as I checked my email to see two tickets for Metallica in Inglewood, California in six months.

“How can you NOT listen to Metallica?”

“Not my cup of tea, I guess.” 

“You, Charlie?”

“I don’t like old men in leather,” she simply said, making me chuckle.

To say that I was excited would be an understatement. I was overjoyed, ecstatic, and adrenaline-filled, already mentally preparing for the concert. It was indeed destiny. Metallica was performing two days after Dean's birthday in Inglewood, and since we both shared one dream: seeing them live, I saw it as a sign. Videos from their M72 world tour have bombarded my social media ever since it started, and I decided it was now or never. 

“How much are the tickets?” Sam asked.

I bit my lip and mumbled: “14k.”

“For two tickets?!” Charlie’s eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Each,” I simply said. 

" (Y/N)?! " Sam's gaze was on me, and I could feel it burning. I looked at him and smiled awkwardly, and he gave me a silent look of judgment. 

“I can explain!” 

“I'm listening!” He said, voice as sharp as a knife. 

“You know that rich vampire guy I was sleeping with before we met?” 

“The son of the rich vampire?” 

“Yeah, that one. After we killed them I found his laptop where he kept all of his secrets plus his bank account and asked Charlie to transfer everything to me.” 

“How much?”

“Everything,” Charle said proudly. 

“Untraceable and undetectable thanks to her, so technically it’s not our money,” I added.  

“But wasn't that two years ago?” 

“Yeah, he had a lot of money,” Charlie told Sam as he stared at me connecting the dots.

“That explains why the fridge is always full now.” 

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Charlie said.

I chuckled. 

Sleeping with a vampire was probably the stupidest thing I have ever done. I didn’t know he was a vampire until I woke up one morning in his bed drowsy with two small holes on my neck. By then, I had been a hunter for ten years and The Winchesters were not in the picture yet. I’ve only heard stories about them; some hunters told me that they were monsters in human form, savage, causing chaos wherever they went; and others had kinder words in mind, like heroes, good, impossible to not like. After I realized what he was I was shocked, but not surprised. I had been collecting red flags like baseball cards all of my life, but I’ve never slept with an actual monster. I’ve been with narcissists, egomaniacs, momma’s boys, but never with a vampire. That day I made a mental note: “Never trust guys on dating apps. Sleazy pubs are better for finding sex.”

The day I planned to kill him and his old man was the day that I met the brothers and Charlie. I caught them trying to sneak into the property from the back, since the cameras there weren’t working. I saw them because I was trying to do the same so the servants wouldn’t see me. I could smell hunter’s blood from a mile away and they could too. Sam told me bodies were piling up in LA and I had no idea because they would cover their tracks well and I was too busy having sex with one of the perpetrators. Dean on the other hand was rolling his eyes because he couldn’t believe how reckless and stupid I was. We didn’t start on a good foot whatsoever. He thought I was annoying and I thought he was an obnoxious jerk. That was before we killed the vampire family. 

After we finished the job with minor injuries we went to celebrate –drink. It was Charlie’s idea and I still thank her for that. A few beers later I realized the reason why Dean and I didn’t see eye to eye. It was because we were two sides of the same coin. He was a stubborn nerd with alcoholic tendencies and daddy issues and so was I. And the best part was we both liked the same type of music. Sam and Charlie saw right through us and left after two hours and we stayed and talked for hours. A few more beers and a whole lot of bickering and flirting later, we were fucking in his car like it was our last day on this Earth. I collected one more red flag that night and had too many orgasms. Drunk on sex we both went to his motel room where we had even more sex and barely got any sleep. 

The next morning Sam and Charlie were grinning at us while we were trying to wake ourselves up with caffeine. 

“I see you guys had a lot of fun,” Sam said, noticing our dark cycles. Charlie giggled. 

“Yeah, too much fun,” Dean said, trying to keep his eyes open. 

When it was time to say goodbye and exchange numbers, Charlie had yet another brilliant idea. 

“You should come with us,” she said, leaving the brothers speechless, Dean especially. 

“A hunter alone in a world is a terrible thing,” she told them. 

“Did you just quote Maester Aemon?” I asked her. It was nice meeting a fellow Game of Thrones fan.

“You just became even more awesome!” She said and high-fived me. “She is coming with us, guys!” 

I was indeed alone. I started hunting when my parents got killed by a werewolf when I was 19. I had no extended family just one friend and she had no idea what I was doing in my free time.  

Sam and Dean just stared at each other but naturally agreed since Charlie was running the house and therefore I was moving to Lebanon, Kansas. 

For the first time, I had my room and a place I could call home. The bunker was gray and dark and grew on me rather quickly, but things between Dean and I were strange at first. We both thought we were going to fuck each other’s brains out and never see each other again, but the universe (in this case Charlie) had other plans. He was actively avoiding me until I told him to suck it up and talk to me. We didn’t speak, instead, we were memorizing each other’s scars and moles in different positions…over and over again. We even woke up Sam a couple of times while Charlie was clueless since she slept with headphones.

Slowly, we were falling for each other and each kiss became more fatal than the last and since we now lived together, we were spending every waking moment in each other's presence. It wasn’t until one evening we were drinking and a young handsome guy decided to shoot his shot with me and Dean in a drunken jealous rage told him to piss off when he saw his hand on my hip. When the guy refused to leave me alone Dean punched him in the face and we got kicked out of the bar. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! I was about to tell him to fuck off!” I screamed at him and he just stared at me in complete silence. 

“DEAN?”

He came closer and cupped my cheeks with his hands kissing me gently. This time the kiss was different; it wasn’t filled with lust; it was more gentle and vulnerable. His lips were as soft as ever and for the first time I was so painfully aware of them, I wanted him to devour me whole. 

“Why are you such a dick sometimes?” I asked, his face inches away from mine.

“I don’t like when people touch what’s mine,” he said, putting a strand of hair behind my ear. I suddenly became aware of my heartbeat. 

“Since when do I belong to you?” I asked him, trying to keep a cool head even though my body was on fire. We never made it official, but we both knew it was inevitable. 

“Since I belong to you, dickhead,” he said, and from that day on I was his and he was mine. 

***

 I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t in love with Dean. We never said the words, maybe because we were too afraid to verbalize our feelings like grownups, but I knew he loved me just as much as I loved him. His eyes would always sparkle whenever we shared eye contact – even when we fought. He fought a lot, but mostly on hunts, because I would never listen to him and he knew better. In the end, we would get the job done and have angry sex to blow some steam. I’d never thought I’d end up dating a male equivalent of me. I could finally say I was happy with my life, even though objectively speaking it was awful 99% of the time. I was thankful for my chosen family and the fact that I got to experience love for the first time. 

***

I had a hard time keeping the secret, but six months later it was time to celebrate his day. Sam, Charlie, and I decided to make everything Metallica-themed. His cake was a classic chocolate cake but the candles were two small guitars one white and one black (one had the number 3 on it and the other one had 6), The frosting was black and had a picture of the band from the 80s when Cliff was still alive. Dean loved Cliff’s bass, so we knew he was going to love the cake. 

“Happy birthday, Dean!” We all said in unison as I was putting the cake on the table in front of him. Dean’s eyes widened, sparkling with delight, as he stared at the cake. His mouth dropped open in a gasp, revealing a grin that spread from ear to ear. His cheeks flushed with a rosy shade, and he could hardly contain the bubbling excitement as his eyebrows lifted in disbelief. It was a moment of pure wonder etched across his face. He blew his candles after we sang Happy Birthday to him and now it was time to open the presents. 

“This is from me,” Sam said and gave him a bag. 

 Dean pulled a black shirt from it. 

It was a beautiful Metallica shirt, a brand new one from their 72 Seasons merch collection with their yellow album cover and Metallica written on the top. 

“Holy crap a Metallica shirt!” Dean said looking at the beautiful design. Sam smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Sam! It’s perfect!” He then added. 

“You’re welcome, Dean,” Sam said and hugged his brother.

“Now it’s my turn!” Charlie exclaimed and gave him her present. 

Dean pulled out a CD and a cassette tape from a small box– their 72 Seasons CD and a limited cassette tape of the same album. 

“Oh my God! Charlie!” Dean was bursting with excitement and my heart was melting. I don’t think I remember the last time I saw him this happy. His inner child was healing mine – he deserved the world.

“One is for your car and the other is for your laptop!” 

Dean immediately jumped from the chair and hugged Charlie as tight as possible. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“You’re welcome, birthday boy.”

Now it was my turn. While he was licking the frosting with his fingers I sent him his ticket. 

Dean was staring at me as I was smiling back at him. 

“Check your phone, handsome,” I told him, trying to contain my excitement. 

Dean's brow furrowed just a touch, creating a faint line across his forehead as he checked his phone to see that he got an email from me. 

“What is this?” He mumbled under his breath and opened it. 

Dean’s face lit up with pure joy as realization washed over him. His eyes widened. His mouth dropped open in a wide grin, showcasing his astonishment, while a breathless laugh escaped him. He looked at me for a second before staring back at his phone.

“ARE YOU FREAKIN’ SERIOUS?” He then asked in disbelief. 

“Yeah, and guess what? We will be right in front of the stage,” I said and showed him my ticket on my phone. 

His cheeks flushed with color, and his eyebrows shot up, giving him a look of sheer exhilaration. He could hardly contain himself, there was an almost childlike glee as he wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted me, completely swept away by the moment. I squealed as he spinned me around like I was a ballerina. It was a mix of shock and joy, a perfect reflection of his excitement to see his favorite band live. When he kissed me my feet hit the ground. 

I knew he would remember his 36th birthday for the rest of his life.

***

We packed our bags the next day and went to the airport. Our flight was at 6 pm, so we arrived around 3 pm after lunch. Sam and Charlie came with us because Dean didn’t want to leave Baby at the airport parking lot. We said our goodbyes and went to check in. 

“Don’t let him do anything stupid,” Sam told me. 

“Don’t worry I won’t! We will be stupid together,” I grinned and Sam looked concerned. 

*** 

The flight was quick and smooth; we didn't even feel it. Since it wasn't my money (well not really) I decided to splurge and booked us two nights in the four-star hotel next to the YouTube Theater where the concert was scheduled. They had a pool, spa, and breakfast buffet, so naturally, I figured Dean was going to appreciate it. 

“I don't have swim trunks, (Y/N),” Dean told me as we were entering our room. 

“Yeah I know, that's why I bought you a pair a couple of weeks ago,” I said.

The room was an epitome of elegance, bathed in warm light from sheer curtains. A plush king-sized bed, adorned with crisp white linens and a couple of soft pillows was calling our names. A sleek nightstand held a vintage lamp in the corner, while a polished desk offered a coffee maker and a big flat-screen TV handing across the bed was screaming Dean’s name. The en-suite bathroom was heaven, featuring a spacious glass shower, complete with fragrant candles and premium toiletries.

Every detail was screaming luxury and I knew I made the right choice.

We put our bags on the floor and I turned to Dean to see him staring back at me. 

“Happy birthday, handsome!” I said and kissed him gently. He immediately pulled me closer to him, closing the gap between us, deepening the kiss, and making me moan a little. I could feel his stubble on my face, his hands on my hips, slowing moving downwards to cup my ass. 

“Shower?” He asked before moving his lips to my neck. 

“Please,” I managed to say. 

After having a quick shower we went to bed and he made love to me until we eventually fell asleep only knowing the sound of each other's names. I loved that man with all my heart and soul. 

***

The next morning we woke up at around 8 am, which was our usual time, and went to have breakfast. 

The breakfast buffet was a sight to see. There were freshly baked pastries like croissants, danishes, and muffins, all warm and inviting. A big bowl of colorful fruits sat nearby, with strawberries, melons, and pineapple ready to be picked.

In another section, you could find hot dishes: scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and plump sausages. There was also a selection of artisanal breads, with butter and a variety of jams to choose from. The drink station had fresh coffee and juices. Dean and I were salivating. 

“Oh, this bacon looks crisp!” Dean said joyfully as he put a handful of bacon on his plate. 

“If monsters don't kill us, high cholesterol sure will,” I chuckled and put a couple of pieces next to my eggs. 

Breakfast of champions: bacon, eggs, fluffy croissants, coffee and for dessert fluffy American pancakes with maple syrup. No matter where we went we would always eat the same thing for breakfast.

“The pancakes are so good, my God!” I said as I stuffed my face.

“I need more bacon!” Dean said and went to get more. 

After breakfast, we ended up taking an hour-long post-breakfast nap.

***

The concert was at 9 pm. After we woke up Dean wanted to go swimming before lunch so I gave him his new and only pair of swim trunks: blue shorts with yellow ducks all over. 

“Seriously?” Dean said, looking at himself in the mirror next to our bed.

“I look ridiculous.”

I tried so hard not to laugh.

“It was either ducks or small purple dildos.” 

Dean's face went blank as he looked at himself once more.

“Ducks are good.” 

I, on the other hand, bought a black bikini that was perfect for my body. The sleek design highlighted my figure, and the black color added a touch of elegance. I was oozing confidence and sexiness and Dean couldn't get enough of it. His gaze never left my body and it was filled with admiration and affection. His expression was a mix of pride and appreciation. He was on another planet.

“Dean?” 

“Um?” He asked, his eyes still fixed on my figure, his mouth partially opened. 

“Your gun is showing.” 

He looked down and saw what I meant. 

“Crap!”  

“Let me take care of that before we go!” I chuckled and pointed to the bed. 

***

The pool was nice and big. After an hour of fucking like rabbits we went for a swim only to realize we were too exhausted to do anything with our bodies, so we went to the sauna. 

In the sauna, my skin felt like it was being enveloped in a warm embrace. The heat made me aware of every pore, and I could feel the sweat starting to bead up and trickle down. It was both soothing and invigorating; my skin felt alive, flushed with warmth. 

“I can't believe you planned all of this,” Dean said and closed his eyes, enjoying the sweat dripping from his skin.

I wanted to say it. I wanted to say those goddamn words, but I bit my tongue once more. 

“I know, I'm the best,” I said proudly, while in the back of my mind the sentence "Love makes you do crazy things" echoed over and over again. 

***

Lunch time, another post food nap and it was time to get ready. Dean wore his usual: jeans, a new Metallica shirt he got from Sam, a leather jacket, and combat boots. I decided it was time to turn myself into a rock’n’roll bombshell. I was going to wear leather black pants, Dean's old Ride the Lightning shirt I “borrowed” and never gave it back, and my staple: black Dr. Martens. I did my hair all nice and curly, and my makeup was a bit over the top and not something I usually do.

I was standing in front of the mirror as I started with a flawless matte base, then created a smokey eye with deep blacks and a dramatic wing. Thick eyeliner and voluminous false lashes (that I bought just for this occasion) made my eyes pop. I swiped on dark, matte plum lipstick and defined my brows to frame my face.

A touch of contour enhanced my cheekbones, and I added a hint of shimmer to my inner corners. Feeling powerful and sexy I was ready to heal my inner child with the love of my life. 

“How do I look?” I asked Dean as I put on my leather jacket. 

He bit his lower lip and scanned every inch of me in a second.

“Freakin’ gorgeous,” he exclaimed, making me blush. 

He was never shy to give me compliments and show me how attracted he was to me. Even in pajamas, dying from period cramps, and crying because my favorite ice cream was sold out, he would still tell me how amazing and pretty I was. Like I said, I loved that man with all my heart and soul, it was pathetic and beautiful.

I kissed him and we were on our way. 

We came four hours earlier at around 5 pm, a few minutes before they opened the gates and let us in. In an hour Ice Nine Kills was going to perform and after them Five Fingers Death Punch. When we came in, the pit was already filled with people, but it wasn't full yet. We found a spot just a few inches from the stage. My heart was pounding, I couldn't believe I was there, while Dean was squeezing my hand tightly not wanting to let go. 

“Do you want a beer?” Dean asked me. 

“I don't think that's a good idea. If we drink we will have to go and if we have to go we will abandon this perfect spot. A lot of people are already coming in.” 

Dean nodded.

“Water?”

“That will do,” I agreed, considering we would be standing probably until midnight, staying hydrated was important.

He left to buy us two cups and came back after five minutes. The space was already getting crowded and I was growing impatient. 

“I still can't believe we are here,” he told me. He was buzzing with excitement, eyes shining and bouncing on his heels. 

“Do you think they will play Enter Sandman?” I asked him. 

“I hope so. Pops used to play that song all the time in the car when I was a kid. Sam hated it.” 

“My dad used to sing me that song whenever I couldn't fall asleep. I was a lousy sleeper but for some reason, that song would always put me into a coma.”

I told Dean as I remembered how much I missed my old man.

“You're still a lousy sleeper,” he said, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. 

“Yeah, because now I cannot sleep without you,” I said and kissed his cheek. I always had trouble sleeping, going to bed after 3 am, waking up at 3 pm, tossing and turning, nightmares, and so on… until I started sleeping next to him. I was never a big cuddler, especially since I would always feel uncomfortable whenever someone would try to hold me while I slept, but with him it was different. I would sleep like a baby next to him, he was home to me. His heartbeat was my white noise and his warmth was my safe space. 

He smiled back at me and at that moment the show began. 

Ice Nine Kills was…something else. Dean and I were trying to decide if we liked the music or not, but one thing we agreed on was: that we LOVED the performance. Gore, blood, and chainsaws were all far too familiar, but we especially loved horror references. The music was not bad, but considering we were both classic rock fanatics it wasn't something we would actively listen to. 

“I love the Nightmare on Elm Street reference,” I commented after they finished the first song. 

“Not bad,” Dean agreed as he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and pulled me closer. 

We were jamming to songs we'd never heard before. People around us were either utterly confused or dancing and head-banging like it was their last day on Earth. 

“Oh! That's the Texas Chainsaw Massacre!” Dean said in my ear. 

“I know,” I laughed, but I don't think he heard me considering the music was pounding in my ears. 

After a good hour, they were done. The crowd was growing impatient again and so were we. 

“Five Finger Death Punch is next!” I said and took a sip of my almost empty cup of water. 

“I'm kinda excited about that.”

And to be honest I was too. We heard a couple of their songs like Wrong Side of Heaven and Jekyll and Hyde and instantly fell in love with the singer's voice. Dean even said the vocalist sounded a lot like David Draiman of Disturbed and I definitely could hear that. 

We were waiting for what felt like hours and my legs started to hurt. I forgot what it felt like standing for so long; the last time I went to a concert I was 16 and my family was still alive. Dad took me to see Deep Purple, it was an unforgettable day. 

Five Finger Death Punch came at exactly 8 pm. The band made everyone jump and scream. Their energy was unmatched and the vocalist was giving his all. His voice was strong. The guitarist even threw a couple of picks and Dean almost caught one.

“Damn it!” He shouted. 

“Don't worry, maybe you will catch one from Kirk later.” 

We all completely lost it when they closed the show with the iconic song Dean and I both loved: Jekyll and Hyde. I was singing my heart out with my man and the rest of the crowd while the singer was jumping around the stage. This whole band had such a strong presence, and I decided to check their other stuff after the show. 

"Thank you all for being an incredible audience! Your energy means the world to us. I hope you enjoyed the show as much as we loved performing for you. It was an honor to open for one of the greatest bands to ever exist! Enjoy the rest of the show and be safe!” The singer said and the whole stadium screamed and clapped. 

“DAMN RIGHT!” Dean yelled and I smiled. 

Seeing Dean so at peace with life and enjoying the present moment made my heart flutter. That man deserved the world and even though I couldn't give him one where he was truly happy (mainly because that would require him to leave hunting behind and he would never do that) I could still make his world a little bit brighter. 

I turned around and kissed him, leaving a smudge of lipstick on his perfectly full lips. 

“Are you ready?” I asked him whipping the stain from his lips with my thumb. 

Dean grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Abso-freakin’-lutely!” 

People around us were shouting, screaming, and clapping from excitement, and some people went to get more beer, and pee before the show– it was a beautiful chaos around us. 

“My legs are killing me already,” Dean complained, trying to stretch as much as he could in the sea of people. 

“Yeah, mine turned to stone,” I said and checked my phone only to see they were 20 minutes late. Being late was my biggest pet peeve; even the legendary band that was Metallica didn’t have an excuse. I groaned silently and looked at the empty stage again. I was impatient and filled with adrenaline; ready to sing my heart out, but at the same time I was missing the hotel bed. 

Ten minutes later, our favorite chaotic drummer appeared, sending the whole stadium into a state of pure excitement and borderline madness. He waved and then Robert and Kirk appeared with their guitars and big smiles on their faces. The crowd was cheering even louder. 

“Kirk’s hair is fabulous!” I told Dean, while we were clapping. 

“Yeah, Sam should take some notes!”

And finally, there he was, in the flesh, our favorite voice and my favorite silver fox: James. I've had a crush on James ever since I was a little girl and seeing him right in front of me in his black leather pants, black boots, black shirt, and his beautiful gray beard and hair made my heart beat faster. The man had the presence of a God and I was his loyal worshiper. 

“Oh my God! IT'S HAPPENING!” Dean yelled and hugged me from behind. 

As the lights dimmed and the crowd erupted, Dean and I felt a surge of adrenaline once again. The opening chords of Ride the Lightning sliced through the air, and we couldn’t contain ourselves. With a wild grin, Dean threw his fists in the air, the pulse of the music igniting a fire within him. I was too starstruck to sing, my voice too shy to come out as I was standing there with my phone in the air trying to record a video with my shaky hands. It was my dad's favorite song and I wanted to immortalize this very moment.

Meanwhile, Dean was transported into another dimension. He swayed to the heavy riffs, shouting the lyrics as they echoed around him. Each note was a release, a reminder of the thrill of being alive. At that moment, we were just fans—no monsters, no worries—lost in the pure magic of live music.

“GOOD EVENING INGLEWOOD! ARE YOU READY TO HAVE SOME FUN?” James' voice was powerful with a gravelly timbre that conveyed excitement. We all screamed and with that, they started playing the second song. 

“HOLY SHIT!” I yelled when I realized it was indeed For Whom The Bell Tolls.

As the iconic opening riff surged through the venue, Dean’s heart raced. He felt the familiar rush of nostalgia wash over him, memories of late nights with Sam on the road in the Impala echoing in his mind. The deep, heavy chords resonated in his chest, and he instinctively raised his fists, the crowd's energy fueling his excitement. 

With each thundering beat, he found himself singing along. His grin widened, and he couldn’t help but sway with the music, lost in the moment. For Dean, it wasn’t just a song; it was a reminder of everything he fought for—the bond with his brother, the battles they faced, and the moments of joy amidst the chaos. This was rock and roll at its finest, and he was right where he belonged.

 I, on the other hand, was trying so hard not to cry. The haunting melody of For Whom the Bell Tolls wrapped around me, pulling at my heartstrings. I felt a mix of exhilaration and nostalgia, the weight of the moment overwhelming as memories flooded back—times spent with my family, laughter shared, my mom telling my dad to turn the volume down. Oh, how I missed my parents at that very moment! The intensity of the crowd, the energy of the band, and the raw emotion in the music made it hard to hold back tears. It was a cathartic release. Dean was standing behind me pulling me closer with one hand as I was holding onto his index finger. I wiped my tears and sang my heart out for my mom and dad and after they finished the song I was left with a slight pain in my right ear. I might have forgotten to bring earplugs, but the truth was I didn't want to nor cared about protecting my ears from potential damage. To quote Dean: “Metallica is too good for earplugs.” 

After bringing back so many good memories it was time to mix it up and play something from their newest album.

The melody of Lux Æterna hit me like a bolt of electricity. It opened with a powerful, aggressive guitar riff that instantly raised the tension in the air. As the verses rolled in, the haunting yet energetic melody intertwined with a sense of urgency. When the chorus exploded, the vocals soared, filling me with a mix of exhilaration and defiance. I was completely engulfed in the sound, feeling every note resonate deep within me, embodying everything I loved about Metallica as Dean pulled me closer to him while we were jumping in sync. 

“Lux Æternaaaaaaaaa!” We would sing completely out of tune with James. 

As Lux Æterna blared through the speakers, the crowd became a living entity, energy surging with every note. Fans pumped their fists and sang along, their voices rising in a powerful roar. Some swayed with eyes closed, while others jumped, danced, and headbanged, united in exhilaration. 

“You guys are amazing!” James said. He was covered in sweat and I was salivating. The man was a definition of aging like fine wine and my daddy issues were showing. 

I turned to Dean who was hypnotized, his eyes never leaving the stage. 

"Would you give me a hall pass if I cheated on you with James?"

Dean arched an eyebrow, a playful smirk crossing his face. “James, huh?”

Amusement in his eyes, he added. “If you think I’m letting you run off with a rock star, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Really?” I smirked.

“You’re mine—rock star or not.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh at Dean’s reaction. “You think I’d leave you for James Hetfield? Really?” I teased, arching an eyebrow. His playful jealousy was endearing, and it warmed my heart.

Dean smirked, leaning in with that familiar teasing glint in his eyes. “Just making sure you know where my head’s at,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of seriousness.

“Rock star or not, I’m the one who gets to take you home.” He chuckled, and I could see the warmth in his gaze. “It’s you and me against the world, always.” At that moment, I felt a rush of affection, knowing our bond was stronger than any fleeting fantasy.

As the opening notes of Until It Sleeps fill the venue, the crowd erupts into a frenzy, a sea of raised fists. The energy was electric, and I felt the pulse of the music vibrating through me as everyone swayed together, singing along with wild abandon.

Beside me, Dean’s face lit up with pure joy, his excitement infectious. I glanced at him, my heart swelling with happiness, knowing this moment was deepening our connection. Surrounded by the thrumming bass and the roar of the crowd, I realized this night will be one we’ll always treasure. The crowd swayed around us, but at this moment, it was just us. He sang every word with fervor, and I couldn't help but join in.

The set list was out of this world: Whiplash, Too Far Gone? Welcome Home (Sanitarium), No Leaf Clover, The Call of Ktulu, and Moth into Flame are just a few they chose. 

During Wherever I May Roam Dean and I were screaming every word so hard that I knew our vocal cords would hate us later. We would usually listen to that song after every successful hunt. It became a staple, a reminder of why we do what we do, and a beacon of hope. 

“HOLY SHIT!” I shouted at him with a huge grin on my face.

“HOLY SHIT!” Dean shouted back and kissed me.

The band was looking so good.

I loved seeing Robert jamming with the fans with his signature long and beautiful braids while absolutely nailing every note on his base and Kirk just being Kirk and owning the stage in his green leather jacket. Lars was an absolute beast even at 60 years old. 

When they started playing Inamorata, James took his time to walk around the stage while playing his guitar and smiled at us all. I could see his face as clear as day: his blue eyes had that sparkle of happiness; he had been doing this for decades and you could still see how much it made him overjoyed to see people enjoying his band's music, his smile was infectious and captivating and I couldn't believe he was standing right in front of me. 

I turned to see Dean – he was completely mesmerized, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, staring at James as if he were witnessing a miracle. I chuckled softly, knowing he was the happiest man alive. It was beautiful to see this vulnerable side of him, and I couldn’t help but lean closer, sharing in his joy as the music enveloped us.

The next two songs were Blackened and One. To be completely honest I forgot about Blackened. I was so high on adrenaline, oxytocin, and serotonin that I couldn't remember the song and I was too embarrassed to ask Dean about it. I knew it was an old song, a classic, and I knew Dean would give me a death stare so I kept my mouth shut and listened to him sing (yell). 

After the forgotten song James and his bandmates decided to rip our hearts out.

The ominous sounds of distant gunfire and explosions played through the speakers and the crowd fell into a hushed reverence. The chilling audio of war set an intense backdrop for the song that used to make me cry. The moment I recognized the opening notes of  One, a thrill shot through me, and I felt my pulse quicken in anticipation. It was as if the world around me faded away, leaving only the haunting melody that resonated with the depths of my soul. I never thought I would hear this song live. My dad showed me the music video when I was eleven (my mother was furious, and thought it was inappropriate) and I cried my eyes out, but loved the song. I rarely listen to that song though, it was too raw and reflected sorrow and despair in a way I knew far too well. 

Dean took my hand and placed a soft kiss as James started to sing. I pulled him by his shirt and kissed him, wanting this moment to last forever. He cupped my face pulling me closer, ignoring the sound of people around us screaming the lyrics. It was just me and him, always. 

When I broke the kiss I was inches away from his face. 

As the crowd roared and the lights pulsed, I turned to Dean, adrenaline still rushing through me. With One echoing around us, I blurted out, “I love you.”

Time froze as surprise washed over his face, vulnerability breaking through his bravado. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the music. At that moment, amidst the chaos, I saw that beneath his tough exterior, he was just as scared of love as he was of losing it.

His eyes locked onto mine, and a slow smile spread across his face. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice softening amidst the music.

Before I could respond, he pulled me close, his arm wrapping around my waist. “I love you too,” he whispered in my ear.

At that moment, surrounded by the concert’s chaos, everything felt right. 

Throughout the concert, I took a couple of videos and even got a picture of James shredding his guitar for my new phone wallpaper, but nothing could prepare me for the next song.

“ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?” James said as the opening riff of Enter Sandman sliced through the air, the arena exploded into a frenzy of energy. Lights flashed in sync with the relentless beat, illuminating faces filled with exhilaration. The heavy guitar reverberated through my body, a primal force that united the crowd in a shared heartbeat.

“DEAN!” I shouted, jumping up and down in excitement. 

“I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW!” He screamed. 

Everyone was singing, fists pumping, the raw intensity of Metallica's sound creating a charged atmosphere that felt almost electric. It was a moment of pure chaos and exhilaration, where the music enveloped us, and nothing else mattered.

Suddenly giant yellow and black balls began to fall from above, bouncing energetically into the crowd. They bounced and rolled, creating an atmosphere of pure chaos and fun. Fans reached up, trying to catch them, laughter and cheers erupting as the balls added an unexpected burst of excitement to the already electrifying performance. The sight of those bright, playful orbs amidst the intensity of the music created a surreal, unforgettable experience. One fell on us too as we jumped with other people making it fly to our left. I was trying to take a video but my hand was shaking while I couldn't stop jumping next to Dean screaming and feeling my throat slowly tighten. 

Kirk nailed his solo, while his hair stayed fabulous and James was getting himself ready for the big finale. 

“Hush, baby, don't say a word,”

“And never mind that noise you heard,”

“It's just the beasts under your bed,”

“In your closet, in your head!” 

Dean and I were screaming at each other's faces, filled with nothing but love for one another. 

“Exit light!”

“Enter night!”

“Grain of sand!”

“Exit light!”

“Enter night!”

“Take my hand!”

“We're off to never-never land, yeah”

James voice was so raw, so strong, I was still trying to figure out how he was 61 years old. 

“Boo!”

“Yeah-yeah!”

“Yo, whoa!” 

The song ended. I was already getting sad because I knew it was the end. I checked my phone and it was almost midnight. 

The song finished and we all cheered and clapped wanting more.

I heard people yell encore, but after 15 songs they were done. Lars threw his drumsticks at us and someone behind us caught it. He said thank you but the crowd was so loud I couldn't hear him. Until he got in front of the microphone and said: “You were amazing tonight! Thank you for coming!” 

We all screamed even louder. Robert came and tossed a couple of picks and people in front of us were fighting to catch it. He threw five picks in total, covering every part of the pit.

“Come on! I want one!” Dean yelled. We were all still clapping. 

“Wait for Kirk! We are close!” I told him. 

He indeed came next and blessed fans with a couple of picks, but Dean was now too close to catch one and it flew right above his head…

“DAMN IT!” 

James, covered in sweat and looking like a God came right in front of us. I was standing there, completely ignoring Dean and trying to remember every corner of that man's face. While I was in Neverland and watching James throw his picks I didn't even register Dean screaming my name. 

“(Y/N)!” 

“Huh?” I snapped back finally and saw him holding a small white pick that had White Fang written on it.

“OH MY GOD!” I yelled. 

“I DID IT!” He yelled back. 

I loved seeing my man truly happy. I loved that band and I loved everything about that day. 

***

Getting out of the venue was a nightmare. The crowd surged around us, bodies jostling and voices blending into a chaotic mix of excitement and exhaustion. I clung to Dean’s arm, grateful for his steady presence as we stepped into the cool night air.

“That was insane,” I said, smiling up at him. He grinned back, eyes still shining with adrenaline. As we navigated through the sea of fans, I felt a rush of happiness, knowing we had shared something truly unforgettable.

“That was incredible!” Dean exclaimed, his voice full of energy. “ Best night ever! Best birthday ever!” His smile widened as he looked at me, clearly still buzzing from the concert. 

My legs were in pain, I was thirsty and sleepy but it was all worth it. 

We were back in our hotel room 10 minutes later, both covered in sweat ready to sleep. 

I took off my clothes right away, feeling like my legs were on fire. 

“I'm in so much pain!” I complained. 

“I cannot feel my legs!” Dean said. 

“I'm gonna shower. Wanna join?” I was in my underwear standing next to him waiting for him to stop staring at my boobs.

“Coming!” He simply said and started taking off his pants while his eyes never left my boobs. I loved the fact he loved my body. I, like any woman in this cruel “man's world” sometimes would look at myself in the mirror and just hate what was staring back at me. His little stares were a strong reassurance that I was bullshitting.

Usually, showers meant fooling around (shower sex was complicated), but we were too tired for anything but kisses. We lazily washed ourselves in silence, kissing each other here and there. 

“So you love me, huh?” He smirked between kisses. I just smiled at him as the warm water was pouring down my back. 

“Yeah, imagine that! You're loveable,” I said as I was shampooing his hair. His eyes were closed but his mouth formed a small o. 

“Well…” 

“Shut up!” I told him. 

After we were all nice and clean it was time to finally get some sleep. I put on a clean pair of underwear and Dean's old Led Zeppelin shirt I also “borrowed” and he put on a clean pair of black boxers. 

We snuggled underneath the blanket, my head resting on his chest, feeling my body slowly relaxing and falling asleep. 

“You really think I'm loveable?” Dean asked, suddenly. I was half asleep, but this question tore my heart a little and now I was wide awake. I knew he thought he was unworthy of love, unlovable, unclean and it made me incredibly sad, especially because he was the definition of a hero with a heart of gold. 

“It’s hard to not fall in love with you, Dean. If you could only see yourself through my eyes, you would understand,” I told him and lifted my head and kissed him, but this time deepening the kiss. I was tired, and my body was in pain, but the urge to be close to him, to love him, was consuming me. He moaned into the kiss and immediately got on top of me. My hands went in his damp hair. 

We kissed for a while, our souls intertwined, our bodies keeping each other warm before his hand went into my now wet panties, his finger entered me making me arch my back, moaning even louder into the kiss. I was still in pain, but Dean's touch was slowly healing me until all I could feel was pleasure and love. His finger suddenly left my panties and I was left needy and desperate, but he wasted no time and took off his boxers, his dick fully hard. “Lift your hips, sweetheart!” He demanded and I did, letting him take off my underwear. 

He kissed me again before he positioned himself between my legs and entered me. I was so wet and desperate that I took him all instantly. 

“You feel so good!” He whispered, his voice deep and raspy, sending shivers down my whole body. I dug my nails into his back as he started to move, light moans escaping my lips.

We were one. One soul, two bodies, always. 

“Dean!” I moaned pathetically over and over again as his pace became more erratic. I was so close, so so close.

“God, I love when you say my name!” He managed to say as his face was buried in my neck. “Say it again!” He said and slammed into me. 

“FUCK, DEAN!” I screamed, digging my nails into his back, even harder. I could feel the orgasm coming like a tidal wave. 

“Oh God!” He moaned into my ear and slammed into me over and over again. 

My toes curled, my whole body stiff as my skin was covered in goosebumps. An intense wave of electricity rushed through me as I came so hard I could see stars. Dean didn't stop until he came into me, filling me up completely. I'll have to worry about potential pregnancy tomorrow since we completely forgot the concept of condoms. 

We were both breathless, covered in sweat, and panting in each other's faces. 

“Best birthday ever?” I asked him.

“Best birthday ever,” he smiled. 

I was not ready to check out tomorrow. I was not ready to board that plane and say goodbye to this hotel room. I was not ready for this to end. 

As I was laying on his chest, slowly drifting away with my thoughts and as my body relaxed and felt heavier with each passing minute, Dean was playing with my hair and before I started dreaming I heard him whisper:

“I love you so much, sweetheart.” 

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Hugo Drama

Hugo Gernsback: hey everyone its me, hugo gernsback Gernsback: editor of Amazing Stories and namesake of the hugo awards Gernsback: perhaps you've heard of them? Clive Barker: oh buddy Barker: buddy Barker: we've heard all about them ha ha

Stephen King: they're named after you? i thought they were named after victor hugo Gernsback: ha ha a common mistake Gernsback: but that's fine Gernsback: i'm not mad at all that victor hugo keeps getting the credit Gernsback: i think its funny Gernsback: in fact i'm laughing

Gernsback: ah yes my precious hugo awards! Gernsback: the most prestigious award in science fiction and fantasy! Gernsback: a place for serious business Gernsback: certainly no room for shenanigans here Gernsback: no room for tomfoolery Gernsback: no room for clownish buffoonery

Gernsback: The Hugo -- an award whose very name rings with integrity & honor!   Gernsback: it is no mere nebula! no paltry clarke! Gernback: the stoker, the howard, the lambda - none can compare! Gernsback: the L Ron hubbard writers of the future award? pah! dust before the hugo!

Gernsback: only the choicest cuts of science fiction and fantasy would ever achieve the lofty hugo award Gernsback: an award forever untainted by shenanigans or hijinks! Gernsback: now to take a big sip of coffee and read this  file 770 report!

Gernsback: what the--?! Gernsback: my beautiful hugos!!! tainted by the foul stench of corruption!!! Clive Barker: yeah boy i bet victor hugo's just sick about it Gernsback: Barker: just sick about what they did to his award Gernsback: Barker: ha ha Poe: clive leave him alone

Gernsback: my hugo!!! you were supposed to be a thing of beauty... not this monstrosity! Dean Koontz: gosh he's so sad about his award Koontz: do you think it would cheer him up if i gave him my nickelodean kids choice award? Poe: i think that would be a very nice gesture dean

Chris M Barkley: [thrusting microphone] Mr gernsback! mr gernsback! a statement for the press? Jason Sanford: [thrusting microphone] how do you respond to the allegations about your award mr gernsback? Gernsback: confound these intrepid newshounds of the 4th estate!

Gernsback: [wiping brow] don't worry, we will be taking measures to fix this Barkley: what are you going to do mr gernsback? Sanford: the people demand an answer mr gernsback! Gernsback: we'll uh Gernsback: we'll nominate an essay called 'Dave McCarty Can Fuck Off Into the Sun'

Gernsback: what a debacle! i cannot believe my good name will now forever be associated with such shady practices! HP Lovecraft: hey when are you gonna pay me for my story you ran? Gernsback: new phone, who dis?

Gernsback: you know who this really hurts? Gernsback: worse than the nominees secretly disqualified for politics? Gernsback: worse than the entirety of Chinese science fiction secretly disqualified for being Chinese? Gernsback: worse than the winners whose awards are now tainted?

Gernsback: the person that this hurts most of all Gernsback: is clearly bitter karella Gernsback: for reasons i can't articulate Gernsback: everyone should immediately go and heap conciliatory praise on bitter karella Gernsback: truly the most wronged person of all

Bitter Karella: [bravely holding back tears] no no it's not about me Bitter Karella: [voice cracking] my only thought is for the hugo community who has been through... so much... Bitter Karella: [stoically gazing into distance] they're the REAL heroes

Gernsback: look how bitter karella keeps a brave face... for our sake! King: god bitter karella is so brave... and so modest! Poe: truly a great goblin Poe: possibly the greatest Koontz: why? what did they do? Poe: dean! show some respect!

[tammyren]

It wasn’t the ending that was planned, but I truly believe it was the ending that was meant to be.

It was heartbreaking, and poignant, and beautiful.

Jared and Jensen have said that they like to think there were five years between the time they killed Chuck and the pie festival. I like to think that too. Sam and Dean, living the life they had always secretly wished for but never dared believed they would have. Years spent in the bunker, taking the occasional hunt, enjoying life with all her ups and downs and peaceful in-betweens.

The very best part of our show is found in the love Sam and Dean have for each other. It’s so rare to find a show that doesn’t insist that romantic love is the only important way you can love—that it should be everyone’s end all and be all. But Supernatural showed us something different. That a love can be intense, profound, life-affirming, beautiful and not be romantic. In those five years, Sam and Dean enveloped each other in that love and they both thrived.

It was bound to end bloody. We were promised that from the beginning. And I’m glad Dean had those five years first. I’m glad he died as he lived—-fiercely, heroically, full-throttle. He died a hero, doing what he loved, his brother by his side.

The barn scene was perfect in the most heartbreaking of ways. Dean’s entire speech, broken and brave, was poignantly devastating. I will never be able to hear the words “I love you so much, my baby brother,” without tearing up. I still live in that barn, with the two of them, watching as Sam’s world crumbles into dust, watching Dean face what’s coming with quiet dignity.

Sam lived. And in doing so, he raised a son He gave Dean Jr the kind of life that Dean had always wished for Sam—a life cocooned in love, a life where the monsters were known but were kept away, a life where Dean Jr could blossom and grow and know beyond anything that his father loved him.

Being that he was named after who Sam believed to be the greatest man that ever lived, I like to think he grew up to do great things as well. But this is not his story.

This is theirs.

And then the show ended on the bridge. The soft way Dean smiled as soon as he sensed his presence. The other half of his soul had been returned to him.

They live there now, together, forever. There’s an endless road and they will travel it together, side by side. Two bodies, one soul, an eternity.

Thank you Supernatural for giving us this ending. Supernatural ended as it began with Sam and Dean. I miss them. I always will.

[colorlessjay]

I don't know if you've mentioned this before, BUT what was the inspiration to your BTTFau?

I'M GLAD YOU FUCKING ASKED

OKAY SO

I used to be in the My Hero Academia Fandom and shipped Deku and Bakugo, so obviously I would be reading fics of them. ONE FIC, IN PARTICULAR, HAD A CHOKEHOLD ON ME

it was Bonnie & Klein by surveycorpsjean. And it's basically Deku and Bakugo being thrown into the future where they find out they're a married hero duo

And that's the main inspiration for the STORY (and interactions)

the actual original drawings were just me finding pictures on Pinterest and going "Man... I want long-haired Dean to wreck early-season Castiel"

But I couldn't stop that. It would be unfair. So I referenced that one Endverse screenshot we all know and love and slapped these two together into a half-hazard story (Not story) made from pure CRACK

and okay, maybe, JUST MAYBE, I thought we needed more future Dean interacting with past Cas. We already have a lot of future Cas going back in time, and I just thought it would be cool to throw my wrench into the ring

I know someone probably already had this idea before me (Pls tag me, I would love to read it) but the AU is fun

[loserchildhotpants]

Got any fic recs?

My absolute favorite destiel fics to date, in no particular order:

a kiss for every season (literally) by sobsicles

A Room of One's Own by NorthernSparrow

a turn of the earth by microcomets

according to all known laws of life by sobsicles

Aching in the Absence of You by sobsicles

Apres by imogenbynight

Dean (and Cas') Top 13 Zepp Traxx by pantheon_of_discord

Deeper and Deeper into the World by perilously

Heroes for Ghosts by pantheon_of_discord

In the Shadow of your Wings by Salr323

in this louisianna bar by fleeceframe

let's take a drive by sobsicles

Life Skills by ilovehowyouletmefall

More Than Ever by Sass_Master

Neglect by vanishingact

oh sooner or later it all comes down to faith by sobsicles

Our Bodies, Possessed By Light by obstinatrix

psalm 40:2 by unicompoe

Seek to Know You Better by ahurston

the cheapest room in the house by biggaybenny

The One Thing You Can't Lose by MajorEnglishEsquire

The Story of You and Me by the_diggler

There's Only One Sure Thing That I Know by blinkiesays

things happen (they do, they do, they do) by sobsicles

Tripping by Hatteress

Unknown Quantities by xylodemon

[bandgie]

Ghost in the Night

Ghostface!Jeongin x fem!reader

AU 1 | AU 2

synopsis: Keep your doors locks, shut your windows, don't go outside after sundown. Rules were quickly put in place when a killer, known as 'Ghostface,' began terrorizing your city. You listened to all these rules until finals night, but still, there's no way in hell Ghostface could get to you. Right?

warnings: MDNI 18+, DUBCON/NONCON, breaking an entry, implied kidnapping, PIV, forced oral (m! receiving), face slapping, blood/murder, face fucking, slight pain during sex (no prep) crying/begging, cumming inside, degrading words (slut, bitch, etc), not proofread,

4.1k words shheesshhh

Another college student was found dead. Their throat slashed along with their stomach. The police found them in their apartment with the words 'COME FIND ME' smeared on the walls with blood. The story along made you queasy. This killer, who the town nicknamed Ghostface, has been on a spree for about two weeks now. It really happened out of the blue. One day, you're attending college parties, and the next, you're too scared to even shop for necessities.

Rumors began to speculate about who it could be. Many people thought it was the rival university, some thought it was the son of the dean who couldn't get into the school, most thought it was just a psycho. The question remained though, why did Ghostface only go after college students?

Your friends dropped out of college upon hearing the news. They urged you to do the same, but you were so close to graduating that you decided to push through. After all, most of the students attacked were sorority or frats, you weren't either of them. If you kept your head down, didn't attend the stupid parties students kept throwing because they liked the thrill, you would be fine.

So here you were, on the second floor of the library late at night. You're thankful your library had open hours until midnight, it was great for last minute studying. The librarian was very friendly, even offering to drive you home. "I hear about what's been happening," she tells you as she rubs her trails hands.

You shake your head, "Thank you for your concern. I really don't wanna waste your time, I'll be fine." She eyes you cautiously, as if hoping you'd second guess yourself and take her offer. When you don't, she sighs. "Fine, deary. You be safe out there." You nod your head and watch her descend back to her from post.

-

A few hours pass before you decide to head home, your brain fried from all the studying. You wave the librarian a goodbye and exit the doors, greeted with the moon and stars in the sky. Had there not been a killer loose, you would have loved to admire the view. It's a blood moon tonight, and you pray that it's a good omen.

While walking back to your dorm, you couldn't help but hear music blasting. You pass one of the frat dorms, watching as people passed out in the front lawns and other vomiting. You grimaced at the sight. How could they party like this when people were being brutally murdered? You ignored their hollers and whistles to continue on your path.

"Hey!" One of them shouts at you. You ignore it, walking faster to get to your safe place. "Hey! I'm calling you!" Still, you maintain your pace. If you keep walking fast enough, you'll be able to-

"Damn girl! I'm tryna talk to you," the guy had caught up to you. He held you by your upper arms stinking of booze. You turned to face him in an attempt to intimidate him, "I'm not interested." You try your best to sneer, but he only laughs. "Never said I wanted you to be. I was just gonna say you shouldn't be walking all alone." His ominous statement send chills down your spine.

"I appreciate you tryna be my hero, but like I said, I'm not interested." You sternness throws him off, and he quickly lets go of your arm. "Bitch," he mumbles, "I was just tryna help." You don't bother replying, quickly turning around to escape his presence. You can't trust anyone, you can't take your chances.

You make a sharp turn, hoping that you're out of his sight. It doesn't take long to hear the familiar steps behind you. Rather than ignoring him this time, you turn around quickly to confront him. "Didn't you fucking hear me? I said-" You stop yourself. You were fully excepting to see his drunk ass behind you, but instead your faced with nothing.

You shiver, whipping back around to scurry home. It was just the wind, you think. You can feel your heartbeat in your chest, feel the blood that pumps in your veins. No no no, calm down. You're fine. There's nothing here. Even while you try to relax your heartbeat, you start hearing the footsteps again.

Too scared to turn around, you run. Maybe there's nothing behind you at all. Maybe you're running like a manic only scaring yourself more. It doesn't matter though, you're filled with too much fear to think rationally.

Another turn, and you can see your dorm complex in the distance. You stop running as fast, convinced that you're just overreacting. You do keep a fast walk though, still unsure if you could really walk so carelessly. Your gaze is up in the sky, watching how the moon gets bigger and bigger.

The sky provides a good amount of light as you finally make your way to the front door as your house. You reach for your keys only to see that your front door is already open. Your eyebrows raise, unsure if your roommate just got home and forgot to close the door. You push it open, taking a peek. The lights are off and it's quiet. Perhaps they just forgot and went to sleep.

You walk in and flick on the light, setting your bag down. It's not until your eyes are better adjusted in the lighting that you see your roommate. She's hunched over, limp on the couch as if she was waiting for you. You gasp at her, jumping slightly.

"Oh my god!" You breathe. "Jesus Christ you scared the shit outta me." You take steps towards her waiting for her response. There is none. "Hey, girl you good?" You reach out to grasp her shoulder and the little contact makes her fall on the ground. It's then that you see the blood that pool on the couch, how easily her head lolls to the side.

You fall to the ground with her, flipping her around to see a giant slash across her neck. Her eyes are wide with fear, her mouth open as if she was screaming. You can't help but try to shake her despite it being in vain, tears falling down your face. You're so caught up in your mourning that you don't hear the footsteps that come towards you.

A shadow hovers over you, and you turn around to see the familiar descriptions you've seen in the news. A black cloak, gloved hands, a white mask with a permanent open mouth. You cry even harder upon the sight. A part of you doesn't think it's real, that it's all just a sick dream you're having. Even as the killer kneels down towards you to stare at your face, you pray it's just a nightmare.

"I had to come pretty quick, you were almost home," it speaks. You don't really register what he's saying. He straightens back up, "You know, I also killed that dude back there that grabbed you. Guys like that piss me off. They have no respect for personal space ya know what I mean?" Perhaps he said that as a joke, considering this man literally killed your roommate mere moments ago.

"Please," your voice is horse and thick with emotion. "I don't want-want to die." You start sobbing, bloody hands cradling your face in an attempt to comfort yourself. The masked man cocks his head to side, seemingly intrigued by your cries. "You think I'm gonna kill you?" He doesn't wait for an answer, yanking your head up by your hair. You whimper and nod, vision blurry with tears.

You try begging more, but all that comes out are garbles sentences and pathetic wails. Ghostface is rather enjoying the show, smiling behind his mask. "You've got a good crying face. Keep begging," his grip tightens on your hair. You do, and honestly he didn't even need to ask. In the midst of your sobs, you can feel the cold edge of something sharp against your throat. You feel it slowly dig into your neck, but not hard enough to break the skin.

The contact makes you freeze up, eyes wide with absolute terror. Ghostface literally moans at the sight. "Fuck, I love that look." He makes the knife dances around your neck, staring at how your pupils dilate. Pleasurable shivers travel his body, and he can feel the blood traveling to his cock. Killing you now would be a waste, he should at least have some fun first.

He removes the knife from your neck throws it across the room. You jump at the clattering noise, almost missing how he uses his now free hand to yank his pants down. On your knees, your face-to-dick with his half hard on. You almost throw up at the realization, eyes staring into the masks eyes pleading.

He shoves his crotch closer to your face, smearing his cock on your face. You keep your mouth closed, determined to keep your dignity intact. Ghostface doesn't like this, and pulls your hair back so hard you think you'll go bald. "You think this is a fucking game?" He forces you to look at him while he speaks. "You wanna end up like your bitch roommate? Huh?" You shake your head as you sob.

"That's what I fuckin' thought, get to work slut."

You don't think you can manage to even keep your mouth open with how violently your sobbing, but Ghostface doesn't wait for you to open up all the way. He quickly shoves his half hard in your mouth. You wrap your lips around it, trying your best not to gag. A part of you thinks about biting down on him, and he must see a glint in your eyes because he yanks your face off him.

The force of his pull makes you cry out, but he responds by slapping you hard across the face with his free hand. Pain surges in your face, and you can't help the continuous tears that fall. "If you fucking bite me, I'll make you choke on your own insides," he threatens. If it wasn't for the corpse of your roommate mere feet away, you would still believe him because of the look in his eye.

"I won't!" You speak through your cries. "I promise I promise just please don't hurt me." Ghostface smiles under his mask, giving your cheeks three more light slaps before shoving your face back on his cock. Determined to prove your life is worthy, you stick your tongue out to lick his underside. You can tell he surprised by the way his breath hitches.

You let your lips run over his length along with your tongue. Salvia quickly begins to pool in your mouth, and you spit on his dick. You carefully reach your hands up, scared that he might slap you again. You can tell he's watching with judgement as you grab the base of his cock with one of your hands. Your other one steads on your thigh as you let your mouth fall open.

Working in one fluid motion, you bob your head to the speed of your hand. His cock is smooth, save for the pulsating of his veins. He's completely hard now, and it's pretty difficult to get more than half his girth between your lips. Your hands become sticky with precum and spit. You can feel how your drool dibbles down your cheeks as you continue to take him in your mouth.

Now there's two hands in your hair, and he's started pull you closer and closer to him. A particular thrust of his hips has you gagging, nearly coughing his cock out. He doesn't let you pull him out, instead forcing you to keep a couple inches in. You're making noises that both sound like moaning and suffocating, and it turns him on a lot more than he'd like to admit.

Watching you try your best to suck his cock like your life depends on it makes him feel alive because, well, your life does depend on it. You doe eyes wide with fear and concentration amuses him, makes him feel almost bad for the fact that he's still going to kill you when you're done. Not to mention your lips, how swollen and red they are from pleasuring him.

A part of him wishes he could take his mask off, make you look him in the eyes rather than his mask. The clear view could possible make him cum quickly in your mouth. Instead, Ghostface makes do with your current state. You're dripping in him and your own liquids, hands feverishly moving easily in the slobber.

All you and him can hear are your choked sobs, wet sucking, and the occasional movement of his hips hitting your face. To both of your shock, you find yourself getting aroused by his cock in your mouth. The fear in your stomach slowly begins to bubble into desire. Your panties getting slightly damp. You can't stop yourself as you clench you thighs together to get some friction.

You try to convince yourself that it's normal to get like this in a life or death situation. There's been cases of people's brain getting so scared that it gets sexually stimulated. You pray that this is the case now because you're starting to think how pretty this man's moans is. He sounds breathy, needy, desperate. Like he hasn't gotten much action in a while, or at least not to this extent.

A self-defense mechanism, you try to tell yourself as your pussy begins to seep through your underwear.

Ghostface suddenly thrusts his hips into your face, his cock hitting your throat deep. You throat contracts around him, and the pressure has him pulsing. You think you might suffocate with how he just keep shoving his dick into your mouth without caring how you claw at his thighs. Then he moans, almost sings his groans as he shoots his cum down your throat.

If you thought you were suffocating then, you must be dying now. His hot cum chokes you and slightly trickles down your chin. Your wide eyes have now rolled to the back of your head, and your chest began burning from lack of oxygen. Perhaps this is how you go out, dead by dick.

Just before you can feel yourself lose consciousness, he pulls away. You gasp and cough for air, hands grabbing your throat. Ghostface takes a few steps back as if he was surprised by his own orgasm. You heave, lungs burning from the intake of fresh air. Before you have the chance to fully recover, he pulls you up by the back of you head and harshly throws you on the couch. You hate how your shirt begins to grow damp with your roommate's blood, but you try to persuade yourself that it's just sweat.

Ghostface is between your legs in a matter of seconds, lifting up your skirt to expose your underwear.

You're still trying to catch your breath as your hands aimlessly attempt to push him off. You hear him snicker, gripping your thighs tightly to pull them apart. He sighs dreamily, "You're so wet baby. I can't tell if you're that turned on from sucking my cock or if you're so scared you pissed yourself."

Shame overtakes you, and you fight even harder to push him away. He only laughs at your attempts, releasing you for just a second to wrap his hands around his throat. Your finger try to pry him off, but all he does it squeeze harder. You can feel your face turning read, the familiar sensation of suffocating returning.

"I thought you would have learned to be nicer to me by now," he tsks. "Be a good girl and let me fuck you. I would rather like to fuck this pussy warm and alive." You can't verbally answer him since he's crushing your windpipe, so you meekly nod. He released your throat just before your vision went fully dark.

His gloves hands trail over your body, cupping at your breasts before continuing on their way down. You're scared that moving would make you faint, so you stay still as he explores your body. You can feel the warmth of his hands through the latex. How strong his fingers are as they reopen your legs. He rubs a thumb on your clothed pussy, keeping on hand on your abdomen.

Then, he does something even he knows he shouldn't do; Takes off his mask. If you weren't so oxygen-deprived, you could probably see his clearly. All you can make out is his dark hair, thick eyebrows, full lips. His specific features are a little hazy, but you can see enough to know that despite your better judgment, he's not bad looking at all.

He throws the mask onto your face, blocking your vision. "Don't take it off," he commands. "Take that mask off and I'll rip your throat out with my hands." You nod as shivers run down your body, "I won't." Those are all the words he needs to heat before moving your under to the side. The sight of your aroused clit has his breath caught in his throat, he's never seen anything as beautiful.

"Oh baby," he practically moans. His fingers feel a little uncomfortable as he plays with your lower lips, but it's not painful. He smears your wetness all over your pussy and thighs. Ghostface is amazed at how much your pussy was drooling for him. Maybe you're sick too, just like him.

Your cunt feels cold when he withdraws his hand from you, and your body reactively chases his touch. You hate how you hear him chuckle at your actions. He takes his finger and shoves it into his mouth, curious about your taste. You can't see too clear, but from the way his eyebrows go up, he likes what he ate.

"I'd kill to eat your pussy," he compliments. "Don't have the time to though, maybe next time."

No prep, no lube, just this man precisely angling his cock to your soppy entrance. You're whimpering quietly, little sounds as if to say please don't when it only entices him more. He lets out a soft groan when his tip enters your soft walls. You try to close your legs, but now with two hands gripping the back of your thighs, you really don't have a choice.

He pushes in, and you use both your hand to cover your mouth. He has more length than girth, so it feels never ending as he slides in. It's slightly painful at first, but you find yourself feeling satisfying full. Your assaulter can't fit himself all the way since you're too tight, but it's enough for him to rock his hips.

There's no warm up to his strokes, and your thrown in forced pleasure all too quickly. The feeling of his sliding in and out, how he manages to get deeper and deeper each time, the bruising grip on your thighs. Now you're covering your mouth to suppress your moans rather than cries. Even though, he can still hear how you squeak and groan as he pounds into you.

He watches as your breasts bounce from underneath your shirt, the way your body completely shifts every time he thrusts into you. You can say you want him to stop all you want, but he can feel how inviting your pussy has gotten. Almost begging in to stay inside, to pump you full of his cum.

Now he meets you at the hilt, his pelvis slapping against your ass. It's getting hard to breath under his mesh mask, but you don't dare to take it off. You should be ashamed with how you look up at him, practically admiring his expressions and how he groans. From what you can see, his mouth is fallen open as he moans carelessly. Like he didn't just make you take his cock, like he didn't just kill your roommate without remorse.

The pain is completely gone, and you find yourself wondering how you could have been in pain to begin with. He's so good with his cock, like he knows where in your cunt you like it. His hands stay at your thighs, but you wish he could use his gloves fingers to rub your clit. You might've been gripping his by his broad shoulders if you weren't too busy quieting yourself.

Even without the stimulation on your lower lips, you can feel your stomach tightening. The warm orgasm slowly collecting in your abdomen. You let your legs fall open even more, eager for him to drive deeper into you. He accepts happily, laughing maniacally. "God fuck, I knew you were a fucking slut. Putting your nose in a book, acting like a good little girl when you're just as sick as me."

'W-What?" You can't stop from questioning him. Has he been watching you this whole time?

You don't think he's going to answer you with how hard he's driving his hips into you, but he does. "The library. You- ngh fuck!- rather be a fucking loser than party. That scared of me huh?" He cackles. "So scared that you take my fat cock." He stops talking for a few beats to focus on fucking you.

"Aw shit, I'm gonna cum inside you." A statement, not a request. His thrusts become sloppy, aggressive. You cam feel his tip in your throat with how deep he is, and you lose your composure. One of your hands whisk down to rub your aching clit. The movement startles him for a second, but then he smiles once he realizes.

You're despicable. You should feel huge amounts of disgrace as you finish on his cock, but you don't. Instead you feel bliss with your walls squeezing around him. The sudden pressure of your pussy makes him whimper, then cum right after. He's so warm, so lively that you forget that he's a serial killer.

He gives you a few more deep strokes to ride out his high, making you tremble. Your legs shake as he slowly pulls out, but his grip on your legs in firm. He watches as his and your cum oozes out, like blood from a gash. He moans at the sight, feeling his softening cock twitch.

You're breathing heavily under him, still whimpering from the aftershocks. The post nut has not hit yet, and you're tying to relish in his body warmth. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that he's just a hook up. You can tell yourself that you'll get Plan B after this, that you'll take a shower and go to sleep. And when you wake up in the morning, it'll be like nothing happened.

That's not true though, and your fantasy is quickly shut down when his hands wrap around your neck. You gasp at the feeling, your weak hands clawing at his wrists. You both know your fighting is in vain, he was going to kill you regardless of what you did. Tears spring your eyes as you come to terms with your fate. So much for graduating on time.

Maybe it's your tears that have an effect on time. Maybe it's the fact that your pussy is still dripping with him, but Ghostface is having a change of heart. He uses one hand to rip the mask off your face to look into your eyes. It's his favorite part when taking someone's life. Yours though, are not the same. Yes he can see the sadness, the pain, but he can see something he hasn't seen before: Acceptance.

With the mask off, you're able to see his face clearly. He looks like he's thinking with the gentle creases on his forehead. His nose is scrunches and his eyebrows furrowed, and you can't help but think he's..."Cute."

It's the last thing I.N hears you say before you pass out, face turning a purple color. He quickly releases his grip on you, pressing a finger under your chin to feel for a pulse. When he feels it, he sighs in relief. Killing you was on his list since he first saw you weeks ago at the library. You did party, he's seen you before. Yet, watching you turn into a hermit because of him was romantic. He loves having that much power over people, over you.

I.N knows better than to play with his food, but he might make an exception this time. After all, he does have a spare room waiting to be used.

a/n: this took a few days and I feel like I could have done better but here ya go, feeback is appreciated update: au part here!

[zepskies]

One Promise

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader 

Summary: After the battle at Helm’s Deep, you find it difficult to enjoy the victory feast. Aragorn notices your melancholy and tries to comfort you.

AN: Don't worry, I've got more Dean Winchester, Jason Teague, and Beau Arlen stories coming soon, but I had to finally get out my first ever LOTR story. So if you're a LOTR fan, I would love to know what you think of this! I thought it would only be right to start with Aragorn, our rugged hero. In this one, the reader is Éomer and Éowyn’s sister (the middle child, age-wise).

Word Count: 1.4K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, hurt/comfort, and fluff

“Tonight, we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country,” said Théoden King.

You watched from the crowd before him in the great dining hall of Medulseld, unable to hide your heavy heart. You needed no reminder of what the victory at Helm’s Deep had cost your people.

Théoden raised his chalice full of Rohirric ale and declared, “Hail, the victorious dead.”

“Hail,” the crowd echoed back to him, as was the custom. You repeated yours more quietly before you drank from your cup. The ale tasted like swill on your tongue; not because it wasn’t well-made, but because you didn’t have the heart to enjoy it.

Soon the hall was filled with the chatter and boisterous laughter that came with good food and heavy drinking, and after a battle such as this one, there would be no shortage of spirits. You weren’t surprised that Éomer, your older brother, instigated a drinking game with Rohan’s guests.

“No pauses, no spills,” he said, handing Gimli and Legolas each a pint poured straight from the cask.

“And no regurgitations,” the dwarf added, a mischievous gleam in his eyes when he glanced at the elf.

You smiled, but even in that, it didn’t reach your eyes. Éomer noticed you, or more accurately your unusual quietness.

“Are you all right?” he asked. You saw through his usual stoic expression to the concern laced underneath. You tried to give him a proper smile when you nodded.

“Yes, perhaps just tired,” you said. You took your leave of them with the idea that you might get some fresh air, see the night stars. The memory of being trapped under the depths of Helm’s Deep while a bloody battle raged above was seeped in your subconscious. After the fortified walls of the stronghold crumbled, you remembered thinking, A great crypt this will make of us. Buried forever under ash, orc blood, and bone.

And then the morning came, along with the sun—

“Oh,” you gasped at knocking into someone’s sturdy form. Aragorn, the Ranger, stopped you from tumbling to the floor. His hands were strong, but gentle holding you steady by your arms. Your gaze caught on his left hand, where a silver ring on his forefinger, holding a small green jewel, reminded you that he was no mere rugged ranger. He was the main reason any of you survived the long siege.

“Are you all right, my lady?” he asked. His voice was even and kind. Always kind.

You tried to steady yourself inside. You always struggled to do so when you looked too deeply into his eyes, so wonderfully blue as a cloudless day. Your face began to warm in a blush.

“I am sorry, my lord,” you said, quick and breathless. Your sloshing cup lied between you two. After a moment, it settled a little. You noticed he didn’t have a drink of his own, and so you found yourself raising your cup in offer to him.

Those cloudless eyes rose to meet you. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and his hands slid around yours to bring the cup to his lips. You were spellbound where you stood; you couldn’t even remember blinking while the man took one long sip. He eventually released your hands and inclined his head in thanks.

When you smiled, it almost reached your eyes.

His head tilted slightly. “Are you truly well?”

Your brief happiness faded, and your lips pursed. “Why must everyone ask me that?”

His earnestness shifted into amusement.

“It is a good night,” he said. “One that is hard won.”

“Hard won, indeed,” you agreed, but your tone was heavier.

It didn’t escape his notice as you nodded to him in respect, hesitated briefly, then slipped away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw your younger sister Éowyn watching, a small frown marring her features. She had been looking for him.

Aragorn gave her a reserved smile to acknowledge her, but his gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to the path you took away from him. So, he followed you.

He found you based on where his instincts led him—out of the dining hall, and onto a wide ledge that served as a balcony overlooking the immense hill on which Meduseld stood. The cold night air tugged at the skirt of your dress and blew your hair wild on the wind. You held yourself against that cold.

You also flinched at Aragorn’s hand on your back, no matter how gentle he was. His brows furrowed.

“I apologize for intruding, but it is cold out here,” he said.

After a moment, you shook your head and turned to him, drawing your cloak closer to your body. “You are not intruding, my lord. I only…I needed room to hear my own thoughts.”

A weight settled over Aragorn’s heart when he looked at you, so forlorn. Since he’d come to Rohan, and since Théoden King had been freed of his madness, the light in your eyes had begun to brighten day by day.

Aragorn fought at Helm’s Deep for all of Rohan so that its Golden Hall might not fall to Sauron’s malice. But in his mind, it was also your face that too often flashed before his eyes while he fought and scraped. He drew strength whenever he remembered your smile, however rare it was to behold.

“And what do they say?” he asked you in a quiet voice. Quiet, but not without care.

You were looking out at the dark horizon instead of him. You held yourself tighter against the chilled wind.

“That this peace is a lie,” you said. “That all too soon, the next battle will be upon us…and you will leave.”

You looked over at him then, holding his attention far greater than you knew.

“You all will leave, and this hall will once again become a colder, darker place,” you said.

Your admission struck him, so much that he didn’t at once know what to say. He only knew that he didn’t want to see you walk away from him again.

He reached for your hand, the one that lay at your side. He stepped closer into your space, until his broad form was all you could see. Admittedly, there was nothing else you wanted to see, save for the pale glowing stars above. There was a time that you thought you might never see them again.

Aragorn raised his free hand to curl a finger beneath your chin. He murmured your name, and you allowed him to tilt your face upwards so he could see you. Your tearful eyes slowly met his.

“Hope is not lost,” he said.

“But you cannot promise that all of you will return,” you said. With a steeling breath, you finally allowed yourself to be more honest. “That you…will return.”

Aragorn’s eyes widened slightly after he caught your meaning. Then, he softened.

“No. I cannot promise that,” he said.

You bit your lip as a tear fell down your cheek. He swept it away, drawing his thumb tenderly there against your skin.

“But there is one thing that I can promise,” he said.

Your head tilted in question, and it gave him the perfect opportunity. He leaned down and touched his lips to yours. At first it was cautious, a question. You inhaled deeply. Your eyes fell shut.

His second kiss was firmer, heady like red wine. Your trembling hand rose to touch his bearded cheek, and he steadied you by holding your hand there. He broke from you, just to press another tender kiss into your palm, then the inside of your wrist. Your breaths came out in a shaky rush.

“What does this promise mean?” you asked.

Aragorn paused, looking up at you again. He found you smiling. It was small but true as it lightened your face from its despair. Now, he saw hope. He saw fledgling joy.  

His lips tugged at a similar smile. “It means I will carry you with me, even when we are apart.”

He moved your hand to rest over his heart.

“It means I carry you here now, even though I stand before you,” he said.

You splayed your fingers out, so your thumb could caress at the edge of warm skin not covered by his collar.

“Then I will do the same.”

AN: Eomer is coming next on the LOTR train! 💜

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[stanfordsweater]

hello i'm new to the supernatural fandom and you have been in my recommendeds for a while, reasons to ship wincest???

i thought for a long time about how to respond to this so imma link catherine tosenberger's excellent analysis of the first few seasons where "the most resistive aspect of Wincest fan fiction is that it gives the main characters a lasting happiness that the series eternally defers."

to begin with, there are a lot of people who will argue for the toxic codependency and i love them and also love it but the reason i've been here for well over a decade is because of the way that wincest offers you two paths: you can follow the path of those who write endless meta about how one or the other brother is abusive and how toxic it is and eventually brainwash yourself into being unable to ship it, or you can follow the path of love and light and perspective and recognize 1. these are fictional characters and b. there are no two characters in genre tv who are as devoted to each other as sam and dean. there is no plotline that follows through fifteen seasons of being obsessed with each other.

by choosing the incest pill, you grant yourself access to fifteen seasons of generally good tv ABOUT YOUR SHIP EXCLUSIVELY. sam and dean are the main characters and you will always know, opening up an episode, that they will be there, doing their weird-ass jealous obsessiveness, and you will never despair about not having them present, together, even if they're fighting or struggling or depressed. that is a very special thing!

now, beyond that, assuming you've watched the show, there's many reasons to cross the incest line. FIRSTLY, everyone involved was well aware of what they were doing. we have a few choice quotes i've collected below about their relationship that ramps up the intensity:

--

"Ultimately, they are pathologically dishonest with each other because John Winchester was pathologically elusive to them," consulting producer Ben Edlund says. "They learned that the truth is this dangerous thing, and that you shouldn't speak it. He even taught them to keep secrets from each other for strategic purposes." With all of the supernatural, apocalyptic, tragic drama woven into the show, Sam and Dean's relationship is rooted in human emotion. "When you look at the dysfunction that they show to each other, it comes directly from how they were brought up, and that's a kind of dysfunction that people in this world continue to face. 'Why didn't my dad tell me that he loved me yesterday?' We're just people sharing the same kind of thing," Edlund says.

--

"Why do you think Dean has had such a hard time forgiving Cas when he did forgive Sam for a similar betrayal?"

I think the easy answer is blood, I think the easy answer is family, even though if there was a family in this show it would include Bobby, it would include Cas, it would include these-- these-- kind of, broken war-torn heroes we've come to know, and you know, Bobby has that famous line, "family don't end with blood," but it is his brother, at the end of the day, that's the closest he has to a companion, and has had for a companion for many years, so I think with Cas there was always, "he's unnatural, he's an angel," and I think that for Dean, relating to someone like that, it's tricky, relating to monsters, relating to anything supernatural, his brother is flesh and blood, it's tangible, he can touch that.

--

Obviously the relationship between Sam and Dean is central to our show but we’ve been building this rift between Sam and Dean all season, so that led to the idea of having this young male character that sort of idolizes Dean and does all the cool stuff that Sam won’t do, and that’s Dean’s perfect mate.

(the thing sam won't do is literally swapping spit with him. tell me i'm lying)

--

in the hunt, page 37

--

Not all fans are content simply to attend conventions. Some of them want to take a hand in the story, and their fan fiction can explore areas mostly untouched on the show, like the latent homoerotic suggestiveness of the Winchesters’ intense relationship.

-THE NEW YORK TIMES

--

"eyefuck" became a well-known script shorthand because of how intense j2 looked at each other as sam and dean

--

it's a terrible life draft script:

Note B) They are supposed to be together

Note C) each been all alone in separate life finally found kindred spirit

--

in the hunt, page 158

--

i haven't included any eric kripke quotes because he has so much wrong with him that i don't want to enable it. this is a compliment. it is one of the highest i can give.

SO-- what these quotes tell us:

sam and dean are relatable because their relationship is intensely human

sam and dean have shared secrets they cannot voice to one another but that nonetheless make them inseparable

people have been writing motherfucking essays about sam and dean's homoeroticism since the show aired

within the mythology of the show, sam and dean are meant to be together above all other relationships

...oh, you need more? i didn't think i'd get this far. um... okay... look at them???

if you choose to walk this path you will find yourself crying and taking screenshots every time they look at each other or touch each other or hold each other and you will thank the lord in heaven that we were granted this intensely wild and beautiful homoerotic relationship back in 2005 and praise jesus that you can always return to their raw sexual chemistry-- "In fact, much like the early X-Files, the show is fueled past its failings almost entirely by the chemistry between the two principals, the boys who, like Mulder and Scully, generate enough sexual tension to power a small city" as quoted by whitney cox in 2006 in an article that otherwise fails to bring anything to the table, sorry if you love it for your meta but also literally just go read the catherine tosenberger essay

you still need more????? jesus, what have you shipped prior to this? well, go watch the pilot and enjoy the fact that the first scene these two have together they are wrestling on the floor (sexually) and getting all romantically silhouetted against this beautiful lighting

and then go watch a few fanvids like this or this and then watch the pilot and watch this and then read this post about how supernatural happily wields incest as a tool of horror and as comedy and then scroll through my entire family horror show tag to understand more and then watch this immaculate video that deals with the whole thing and think about how all these things were happening in 2005 and remember the fact that sam and dean are the main characters of the universe... and then maybe just watch the show and please do not become an annoying shit poster who just talks about how they hate it🙏