#He was on deaths door and still looked good

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Cock Worship with ES!Bumblebee

NSFW MDNI 18+

Gender neutral and sex neutral reader, racially ambiguous, oral, face fucking, sub reader dom Bumblebee, I’m so normal about Earthspark Bee I promise

Bumblebee’s pelvis twitched as his spike rested atop your face. He couldn’t hold back the smile that formed on his intake at the sight before him. Your eyes were wide open and practically heart shaped, your lips parted with gentle yet excited breaths passing through, and your form sitting so obediently on his berth.

He measured the length of his spike against your face for a moment. Bumblebee hummed in thought as he rubbed his cock against your face, his transfluid leaking from his tip down your forehead, nose, and finally across your cheek. He couldn’t hold back his amusement at seeing your chest moving in needy pants of air. The idea that you were so excited just having his spike laid over your face made a smug feeling wash over the mech.

“Cute,” Bumblebee cooed cupping the back of your head. “Do you want my spike?”

The way you jerked forward then stopped yourself from pouncing on his heated cable didn’t go unnoticed. “Yes,” you said breathlessly. “Yes! Please can I suck it?”

Bumblebee’s cooling fans jittered at your request. Of course he wants nothing more than to shove his spike down your throat and watch you struggle to swallow his overload but it was so fun watching you squirm and wait for him to order you around.

“Yeah?” He mocked while stroking the back of your head. “My desperate little slut wants to suck me off so bad?”

You clenched your fists against your lap and let out a whine. “Please!” You begged doing your best to stay still. “I want your cock, please!”

Bumblebee’s hips stuttered as his optics fluttered closed at your begging. You were going to be the death of him.

“Frag,” he groaned thrusting against your face. “You know I can’t resist you when you beg like that.”

He could hear your needy panting and practically see the heated air steaming out of your mouth. Bumblebee’s own excitement continued to leak down your face and he could tell by the way you licked around your lips you were desperate to have him in your mouth.

Bumblebee guided your head back as he pulled his hips away from you. His spike slid down your face until the tip made contact with your lips.

He could feel his spark throb in response to how you looked up at him with nothing but pure love as your lips puckered against his tip. Pink transfluid leaked down your lips and dribbled down past your chin. “Go ahead, Sweet Spark,” Bumblebee purred. “I’m all yours.”

Like a well trained pet told it can finally eat its food you dove onto Bumblebee’s spike. You grabbed around the girth of his phallic cable eagerly. You rubbed your hands up and down his spike as you panted in excitement. “Thank you,” you murmured as you pressed kisses to the tip of his spike. “Thank you.”

You ran your wet tongue along the length of his cock trying not to slobber all over the hot metal. Bumblebee chewed on the flexible metal of his lower lip trying his best not to lose his cool and start fucking your face. His door wings fluttered in bliss at the loving attention you payed to his throbbing spike.

His transfluid was spread all over your lips like a perversion of lip gloss.

You followed your tongue up his spike with wet sloppy kisses. There was no point on his thick throbbing cable that your lips didn’t touch. Every hot inch of metal was lovingly covered in spit from your licking and kisses. For you in this moment, his spike was everything. The baby blue biolights, the yellow flexible metal, the way it weeped pink fluids, and how Bumblebee’s own shaky moans echoed in your ears.

“Frag,” Bumblebee groaned watching you savor his spike. “That good?”

“Mmm,” you moaned running your lips up his shaft. “You taste so good. I wish I could just live off of your cock.”

Bumblebee punctuated how he moaned your name with a sharp swear. You were going to be the death of him.

“You’re just going to keep teasing me or are you gonna let me fuck that pretty little face?” Bumblebee groaned over his whirring cooling fans.

Your eyes lit up at his offer and you quickly dropped your hands from his shaft. You looked up at Bumblebee and opened your mouth invitingly for him to take whatever pleasure he needed from you.

“Primus,” Bumblebee moaned pushing the back of your head towards his spike. “You’re too good to me.”

With a sharp thrust of his pelvis he pushed his spike as far as it could go into your mouth. Your gagging only spurred him on. The slobber you produced around his cock mixed with the pink transfluid creating a foamy light pink liquid.

“So good,” Bumblebee moaned thrusting into your face. “You’re doing so good.”

You kept your eyes trained on his optics as you choked and sucked around the massive intrusion in your mouth. Your drool dribbled down your chin in an erotic streak of spit and transfluid. Bumblebee’s servo stayed steady on the back of your head as he thrusted into you trying to balance his neediness with not tearing your poor throat.

By now you feel like your body should have adjusted to his size. Your body should have molded itself to being the perfect pleasure doll for the mech.

You only looked up at Bumblebee with pure love in your eyes as he took whatever he wanted from between your lips. His own optics darted over your face suddenly feeling nervous at the unadulterated attention you gave him.

“Look at you,” Bumblebee groaned trying not to shove the rest of his spike down your throat. “Look at how good you take my spike. Primus what did I do to deserve such a-“ He cut himself off with a wailing moan as you hollowed your cheeks and tried to suck more of him in.

“Little slut,” Bumblebee laughed giving you a harsh thrust that made you squeak and gag. “You’re too much.”

His thrusts picked up in intensity as your eyes watered from the battering his spike put your throat through. You knew you’d be raspy and sore for a while but God was it such a pleasant reminder of what your lover did.

“I’m gonna overload,” Bumblebee moaned his thrusts becoming shaky. “Take it all! Primus I want to see you swallow it all!”

You did your best to move your head in time with his thrusting. You worked so hard for his release and you were going to get what you wanted one way or another.

His needy moans flowed through your ears like a symphony and his transfluid flowed into your mouth like liquid gold.

The acidic taste was difficult to get used to but now you practically wished you lived on it.

Bumblebee gave your mouth a couple tepid thrusts as you tried to swallow around his cock without choking. “Primus you’re so good,” Bumblebee moaned. He swore under his breath as he slowly slid his spike out from between your lips. You followed him trying to keep him inside of your mouth earning a low chuckle from the mech. He held your head in place so he could properly pull himself out from the warm grasp of your mouth.

Transfluid leaked from the corners of your lips and dribbled down your chin. You gave a couple coughs when Bumblebee finally pulled out of you.

“You look wrecked,” Bumblebee laughed his faceplate flushed blue.

You licked around your mouth earning a low groan from the yellow mech before you. “I wanna warm your spike,” you said in a raspy voice.

Bumblebee hissed feeling his over stimulated spike twitch at the idea. “No,” he replied giving your head some gentle pets. “I don’t want you to go completely voiceless.”

You nodded trying to hide your disappointment and instead opted to grab his servo and nuzzle your face into it.

“I love you,” you rasped.

“I love you too.”

[antennaed-kenzy]

Nightmare on Christmas [Itoshi Sae]

❄ Itoshi Sae x f! reader

❄ notes: not proofread, 18+, kissing, blood, peeling,

❄ Day eight of the Christmas Series.

❄ Extras: Work count 1.6k words The eight day of the twelve days of Christmas with someone who had my kid. Masterlist of series

waking up to the sound of a lovely voice to mask the fears in your sleep. Fears of not being able to save her again and again.

Blood dripping from her nose stains the white snow. She stood still, letting the blood glide from her nose falling where it was necessary. Sae watches not able to run to his wife and help her, cover the imperfection, and heal it right up.

“Help me, Sae.” She speaks in a monotone voice. 

Does she want help? Is she being real? Is she real?

Sae tried to move his feet, trying to move his legs that were being covered by the snow. He tried to reach out to his wife and help her. He tried to speak, but nothing came out of his throat. He opened his mouth and he could not. He tried to move any muscle in his body, but nothing moved. 

The only thing beating was his heart. The feeling of it being broken down the bites and ashes. 

“Sae, save me!” She cried out even louder. Her feet picked up through the thick snow. Her nose rushing blood. “Save me, Sae!” Her eyes glisten from water wanting to break down. “Sae!” 

Bloodstained every surrounding it touched. She called out his name louder, cries down her cheeks, her voice straining and cracking. The white snow had turned red, red from her. Not the kind of red that reminds you of love– no the kind of red that reminds you of hate, of death, of dying.

“Honey are you ok?!” 

Sae shots of from bed in a cold sweat. His eyes follow the sound of the voice. {Y/n} and their daughter Yumekui greeted him with a morning smile. 

“Honey, are you ok? You are sweating?” {Y/n} repeats giving her husband a worrying smile. 

The daughter Yumekui jumps on the bed in glee, “Guess what me and mommy did, Daddy?” 

Sae grabs his daughter placing her in his lap. “What did you and Mommy do?” He asked her with an intriguing tone. 

“We made cookies!” The daughter giggles. 

Sae engulfs her daughter in a playful hug. “Are they good?” 

{Y/n} moves her husband's hair out of his face, and he looks at her with a doubtful smile. “They are good.” She speaks softly to him, speaking not to his face, but pressing through his heart, “Are you good?” That is what she wanted to say. 

“Can you go get me a few cookies then, Yumekui?” Sae placed his daughter on the floor and she ran out of the room to the kitchen. 

The female lays beside Sae on the edge of the bed. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist pulling her close so she didn’t fall off. They admire each other, looking deep within each other. 

“Sae~” {Y/n} sang his name, the melody itching his brain. “Did you not sleep well?” She asks combing her fingers through his messy dark burgundy hair. 

He softly nodded his head, watching her mess with his hair. The feeling made him calm from the nightmare. Even forgetting about it. 

“Remember,” She looked into her husband's eyes, “We have somewhere to be today.”

“Huh?” He hummed.

“The Christmas party today. We have them this whole week till Christmas Eve.” {Y/n} sat up from the bed, Sae's hands falling off her form. 

The male sits up on the bed. Their daughter enters the room with a sugar cookie the design of a Christmas tree. “Here Daddy!” She gave him the cookie, a grin of satisfaction spread on her face. 

Sae takes a bite of the cookie, his face lights up when the flavor comes in contact with his taste buds. “This is really good.”

{Y/n} kisses her husband's cheek, “Of course it is, we made it.” She lifts her daughter on her shoulder. The two females walk out of the room. Sae watches them until the door shuts behind his wife. 

Sae gets up from bed going to his closet to pick out clothes for the event he is going to with his wife and kid. She looks through the finds a nice dress shirt and suit pants. He didn’t want to try hard, it was for his wife and he was just a plus one. 

A while later the small family set out for the Christmas house party. Yumekui was in a cute red and green puffy Christmas dress, and {Y/n} was in a long green dress that hugged her curves perfectly.  

Sae was in the driver's seat. He wore a white dress shirt with dark green pants that matched his wife’s dress. They drop off their daughter with his play friends before they make it to their party. Sae drops off his wife and the entrance as he finds somewhere to park in a lot of many different cars. 

{Y/n} was already talking with some friends when Sae entered the place. He found a bar and sat down at the end wanting no one to talk to him for the night unless it was his wife. His sky-blue eyes scan the room. 

People were all dressed in dresses or suits of some form. It was a formal Christmas party for famous people in all types of demographics. There were directors, actors, singers, sports players, and his wife’s category artists. There were about 100 people around, and all of them seemed to be putting on a facade. 

Sae’s eyes found his wife. She was talking to someone who didn’t seem an ounce interested in what she was saying. His heart went out to her, seeing she wanted to leave the conversation but was stuck where she was not wanting to seem like a bitch. 

After watching her with the person for a while they walked away. {Y/n} sighed letting out a huff of air she didn’t know she was holding in. 

The women around his wife were pretty and captivating, but she stuck out from the crowd. Her body language spoke values in a crowd, her actions were sincere. To Sae, she was an angel. 

“Sae!” A voice cried out for him. 

He whipped his head at the sound. Blood splashing the snow the same color. Her face, his wife’s face was being ripped off by herself. A lump in his throat as he tried to call out for her.

“Sae, save me!” {Y/n} cried, her hands covering her bloody face. “I don’t want to look like this!” She cried, tears falling on the bloody snow. 

The dark burgundy-haired male tried to move from his spot but he was bound to the ground. She cried out for him, her face bloody and eyes watery. 

Sae tried to move his legs in the snow, but chains were pulling him down. He saw his wife bleed and plead for his help. Yet he was helpless not being able to move, not able to reach out and grab his wife in a hug to comfort her. 

“I wanna crawl out of his body, Sae.” “I wanna change, Sae.” “I don’t wanna be like this anymore. Sae.”

“Sae?” A calming voice echoed through his head. 

“Sae?” There it was again.

He looked around, though it was only the two of them. 

“Sae? Wake up,” The voice got quieter. 

He opened his eyes. ‘It was a dream.’ Sae looked around the room. His wife was next to him, a panicked expression on her face. Whipping off the tears on her face he sat up beside her. 

“Sae, have you been having nightmares?” She questions him, grabbing his hand from her face. 

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t want to say anything, but the look in his eyes said all she needed to know. 

“Talk to me about it. What have they been about?” She propped herself on her knees, facing him head-on. “I’m your wife, you married me. I want to know what is going on with my husband. Even in his sleep”

“They have been about you.” He stated.

{Y/n} was taken aback but let him continue. “We stand in the snow, you are across from me, your face bleeds– well your nose bleeds, you peel off your face, you hold your body piercing your fingers in deep in your skin. You stain the snow with your blood. I stand away from you as you cry out. I can not move, I cannot help you. I stand useless as you cry out for me, wanting to be saved though you cause yourself pain.”

Without another word from his mouth, {Y/n} wraps her arms around her husband. Hugging and holding him tight, not letting go, not letting him move away. “I’m so sorry, Sae.”

He kisses the top of her head. “I know why you do what you do in my dreams. Every time we get in the car from an event of yours. You always mumble to yourself. Take how you want to change your body. Talking how you wish to look like the other woman there.” He pulled away from the hug, looking his wife dead in her [e/c] eyes. “You are perfect in my eyes. I married you for a reason and I wish for it to stay that way in every universe, every time we are reincarnated I wish to be in your arms, hold you, and show you the world.”

“Sae,” Her [e/c] eyes start to tear up as she looks at her husband, love in their eyes toward each other. 

“I want to spend Christmas with you, not going to their party where people shun you away. I see how they talk to you, uninterested. When you are the most interesting person I know.”

“I love you, {Y/n}. I don’t want you to change.” 

a/n: this was supposed to be longer, but I'm behind and im actually going to jump. ;)>

[cressidagrey]

The moment I could see it - Part 6 (The End)

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other. 

Warnings: 

GP's POV, mention of cancer, mention of parent's death

Author Notes: Happy Holidays! Better late than never, right?

If there was a truth universally acknowledged in the Red Bull Garage, then it was this: You didn’t upset Ariel Cane without paying the price. And the price to pay was dealing with an absolutely furious Max Verstappen. 

(Actually they had put that in the inoffical onboarding document a few years ago that every newbie was handed on their first day… After that one stupid strategist had thought that making an inappropriate comment to Ariel was the thing to do. The fallout of that had not been…pretty.)

Everybody knew this. Everybody kept to that truth. It wasn’t about disagreements about work. Ariel was more than capable to eal with that. It was about her being treated with actual respect an not like her whole reason to being there was for her to fetch Max’s coffee. 

Everybody knew that rule. Everybody kept to that rule, if they knew what was good for them. 

Unless you were Jos Verstappen. 

Jos Verstappen clearly thought he was above treating Ariel with a modicum of respect. Jos Verstappen was a fucking idiot. 

GP had half a mind to deck Jos himself, for daring to put his hands on Ariel.

Actually he would have probably done that. If he hadn’t also had Max on the radio in the middle of the race.

That was the one thing that stopped him from physically intervening. The race was his priority. 

GP knew that Max was going to loose his fucking mind over the fact that they lied to him. And quite frankly, he had ever right to it. 

At least, GP got to watch Connor drag Jos Verstappen away from Ariel by the scruff of his neck. Only after the damage was already done…but it was something. 

Something. 

Jos, predictably, didn’t look very pleased to be bodily removed.

"Let go of me!" he shouted, but his protests were in vain. Connor’s grip was firm and unwavering, his own anger etched on his face. Jos had clearly crossed the line.

Which also more than made Christian’s reaction to all of this more than reasonable.

Still, none of this suddenly erased what had happened. None of this fucking fixed the fact that Jos Verstappen had dared to slap Ariel across her face. 

The rest of the race passed by in a blur, GP keeping his focus solely on Max and the race. Max’s voice in his ear was the only constant, a reassuring presence during the chaos.

 When the checkered flag fell, though, the tension of the race was joined by the tension of the impending drama. The radio went silent, the moment before they was all dreading.

Quite frankly… GP had expected worse.

Max let himself be reasoned with. To an extent. 

He also didn’t bite off the head of any journalist even when it was clear that he wanted to…

To his credit, Max showed remarkable restraint. He was clearly seething with anger, his expression tight and his hands clenched into fists, but he somehow managed to hold himself back. 

GP could see the storm brewing just below the surface, but Max somehow kept it together.

Even when the journalists clearly wanted to get a rise out of him, asking about the confrontation with his father and with Ariel, Max managed to stay (relatively) composed.

He kept his answers short and clipped, his jaw clenched shut as he did his best to keep his temper in check.   

Max's responses were sharp, and it was impossible missed his obvious disdain for the question. He answered curtly, his body taut with tension. GP winced every time Max opened his mouth, knowing the press was going eat up the sound bites.

Still, all of them breathed a sign of relief when Max disappeared into his driver room. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving everyone else in a silent daze.

There was to hope that Ariel would be able to work her increible magic…somehow talk him away from the brink. 

GP just hoped that everything that ha happene in the Garage that day wasn’t going to destroy Max an Ariel’s friendship.  

The fallout of that particular scenario would be catastrophic. 

He wasn’t the only one who was thinking that, he was quite sure. 

30 minutes later, Max showed up again, to take his trophy home. 

And to the shock and surprise of everybody...he was calm.

Max, who had stormed off in anger only half an hour ago, returned to the public eye with an almost eerie calm. His expression was neutral, his body language relaxed, as he accepted his trophy.

The contrast between the fiery, angry Max from before and this almost eerily calm version of him was jarring.

Whatever Ariel had said to him… Whatever it was, it had been effective. 

GP could see the change in Max. The anger and tension from before were gone, replaced instead by that…calm. The tension having bled out of his body, his fists no longer clenched. 

God bless Ariel and her innate ability to stop furious blonde dutch racing drivers to go down the warpath. 

She was the only one that had this effect on Max. Regardless of whatever other shitty thing was going on, when Ariel was there as well, then Max would manage to hold it together. 

Sadly, GP had given up years ago that the two of them would ever actually admit the feelings that they clearly had for each other...but…there was that hopeless romantic somewhere deep inside him that hoped that one day the two of them would realise how absolutely perfect they were for each other. 

After the trophy, Max and Ariel disappeared back to their hotel room (GP didn't believe for one second that it wouln't end with Ariel curled up in Max's room, because he could be worth than a fussy mother hen…) and GP decided that he needed a bloody drink. 

So he ended up dragging Connor to the hotel bar and buying him a drink because that was clearly the least he owed him.

They weren't alone. Hannah, their strategist joined them as well, for a bit of a...gossip session.

And the topic, of course, was the usual. Max and Ariel. The two of them were always a source of intrigue an speculation within the Red Bull Team and today’s events ha only aed more fuel to the fire. 

"I am not definitely not envying Gemma right now," Hannah said with a snort as she sipped her cocktail. "She’s supposed to get Max to give out a statement. How high are the chances he’ll even talk to her?"

GP chuckled at that. "I'm sure she'll manage," he said, although he did not envy the publicist's job either. Max could be a handful even at the best of times, and today he would be… particularly uncooperative.

Not that anybody would fault him for that. 

Connor took a large swig of his drink. "Poor Gemma," he sai with a sigh. "She has her work cut out for her."

Connor was texting, his phone not stopping vibrating and he sighed.

"Who is it?" GP wondered.

"Who do you think?" Connor gave back drily. "Percy.”

Ah. Ariel’s brother. 

“That was quick,” GP said drily. Word had gotten out fast. 

“Sky has the whole thing on video,” Hannah said with a grimace. “I am surprised it took this long. Besides…the entire garage has been buzzing.”

GP sighed, taking a sip of his own drink. “Of course it did,” he said. “This team loves their gossip.”

"I didn't think Cane was actually going to care though," Hannah said carefully. “He has never seen…particular…” Hannah was clearly struggling for words. 

GP sighed. In the near ecae that he knew Percy Cane now, his opinion about Ariel’s brother had changed drastically. From “asshole who in’t actually care about his sisters” to “emotionally stunted genius who loved them very much, was absolutely horrible at showing it, but was actually a great guy once he stopped talking in riddles”. 

It took a while to look behind the facade. Percy Cane ruled over the electrical engineering epartment with an iron fist, didn’t accept anything but the best from the people who worked for him…but was also the first one who woul defend any of them if they had done nothing wrong. 

“He’s actually a nice guy, once you get to know him better,” GP said pointedly. “And Ariel is his little sister. He may not always shows that…” (or at least not in any way considered normal…) "But both of his sisters are very important to him."

“Percy can be…difficult,” Connor agreed drily. “But he is really, really fun once you get to know him. And he is also very protective over Ariel and Emma,” Connor acknowledged. "I've seen Percy in full big brother mode, and it's not something I'd like to experience myself. I am pretty sure he is going to destroy Jos Verstappen's whole life," Connor said drily."Not that I am going to stop him."

Hannah snorted, taking a sip of her drink. "None of us would," she said. "He can be pretty intimidating when he wants to be."

"I would not want to be on the receiving end of his wrath," GP added with a grimace. "Remember the one time that engineer spilled coffee all over his tablet?" he asked with a snort. "How long did all his emails come back as undelivered again?"

Hannah chuckled at the memory, a grin on her face. "Two weeks," she supplied with a snort. "So is he going to do the same thing to him?"

"He did that over a piece of tech. This is Ariel," Connor responded drily. "His revenge will be much worse."

"I need a drink," Gemma said at that exact moment as she slid into the seat next to GP. "Right about now."

"Well, looks like you came to the right place," GP replied with a smirk, gesturing to the drinks already on the table. "What do you want? It's on me."

Gemma reached for the bottle of tequila. “Apparently we need to celebrate.”

Hannah chuckled, "What exactly are we celebrating?" she asked curiously. 

Hannah wasn’t the only one who was wondering that. GP did too. 

"The end of a half a decade of stalemate," Gemma said drily after knocking back her drink. "Guess who finally figured things out?"

GP just stared at her. "No."

"Oh yes," Gemma agreed with a smirk. "4 hours ago, and it's as serious as it can be."

GP's eyes widened as Gemma spoke. "You're kidding," he said, his disbelief evident in his tone

Connor and Hannah simply looked at each other, their mouths slightly agape.

"No way," Connor finally said, shaking his head. "They actually stopped dancing around each other?"

Gemma nodded, a wide grin on her lips. "Oh, it's true," she said, taking another swig of her drink."They've finally stopped being idiots."

GP could only stare at her, still somewhat in awe. "This is...unbelievable," he said finally. "I honestly thought they'd never figure it out."

He had thought that the whole Max and Ariel thing was going to end in the worst kind of heartbreak to be completely honest. 

Hannah huffed, a mixture of disbelief and amusement on her face. "About bloody time," she said bluntly. "I was starting to go grey over here, waiting for them to finally get their act together!"

"Tell me about it," GP agreed, rubbing the back of his head. "It's been obvious how they feel about each other for years now. But they were so damn stubborn about actually acting on it."

Connor snorted, taking another swig of his beer. "You're preaching to the choir," he said wryly. "I've been ready to lock them in a room together for about five years now."

"Don't think Percy would have approved of that," GP pointed out with a smirk, and Connor chuckled.

"He's going to lose his mind," Connor said with a shake of his head. "The two of them...in a relationship. It's going to be an interesting time, that's for sure."

Connor's phone pinged again. He just sighed.

"Is he losing his mind already?" GP asked with a laugh.

Connor's face was a mixture of amusement and resignation as he glanced at his phone. "Yes," he replied simply. "Apparently Percy has written a whole 40 pages pdf document, which is his version of a shovel talk, so now he wants me to give him Max’s email address."

The table burst into laughter, the tension of the day finally easing into a lighthearted mood.

"A pdf document," GP repeated, almost unable to wrap his head around that. "Seriously?"

"With footnotes and all," Connor confirmed, a hint of amusement in his voice despite his words.

Hannah let out a bark of laughter. "Percy really knows how to go all out," she said, shaking her head with a grin.

"How many of these words aren't three syllables or more?" GP asked drily. "Maybe we should ask him to dumb it down a bit if he actually wants Max to read all of it and understand it. "

The group laughed again, with Connor snorting into his beer.

"Yeah, I don't think Percy has ever heard of the concept of dumbing it down," he said, shaking his head. "Guy is a literal genius. If anything, he's probably wondering how to use even more obscure words."

GP chuckled, raising his glass. "To Percy's incredibly thorough and undoubtedly terrifyingly effective shovel talk," he said with a grin.

The group laughed again, glasses clinking as they toasted to that.

"Here's to Max and Ariel finally getting their act together," Connor chimed in.

"It only took them five years," GP added.

"And countless missed opportunities," Hannah added with a smirk.

"Better late than never," Gemma agreed, taking a sip of her drink.

[tvseries-writings]

Hiiii I loved all of your wandanat fics and was wondering if you could possibly do a agathario where the reader has a panic attack please!?

The Road is cursed

Agathario x reader

TW: past suicidal attempt, Death, panic attack, nightmares.

You knew the Witches Road would be hard, you knew it since your wife, whom you had not seen since the death of your child, had come knocking on your door with a strange teenager and three other witches you did not know.

You knew, of course you knew, the road had always been known as a suicide for all witches but you accepted anyway; maybe because of those violet and gray eyes you love so much despite everything, despite the death of Nicky, of your Nicky

"Y/n...y/n, wake up!"

You jerk awake, sweat running down your back causing the blouse you are wearing to stick to you. The cold face of Nicky, your baby, has been haunting you for two centuries, and you know you are not the only one to have nightmares about it.

Agatha's hands run down your back, over your face, through your hair...Her lips move but you cannot actively focus on what she is saying. Rio is just behind her; she has always been good at hiding her feelings but you can still see the concern in the deep lakes of her eyes.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare...just a nightmare"

You pull away from her touch and their worried glances. Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, your hands are shaking, and your breathing is only quickening.

"You should breathe" Rio says, moving away from the tree he was leaning against and stopping twirling the knife blade against his own index finger.

"You're not helping, Rio"

Agatha whispers angrily as she leans toward you, trying to get closer but pulling away as soon as she tries.

"Y/n, honey, you need to breathe okay?" "That's what I just said"

Rio says, her smirk faltering though as she sees that her strange humor is not making you laugh, not this time.

The purple witch approaches, her cold fingers encircling your wrist. Despite her touch, you cannot shake the image of your lifeless child and her cold, motionless body in your arms. You pull away from her touch and give them your back, their gazes burning into your back as you look up at the haunted sky above your heads.

"Y/n, honey, what did you dream?"

"You know what I dreamed, Aggie"

You whisper, your voice cracking and your chest becoming heavy again.

"I visit him...often. He always asks me about his moms, his other two moms...I miss him every single moment and there is not a day when I don't hate myself for destroying our family."

Rio whispers, you can hear her voice tremble as she says it. You know how much it cost her to take your son's soul, you remember the suppressed tears and the cries Agatha and Rio hurled at each other

that night.

"It's been 100 years and I still miss him like air, I-"

Your breath becomes a gasp as your lungs don't seem to want to cooperate.

"Is he okay? He-"

Agatha stops midway, watching you carefully and chasing back the worry about your son for a few moments.

The purple witch approaches once more, rests two fingers under your minus and lifts it up, forcing you to look her in the eye.

"Y/n, hey...you need to breathe"

"Y/n I can't Aggie, y/n I can't...why can't I see him? I-"

Your chest rises and falls quickly; your heart beats fiercely as a

familiar ache, characteristic of the last decades of your existence, begins to radiate down your chest.

"Mi amor, you can see ghosts, and Nicky is not a ghost; he has moved on. I made sure he did

" "I miss him so much, mi vida. Please take me to him, please!"

You sob, the dream has shaken you deeply, and your child's face is burned into your mind.

The Witches Road is playing with you and is winning.

Agatha remains silent, watching the interaction between you and his ex-wife from afar, looking at the loves of her life and feeling inside that they are hiding something from her...that you are hiding something from her.

"Y-you shouldn't have saved me that night. You shouldn't have!"

Your sobs become desperate, your cries tearing through the silence of the night as the air makes its way, with difficulty, inside your lungs.

"I had to mi amor, I couldn't lose you too"

The Green Witch kisses your forehead, letting her arms wrap tightly around you.

Ironic to see Death in love with two mortals, one a necromancer to boot.

That was exactly how you had met Rio, through your powers. You were trying to resurrect a cat when a sensuous woman had knocked on your door with a Dagger in her hand and a sadistic smile that you had immediately fallen in love with. At the time you could hardly have imagined that Death would show up at your little cabin in the woods for a little resurrection ritual. And then...well, then you had met Agatha.

"What the hell is she talking about, y/n?"

Agatha seeks your gaze but you ignore her, watching the mushy ground beneath your feet.

Confusion and fear invade your aura as you watch your ex-wife anxiously.

Death takes a deep breath, places the blade back in its sheath and approaches the witch.

"Ten years after Nicky's death, she...tried to trade her life for her own but I

stopped her."

You close your eyes, the weight and despair of that night burning in your mind like a

newly lit fire. You remember the spell, the burning in your chest and the candles, in a circle, around you.

A life for a life, it was simple basic necromancy...but magic is never simple.

It had to be the soul of someone who loved Nicky only as a mother would and who

would spend eternity burning in the flames of hell to bring him back to life. You had accepted that fate but Rio had intervened just in time, breaking the spell and

controlling you like a hawk for the next thirty-five years only to disappear again.

"Why the hell you didn't tell me? HOW COULD YOU HAVE KEPT IT FROM ME, RIO!!! I could have stayed by her side, I could have-"

"I tried to tell you but every time you chased me away! You were too angry with me, Agatha!"

The two women in your life keep yelling at each other as if you were not there, accusing each other again and again, just like the night Nicky died.

"STOP!"

You shout so loudly that your voice affievolves soon after and an unpleasant tingling radiates along your vocal cords.

"Stop fighting, stop...stop."

"Why didn't you come to me? I could have given my soul in exchange for Nicky's, you don't deserve to burn in hell, I-"

"I couldn't lose you too, Agatha. Neither Rio nor I could. I just wanted to bring our baby home-"

"Not at the cost of your life, you idiot!"

Agatha growls, frustrated at the idea that you can't conceive that even the thought of losing you would kill them for good.

"Yes it would, damn it! I should have saved him, I would have-"

A sob shakes your chest as your legs give out and you fall to the damp ground. Rio supports you and holds you close, whispering phrases in Spanish as the purple witch soon follows suit. Unconsciously, you begin to scratch your wrists, your scars reddening before the two

witches can stop you, and only then does the purple witch notice the scars that centuries before were not present on your otherwise perfect skin.

"Oh doll..."

Agatha whispers, her hands overlapping yours, her fingertips caressing your

scars as silent tears slide down her cheeks. Rio leaves a kiss in her hair before kneeling in front of you and locking your wrists together, preventing you from hurting yourself by scratching.

Sobs violently shake your body, so violently that Rio is forced to hold you tightly in her arms to keep you from hurting. Soon, your breathing becomes so fast, so rapid and warbling that oxygen no longer reaches your

brain quickly and your body collapses in their arms.

"Y/N!"

Agatha screams, shaking you by the shoulders as Rio gently lays you down on the ground.

"Rio don't take her away from me, please, please don't take mi vida away from me. Por favor, por favor mi amor, por favor."

"Shh, shhh, it's okay. I won't take her away from you Aggie, it's not her time yet, she's fine, she's fine mi amor."

Death cradles her wife in his arms while cradling your head in her cold lap until, after interminable minutes, you seem to regain consciousness.

"Welcome back mi vida,"

Rio whispers, leaving a kiss on your forehead before letting the purple witch do the same.

"The road is taking its toll on us, doll"

Agatha presses her forehead against yours, her hands running over your face, caressing your neck and pausing over your heart, listening intently for your chest to rise and fall rhythmically.

"Damn it, you're going to make me lose my immortality if you keep scaring me like this," she whispers, her worried gaze ill-concealed by the defensive attitude that is characteristic of her person.

You sigh, detach yourself a few inches from them, and place your hands on the wet, muddy ground beneath you to sit up.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't ready for the Road but I wanted to come anyway ... when you knocked on my door, I ... I don't know, I went back to when we were in the cabin, in our bed, and Nicky was snuggling between the three of us all night."

"I miss him like air, since I had to take him away...I can't help thinking about him. But I cannot die, though I have tried"

A sad laugh leaves Death's lips and both you and Agatha hold your beloved in your arms. You say nothing to her; it would be hypocritical of you to do so.

You tried countless times to take your own life and Agatha, well, she had thought about it more than once.

"I forgive you Rio, I forgive you my love."

The purple witch kisses Death's lips, their tongues entwining as the passion of centuries spills over in a single, single instant of time. They pull apart only for lack of breath.

"I've missed you so much...Goddess, I've missed you so much I-"

Your voice freezes, you cannot put into words how much their distance has cost you and you are certain that they have felt what you have felt.

A second later, your hands are sliding down the purple witch's back, your two fingers unclasping her bra as her neck is assaulted by your passionate bites and loving kisses. Agatha moans, her fingers clawing at your hair as your lips collide and tongues dance for dominance; her other hand tightens, however, around Rio's right breast as the latter slips a hand between your legs, causing you to moan.

A minute later, you are lying, naked, on the mud of the Witches Road and making love as you haven't in ages.

Needless to say, when Billy sees you, he screams and covers his eyes, running away as eagerly as a 12-year-old.

Thanks for reading! It’s been a while, uh? Merry Christmas people! (And Have a great day!)

Support me on ko-fi

Taglist: @wandanatsbaby @bioquake-archives @bioquakeweek @daisyjohnsonx @wandanatsgirlfriend @chaekhan @station19 @resilientpendragon @so-no-kissing-then @thearchpitbullmx @ashadash0904 @kingshitonly @alwaysgoodnight @callistic @xjule @yuleni18 @alexxislexi @mrsdanversromanoff @coollemonsaresour @hushed-woodsman @razorscooteer @eponine-xx @maniacallinc @michelle170 @scarletwidow @tati3001 @your-my-mission @mr-nicely @hi-i-1 @anniethurs @ktstwice @scarlet-raccoon @maria-403 @goldfishthegr8 @wandanatfan @looiegirl-blog @agatharioscoven @agathario-did-the-thing @agathario-all-along

[pricegouge]

alright.

cw: price x trans!reader. no gendered terms used so you can be trans in any direction you want. attempted deadnaming.

he knows something's amiss the second he opens the door to the pungent, chemical scent of too much cleaning product.

it's not that you don't keep a tidy house. some clutter, maybe, but only enough to feel homey, and he's never once found fault in the level of dust or dirt build up, even with his heightened standards after so many years in the service. but this level of cleanliness, the pristine shine of counters, and the cheery scent of orange peel and anise in the simmer pot on the stove. it could only mean one thing.

you're nowhere on the ground floor, though his search reveals more bleached grout, shampooed carpets. john calls up the stairs for you sweetly, a warning of his approach just a much as a barometer by which to gauge your response. he's never shied away from conflict, but he's only made it this far in life by being smart, never going in half-cocked, or with bad intel. he curses silently when you don't play along, either not having heard him or just outright ignoring him.

it's not looking good for him, that's for sure.

"sweetheart?" he tries again, beginning the ascent to your shared room. abject fear doesn't set in until he hears you banging around, taking out whatever pent up aggression you still haven't worked out on his things, by the sound of it. he scrubs a palm over his whiskers, checks the calendar on his phone to ensure he hasn't missed an important date by mistake. he doesn't truly start to panic until he hears you mutter an honest to god 'lousy good for nothin'.'

whatever he's done, there's nothing for it but to take your anger on the chin and start groveling.

you don't even give him time to greet you when he opens the door, spinning around to level him with that same look you use on the boys when they're being insufferable. it transforms you into some wild thing, fiery and tempestuous with sweat caking your hair to your temples and your breath puffing your chest up. he's half a mind to tell you how gorgeous you are, but he's a little afraid you'll make him swallow that swiffer duster if he does.

"dove -?" he tries and you huff before he can even finish, turning away to continue your tirade, mumbling incoherently all the while and he must have a death wish cause he follows after you, hands gentling on your shoulders even as you try to shrug him off. "love, look at me, please. what's wrong? hm? have i done something?"

cagey and stiff, you fight him even as he envelops you, hissin' and spittin' the whole way.

"it's nothing, john. can you -?"

his eyebrows nearly escape the confines of his forehead. "nothin'? that why you damn near polished a hole through the dining table?"

a sputtering sound, somewhere between a cough and laugh. it's all he needs to breathe a bit easier. if it had been something he'd done, you'd have mouthed off about putting a hole in him next time. he guides you to the bed, shoves the wadded up pile of dirty linens you'd clearly intended on laundering up the mattress to clear a spot for you. the smell of febreze wafts around you as you sink into it, not an inch of the house having eluded your wrath. "alright. it's alright now. c'mere, look at me," he coos, waits for you to abide before giving you an overly sweet smile. "now, what's happened?"

you sag, cut strings, the tension in your spine leaving you entirely the second he guides you through one long breath. unexpectedly easy, as if you wanted to be settled and soothed. "got a holiday card from my dad," you grumble, voice muffled somewhere in the pocket of his neck and shoulder.

he hums, the nature of your frustration starting to take shape. your father - absent the entire time he's known you, at least, though from what he gathers that hadn't been a recent development even back then. you exchange texts sometimes, often laugh when he forgets your birthday. chew john's ear off when the man has the nerve to say you're absent from his life when you fail to wish him a happy easter. he waits for you to elucidate. offers some semblance of a truce when he waits too long. "that was nice of him?"

a scoff, some wriggling. you produce a folded up drug store card with a chicken in a santa hat printed on the front. "misspoke," you croak, shoving the card into his hands. "he wrote someone a holiday card."

john sighs, presses a kiss to your scalp as he drops the card right back onto his lap. he doesn't need to open it to know what he'll find, though he's honestly surprised you'd even bothered to tell your father, not when you speak with him infrequently enough that him knowing your preferred name even seemed to matter. but it was your call and if you'd done so, only to have your wishes ignored, he'd half a mind to find this man and unload some built up issues he'd been collecting and ignoring ever since you'd first asked him to leave it.

"oh sweetheart," he murmurs, follows it with your preferred name because he wants you to know how much he likes it. "i'm so sorry. but you know who you are, even if he doesn't accept you, and -."

he stalls out when you squirm away from him, pluck the card right back up from the floor where it had fallen to press it, open, into his face. you're angry again, stalking around the room before he even realizes you've stood.

"you're sweet, but too optimistic, john." the accusation nearly levels him, not one that's ever been laid at his feet. it's a shock that only festers, bottom giving way when you continue, "that motherfucker wishes he'd deadnamed me."

well. doesn't that just pique the curiosity. he's not sure what he expects to find when he uncrumples the card. a medical bill, maybe - your father deciding that all these years of separation ought to be repaid literally. maybe the fool had gone and had another kid, sent you the ultrasound like you were all still one big happy family. he's decidedly not expecting to see the damn thing addressed to someone else entirely. so much so that he nearly asks who it's for before taking a second look, reading it over again.

wrong name. wrong deadname. a slight variant of your legal, christian name. and not even a matter of getting you confused with another family member because as far as he can remember, no one in your extended shares this name. and he can certainly remember more of your family than your damn father can. no, the man had simply forgotten what was on the birth certificate he'd signed. close, though.

"well, he's got the first syllable right," john hedges, folding the card carefully closed along the same seams you'd pressed into it. you don't find him funny, barely even acknowledge he's spoken as you continue to pace. he tries again, casting desperately for an excuse he knows the man doesn't deserve. "is he... unwell?"

"he's fucking fine, john. he's just an ass."

"he's getting up there," john counters, standing, creaky kneed, to trap you in his arms again. "you haven't seen him for years, right? maybe he's -."

"he's fine. called him to thank him for the card," you scoff, take a minute to resettle yourself before speaking again. "i was thinking maybe the same thing, you know? not unreasonable. but he's completely fine. even asked to speak with his girlfriend, just to be sure she hadn't noticed anything either. fit as a fucking fiddle. just forgot what he fucking named me."

without the distraction of cleaning, or pacing, or cursing, your frustration has nowhere to go except tears. he holds you, presses kisses to your crown. calls you by your name - your real one, the one you chose - just to make sure you know someone remembers it, he supposes. honestly, he's at a bit of a loss. not something he's overly used to, people's ability to surprise him having long since worn off. but this is a new one. or, at least not one he's equipped to handle. fathers forgot their kids all the time. forgot to go home after that trip to the store, forgot to call on their birthdays. his own old man had forgotten plenty in his time, too. but he's still fairly certain the man would have been able to recall what he'd named his son right up until the day he'd died.

by the time you've calmed down you're ready for a shower. he'd join you, but he hears the way your stomach growls, food evidently forgotten all day. so he pulls the curtain closed on you after one last kiss and picks his way to the kitchen where he starts first by sifting through the trash, finding the merry red envelope addressed to the wrong person at the bottom, buried under all the waste you'd excised during your cleaning spree. he takes a picture of the corner, tastefully crops out the name that had given you so much grief. sighing, he returns everything to the bin and washes his hands, careful to ensure he won't accidentally scald you.

the rest of the evening moves easier. there's nothing that can be said and you both know it, so you don't. he can let it settle as long as you want, doesn't mean to keep scratching at a fresh wound. so you eat dinner in relative silence, and you sit in relative silence when he lets you use him like a pillow on the couch after, your favorite comfort film playing softly. and that's fine. the next bit he can do alone, anyway. got your father's address tucked safely in his pocket already.

he just thinks someone should make sure the man's okay, is all.

and if i write a comfort fic where your daddy as hell boyfriend takes care of you after you open a card from your flesh and blood father to find it addressed to the wrong fucking name, are y'all gonna be super chill and never ask what inspired it?

[morningsharksworld]

I wonder what Haz wound be like if his SO got pregnant. Like imagine his big ol hands holding a tiny little baby.

How hazard would be with a pregnant S/O

Hazard would probably be a mix of awe, nervousness, and overwhelming protectiveness when he finds out his SO is pregnant. At first, he'd be stunned—this isn't something he thought would happen, but once it sinks in, he'd be fiercely devoted to ensuring everything is perfect.

His personality would take a softer turn, especially around his SO. He'd become hyper-vigilant, making sure they're comfortable, safe, and well-cared for. Whether that means running out at odd hours to grab whatever craving strikes or gently scolding them for overexerting themselves, Hazard would be all in.

When the baby finally arrives, seeing him with such a tiny, fragile little being in his big hands would be an adorable contrast. He'd handle them like they're made of glass, his gruff exterior melting as he whispers to the baby or rocks them to sleep. Hazard might not admit it outright, but he'd spend hours just staring at the baby in disbelief, marveling at the fact that something so small could mean so much.

Despite his tough-guy persona, he'd be completely smitten—probably to the point where anyone who so much as jokes about the baby gets a death glare. He’d still carry his usual edge, but now with an added layer of “don’t mess with my family.”

(Lil Scenario cuz why not 👹)

The soft hum of the television was the only sound in the room as Hazard dozed on the couch, one arm slung lazily over his eyes. The day had been long, and he’d finally allowed himself to relax. But his peace was shattered when he heard the sound of shuffling footsteps.

He cracked an eye open to see you standing in the doorway, hands resting on your growing belly, a determined look on your face.

“Hazard” you said firmly.

He groaned, covering his face with his hand. “What now, love? I’m tryin’ tae sleep.”

“I need strawberries. Dipped in chocolate. And some salty chips.”

Hazard let his hand drop, staring at you in disbelief. “Strawberries? In the middle o’ the night? Ye ken the shops are closed by now, aye?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “The baby wants them. Are you going to deny your own child?”

“Ach, there it is” he muttered, sitting up with a sigh. “Blamin’ the bairn again, are ye? Not like ye weren’t the one who ate half a jar o’ pickles this mornin’.”

“Hazard!” You whined, your pout deepening.

He groaned as he got to his feet, running a hand through his messy hair. “Right, fine. Strawberries, chocolate, an’ chips. Salty ones, no sweet. Anythin’ else while I’m out wanderin’ the city like some daft idiot?”

Your face lit up with a smile. “That’s all. Thank you.”

“Aye, aye” he muttered, grabbing his coat. He paused at the door to shoot you a smirk. “Ye’re lucky yer cute, else I’d tell ye tae wait till mornin’.”

====

It took him longer than he’d like to admit, but Hazard returned triumphantly, carrying a bag of goodies. He’d even managed to find a 24-hour café that sold freshly dipped chocolate strawberries, though he’d had to endure the strange look the barista gave him.

He dropped the bag on the counter and held up the small container of strawberries. “Here ye go, love. Freshly dipped strawberries, chips, an’ a bonus bar o’ chocolate for good measure. Don’t say I never do anythin’ for ye.”

You gasped, taking the strawberries with a grin. “You’re amazing. Thank you so much!”

“Aye, amazing’s one word for it” he muttered, watching as you bit into a strawberry with a contented sigh. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “Ye’re lucky I love ye. Or I’d have left ye tae dream about these bloody things instead.”

You smiled at him, your eyes soft. “You’re going to be such a good dad, you know that?”

His ears turned red, and he quickly looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Ach, don’t get sappy on me now. Eat yer strawberries afore they melt.”

But as you laughed and continued to eat, Hazard’s lips curled into a faint smile. Maybe all the late-night runs and strange cravings weren’t so bad after all.

[scoobydoodean]

Not a lot to say about 7.10 "Death's Door" which presents a pretty clear (and I think very touching) narrative. But one thing I want to talk about is Sam and Dean's responses to Bobby being at death's door and Dean filling the assumed role as the oldest, handling most practical matters surrounding their adoptive father's hospitalization and death (and being afforded far less breathing room partly as a consequence). We already know from 3.10 that Dean is Bobby's emergency contact. In that same episode, Dean refers to Bobby as his father for the first time. Dean makes the same claim in 4.01, and of course—in 7.10, Bobby makes it very clear that he sees Sam and Dean as his sons.

The first way we see Dean taking on the practical role as the oldest son is by facing the initial news about Bobby's condition from the doctor alone. Whether it's good or bad, he knows he has to be the one to hear it. Dean stands tall but rigid—bracing himself. In contrast, Sam noticeably hangs in the background. He isn't ready to shoulder any of the information about Bobby's condition yet without his older brother as a buffer.

Sam is looking very little brother shaped when the doctor leaves and Dean turns around to see how Sam is reacting to the news that Bobby is stable.

Notice how Sam stands—as far back against the wall as possible. Dean had been standing right in front of the door to Bobby's room when the doctor emerged. In contrast, Sam's position protected him from having a direct line of sight into Bobby's room when the curtains opened, because he can't look.

Note: I'm not judging Sam for this. It's a reasonable reaction to the fear of losing a loved one. I also think it's in keeping with Sam's previous avoidance of situations that would force him to confront Bobby possibly not making it or in a tenuous emotional state (some examples where I've talked about this here and here and here... or more generally—#sam and bobby).

Sam's feeling more ready to face news about Bobby's condition at Dean's side the next time we see the brothers. They're being told it's possible that Bobby will live, but that he has high swelling, and they can't operate until it goes down. They're also told that most people with this injury die, and "Right now, it all comes down to [Bobby]".

Immediately after the doctor finishes telling them this, with no time to process it, a man comes in asking for Bobby's next of kin, clearly needing to settle some practical matter (Dean initially assumes related to insurance) once again, Dean handles this alone. We see him framed at the very end of the hallway in a separate area, Sam once again noticeably absent.

Dean isn't even being asked about insurance (which he's already not happy about) but about donating Bobby's organs. This guy's timing is absolutely awful. He also assumes Bobby will die, when Dean is focused on just having been told that Bobby could still make it, which makes Dean very upset.

THEN Dean exists the hospital to cool off, and yet again fills the role of the oldest son by inheriting the role of avenger. He sees and confronts Dick Roman alone in the parking lot, swearing to avenge Bobby (which Dean does at the end of the season—as he did John and Mary in 2.22). Dean's actually so confident and scary that—for all his gloating bravado and soulless smiles—Dick appears genuinely threatened for a moment (of course—we already knew from Dick's master plan to get rid of them in 7.06 that he takes The Winchesters seriously as a threat).

While Dean's been gone handling "insurance" (Dean says that's what it was about when Sam asks) and measuring dicks with Dick (which he does mention to Sam), Sam's worked himself up to looking into Bobby's room from a distance.

It's here that Dean asks for an update, and Sam is in the position of being the one to have received news about Bobby that Dean doesn't know yet. Bobby's swelling is going down and he's breathing on his own, which are both good signs. But the doctors aren't sure about surgery yet because it could be risky, and there's dead brain tissue. Bobby's currently stable, but Sam has begun to face the fact that Bobby might not make it. Note that he’s also had time to process alone after hearing the latest news. Dean hasn’t.

Sam then asks to talk to Dean and starts walking out of sight of Bobby again, and here's where he pulls his signature Sam maneuver: Trying to process what he's trying to face through Dean, by trying to make it a problem that Dean hasn't accepted the possibility that Bobby might not make it... when there's not... actually any real reason to push Dean to "accept" that possibility right now. If Bobby had been in intensive care for weeks, that would be one thing... but it hasn't even been 24 hours since he was shot. Whether Bobby has a high probability of making it or not, Dean really hoping he will... isn't actually a problem Dean needs to "deal" with right now for his emotional health or any other reason.

SAM: Can I talk to you? DEAN: What? Talk about what? SAM: You know what. DEAN: No, we're not gonna have that conversation. SAM: Well, we need to. DEAN: He's not gonna die. SAM: He might. DEAN: Sam. SAM: Dean, listen – we need to brace ourselves. DEAN: Why? SAM: Because it's real. DEAN: What do you want to do? You want to hug and – and say we made it through it when Dad died? We've been through enough.

Sam's choice of words here—"because it's real"—isn't an accident. When Dean walks out, Sam sits and immediately presses his thumb into his palm—the action he uses to dispel hallucinations of Lucifer—who is no doubt mocking him and taunting him with hope of Bobby making it being a pipe dream. We know from 6.22 that one of hallucifer's taunts is that Sam never even left The Cage and all of this has been an elaborate hoax to give Sam hope then completely crush his spirit. As a result, Sam feels he needs to go ahead and accept the worst case scenario so that "Lucifer" can't crush him with despair he wasn't ready to feel.

The thing is... this is a problem very specific to Sam. It may be a reality Sam needs to accept on a particularly quick timeline, but it isn't a "we" situation—it's a "me" situation, and what's "good" for Sam isn't necessarily "good" for Dean. There's nothing here that Dean needs to "accept" at this stage. It's not fair to claim he's in denial. Dean's "crime" here is wanting to hope in something he’s been told is possible, and he doesn't appreciate Sam trying to make that a problem and trying to take his hope away prematurely. But Sam finds he needs to "accept", and instead of facing that within himself, tries to make it a problem Dean is having that Sam needs to force him to work through.

[kmgkmg]

HELLO MERRY CHRISTMAS - LEE SEOKMIN

word count: 2.1k…

pairing: seokmin x gn!reader

synopsis: a situationship with seokmin turned in to something more with the help of some mistletoe...

genre/s: fluff, non-idol!au, friends-to-lovers

warnings: suggestive and flirty but nothing actually happens.

rating: pg

a/n: long time since i wrote so i might be a bit rusty! this has been a v loose idea for the past year or so but inspiration hit so i wrote it tonight! the title is based off of hello merry christmas by gsoul! happy holidays :D

“I’m telling you, it needs more flour,” Seokmin whispers at a volume loud enough for you to hear. Despite the objections, his hands held the bowl in place sturdily while you fervently mixed the cookie batter.

You frown and momentarily stop mixing. “And I’m telling you, we’ve already added nearly twice the amount of flour than the recipe called for.”

Seokmin stops nagging, realizing he was probably the cause of your failed batch of cookies. Joshua’s birthday party is less than a day away and while you got your present for Joshua weeks ago, Seokmin’s present was as good as non-existent due to delayed shipping. So here the two of you were, baking sweets for your friend’s birthday as it snowed outside. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

You stop whisking, finally breaking your focus on the bowl. As you think of an answer for him, you can’t help looking at the sad creation in the bowl in front of you. “We should just scrap this Min…” 

He resists the urge to squeeze your shoulder. Well, if he had the choice he would hug you tight, telling you that your attempt to help was enough and never let go. Especially after seeing how cute you became every time you focused on something. But, he wanted to encourage you, not scare you off. Silence fills the room. Minus the occasional meows from your cat. Seokmin frowns as guilt creeps up since he knew you worked a full-day before offering to help him. You look up to him, curious of his unusual quietness.  

He snaps out of it, trying his best to not act like a complete fool from your sudden eye contact. “But you were so passionate about this recipe, Y/N!”

You nod, agreeing and suspecting nothing. It is true you wanted to try this recipe out. Your eyes drift to the clock: 6:47. “Can you go to the store and get some more chocolate chips? They say the third time’s a charm, right?”

Seokmin flashes a big smile your way before ruffling his hands in your hair. “Exactly! I will be right back.” 

Without even getting a chance to thank him, he’s put on his shoes and coat and ran out the door. You smile to yourself while throwing away the disastrous cookie dough. Despite practically being on death’s door when you came home, seeing him enter your apartment instantly made your fatigue fade. Determined to keep the first batch, you turn from the counter to look into the oven. 

After confirming their status, you double check the timer on your phone. Seeing the remaining time, you plop down on the couch. For the first time since eight this morning you were able to relax, not before noticing Seokmin’s scarf. You text him, worried about him turning cold. 

You have to get better at dressing warmly! Min, the easiest way to catch a cold is not dressing warm enough :(

Within seconds your text is read and he replies: The chocolate chips are in possession, checking out now. It’s crazy busy because of Christmas though.

That is not the main point, Lee Seokmin! 

Okay, how’s this: If I get sick, then you’ll just have to nurse me back to health  ;) 

You close the messages app, still processing his text. For safe measures,  you toss your phone to the opposite side of the sofa. You were still unable to deal with his flirting. No matter how many times you hang out, he somehow manages to leave you flustered. You reasoned that it was his personality and that he acted that way with everyone, but seeing him with your other friends made you doubt that conclusion. Sure, he is playful and lovable regardless of who he interacts with. But the flirty vibes that you picked up from him seemed to be exclusively directed at you. Then again, all your friends knew you were prone to getting ahead of yourself. You brushed off your thoughts, vowing to overthink less in the new year. 

Maybe calling Joshua to see his favorite cookie flavors would be productive. The phone rings a few times before you hear a familiar voice. “Joshua, hey, um, if you were to receive any food what would you want?”

Joshua chuckles, knowing your motive behind the question. “To be honest, I don’t like being gifted food. I can’t really mask if I hate the taste of something and I know how much effort goes into cooking, you know?”

You’re speechless, wanting to deny reality. All you can think about is the past almost two hours that you and Seokmin spent baking. “Yeah, totally!” You squeak out. 

“Didn’t you brag you got my gift like a month ago, though? What’s up with this last minute plan?” Joshua asks, his amusement evident in his voice. 

“Hey, my gift is killer, don't worry. Seokm-” Your hand flies to cover your mouth, shocked by your carelessness. 

“Seokmin? I didn’t realize the two of you talk like that.”

“I mean we hang out more these days…but he hangs out at your place all the time too, right?” 

“Hold on. Seokmin has turned down hanging out the last couple of times me, Seungkwan, and Mingyu have tried to get him to come out. We figured he wanted some time alone…so you’re telling me he’s at your place now?” 

You cover your mouth, realizing you shared something you shouldn’t have again. “He probably had reasons he canceled on you guys. He’s always talking about that time you all went to LA and stayed at your family’s house. You know, I um-I think my timer’s going to go off in a minute for this thing I’m waiting on and uh-”

“My bad, Y/N. I didn’t mean for this to turn into an interrogation. Seokmin usually doesn’t hide things so I guess I just wasn’t expecting the two of you to be so close.” 

“No no, you don’t need to apologize! After all, your birthday party is tomorrow. I wasn’t lying about my timer though, it has about three minutes left…”

“Uh huh. I know you said you got me a present, but you wanna know a better gift you can give me?”

You’re skeptical of where this was leading to. “What’s that?”

“The details of whatever the two of you have going on.” 

“Prepare to be disappointed. I mean there’s nothing going on besides me being delusional about everything he does and says.” 

Joshua laughs whole-heartedly. “I doubt that’s the case. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

You mutter a small ‘mhm’, before hanging up. 

“Time to check the cookies…” You trail off, talking to yourself.

Seokmin waits in line, tapping his foot anxiously as more time passes and you don’t reply to his text. Putting his phone away in his coat pocket, he decided to hum along to the music playing on the market’s overhead speakers. Spending Christmas night with each other means nothing. That’s what situationships do, right? As cheesy as it sounds, he liked you ever since you were in college together. The two of you took a literature course together and ever since, he was unable to get you out of his head. Your circles didn’t overlap much until Joshua befriended him in senior year and you showed up to a party that his house threw. He knew he was being foolish acting this way, when you never reciprocate his feelings. Anytime he mustered up the courage to flirt, you would change the subject. Shaking away his thoughts, he placed his item on the conveyor belt. 

Seokmin headed towards the store’s exit, already preparing to venture out into the snow once again. As he exited the store, an employee stood at the entrance. 

“Happy Holidays! We’re currently giving flowers to people who donate for the local animal shelter, would you be interested in donating today?”

His eyes scan the flowers, locking in on the roses sprinkled with glitter. As if hypnotized, he grabs money from his wallet before handing it to the employee. “The glitter roses, please.” Roses might be cliche, but they are classic for a reason. And being non-toxic to cats is a plus. 

He hypes himself up walking back, holding the flowers in one hand and the chocolate chips in the other. The store was not even a ten minute walk from your place. As he enters your apartment building, he takes deep breaths on the elevator. Finally, he opens your door. “Look what I found outside your door!” 

You crank your neck from your fixated gaze on the oven to try your best and see what Seokmin had in his hands. He scurried inside in a hurry and managed to be by your side in no time. He was towering over you, with his shoes and coat still on. The only thing that changed from the time he left is that now he’s completely covered in snow. Well that, and his cheeks and nose were cutely rosy red from being outside for so long. Before even getting to see what was in his hand, concern overcame you. 

“Wait, I didn’t realize it was a snowstorm outside! Oh my god. Hurry and take off your clothes, I’ll warm up some hot tea for you to drink!” You run to your tea collection and fill your electric kettle with water before hitting the start button. 

Seokmin breaks out into the largest smile humanly possible, making his cheeks hurt from it. He attempts to get your attention. “Y/N.”

You take the cookies out of the oven, placing them on the stovetop. Although Joshua would not be getting them, they were cooked to absolute perfection. Your attention shifts to the kettle which is now boiling. Opening the kitchen cabinet door next to the oven, you grab a mug for Seokmin. 

“Y/N?”

“You like goji tea, right? I remember you getting it when we went to that boba place a couple weeks back. Goji tea is full of vitamin C too, so it’ll help boost your immunity!”

Seokmin turns away and fakes a cough, trying to conceal his blushing face from you. Faking a cough was not a smart move though as you worry about him even more. 

You put the mug down next to the kettle and turn to him. Your hand moves on its own as you lightly turn his head to look at you. With your free hand, you place the back of your hand to his cheek, then to his forehead checking for a fever. 

He’s burning up, but it’s not the harsh weather outside to blame. 

“You’re so warm! Can you pour the water into the cup? The goji berries are already in there. You can add ginger for your throat too, let me go see if I have a hoodie for you-”

Seokmin puts the chocolate chips on the counter. He softly takes your hand away from his face and holds it. “Y/N.”

He shows you the roses, having your worry dissipate and turn into confusion. You tilt your head and finally look at him, breaking away from your auto mode. “What-? I mean, why?”

“Sorry to scare you. But I’m not sick, I just turn into a complete mess whenever I’m around you,” he confesses. 

He shyly hands you the flowers and you – still confused – look for a vase to put them into. As you take the flowers out of their wrapping, a familiar plant with white berries falls out. Mistletoe? You decide to be as bold as him, having the past couple of weeks play in your mind you realized you weren’t being delusional. This person in front of you liked you. He was practically screaming it.

You look back at him as he’s leaning his weight against the counter. You clear your throat before saying, “I’m glad I’m not the only one that can’t function properly…” 

Seokmin’s eyes dart up at yours, expecting you to be by the flowers. To his surprise you are awfully close to him, holding the mistletoe in between your heads. You lean in and kiss him to which he does the same, instantly warming up from your touch. He wraps one arm around your waist and cups your face with his other hand. The two of you enjoy the moment for a while more.

Separating from each other, he scratches the back of his head and asks, “Well, would you be okay with being the person I kiss under the mistletoe next year too?”

“What about the years after that?”

“We’ll see,” he shrugs, smiling and kissing you another time.

also here is the overall playlist for this fic! i feel it is very fitting for the szn and wanted to share it for those that would like to listen! happy holidays!

[33max]

I was thinking about a little fic set when Spyke dies ☹️ so tw pet death. ft the comforting presence of Gianpiero Lambiase

Max isn’t there when Spyke dies. He doesn't actually know that Spyke is sick. His Dad calls him one morning, on New Years Eve, and tells him they have had to have Spyke put down. Jos tells him that Spyke-, his legs had-, that he was was not going to make it.

So Max doesn't get a chance to say goodbye. One minute he’s oblivious, thinking his best pal is probably snuggled up with his little sister, and the next minute his best boy of 11 years is gone.

He blinks.

He blinks.

He can't cry on the phone to Jos. That's not what they do. His Dad will tut at him, tell him Spyke was just a dog. But Spyke wasn't just a dog. He was-

Max’s best friend.

So, he hangs up the phone and lets himself cry.

He looks through pictures of Spyke. Some from a recent trip home, some from when he still lived at home, and others of Spyke as a messy little puppy. Moustache overgrown and ears too big for his body.

Without thinking too much about it, he sends one of the puppy pictures to GP. Along with a broken heart emoji. Because he doesn't have the words, but he needs someone to know that he's- his world isn’t the same anymore.

The message gets marked as read, but instead of the three dots to indicate that GP is replying, Max’s phone starts vibrating in his hand. A call.

Before GP even asks, Max is sobbing down the phone. Hard. Trying to tell GP that he didn’t get to say goodbye. But between the bad connection and the tears, he’s not sure if GP even understands what he’s saying.

“I’m sorry Max, I’m so sorry, I know how much he meant to you.”

“It’s ok to cry.”

And it is ok to cry in front of GP. Because GP has never once told him to grow up, to care less. Never rolled his eyes at Max for being emotional. Always stood with him, listened, and been a comforting presence. And this is no different.

It’s the winter break, so they’re not scheduled to see each other until at least early March.

But it’s 31st December, fucking New Years Eve, and Max is supposed to be going out with his friends tonight. But no. He can’t. Not tonight. Not anymore.

And GP seems to sense that Max might end up spending midnight by himself, alone in Monaco, after losing his best friend. So he says “Hey, Maxy, why don't you come over here? We’re going to play some board games, watch the fireworks, and have a family night. You're family. Join us.”

So Max flys to Milton Keynes, and instead of going to the factory, he gets a cab to GP’s family townhouse.

When GP opens the door he cries a little into GP’s shoulder before wiping his eyes and greeting the rest of the family. They know him well. He’s been coming here since he was freshly eighteen.

And when they sit down that evening GP’s collie, Ella, jumps into Max’s lap. She noses at his hand until he runs his fingers through her fur, and then encourages him to press his head against hers.

“She knows, Max,” GP tells him. “She’s good like that.”

“He was a good boy, Ella,” Max tells her, quietly.

She looks up at him with big brown eyes, before softly bumping her nose against his cheek. I know.

“Thanks for having me, GP,” Max says, “I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t come here.”

“You’re always welcome here, Max.” GP says.

“You’re family!” GP’s little girl yells, it’s past her bedtime and she’s so excited to be staying up with the adults.

“Can I get you a gin and tonic, Max?” GPs wife, Marie, adds. “You’re not driving after all!”

Spyke might not be here. But he feels at home.

maxverstappen1: My little friend is no more… rest in peace Spyke ❤️ 11 years I won’t forget… 😞❤️

[kingofbrooklynn]

A Curtis Christmas

Christmas was a day for rude awakenings by impatient children. These kids want their parents to wake up at dawn, so presents could be opened and the warm feeling of family could set in the living room.

Ponyboy Curtis was used to seeing this phenomenon in all types of media. He was the youngest in the family. When his parents were still around and he was much younger, he had fallen victim to being that exact cliché. His older brother, Sodapop, said that everyone should be woken up on Christmas for the real Christmas experience.

On Ponyboy’s 15th Christmas, he got to experience this rude awakening. At first, he assumed the one shaking him awake was Sodapop. They slept in the same room, and the older had done so before, so it was a reasonable inference. Then, he heard the deep and vulgar words coming out of the perpetrator’s mouth.

Ponyboy’s eyes refocused as his consciousness came back to him. Those rough and impatient hands belonged to Tim Shepard. It was slightly unnerving to see the infamous delinquent towering over him. Tim was large, with cruel eyes like an alley cat’s and a tuff scar along his dark skin.

“Were you in a coma or what, Curtis?” Tim growled. “Get the fuck up.”

Tim had become more and more common at the Curtis residence nowadays. No one else paid as much attention as Ponyboy, so they did not understand why he did so.

One day, however, Ponyboy figured out the truth. He had gotten home earlier than planned. When passing Darry’s room to get to his own, he heard a whispered voice that didn’t belong to his brother. Worried, he peeked over at the small crack between the door and the doorframe. In that miniature slit, he caught a glimpse of the Shepard boy in his older brother’s bed. He got a peek of Darry, as well, as they had little to no space between them.

Ponyboy wished he could erase that image from his memory. It was odd, as he thought he would catch Sodapop in that situation instead of Darry. He also thought it was a little odd for two boys to be doing that at first, but after a short amount of reflection, he concluded that he didn’t have a reason to care about that.

Ponyboy still hadn’t seen the good in Tim that Darry seemed to. He was very hesitant to blindly invite him into his already stressful life.

The fact Tim was here on Christmas frankly pissed him off. Especially the first one after their parents’ death. He scowled at Tim as he got up and was met with a mocking laugh as the other left the room.

Ponyboy really wanted to be excited for today and run into the living room because walking took too long, but he couldn’t bring himself to. It didn’t feel like Christmas. He didn’t wake up to Sodapop drinking hot chocolate in bed. He slept in. He knew he wouldn’t see his father’s bright smile when going into the kitchen. He wouldn’t see his mother beside him, making her famous Christmas cookies. Ponyboy could almost smell the treats, but he told himself he was imagining it.

He looked over at the picture on his dresser. It was of his parents. They were much younger in the picture, even though they also passed very young. A long scarf was around the two of them and they were huddling for warmth. Around them, cold snow fell. It must’ve been hell, but they seemed so happy to just have each other.

The picture used to be in their parents’ bedroom, which is now Darry’s. Ponyboy and Sodapop got to search around to look for stuff they might want in the room before Darry took all of it for himself. Ponyboy chose that picture.

He hoped it would make himself feel better, but it only reminded him that the anniversary of their death was coming up. January 5th. A whole year since the accident. To the Curtis boys, it felt like decades.

Ponyboy quickly grabbed his blanket from his bed. He took it everywhere he could, without even thinking about it nowadays. It was a gift last year for Christmas from his parents. It gave him comfort.

The first thing he saw when he finally stepped into the living room was the lit Christmas tree. It was a fake one, so the Curtises could reuse it every year. What was new, however, was the amount of presents under the tree. Ponyboy had overheard Darry say money was tight, so he didn’t particularly expect as many presents this year. Clearly, he was wrong.

He looked to his left and took note of who he saw. Sodapop was the first one he noticed, drinking some hot chocolate and talking to Steve. Ponyboy wasn’t particularly stoked that Steve was there, but he supposed he could deal with it. Steve was basically family, after all. Two-bit was there, too, drinking what appeared to be eggnog.

What stuck out to Ponyboy the most, however, was the absence of Darry and Tim. He hoped Tim wasn’t even here and that he was just a sleepy hallucination, but Darry’s absence worried him. Ponyboy frowned when he came to the most reasonable conclusion in his mind. Darry was working on Christmas.

It wasn’t unreasonable to think so. Not in the slightest. Darry had been working more recently, taking even later shifts than usual. It has gotten so bad that Ponyboy doesn’t even see him unless he stays up pretty late. He doesn’t want to see him come home sometimes. He just sees Darry drag himself across the room to go to his room to sleep. Sometimes Tim helps him, but it’s torture.

His nervous thoughts were broken when Sodapop called, “Pony’s alive!”

Ponyboy didn’t think he slept in for that long. He walked over and sat down next to his brother with a hollow chuckle. That faint scent of his late mother’s signature Christmas cookies grew more potent. It relaxed Ponyboy a bit, even if he knew he was just imagining it. He laid his head on Sodapop’s shoulder.

“Y’know, Ponyboy, Santa came for us.” Sodapop revealed, taking another sip of his hot chocolate.

“Santa?” Ponyboy was so baffled he laughed. “We’re not 6 years old.”

“Oh shut up, Scrooge. Santa thought it would make today more… uhh… Christmasy.” Sodapop explained.

Ponyboy’s brows furrowed. Why would Darry bring back Santa Claus? To make up for his absence due to work? It probably wouldn’t work. Still, he reached over to grab a present from Santa, but Sodapop stopped him. “Wait until Darry’s done with the cookies so he can see you open ‘em.”

When Darry was done with the cookies? Ponyboy realized he had never really checked the kitchen. Plus, that warm smell of cookies was far too strong and familiar to be imaginary. The youngest boy got up and walked to the kitchen wordlessly, much to the others’ confusion.

The strength of the smell hit him in the face like a truck when he finally got to the kitchen. Then, he heard it.

A loud belly laugh met Ponyboy’s ears like a warm hug. It was like he had heard his favorite childhood song for the first time in years, falling in love with it all over again. He barely recognized the sound at first, but he looked over and realized it. It was Darry’s laugh.

Darry was laughing. He had this warm smile on his face that Ponyboy hadn’t seen in the almost full year Darry had been 20. Tim was holding him, a smile on his face, too. He didn’t even seem surprised to hear Darry laugh. Did he laugh often in front of Tim? Was he that in love with Tim Shepard that Darrel Curtis laughed?

He could feel the warmth of the hold. The way Tim’s large arms wrapped around Darry’s waist like it was keeping him alive. The way Darry seemed as if he didn’t mind it, as if he was exactly where he belonged. The way Tim didn’t let him go, even as Darry laughed. Was he that in love?

Darry looked an awful lot like dad.

“Merry Christmas,” Darry greeted Ponyboy. He didn’t hide his smile or his love for Tim. His eyes sparkled like ice in the sun. The sides of his mouth looked more like dimples instead of wrinkles.

“Merry Christmas,” Ponyboy replied, Darry’s smile contagious. This was going to be a good Christmas.

[thirdsaltyhunter]

Cassette Tape

Summary: the story of a gifted cassette tape over the course of you and Dean's relationship

Warning: fluff/angst, talk of character death, heartbreak, season 3/4 references

A/N: this is a Christmas fic like Die Hard is a Christmas movie

2006

Not long ago you had met the Winchesters through Bobby and helped them out on a one or two hunts. Right off the bat, you made a good team. You and Sam were starting to hit it off, sharing an interest in supernatural lore and serial killers. You and Dean... eh not so much. You were caught somewhere between hating and loving his give 'em hell attitude.

After the impala got totalled by that demon, Dean had spent weeks fixing her in Bobby's shop. You had made him promise that once he got her running again, that he would take you for a drive. What could you say, you had an appreciation for beautiful cars.

Now that he had rebuilt her to all her former glory, you, him and Sam had set out on the back roads of South Dakota. Dean had stopped at a gas station to top off the tank. While he filled up and Sam went in to get a drink, you leaned over the front seat and rummaged through his box of cassettes. Led Zeppelin. Ozzy Osbourne. Styx. AC/DC.

"You have good taste in music," you commented as him and Sam got back in the car.

"Thanks," he gave a proud smile "pick what you want to hear," he said motioning to the box.

At this comment Sam gave Dean a look somewhere between offense and confusion. You didn't know Dean well enough to know that he never let anyone pick the music. Even though you were choosing from his music, it was still odd. Sam just shook his head and chose not to say anything. From the box, you picked out a cassette and handed it to him to put in the tape player.

"Good choice," he said, when he recognized which album it was.

You smiled and sat back in the seat, air drumming to the beat.

2008

What better way to spend Christmas than to help the Winchesters hunt a pagan god? That's sarcasm, you would much rather be in a warmer state than Michigan, but they had called you for intel and you happened to be not far away. It's a good thing you came, because they were chasing false leads and managed to get themselves tied to a chair.

After offing the murderous Hallmark Christmas couple, you were going to go back and spend Christmas with Bobby. That was until Sam had offhandedly mentioned that Dean wanted to have a real Christmas this year, as it might be his last. Your chest ached at the thought. You hated that he made that stupid deal. As much of a pain in your ass as Dean was, him and Sam had become some of the only friends you had.

You called Bobby and he agreed that you should stay. You made the decision then that you were going to help Sam scrape together the best Christmas you possibly could, whether Sam liked it or not. Funds and resources were limited, but you thought you did pretty good with what you found at the gas station. You weren't going to mention the decorations you had stolen from someone's front lawn... or the poor excuse for a tree Sam had cut down.

It was all worth it to see the look on Dean's face when he came back from picking up take-out. When he walked through the motel room door, his eyes lit up.

"What made you change your mind?" He asked Sam.

Sam glanced at you and looked down, not wanting to answer the question, so you changed the subject.

"Here, try the eggnog," you said, handing Dean a glass.

He took a sip and made a face from the significant amount of alcohol you had spiked it with.

"We good?" You asked with a teasing smile.

"Yeah we're good," he coughed. "Hey I thought you were leaving, why are you still here?"

Now it was your turn to not want to answer the question. "Bobby said a snowstorm was headed his way, so it was best I just stay here." Total complete lie.

"Well I'm glad you stuck around... First things first," he said setting the bag of food he had gotten on the coffee table and pulling out the presents he had gotten for Sam from the gas station.

"Great minds think alike Dean," Sam responded, pulling out his presents he had also picked up from the gas station.

Sam had gotten him a quart of oil for the car and his favorite candy bar. You had picked out a nice (as nice as you could get at a gas station) bottle of bourbon.

"These are awesome, thanks," Dean said with a bright smile. He glanced at you before getting up and grabbing his keys. "One second," he said holding up a finger to you, before disappearing out the door.

You and Sam shared a look of confusion. Dean returned seconds later holding a small item in his hand.

"Here." He handed the item to you. It was the cassette you had picked out to play that day in the car. "It's yours." He looked down and shifted awkwardly. "Also any other tapes you want you can have." You knew what was going through his head: I won't be using them soon.

"Thank you, you know I'll play the hell out of it." You put it in your jacket pocket and tried not to think about the time when you would be listening to it without him.

May 2009

Dean was gone. And you had fallen in love with him. What better time to realize you're in love with someone, than after they get dragged to hell and now you can't get out of bed anymore. Just your luck I guess.

Since he died, you've been staying at Bobby's and trying not to think about anything. Eventually you decided to get off the bench, get back in the game and start hunting again. Now you're sitting in your car, waiting out the horrible rainstorm you had gotten caught in on the way to the town where the case was. To pass the time and drown out the sound of your own thoughts, you pop in Dean's cassette. Laying back in the seat, like so many nights lately, you cry yourself to sleep.

August 2009

Somehow, by some miracle literally, Dean Winchester was alive and breathing. You could hardly wrap your head around it. It should be impossible, but hey, you had a knack for the impossible.

You, Dean and Bobby were now driving to go find Sam so you could tell him that Dean was alive. While you drove, Dean sat in the passenger seat looking a little zoned out. Not that you could blame him, if you suddenly got pulled out of hell, you'd be reeling too.

To pull him out of his thoughts a little, you turned on some music. The first thing that played was the tape that was in the player, the one Dean had given you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a small smile grace his lips as he recognized the song.

"This the one I gave you?" he asked.

You nodded. "Yeah, I guess you'll need it back now," you answered with a smile. You were more than happy to return Dean's cassettes. He was alive and that's all that mattered.

"I gave it to you, sweetheart. Me being back doesn't change that."

It amazed you. Him saying that was proof to you that, despite going through literal hell, his caring, giving heart was still intact. If anyone had an excuse to be cold and selfish it was him. Yet the more you got to know him, the more he shocked you with how loving he was. Your heart clenched with the weight of emotion you carried for him. Though now certainly wasn't the time to go admitting any feelings. He had enough to process as is. So instead you just smile at him and he looks at you like you're the first beautiful thing he's seen in a long time.

"Alright enough you two, you're makin' me sick," Bobby chastised from the back seat.

You just laughed and turned up the music.

[followyourfleart]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑭𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔

Chapter 1 -

After the outbreak and countless heartaches, you found yourself in a settlement in Jackson, Wyoming. Much different than Austin, Texas. In your years of living there, you have built a wall to save your feelings, even if you are the teacher for the small kids of the town.

Your life was going as fine as life could go, until Tommy brought back his estranged brother and a kid, opening memories you spent years suppressing.

Word Count: 2.5 k

When you were thinking of a new neighbor, a gruff man, and his daughter living right next door was not the idea.

You remember seeing it when the two hugged on the streets. You guided a line of young kids back to the school after their short recess in the horse stable. The kids were tugging on your hands, with their missing teeth grinning up to you. Your breath had curled in the air as it became visible and soon disappeared while you adjusted their scarves.

“Tommy!”

It was enough to make you stop in your tracks. No one ever called out Tommy’s name like that unless something was wrong. And every day, it seemed like everyone stopped what they were doing when they heard it. But this time, the desperation in the voice was different—urgent, as if time had stopped, leaving only that one sound hanging in the air.

When you were watching them hug, you looked at who was death-gripping Tommy. An older man, his roots greying into his black to create an ashy shade. He was wearing multiple layers, his brown jacket covering his frame and his dark gloves gripping Tommy’s shoulders as they spoke.

The kids gawked a little bit, staring up at the obvious reunion. They didn’t speak, but soon grew bored of looking, and dragged you along. Your body followed, but your face would turn back, looking at them talking. You didn’t catch a look at his face, or at the new girl who was sitting awkwardly on the horse.

By the time you had gotten home, word had moved around fast. Gossip tends to spread quickly in this settlement in the mountains. Turned out that was Tommy’s brother, Joel Miller. The girl was only 14 years old. As you walked home, the cold freezing your nose, you couldn’t keep your mind off the pair. Strange, how fate allowed those two to meet again. A prickling of a feeling you can’t identify starts in your chest, but someone cuts off the idea.

“Reader,” It was Tommy. His jet-black hair was sprinkled with white flakes, which were quickly melted into his scalp. “How are you doing?”

You smiled, “I’m fine, Tommy. I saw what happened earlier, and I’m glad you found your brother again.”

Tommy’s expression turned amused. “I guess everyone already figured out that Joel is my brother, huh? Word doesn’t keep to itself around here.”

“I guess not.”

An awkward silence came over you both. To say you were close with Tommy was a lie. While he did save you, time had let you make your friends and meet others. You still had good contact with his wife Maria, however other than that, it was radio silence.

He broke the tension with a request “Listen, you know the girl that came with him, Ellie? Well, I want to make her more comfortable with this life, so I was wondering if you could take her in at the school.”

Your eyes widened before you almost laughed. “You know that the school isn’t a private school. We take anyone, there isn’t a process or anything like that. You could drop her off and no one would bat an eye.”

Tommy cleared his throat “I know that Reader. I just want you to keep your eye on her. She’s important… to Joel. And I want to make sure everything is good for them. Give them a semblance of normalance.”

You nod your head in agreement. You don’t miss that ‘important’ part “It’s possible she could come on Monday next week with Joel, see how things work for her age group, then put her in on Tuesday. It’s only Wednesday today, so you can give her the rest of the week to see life here.” You had to make a mental note to write that down in the shared teacher planner.

His face brightens, before he clears his throat, going back to his cool professional look “Thank you, Reader, I owe you one.”

It was the opposite. You quite literally owed him everything, as his intervention saved your life. But you simply parted ways, and you finished the trek to your home.

It was simple, a white house with two rooms and two floors, something you would have killed for before the outbreak. You run the heels of your boots against the ledge of the porch, scrapping off snow and dirt. Then, you heard talking.

Bringing your head up to the noise, you saw Joel and Ellie walking up the steps to the house next door, Tommy leading them. You had watched in curiosity. New neighbors, you suppose. The girl was looking everywhere, the large house and the railings, the dead shrubs, and the icy walkway.

Tommy caught you in the corner of his eye and waved. You returned it. Joel’s eyes followed Tommy’s sight, before landing on you. You couldn’t see his expression from so far, but you nodded to him in common courtesy. He returned it, with a small lift of his hand. Tommy then leads them both into the house.

Even with the time going by, you couldn’t help but think about them. When you were living before the outbreak, you would have spied on the new neighbors to get to know them, before actually talking. But the full snow made it harder for them to see anything, and they weren’t about to play in the snow on their first day.

So that’s how you ended up, 9:30 in the night in front of his house, with a plate of cookies.

It gave you some sort of normal, being in front of another’s house with a plate of cookies. You had never been the ‘welcome wagon’, bearing a plate of food, nor have you been given the chance. When you first got here, the house next to you had already been filled by a couple in their late 50s, now 60s. They were the grumpy kind that you would see in the movies, yelling at kids on their front porch. The chances of them showing up like guardian angels with food were little to none.

You fidget with your scarf nervously. What if no one showed? Then you would have looked like an idiot with a plate of cookies you wouldn’t even end up eating. You knock twice, adding a third for good luck.

Then, the door slowly creaks open, with only a sliver of a face present. He was taller than you, his face was covered by shadows. His face was unreadable, however, his eyes couldn’t mask the suspicion that came off him.

“Can I help you?” His gruff voice came out from behind the door.

Your words were suddenly caught in your throat, but you forced them out. You were not about to look like a fool in front of your new neighbors.

“I’m Reader. I live right next door. I waved to you earlier today…” Your voice started to die off as you tried to give him pointers on how you knew him slightly.

“I know who you are.” His voice was even and cold. You swallowed, the conversation dying. He was actively shutting this down. You attempt to save it.

“Since we’re now neighbors,” You stammer, “I thought it was only right to properly introduce myself!”

“Great.” He said deadpan.

“Here,” you push the cookies toward the crack of the door, which he half-heartedly takes “Made these for you and your daughter. Hope you aren’t allergic to anything.”

You joke with that last part, but Joel’s expression becomes colder than it already was. Guess he doesn’t joke about allergies.

“I’m gonna… yea I’m gonna go now.” You can tell when you're not wanted, and clearly, this man would rather eat his foot than continue this conversation. As you make it down their steps, you can feel his eyes still on you. A brief look back shows you that he is still looking at you through the sliver at that door before he shuts it. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how much and when a man is wanted. It’s been a couple of days since Joel and Ellie arrived at Jackson, and almost every woman has stared at him for a solid 30 seconds. You, unfortunately, had become one of those women lately.

He was strangely magnetic, even though it was clear he could care less about what others thought about him. He was more interested in Ellie’s well-being than anything else. Joel’s eyes were always on her when they were together, however, Ellie took any chance she could to explore the settlement.

This gave Joel enough time to spend time with Tommy, and they always ended up at the bar, the bar that you also ended up in during the weekends. However, it was the only bar in Jackson, so everyone ended up there.

When you walk into the bar, it’s busy. A successful raid had brought a bunch of supplies that Jackson couldn’t grow. The people were wall to wall, holding bears and glasses of alcohol. Music played from the stage, old music that you haven’t heard since before the outbreak. You shuffled through groups of people, making your way to a lone table in the back near the wall. 

“Reader!”

Tommy’s voice is loud enough to cut through the noise and the music. You turn your head, rubbing your temple. He makes his way to you, people patting him on his back. His brother follows close behind, setting his drink on your table when he gets there.

“Hey, Tommy.” You wave “How’s the night going? The only talk I’ve been hearing about is how good the raid went.”

Tommy grins. “More than great. Managed to snag a couple of books and supplies you asked for for the school.”

A waiter comes up, takes your order, and promptly smiles and leaves. You guess everyone is more than happy today “I saw that, thanks.”

Joel looks over the crowd, before taking a long swing of his beer. This was where you could see his features properly. 

The man standing before you was rugged in every sense of the word. His dark ashy black hair, streaked with gray at the temples, was unkempt but somehow suited him. A scruffy beard covered his jawline, rough and uneven, as though shaving was a luxury he’d long abandoned. His skin was tanned and weathered, creased around his eyes and mouth, hinting at years spent enduring the elements.

What stood out most, though, were his eyes. Dark and intense, they scanned his surroundings with a sharpness that made it clear he missed nothing. Those same eyes, framed by furrowed brows, carried a weight that made it hard to look away, though she wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or discomfort that rooted her to the spot.

You understood why it was so hard to look away now. He was simply, breathtaking. He was the type of older man that your mother warned you about when you were a teen but couldn’t help but stare at those modeling pictures.

When the waitress came back with your drink — a light beer to calm the nerves — you took a sip to sedate yourself. He was a man who just moved into a town after suffering years on the outside with a child on his hip. He wasn’t anything special either. Maybe it was the rugged single dad look that attracted every single woman in town.

“Hello,  Joel.” You say politely “Did Ellie enjoy the cookies I made?”

His head remained looking outward, but his eyes snapped to you. He turned, nodding “She did. Couldn’t get her to stop eating.”

“Kids are like that. They always love all this sweet stuff. We have to make sure we don’t overfeed them. Sugar rushes are not fun.” You joke.

The conversation was easier than at his house. Was it because he was near his brother? He seemed actually open to talking.

“The kids always pester me around Christmas time for sugar cookies,” You continue  “But I rather throw myself in mud than deal with over 20 high on sugar.”

Joel’s eyebrows furrow “You deal with the kids?”

You nod “I’m one of the teachers at the school. Well, it’s not like a school we went to. It’s more like a daycare for the younger kids and having the older ones supervised and getting used to working in the community.”

He keeps his hand on his drink “So you’re going to be taking care of Ellie.”

“If you want that,” You keep your mouth shut about Tommy's involvement in enrolling Ellie. Knowing Tommy, he liked to keep his good doings to a minimum “I’m sure Tommy has told you the idea of putting Ellie in a school setting. Does Monday work for heading to the school and checking things out?”

He thumps his fingers against the wood of the table. His face was one of concentration “Sure.” He lifts his head to meet your eyes “I can bring her there and have her check things out.”

As the night rolled along, the alcohol warmed up your body. The bar got even more busier, the music being drowned out by the chatter. Maria soon came as well, drinking along with Tommy. Joel remained close to the wall, on his second beer.

The night was getting long, and your eyes dropped. Fridays were always the worst, the kids were always jittery, draining your energy to the lowest of lows. 

Slip out of your chair, you head to the front to pay. You gesture toward Tommy and Maria, saying goodbye. With your hands in your pockets, you make your way into the cold night. Lights cast a glow over the snow, the mountains darkening the sky even more.

The crunch of snow under your boots was soon accompanied by another pair. Turning back, you see Joel. His breath fanned around his sharp face.

“Joel, didn’t expect to see you coming this way.” It hurt to smile, the cold freezing up your muscles.

“I live the same way.” He motioned down the road. 

‘Oh, I guess that is right’  You rubbed the back of your neck.

You slow down to match his pace. Having him just trail behind you was just strange and it wouldn’t help your anxiety of walking home alone. A silence that was present when both of you first talked fell over you both again.

The snow slightly drifted you both, the brown of your coat getting small dark dots on the shoulders. There was slight chatter from the center of the settlement, that slowly went away as you made it toward the cemetery.

Now that you were looking up at him so close, you felt like you’d seen this man somewhere. Not before you were living in Jackson, but somewhere earlier. His face seemed like it was a part of a distant memory.

When you reach Rancher Street, your house comes up first, the roofs full of snow. You slow your walk and put your foot on the first step. Before heading up more, you turn back to Joel who is watching you with an intense look.

“I’ve seen you somewhere, haven’t I.”

authors note -

I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter!! Don't look at my past posts and realize that I haven't posted in almost a year. Oops!

Here's my a03 account where you can read this same story on a03 if you prefer that format: Writer_Spins

[darlenicy]

Darcy helped Riven to escape Cloud Tower in episode 1x22 in fkn CANON

Episode 22: Riven breaks out of the CT dungeons. As he says, he had always been good at picking locks. Fine but you need a lock pick for it, right? Oh, what a coincidence that there is suddenly one next to the door on the floor.

Did I say coincidence? Who has been here 10 minutes ago?

AHA, his ex-girlfriend.

Do you really think, that Riven didn't notice the lock pick the entire time he was captured if it was there? Didn't he look for ways to get out? I think so. Did he find the lock pick?

No.

Why? Because Darcy just LEFT IT THERE TO HELP HIM ESCAPE. You can't tell me she didn't. On the outside she's like haha stormy let's mess a bit with his mind but when stormy didn't look she dropped the lock pick. period.

Not to mention the shock she had after he apparently jumped to his death. Like, she thinks I killed him. No one can tell me that Darcy won't cry her eyes out when she finds out about it. Alone of course. No one must see it. And how relieved she must be when they realize he's still alive. In other words, Riven hated Darcy the whole time, but she secretly helped him and is happy that he's alive. But he doesn't know. Maybe he'll never know.

[boothillsw1fe]

"The Promise has Three Ends,"

"One to be an Angel who is bound by humans, One to be a human who encounters the Angel, and One to perish fulfilling their end of the vow."

Made for my friend Mel!!

You were wandering the halls of the hell known as "The Hadal Blacksite", time dragging itself more and more. Time.. time was a concept you knew no longer; there was never a sense of time down here, anyways. All clocks that once hung on walls were gone , and the only clocks that did once work were the watches on the hands of dead Urbanshade employees, now broken with cracks of glass across their surfaces, you would encounter every ten rooms or so.

You had no idea how long you had been down here, how long it had been since you had last eaten, last heard the voice of another human being, not counting Sebastian Solace, the mutant you encountered a while back. How long back? You don't know, nor do you care.

You had one job, get the crystal, and get the fuck out of here.

That was until you opened up the door to a room you believed to be filled with loose assets you were instructed to collect; instead, you were met with an ever-so familiar sight, an irritated sigh falling from your lips, the bridge made of (poorly welded together) metal beams holding your weight as you walked across it. When you stopped looking at the ground and finally took a moment to look up, your heart both sped up its beating, and stopped it all at once.

You've seen big; Anglers, Candlebearers, Sebastian fucking Solace, but this? The others were mere child's play compared to this thing, this creature.

You wished to turn around and forget this room even existed in the first place, but something about it just intrigued you, just drew you in closer. Before you knew it, your feet moved on their own, and you now stood a good distance from it.

It didn't seem to notice you, which was probably a good thing. Giving how massive it was, it would probably not be happy that you would be the disturbance of the slumber it laid in. Your eyes scanned its every detail, from the halo that floated above its head, spinning counterclockwise from your angle, a white pointed object that you couldn't recognize covering what seemed to be its face, its body being the angelic equivalent of an optical illusion, which only drew you in further.

Upon getting closer, you noticed that it's two arms were attached to two pillars, a feeling of guilt deep in your stomach; why was such a beautiful creature like this being bound to pillars? How did it get here in the first place? Your train of thought was interrupted when it lifted its head, its singular eye on its head and singular eye on its chest darting towards the direction you stood at. You couldn't help but feel intimidated, yet entranced at the same time, coming closer.

When it let out an inhumane noise, the room shaking as it did so, you took that as your sign to get the hell away from it. You backed away as slowly as possible, but no matter how far you got, it's eyes still locked onto you as yours did to it.

"There has to be a document for you,"

You told yourself as you began searching, first on the left of you, then to the right, where you found what you needed, the blood on your hands from your earlier Pandemonium encounter staining its vanilla casing slightly.

"The Guardian Angel of the Banlands" the title read as you opened it, your eyes scanning throughout the document to find the information you needed, but it's quick scanning slowed down, filling with horror instead.

"The Guardian posed absolutely no threat."

"The Angel attempted to peacefully coax the invading forces back through the portal without physical contact."

"The death of expeditionee Rivers was purely accidental, as he was crushed under the foot of the Guardian after it tripped and stumbled. the Guardian was obviously remorseful of its action."

"The Guardian attempted to communicate to the remaining forces to show them the grave for Rivers it had constructed. The Guardian was then struck down over this grave and then transported back to Earth."

You slammed the document shut, your watery eyes looking at the divine creature that stared back at you, its blood being stolen from it in that very moment you two locked eyes. No longer afraid of its height, you came closer and closer until you could look up at it at the same angle it could look down at you.

"You were only trying to be nice."

It let out another noises, but its head moved up and down this time around, another habit it picked up from humans.

"I promise you, I'll get that damn crystal, and when I shove it down old man Shade's throat, I'm coming back here and I'm finding a way to get you out of here, even if it does mean striking a deal with him."

If you could, you would've reached a hand outwards to it and touched it, but considering its height, that wasn't possible. You only nodded at it, walking backwards.

"Promise me you'll live long enough for me to come back for you."

It nodded back at you, a sigh-like noise rumbling the room once more as its head fell back into its resting state, both of its eyes closing.

Exiting the room, you clenched your bloodied fists together, marching onward, not even noticing the Wall Dweller that unearthed itself from the wall behind you following closely behind.

[torturedpoetsdepartmentemployee]

Some people might side eye me but I'm just going to say it.

One Piece Grandpas can still get it.

[vaguely-concerned]

It's really interesting that Wynne actually has quite a measured, bordering on downright sympathetic response to hearing what Jowan did in the prologue -- if the mage Warden says "I still can't believe Jowan was that stupid", her answer is something like a thoughtful "Stupid, or desperate, or merely curious?". She seems to think of Jowan as a kid who got in over his head, rather than any less charitable interpretation. I do believe she genuinely is as against blood magic as she publicly expresses and as the Circle party line demands, but as a private person she clearly has a more nuanced and potentially kinder understanding of the reasons why someone might resort to it, at the very least.

(related: when she says that part about Irving telling her what happened, there's no dialogue option in the first stage of the conversation (except choosing the 'leaving the conversation' one) that doesn't net you +2 approval! no matter how the warden feels about it, she is ready to recieve it. I think that says something sweet about how Wynne conceptualizes younger mages and the honest real affection she has for them. if you didn't snitch on jowan and say you stand by that decision, though? +3 approval, apparently! what Wynne says and what Wynne thinks is not always the same thing indeed, her idea of where personal loyalty and integrity stands vis-a-vis a mage's responsibility to the circle may be more flexible than she'd have people believe, you'll be surprised to learn lol)

I have always liked wynne and found her interesting, in all her hypocrisies and her earnest care, but with slightly older eyes she's extra fascinating to me in the same ways that Iron Bull is -- seeing someone whose mind has had hollows carved out in it by the need for double-think and compartmentalization imposed by the oppressive systems and ideologies they live under, and the quiet fight of the self to still preserve vital parts of itself that the system deems unacceptable in the hidden backstage areas of the soul, as it were. (and for both of them part of that self is love and protectiveness of specific other people, beyond what their 'role' dictates is acceptable for them.) I think Wynne has managed to sneak more of her internal self through the meatgrinder relatively intact than Bull overall, but it's the same logic underlying it, for me, and it makes me feel such intense affection and compassion for them both to see how hard they try