#I have tips for rewrites if anyone needs them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

im-sleepdeprived · 4 months

Note

do u think u can do a Peter Parker x reader where reader is gone for a while and has her phone off, and Peter gets super scared only to find out she’s alright?? I love ur work u’re the best xx

'No location found'

pairing: peter parker x reader

a/n: thank you for the request !!!! i had this written, then I decided to rewrite it lmao. I pictured college pete but Im not sure if I specified, also not sure if anyone saw my post abt writing a fic inspired by ‘peter’ by taylor swift but i think im going to start working on that and that its gonna be a mini series👀.... so stay tuned and request something in the meantime !!

warnings: none

masterlist, requests are open !!

“That’s not what I said!”

“Oh? Well, that’s what I heard.”

You two had been going at it for a while now. Peter had missed yet another date you’d both planned. It’d been a while since you both spent time together, and you thought he was finally going to change that. Until he just stood you up again.

You’d thought after moving in together, you’d see him all the time. The opposite was true. He was always out, either on patrol, at Stark Tower, or wherever else his Superhero duties took him. The problem was, that place never seemed to be with you.

“Y/N please-”

“No, Peter! I’m sick of it! I try to be understanding, I really do, I try to give you grace, but every time I do it’s like you just make it worse.” You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, “Honestly at this point, it feels like you don’t even care anymore.”

His face fell. “Come on baby. You can't seriously think that! It was just a mistake, I won't do it again.”

You nodded, “Right. Think I’ve heard that one before.” You turned around and walked towards your shared bedroom.

“Woah, hey. Wait a minute, where’re you going?” His voice was hurt, and you almost felt bad for turning your back.

Shaking your head and looked down at your dress. You’d gotten all dressed up, expecting a nice dinner followed by a walk in the park. You said, “I’m tired, I’m gonna change and get ready for bed. Sorry, but hey, at least now your schedule is freed up,” you gave him a weak smile, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Y/N you know it’s not like that. Look you’re all dressed up,” he reached for your arm, “we can still go out. Please, let me make it up to you”

Looking into his eyes, it took everything in you to pull away.

“Peter,” you whispered, voice so quiet, yet so full of emotion.

“I don’t want us to fight,” he begged.

'We’re not fighting, not anymore. I just want to be alone.”

“Okay.” He nodded, but still kept his hand on you, reluctant to let go. “I’ll sleep on the couch?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice right now.

He deflated. He wasn’t exactly expecting you to object, but still. It hurt that you wanted to be away from him so bad.

“Good night,” he muttered, watching you walk towards the door with sullen eyes. “I’m right here if you need anything.”

You gave him the tiniest tip of your head, not even bothering to turn around, “Night.”

There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight.

You slept in that day. It was Saturday and you didn’t feel like doing anything. Even after you woke up, you stayed in bed scrolling on your phone, heart pounding a little harder when you saw messages from Peter pop up, before effectively sliding them away.

After a few hours of doomscrolling, you stepped out of the room. You could see a throw blanket neatly folded on the couch, you have no idea if he’d even used a pillow. Your heart thrummed with guilt and you decided that tonight he was definitely sleeping on the bed. Or at the very least, you’d sleep on the couch.

Walking into the kitchen, you noticed a tray with a note sitting atop a covered plate. When you got closer, you saw that the note held a cheesy breakfast pun. So Peter.

I love you a waffle lot! With a bunch of hearts around it. You couldn’t help it, you cracked a smile. He was such a dork. And you loved it.

You heated up your breakfast and had gotten well into eating when your phone started ringing. Was it Peter? You didn’t really want to speak to him, not yet at least. You’d kind of hoped you wouldn’t have to until tonight-

You picked up your phone and almost let out a sigh of relief when you realized it was just one of your friends, Maddie. Then you felt bad for feeling relieved.

You answered the phone. “Hey Mads, how's it going.”

“Hi Y/N! Good! I was just calling to see if you wanted to go out tonight? Listen, before you say no-”

“No that sounds great actually,” you cut her off quickly, eager for an excuse to get out of the house. You’d been canceling plans for way too long in hopes of spending even a moment with Peter, and it seemed as if even your friends had noticed. But no more.

“Really? Great! So there's this raging new club,” she went on, giving you all the details of who was going and who might be there and you listened but barely felt a hint of excitement. You weren’t sure if it was because it was a frat party, and those things rarely appealed to you, or if it was lingering feelings from your argument with Peter. Which reminded you why you’d wanted to go out in the first place.

“We’re gonna pregame at my place though, so stop by here and I’ll take you!” She finished, making you smile. Maddie was always sweet, a little more wild than you, but that’s what made you like her.

“Sure Maddie, thanks for the invite.”

“Of course, can’t wait to see you, I feel like it's been forever since we went out together.”

You let out a small laugh, “I know what you mean. But we’re gonna change that tonight.

You said your goodbyes and hung up. You needed to start getting ready soon, despite you just eating breakfast, you’d stayed in all morning and it was pretty late already.

You got ready quietly, only a playlist you’d turned on droning in the background as you did your hair and makeup. You walked over to the closet to pick out an outfit and felt a little sad. Usually, Peter was here during this part, helping you pick out something, annoying you when he said you looked beautiful in everything.

“Peter! I need real criticism!”

“Well, I can’t help it if my girl looks stunning in everything!”

You picked out a nice outfit you deemed fit for clubbing before grabbing a pair of heels and stepping out of your room. Looking around at the empty apartment you realized you should probably let Peter know you weren’t going to be home tonight. You didn’t feel like calling him though, and if you didn’t want to open his messages from earlier either so you decided to take a page out of his book.

Grabbing a sticky note, you wrote down the briefest of explanations, before sticking it on your fridge and leaving.

He had sent texts saying Good morning!, Do you need anything?, and another explaining he’d be out for a while but he’d made you breakfast, all in hopes of you responding to him. You didn’t, but that wasn’t too shocking to him. It didn’t make it hurt any less though.

He knew he fucked up. He knew he’d disappointed you again, let you down again. He knew he deserved this and more. He should be grateful you weren’t giving him the more. And he was! But he couldn’t help the small selfish part of him that just wished you would let him take you out tonight, or give him something else he could do to make up for it because there was nothing he hated more in the world than when you were mad at him. And he did not want to sleep on the couch again. Sure it was uncomfortable but that was the least of his worries. He hated not sleeping next to you.

That had been his favorite part about the two of you moving into your own place, that he got to hold you every night. After a rough night of patrolling, or working too long on his studies, or a new gadget, he got to go home and hold you, get lost in your touch, and that always made everything better. And it killed him to know you were just down the hall, and he wasn’t with you.

He tried his best to rush everything, trying to get all his work done for the day so he could spend the whole night with you. He was planning a movie night, bingeing all your favorites. He was gonna give you a proper date, soon, but right now, all that mattered was you two spending time together.

On his way home, he stopped at a corner store to grab snacks for the two of you, making sure to get all your favorite ones. He even stopped at a flower shop not far from your apartment to grab you a bouquet and his heart fell when he realized how long it’d been since he’d done this. He definitely deserved the more.

He knocked on the door of your apartment a few times and his heart fell as he realized you were either dead set on ignoring him, or you weren’t home. When he pulled out his keys and let himself in, he realized it was the latter.

Sighing, he set down the bags of snacks and placed the bouquet down as he ran a hand through his hair as he walked around. He entered the kitchen and felt a little better when he saw the dishes he’d used to plate your breakfast were washed and on the drying rack, meaning you’d eaten.

He was about to pull out his phone to see if he’d missed a text from you when he saw something on the fridge.

“Went out. Be home late.”

His brows furrowed as he read. He didn’t know you had plans. Hell, he didn’t even know if you had plans now, your note barely explained anything.

All he could do was wait until you came home to sort everything out.

Peter could handle the silent treatment (barely), but what he couldn't handle, was not knowing if you were safe or not. No. That wouldn’t fly.

He’d sent you a text when he got home, letting you know he got your note and to have fun and be safe.

An hour later, he sent another text. Just as a little check-in. Still no response.

It had been about three hours since he’d gotten back when he noticed that his messages had lost the little mark that indicated they were delivered. Weird.

He tried to call you, he’d refrained from doing so before because he thought he should let you have your space (which was why, he assumed, you’d left in the first place) but it didn’t even ring, he just got sent straight to voicemail.

What made him really start to panic, however, was when he went to check your location, which he felt so stupid for not doing before, and it wouldn’t load. It kept saying ‘no location found’ making his heart beat harder.

This was worse. You were ignoring him, his messages and calls weren’t going through. Something was wrong, was your phone off? Were you mugged? Or even worse-

He stopped himself before he could spiral too hard. That wouldn’t help, right now, he needed to figure out where you were and if you were okay. He knew you weren’t the kind of person who would go out to bars or parties alone. Maybe you went out with a friend? Or maybe you were at a friend's? It was a place to start.

He started calling your friends, people he knew you might go out with, and on the fifth call he finally got answers. Or…something like that.

“Hello?” Maddie yelled into the phone, making Peter pull his phone away.

“Hey Maddie, it’s Peter.”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s dude,” she slurred.

“Yeah, yeah, Y/N’s dude. Hey listen, is she with you? She went out tonight but she forgot to tell me where, and now my messages aren’t sending.” His pulse was racing. It sounded like Maddie was out, if the blaring music in the background was anything to go off of, and he was desperate to know you were okay.

“Sorry Patrick, what’d you say,” she asked making Peter’s brows furrow. They weren’t exactly friends, but he’d met Maddie a few times. Enough times for her to know his name was not Patrick.

He shook his head, that didn’t matter right now. “Y/N. Is she with you, do you go out together?”

“Oh!” She exclaimed as if she’d just remembered something. “Yeah, she is!”

Peter let out a sigh of relief.

“Or, she was.” He held his breath again.

“What do you mean ‘she was’? Where is she?”

“I dunno, she left I think.” Maddie let out a little hum as if to say ‘too bad!’ and Peter was sure she must be extremely intoxicated, otherwise there was no way she could be so casual about something like this. He could barely keep himself together.

He ran a hand over his face as he tried not to raise his voice. This was getting frustrating. “She left? Where’d she go? Where are you right now?”

“I don’t know…she was bored I think. She was off today. S’shame, she looked so hot.”

His heart clenched when he realized the reason you were off, was because of him. You didn’t have fun, so you left, now he had no idea where you were and it was all his fault.

“Where are you, Maddie?” He repeated.

“That new club on 27th! Get down here Paul, it's so much fun!” She gushed and Peter rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this.

He hung up quickly, not bothering to say goodbye before he got up to put his suit on. He couldn't stand the thought of something happening to you because you were upset and distracted because of him. That you weren't even speaking to him.

There was no way he was going to let anything happen to you.

You were walking outside, up and down the sidewalk. You knew it wasn’t the safest decision but you didn’t really care. The club was stuffy, humid, and way too loud. You just needed to breathe, and then you’d go back. Maybe.

You considered hailing a cab and going back home right now. You’d send Maddie a text, but she probably hadn’t noticed you’d left in the first. She’d been having a blast, unlike you, drinking shots and dancing with every guy she felt like. You weren’t sure she remembered you stopping her to tell her you’d be gone for a bit.

On second thought, you were kind of hungry. You hadn’t eaten anything other than Peter’s waffles for you that morning and there was an amazing smell floating from a food cart at the end of the block. You could help yourself to something before going home.

Before you could reach the food cart, you were flying. Or rather, swinging. You knew who it was right away.

Just as fast as he’d snatched you up, Peter put you down on an isolated rooftop, leaving just you and him high above everyone else.

You were about to reprimand him, about to demand an answer as to why he’d just done that, but there wasn’t a chance before he was pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Pete?” Your voice was soft, you sensed there was something wrong and suddenly any anger or annoyance you held, from now or the night before, disappeared.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled as if that was his way of an answer.

Your brows furrowed. “Well…yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He pulled away then, taking off his mask, and you saw just how terrified he looked, scaring you as well. There might’ve even been a little red rimming his eyes, making you wonder if he was holding back tears. “I came home and I brought snacks and flowers and I thought we could spend the rest of the night together but saw your note. So I texted you and I get that you’re mad at me-”

“I’m not,” you said, and you meant it. You weren’t mad at him, especially right now, seeing him all shaken up like this. “But what's wrong?”

“My texts weren’t delivering, my calls went straight to voicemail, and I couldn’t track your location. Y/N, I got so scared something happened and you weren’t talking to me.” He sniffled and your heart broke a little.

You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, but when you tried to turn it on—dead.

“God sweetheart, never do that to me again. Please.” He looked at you desperately, “Yell at me. Fight with me. But please never ignore me anymore, I can’t stand it.”

“I’m so sorry Petey, I had no idea my phone died. I would’ve said something I swear. I never want you to worry like that.” Your hands went up to hold his face.

He brought a hand to hold your wrist. Gently running his thumb up and down your hand he said, “I always worry about you sweetheart, it’s my job.”

You shook your head, “You worry about all of New York, I don’t need to add on to that.”

“No,” he said quickly, looking offended you’d even say that, “No. Never think like that. You are the most important thing in my life, okay? You’re my first priority and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, that I don’t show that or say it enough.

“But I’m going to do better, I promise. I’m going to make it up to you because I can’t lose you, I need you Y/N.”

You didn’t reply, instead just smashed your lips onto his. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you tight. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of second chances, and new beginnings.

He pulled away first, but not before pressing multiple kisses all around your face. “Heels off baby,” he said as he knelt down and started working on your heel straps, lifting each foot onto his thigh before undoing each one. You didn’t even realize how much they’d been hurting until they were off. “I’m swinging you.” He picked you up swiftly, one arm wrapping itself around your ribs.

You groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Peteyyyy. You know the wind tangles my hair too much.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning over to kiss you on the top of your head, “I’ll be careful, c’mon.”

You move your head to peck his cheek and then hug him tight, “I love you.”

He grinned, pulling you in closer. “I love you more sweetheart.” He leaned back and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “Hold on tight, Spider Monkey.”

You burst into laughter, “You did not just say that!”

“Oh I totally did,” he gave you the goofiest smile, making you laugh again.

“Ok, just…don’t let me go,” you said as you wrapped your arms tighter around him.

“Never,” he replied, and something in his voice told you he wasn’t just talking about swinging.

1K notes · View notes

coffeebeanwriting · 1 year

Text

15 Writing Tips from Authors

1) “You take people, you put them on a journey, you give them peril, you find out who they really are.” - Joss Whedon

2) “First, find out what your hero wants, then just follow them.” - Ray Bradbury

Coffee bean’s analysis: Letting your characters lead the story can result in an authentic, character-driven story, full of real conflicts and natural emotion.

3) “Turn up for work. Discipline allows creative freedom. No discipline equals no freedom.” - Jeanette Winterson

4) “Show up, show up, show up, and after a while the muse shows up, too.” - Isabel Allende

Coffee bean’s analysis: In order to write or eventually share your story with the world, you have to sit down and do the work, even if your brain is empty. Once you show up, the creativity has a chance to spark.

5) “All bad writers are in love with the epic.” - Ernest Hemingway

6) "Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." - Leonardo Da Vinci

Coffee bean’s analysis: Being able to turn a complex idea into simple words is harder than one might think— but can elevate your writing. Not everything needs to be epic or overly flowery.

7) “Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life.” - Anne Lamott

8) “I went for years not finishing anything. Because, of course, when you finish something you can be judged.” - Erica Jong

9) “Don’t write at first for anyone but yourself.” - T.S Eliot

Coffee bean’s analysis: Perfectionism will kill any chance you have at having fun and finishing your novel. Let go of that pressure of being perfect and do not worry about being judged. Write for you.

10) “Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.” -Henry Miller

Coffee bean’s analysis: Don’t overwhelm your schedule with trying to write a ton of projects at once. Focus your energy into one (or two) at a time.

11) "A short story must have a single mood and every sentence must build towards it." - Edgar Allen Poe

12) “Every sentence must do one of two things— reveal character or advance the action." - Kurt Vonnegut

Coffee bean’s analysis: Even if you’re writing a novel, this advice is brilliant. Whether it’s a sentence, paragraph or whole chapter... make sure they are meant to be in your story. Keep your scenes tidy and thematic, building towards something.

13) “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” - Anton Chekhov

Coffee bean’s analysis: When writing a novel, give your reader details so that they can picture the scene in their head. Don’t do too much telling (though it has it’s places).

14) “It is perfectly okay to write garbage— as long as you edit brilliantly.” - C.J Cherry

15) “If it sounds like writing … rewrite it.” - Elmore Leonard

Coffee bean’s analysis: Allow yourself to write messily and worry about editing later. Once in the editing phase, if your writing sounds stiff, rewrite it so that it sounds natural.

Instagram: coffeebeanwriting

2K notes · View notes

thewriterg · 2 years

Text

𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

paring(s): Miles Morales x fem!reader, Miles morales x spidey!reader

summary: you were two months pregnant and it was only a matter of time before you had to stop hiding the child growing inside you and tell your boyfriend miles little did you know he has his own surprise for you as well

word count: 1.3k

request: Hi, can I ask for a, Miles Morales x pregnant reader please. Where reader is pregnant with Miles baby. She doesn't know how to tell him because she is skared that he's going to leave her and the baby. She doesn't realize that he knows and that he can hear the baby's heartbeat and not just hers. Just the rest love and fluf please. You can write the rest however you want. If you can do this thank you, if not that is ok.

warning(s): pregnancy, some tears, hormones, kisses, pet names, just a pinch of perinatal depression, I’m thinking this can be college-ish set, pet names, fluff, drinking while pregnant (a glass of wine is okay!), and language

A/n:—GIFs; @dailymilesmorales— I had to set my little angst whore brain aside for this and kept rewriting to make sure it was more happy than sad

Miles watched You in awe as you lied in bed staring at the feeling you were glowing under the late sunlight that seeped through the curtains of your shared bedroom Your was shiny, your nails were growing out, and your skin

that damn skin

“Hey love, I’m gonna go out on patrol for a little while” Miles had brought himself to your side of the bed down on both knees to get down to eye level with you as you let out a small breath before replying

“Okay, I’m sorry I can’t go with you” You felt beyond guilty for lying to your boyfriend this long he’d been taking up your shifts to patrol the city and holding you tight when you needed the comfort

What you had been telling him hadn’t necessarily been a lie you were feeling sick and the running to the bathroom every morning at the crack of dawn for the past two weeks was enough to prove it but you weren’t really telling him or anyone for that matter the full story

“Don’t apologize, ill be back soon okay?” Miles reassured you with that warm smile of his pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose as you nodded and soon enough the brunette was out the door on the way to protect the city

You finally decided to get up heading to your bathroom as you ducked to the cabinets level pushing aside the cleaning supplies and razors to wear two individually wrapped pregnancy test lied flat

You had already took some plenty actually that had all gave you the same results in someway

Two pink lines

or a

blue positive

You unwrapped them both carefully making sure not to tamper with anything even though deep down you knew it was true and that you were pregnant

You sat on the toilet as you went through the process you had many times before as you found yourself staring at the wall waiting as the timer on your phone silently ticked away the remaining time left

You would be more than overjoyed if you didn’t have the voice in the back of your head taunting and chastising you for even hoping Miles would stay with you and raise your baby together why would he you’ve been together merely four years your anniversary was three months from now

Or it would’ve been. Your little family would’ve been something breathtakingly beautiful.

You stared at yourself in the mirror a hand over your belly you weren’t showing but nonetheless it was a little version of you growing inside it and it made your heart squeeze in your chest

You slipped off your clothes and turned the knob to the hot water of your shower to sweep your thoughts clean you would tell Miles when he got back from patrol and would take care of your baby on your own if it came down to it

💌💌💌💌

Miles didn’t know what to do.

It was around two to three weeks ago that he heard something out of the ordinary, way out the ordinary.

He was lying next to your sleeping figure with an arm thrown across your hip draping over your stomach when he heard little rhythmic beats in the drums of his ears usually yours sounded more… lively and vibrant these ones were soft and dainty

Miles listened a little harder and he could hear both beats at the same time lively, vibrant, soft and dainty finally the realization had took his breath away

He was going to be a dad

you were going to be a mom

you had a family

Miles was so close to waking you up to engulf you whole and prepare kisses around your face but he settled you must have been tired carrying around the news of having a child growing inside you and maybe you wanted to surprise him he didn’t want to ruin that for you or himself so he waited

And waited

Now it was two weeks later and Miles was still trying to let you tell you on your own he tried to gently encourage you with warm smiles and checking up on you more than he usually would to the point where he thought it was overbearing

The only reason the man knew you were aware is when he offered you a glass of wine your favorite wine and all you did was take a sip leaving the cup deserted

The only reason Miles would confront you tonight is because he was simply worried for you and the baby’s health you hadn’t been to the doctor and the brunette didn’t want to wait too long to go

So he swung to the corner shop leaving with a dozen of white roses and some of your favorite snacks you enjoyed in a bag waiting to get home to you

💌💌💌💌

You sat on the couch your leg bouncing up and down in anticipation as you waited for your boyfriend to come back home you had six pregnancy test on tucked under your thigh playing with your hands in your lap

You finally heard the window beside you as you watched your boyfriend climb through the window of your home his suit skin tight on his body book bag residing on his back

you would miss seeing him like this

“Hey… how was patrol?” You questioned timidly and Miles would be lying if he said he weren’t surprised to see you out of bed

“Hi lovie it was good, calm surprisingly.” The boy responded as he sat on the couch next to you sliding the straps of his bad off his shoulders

“I got something for you”

You both chuckled at your in sync comment as you nodded for Miles to continue he didn’t speak he just reached in his bag before pulling out a bouquet of white roses and some of your favorite snack you had been eating on the last few weeks

“Thank you baby, your so thoughtful” The lump in your throat was more prominent that ever as you zoomed in on the feeling of the plastic test under your thigh

“Now what’s my surp-” Miles sentence was cut short as you shoved the test in his lap some facing up some facing down all of the saying the same result that you were pregnant

“I’m pregnant two months, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I-I was scared and I’m still scared and it’s okay if you want to leave I can do it by myself and-” This time you were cut short of your sobbing speech as Miles held your face In his hands his heart practically ripped in his chest as you sniffled heavy trying to keep your tears in your eyes for him to break up with you

“Oh sweetheart, im not going anywhere you hear me? I’m so glad you told me baby I’m so proud of you and I can’t wait to raise our baby together” Miles shushed you as you sobbed harder face pressed against his shoulder his suit soaking up your tears

“I’m so sorry it took me so long” You sniffled and Miles hugged you close rubbing small soothing circles on your back

“I’m just glad you told me okay? I’m so glad you told me baby” The brunette whispered running a hand over your hair smoothing it out as you began to fall asleep in his warm embrace

Miles would choose another day to tell you that he knew all this time but for now he would settle with holding you close in his arms and rubbing your belly

He held his world in his hands

#miles molares #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spider man x y/n #spider man x you #romance #fluff #fem!reader #the avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x you #i love you #thewriterg #2023

2K notes · View notes

doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months

Text

Houses of the Holy | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ;) )

Warnings: MNDI 18+ ONLY, canon violence, canon gore, SMUT, breast play, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do this irl pls and thanks), dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, clit spanking, descriptions of religious trauma (there’s a lot of talk of the two things you should never talk about in here: religion and politics)

Word Count: 5892

A/N: need i say it again, goodbye, minors!!! Be gone!!! please!!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Every twenty or so minutes, you reloaded the FBI’s database you’d managed to tap into. You were getting incredibly anxious about Dean’s presence on their radar following the bank “robbery” the week prior.

Sam went out to pose as a psychotherapy nurse to interrogate a woman whose personality seemed to have changed overnight after killing a man, claiming an angel led her to do so. You were placed on “Dean duty” after Sam insisted his brother stay here to avoid being seen. You were right on board with that idea, but you needed to stay behind to make sure Dean didn’t go stir crazy and leave stupidly.

A thousand thoughts swirled through your head as you wrote in your journal.

“When I was on my own, I was a fucking expert at staying away from police,” you wrote. “Now, suddenly, I’m on cases with these two where every time I turn around, a cop is on my ass. I’m not super crazy about that idea. However, I don’t wanna leave them. They’re my best friends, and I know Dean is something more to me. I don’t wanna give that all up just because I’m starting to sweat a bit, y’know?

“I am not one to shy away from trouble, and I’m loyal. Those are two qualities I’m super proud of,” you continued writing, “I just am worried. And I feel like that’s completely normal. But it’s a different kind of worry. I’ve never had to be concerned about two other people when I’m hunting. This is the first time I’ve had partners who are just as good as I am. And I’ve never cared about my partners this much. And in a way, that sucks.

“And what the hell was I thinking promising Sam that I’d kill him if necessary? Am I out of my fucking mind?? I don’t know what I’d do if Dean hated me. But I’d still rather him hate me than hate himself. I can go it alone again. I really could. I just don’t think I want to.”

You dropped your pen and scrubbed a hand over your face before pulling it through your hair.

“Sweetheart. C’mere,” Dean groaned from the other end of the room. He was laying on a vibrating motel bed with his headphones in his ears. He’d been obsessively fueling the “Magic Fingers” machine with quarters.

You headed over to him just as the bed stopped vibrating.

“Damn, that was my last quarter,” he huffed, taking his headphones out of his ears. He seemed not to notice you until that moment. “Oh, hey.”

You sat on the bed next to him, and he was still laid out in the center of the bed on his back.”Whatcha need?”

“You,” he said, smirking.

You laughed as he pulled on the ends of your— his— shirt, trying to get you to lay on top of him. You happily complied, leaning forward to kiss him. Between kisses, you giggled, “Dee, we already fucked this morning. You’re seriously ready again?”

He hummed against your lips. “Always.”

You rolled your head away from him. “I have sex with you once, and suddenly, you’re insatiable.”

“I can’t help it,” he smirked. “You’re gorgeous.”

You faux-pouted. “That’s it?”

He rolled on top of you and kissed up your neck. “And smart.” He kissed you again, moving to your left cheek. “And badass.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “And sexy.” He kissed your lips. “I hate how much I need you.”

You mocked offense. “Why do you hate it?”

“ ‘Cause I don’t like to need anyone,” he replied.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I need you, too.” You leaned up to him and pecked his lips before leaning back down on the pillows. “And not just sexually,” you clarified.

He chuckled. “Same here,” he told you earnestly.

You grinned widely, pulling him back down to your lips by the nape of his neck. He eagerly bit your bottom lip before trailing his lips down your neck. He sucked a dark spot on your collarbone, making you tug his hair and moan. He groaned against your skin before hiking the shirt up your body, swirling his tongue around your nipples. Still sensitive from your activities earlier in the morning, your back immediately arched into him and you keened, encouraging him to keep going. He switched to your other breast and chuckled as you continued writhing underneath him. “Wonder if I could make you cum just like this,” he said, looking up at you.

“Stop teasing, Dean,” you whined, shoving his shoulders down to your pussy.

“Hmm, but it’s so much fun,” he replied. Dean skimmed his fingers down to the band of your underwear, playing with the hem. You sucked in a sharp breath and squirmed beneath him. “Why would I do what you want when this is so much more enjoyable for me,” he chuckled darkly.

“Dean!” you cried out. “Please!”

“Fine,” he responded. The man above you pushed your panties down your legs before dipping his fingers into your cunt. “So wet for me already?”

“Fuck you,” you murmured in embarrassment.

He tsked. “Is that any way to talk to the guy who made you cum three times this morning?”

“It is if he’s being a fucking tease,” you replied, running your nails over his abs just above his V-line.

He groaned at your actions before grabbing your wrist and pinning it next to your head. “Now who’s being a tease?” Dean used one hand to pin your wrist above your head and the other to grab your other. He pinned them above your head, instructing you to keep them there.

He moved back down your body, stopping when he reached your core. He eagerly ate you out like a man starved, and your hands flew to his hair. He immediately stopped.

“What’d I say?” he asked gruffly.

“Sorry,” you replied sheepishly, grabbing the headboard above you to keep your hands there.

He moved back to your pussy, sucking your clit into his mouth and making you grip the headboard tighter. “Fuck, Dean!” you cried out.

He curled two long fingers inside you, groaning at the slick pooling between your thighs. Your orgasm was quickly approaching as he hit your g-spot with the tips of his fingers and continued harshly sucking your clit, every now and again swirling his tongue around it.

“Fuck, fuck, please, I’m gonna—” And then he was gone. “What the fuck?” you whined at the feeling of his fingers leaving you.

“You don’t get to come until I say,” he growled. “You understand?”

You nodded eagerly, still white-knuckling the headboard. You spread your legs wide, fully displaying your pussy to him. “Fuck me, Dean.”

His hand came harshly down on your clit. You yelped in surprise.

“You don’t make the demands here, I do.” He spanked your clit one more time for good measure before shoving his fingers into your mouth. You sucked on them in earnest, closing your eyes as you licked them clean. Dean groaned at the feeling and freed his fingers from your mouth, gripping your throat as he bent down to kiss you.

Before you knew it, Dean’s cock was inside you, making you gasp into his mouth. He sheathed himself fully inside you, and you locked your legs around his hips. He rocked into you roughly, each thrust making you come more and more alight.

“Can I touch you?” you breathed out. “Please?”

“Beg,” he replied, still keeping his thrusts even.

“Dean, please let me touch you. Please, please, I need to touch you,” you groveled through shallow breaths.

“Hmm…” he smirked, rolling his hips into yours roughly.

“Dean! Please! Please!” you cried, gasping. “I need to feel you, Dee.”

“Okay, sweetheart, you can,” he said.

You were on him in an instant, one hand in his hair and the other winding around the underside of his shoulders. You kissed your way down his neck and nipped at the base of it, careful not to leave any dark marks; even though you really wanted to. Dean’s pace began to falter as you felt his cock twitching inside you.

“Cum with me,” he instructed you. He reached down to your clit, drawing rough circles, before burying his face in your shoulder. “Cum with me, now, (Y/N).”

You came with a high-pitched moan, your orgasm crashing into you suddenly. Your legs locked around the base of Dean’s spine, keeping him inside you as he came. You moaned again at the feeling of his cum spilling inside you. His thrusts slowed, and he pulled out, causing you to whine at the loss. Dean laid on your bare chest, breathless.

You took a few minutes to linger in this feeling which you decided was your version of heaven. No monsters, no fighting, no police run-ins— just Dean laying on your chest, breathing in time with you. However, you knew Sam would be coming back any minute now.

“Dean,” you said, trying to wiggle out from under him.

“Hm?”

“We gotta get up, Sam’s gonna be back soon.”

“Who cares.”

“Me!” you squealed as his grip tightened around you. “I don’t really want Sam to see my bare tits!”

He kissed between the valley of your breasts, nuzzling your left one with his cheek. “But I wanna keep lookin’ at ‘em.”

“Dean!”

“Alright, alright.” He finally let go of you, and you pulled your clothes back on. This time, you put your jeans and the shirt you wore before you and Dean fucked for the first time that morning to avoid Sam knowing what had been happening. You headed back over to your laptop, and reloaded the FBI’s database page.

“What is so important over there?” Dean asked, coming over to you.

You turned your laptop to face him.

“Seriously? You’re gonna drive yourself crazy lookin’ at that.”

“Well, sorry, but I’m trying to keep you from getting arrested,” you scoffed.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know.”

You looked away from your computer and back up to him with big doe eyes.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that,” Dean growled.

You tilted your head in confusion. “Why?”

“ ‘Cause I’m not gonna be able to control myself if you don't,” he replied.

Despite your earlier activities, heat flooded once more between your thighs. “Dean—”

At that moment, Sam burst through the door. “Hey.”

Dean jerked away from you, and you awkwardly returned to the computer in front of you.

“So, did you get in to see that crazy hooker?” Dean questioned, scratching the back of his neck.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Gloria Sitnick. And I'm not so sure she's crazy.”

“But she seriously believes that she was... touched by an angel?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah. Blinding light, feelings of spiritual ecstasy, the works. I mean, she's living in a locked ward and she's totally at peace.”

You scoffed. “Definitely completely sane. What about the guy she stabbed?”

“Uh, Carl Gully. She said she killed him because he was evil,” Sam explained.

“Was he?” Dean asked.

The brunet shrugged. “I don't know. I mean, I couldn't find any dirt on him. I mean, he didn't have a criminal record, he worked at the campus library, had lots of friends. He was a churchgoer.”

Dean paced around, all-business mode. “Hm. So then Gloria's just your standard-issue wacko. I mean, phew, she wouldn't be the first nutjob in history to kill in the name of religion. Know what I mean?”

“No, but she's the second in town to murder because an angel told them to. Little bit odd, don't ya think?” Sam countered.

“Well, little odd, yes, supernatural, maybe. But angels? I don't think so.”

“Agreed,” you chimed in.

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“ ‘Cause angels aren’t real,” you replied.

“(Y/N/N), there's ten times as much lore about angels as there is about anything else we've ever hunted,” the younger brother reminded you.

“Yeah, you know what? There's a ton of lore on unicorns too. In fact, I hear that they, they ride on silver moonbeams, and they shoot rainbows out of their ass,” Dean grunted.

Sam sat down across from you, deadpanning, “Wait, there's no such thing as unicorns?”

“That's cute,” Dean monotoned, “I'm just saying, man, there's just some legends that you just, you file under ‘bullcrap’.”

“And you've got angels on the bullcrap list.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause I’ve never seen one,” you chimed in.

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “So what?”

“So I believe in what I can see,” Dean argued.

“Dean! You and I have seen things that most people couldn't even dream about.”

“Sam,” you started, trying to mollify both brothers. “I think that’s his point. We can actually see that stuff. Hard proof, y’know? We don’t have hard proof of angels.”

“This is a– a demon or a spirit,” Dean continued. “You know, they find people a few fries short of a happy meal, and they trick them into killing these randoms.”

Sam sighed. “Maybe.”

“Can we just— I'm going stir-crazy, guys. Hey, let's go by Gloria's apartment, huh?” Dean begged you and Sam.

“I was just there. Nothing. No sulfur, no EMF…” Sam trailed off.

“You didn't see any fluffy white wing feathers?” Dean deadpanned.

“But Gloria did say the angel gave her a sign, right beside Carl Gully's doorway,” Sam huffed.

Dean perked up at that notion. “Could be something at his house; it's worth checking out.”

“I don’t love that idea, Dean. Please… stay here, okay? Sam and I can handle it,” you argued.

Dean groaned. “(Y/N), I’m going fucking crazy in here. Please?”

You crossed your arms. “No.”

He went to say something again.

“No. Sam, you’re on Dean duty. I’ll be back in a few hours,” you stated firmly.

“(Y/N)—”

“Dean,” you warned. “I’ll bring you back some beers, okay?”

He huffed.

“I’ll throw a burger and some quarters in there, too, okay?”

Dean huffed again, but said nothing in response.

You tugged your boots on, and Sam tossed the keys to you.

“Not a scratch, (Y/N),” Dean told you firmly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

***

About two hours later, you returned with a six pack and burgers and fries for the boys.

“Oh, (Y/N), thank god,” Sam exclaimed when you returned.

“What, has he been that bad?” you asked.

“I’m right here, y’know,’ Dean grumbled. “You bring any quarters?”

“Told you I would.” You chucked the roll of quarters and his car keys back at him.

You put the six pack down on the table and began distributing the food between the brothers.

“Woman, you’re fucking awesome,” Dean groaned as he took a bite of his burger.

Sam laughed. “So, what’d you find out?”

“Well, Mr. Gully had some pretty dark secrets,” you began. “I found three sets of bones buried under his house. Poor babies were kids from the local college who disappeared about a year ago. And get this; all of ‘em were last seen at the library.”

“Sick bastard,” Dean grunted.

“So Gloria's angel—” Sam started, only to be cut off by Dean.

“Angel?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay. Whatever this thing is…”

“Whatever it is, it's struck again,” Dean jumped back in through a mouthful of food.

“What?” you questioned.

“Dean hasn’t put down the police radio since you left,” Sam told you. “There was this guy, uh, Zach Smith, some local drunk; he went up to a stranger's front door last night, stabbed him in the heart.”

“And then I'm guessing he went to the police and confessed?” you asked.

“Yep. Roma Downey made him do it,” Dean quipped. He took a post-it note off the mirror. “Now, I, uh, got the victim's address.”

“Dean—”

“(Y/N), I am not staying here again. Just this one thing? Please?”

“No, Dee. I’m not taking that risk. You have got to lay low,” you insisted.

“(Y/N), how are you gonna stop me from doing my job?”

“Because if it involves putting yourself at risk, then it’s not happening,” you protested.

“My whole job is risk,” he argued, stepping closer to you. “There’s just… an added level now.”

“Exactly. Which means we have to be that much more careful. Especially considering we have the feds on our ass. I’m not letting this happen,” you shot back.

“Hate to say it, Dean, I think (Y/N)’s right,” Sam jumped in. “I’ll go check out the vic’s house. (Y/N), stay here.”

“Fine by me,” you said.

Dean grunted in aggravation, and flopped down on the bed after putting a few quarters in the Magic Fingers machine. You knew he’d probably stay angry with you for the rest of the evening.

After a few minutes of silence and when the rumbling came to an end, you spoke up again. “Dean,” you sighed. “I’m not trying to be a huge ass, okay? I’d be angry with me, too. But this is just… It’s a lot. And I’m trying to keep you boys as safe as possible. And I wanna help Sam with this case, but I can’t if I’m worried about you not staying put, okay?”

Dean didn’t respond, and you thought for a moment that he’d fallen asleep. At least, that was until you heard him murmur, “Okay.”

*** Sam informed you and Dean that the most recent victim had been planning to meet with a thirteen-year-old girl. Your stomach turned when he told you, and Dean looked like he would’ve kicked the guy to hell and back given the opportunity. Sam also told you that both victims went to the same church called “Our Lady of the Angels.”

“That’s funny,” you’d commented.

Following last night’s conversation with Dean, you felt more comfortable leaving him to his own devices. And so, it was up to you and Sam to go talk to the priests at said church.

“So you're interested in joining the parish?” the priest, who’d introduced himself as Father Reynolds, asked you.

“Yes, sir,” you replied.

“Where'd you say you lived before?”

“Fremont, Texas,” you said without missing a beat.

“Really? That's a nice town,” Fr. Reynolds noted. “St. Teresa's parish, you must know the priest there.”

“Yes, sir. He’s wonderful,” you nodded.

“You know, we're just happy to be here now, Father,” Sam broke in.

“And we're happy to have you, we could use some young blood around here.”

“Hey, listen, I gotta ask,” you began hesitantly. “No offense, but uh, the neighborhood?”

Fr. Reynolds sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Well, it's gone to seed a little, there's no denying that, but that's why what the church does here is so important. Like I always say, you can expect a miracle, but in the meantime you work your butt off.”

“Yeah, we, uh, heard about the murders,” you acknowledged.

“Yes. The victims were parishioners of mine, I'd known them for years.”

Sam quirked his head to the side. “And the killers said that an angel made them do that?”

“Yes. Misguided souls, to think that God's messenger would appear and incite people to murder. It's tragic,” the priest sighed.

“So you don't believe in the whole ‘angel’ thing?” you questioned.

“Oh, no, I absolutely believe,” he chuckled. “Kind of goes with the job description.”

Sam nodded toward the painting on the wall. “Father, that's Michael, right?”

“That's right. The archangel Michael, with the flaming sword. The fighter of demons. Holy force against evil.”

“So they're not really the Hallmark card version that everybody thinks? They're fierce, right? Vigilant?”

“Well, I like to think of them as more loving than wrathful. But, uh, yes, a lot of Scripture paints angels as God's warriors. ‘An angel of the Lord appeared to them, the glory of the Lord shone down upon them, and they were terrified’,” the priest finished.

You nodded sagely. “Luke two nine.”

The priest seemed surprised you knew that. “Yes, actually.”

You laughed uncomfortably. “My, uh, my mom was a pretty zealous Catholic,” you explained as Fr. Reynolds began leading you out of the door. “She’d quiz me on the bible verses every now and again.”

You could feel Sam’s eyes on you while you began heading down the steps of the church.

“Well, thank you for speaking with us, Father,” the brunet said.

“Oh, it's my pleasure. Hope to see you again,” the priest nodded.

You noticed a collection of tribute items at the bottom of the steps; candles, flowers, pictures, and rosaries. “Hey, Father, what's, what’s all that for?”

Fr. Reynolds deflated a bit. “Oh, that's for Father Gregory. He was a priest here.”

“Was?” you questioned.

“He passed away right on these steps. He's interred in the church crypt,” he explained.

“When did this happen?”

“Two months ago. He was shot for his car keys.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” you told him.

“Yeah, me too.” The priest couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from his friend’s memorial. “He was a good friend. I didn't even have time to administer his last rites. But like I said, it's a tough neighborhood. Ever since he died I've been praying my heart out.”

“For what?” Sam asked.

“For deliverance. From the violence and the bloodshed around here. We could use a little divine intervention, I suppose,” he replied.

“Thanks, Father. We’ll see you around sometime,” you nodded solemnly. He headed back inside.

“Well, it's all starting to make sense. Devoted priest dies a violent death? That's vengeful spirit material right there,” you noted.

Sam seemed a bit uncomfortable.

“And he knew all the vics, because they went to church here,” you continued. “In fact I'm willing to bet that because he was their priest, he knew things about them that nobody else knew. Reconciliation and all that jazz.”

“Then again, Father Reynolds started praying for God's help about two months ago, right? Right about the time all this started happening?” Sam countered.

“Sam,” you sighed. “I know you wanna believe, but I’m not really sold on this whole ‘angel’ idea. Why do you seem so convinced?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “But I do know that I pray. Every single day. I have for a long time.”

You startled a bit. “Really? I had no idea.”

“And what about you?” he asked. “What made you stop?”

“Well, like I said, my mom was always a bit of a zealot,” you began. “And… let’s just say I saw how well prayin’ worked out for her.”

Sam shot you a puppy-dog-eyed look.

“C’mon, let’s go check out Fr. Gregory’s grave.”

Sam followed you down to the crypt. It was a bit of a maze of stone hallways lined with numerous stone angel statues. You headed a little ahead of Sam deeper into the crypt. You turned back when you noticed Sam wasn’t behind you, and then suddenly felt the ground beneath you shaking.

“Oh, fuck,” you murmured before running to where you thought Sam may be. “Sammy?” you called. “Get the rocksalt out—” You halted momentarily when you noticed Sam’s slumped over form on the ground. “Hey! Sam! Wake up!” you cried, grabbing his face in both your hands. He jerked awake as soon as you touched him. “You okay?!” you asked worriedly.

He looked past you at the angel statue behind you. “Yeah. Yeah. 'm okay.” He seemed a little startled.

You helped him to his feet and led him into the sanctuary. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, (Y/N), I saw an angel,” he said.

“You—” You shook your head, unsure how to approach this situation. “So. What makes you think you saw an, uh, angel?”

“It just, it appeared before me and I just, this feeling washed over me, you know? Like, like peace. Like grace,” he explained.

You swallowed harshly, feeling suddenly unsettled. “Wh—” You laughed uncomfortably.

“I know this is a lot, but I’m telling you, it spoke to me. It knew who I was,” he said.

You shook your head. “Spirits can do that, though, y’know that, right?”

Sam didn’t seem convinced.

“Okay, let me guess,” you tried. “You were personally chosen to smite some sinner. You've just got to wait for some divine bat signal, is that it?”

“Yeah, actually,” Sam nodded.

“Great. I don't suppose you asked what this alleged bad guy did?”

“Actually I did, (Y/N). And the angel told me. He hasn't done anything. Yet. But he will,” Sam nodded.

You started pacing. “I don’t believe this.”

“(Y/N), the angel hasn’t been wrong yet!” Sam protested. “Someone's going to do something awful, and I can stop it!”

You scoffed. “You’re supposed to do something awful, too. Does that mean I’m just supposed to nuke you right now?”

“Y’know what? I don't understand! Why can't you and Dean even consider the possibility?”

“What, that this is an angel?”

“Yes! Maybe we're hunting an angel here, and we should stop! Maybe this is God's will!”

“Y’know what, Sam, if that’s what you believe, fine,” you sighed. “If faith is what helps you sleep at night and brings you a little peace, then, that’s great and I’m happy for you. But I cannot rationalize worshiping a god who’s gonna condemn me to a pit of fire and suffering for the simple fact of non-belief. I mean, think about it, man. He knows exactly what it would take to get every person to believe, and he still chooses not to show it to us.” You began to pace faster. “And, and? Why would homosexuality be the thing he chooses to put his foot down on? And if you are this great and good god, why is that love wrong? And if people believe in other religions, why does that mean they’re going to hell? What if they’re Buddhist and an exceptional person; they still have to go to hell? Hindu? I don’t fucking get it, Sam. And if my options are going to heaven with all the churchgoers— who are mostly hypocrites and these fuck-os who are abusing kids and murdering on Tuesday after just leaving church the Sunday before, then send me straight on down to hell. I’ll take eternity with actually decent people over these yuppies and troglodytes any day.” You stopped, taking a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Sam seemed shocked. “It’s okay,” he said, despite himself.

You huffed, scratching the back of your head. “Anyway, I got some hard proof we’re dealing with a spirit.” You led him over to Father Gregory’s grave. It was crawling with mangled vines, and you crouched down in front of it.

“That looks like—”

You cut Sam off. “Wormwood. Plant associated with the dead; specifically the ones that are not at rest. I don't see it growing anywhere else, except over the murdered priest's marker. It's him, Sam.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged.

“Maybe?”

“I don't know what to think,” he said honestly.

You sighed. “Okay. You want some more proof? I'll give you more proof.”

“How?” Sam asked.

“We'll summon Gregory's spirit,” you responded simply.

“What? Here? In the church?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just need a few odds and ends and my journal for a séance ritual.”

“Oh, a séance, great. Hope Whoopi's available,” Sam quipped.

You deadpanned at him, “Cute. Seriously. If Father Gregory's spirit is around, a séance will bring him right to us. If it's him, then we'll put him to rest.”

“But if it's an angel, it won't show. Nothin' 'll happen.”

“Exactly,” you nodded. “And then we’ll know for sure. And then I can grovel in front of Michael or Zachariah or Castiel or whichever the hell angel it is and beg for their forgiveness before they smite me.”

“The hell kind of angel’s named Castiel?” Sam’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Angel of temperance and serenity. Not traditional Catholicism, but I digress. I told you, my mom was a complete Jesus-freak,” you snorted. “Alright, let’s go get my journal. Hopefully Dean’s still there. I swear to god, I’ll send him to hell and back if he’s not.” *** Thankfully for Dean, he was right where you’d left him. He looked bored out of his skull, but he actually listened to you. “Jesus, how fuckin’ long does it take to talk to a priest?”

“Not right now, Dean. Sam’s a little, uh, possessed? Cursed? Don’t know what the right word is in this situation. Divinely inspired?” you continued.

“What? He saw it?”

Sam nodded.

“We don’t have time to rehash all this. Now, Dean, you comin’ or not?” You turned to the elder brother.

“Wait, you’re letting me out?”

You scoffed. “Dean, you’re not a hostage. C’mon. We could use the help especially now that Sam’s been angel-drugged.”

Dean chuckled.

“What?” you asked.

“Sam got touched by an angel,” he snickered.

You burst out in laughter, and Sam just deadpanned.

***

Your next stop was a small grocery store that you hoped didn’t have security cameras that would be able to identify Dean. Sam bounded out of the store holding a paper sack and chuckling. “Guys. I'll admit we've gone pretty ghetto with spellwork before, but this takes the cake. I mean, a Spongebob placemat instead of an altar cloth?”

“We'll just put it Spongebob-side down,” Dean shrugged.

Sam’s laughter subsided suddenly as he stared at someone across the street.

“What is it?” you asked him.

“It’s him,” he replied. “That's the sign!”

“Where?” Dean questioned.

“Right there, right behind that guy! That's him, Dean. And we have to stop him,” Sam pleaded.

Sam started after him, but you and Dean held the giant man back.

“Wait a second,” you stated.

“What are you doing? Let me go,” Sam grunted.

“You're not going to go kill somebody because a ghost told you to, are you insane?” Dean hissed.

“Dean, I'm not insane, I'm not going to kill him. I'm going to stop him.”

“Define ‘stop’, huh? I mean, what are you going to do?” Dean pressed.

“Dean, please, he's going to hurt someone, you know it.”

“Alright, come on,” Dean said finally. You moved to the other side of the car, and Dean quickly shoved you down into the backseat.

“Dean. Unlock my door,” Sam commanded, still standing on the sidewalk.

“You're not killing anyone, Sam. (Y/N) and I got this guy, you go do the séance,” he nodded.

“Dean!” Sam called after you, but Dean was already pulling away. He followed the man who’d been holding the yellow flowers down a short distance down the street before the guy stopped in front of a girl. She got in the car with him, and your heart sank as you climbed into the front seat.

“I don’t like where this is going,” you murmured.

“Yeah, me neither.” Dean gripped the wheel tightly and started trailing the blue car again.

The allegedly evil man soon turned down a dark alley, and you temporarily lost sight of him. Dean cursed, “Dammit!” and slammed the steering wheel in frustration.

“Dean, Dean, follow him, c’mon,” you begged, and he slammed his foot on the gas, turning down the alley he thought he’d seen the man head down. Thankfully, his guess was correct, and you and Dean quickly ran to opposite sides of the man’s car. You could hear the young woman crying and the man shouting at her as you approached. Dean punched the window, and you took that as your opportunity to quickly pull the girl out of the car.

“Are you okay?” you asked her, grabbing her shoulders.

“Thank god!” she cried, surging forward to hug you.

You called to Dean as the man sped off in his blue car. “Dean! I got her, you follow him! I’ll catch up with you later!”

Dean nodded, sprinting back to the Impala and following the man out of the alley.

“Did he do anything to you?” you asked her.

She shook her head, still crying.

“Do you have any friends nearby? I’ll walk you to ‘em,” you told her.

The woman nodded. “Yeah, um, my friend—” she hiccuped, “my friend Sarah lives around here.”

“Okay, can you call Sarah? Let her know you’re on your way?”

She nodded again, and you rubbed her back with your hand to soothe her while you started walking toward her friend’s apartment.

You got to know her as you walked to help her calm down and distract her from what had just happened. Her tears slowly subsided, and you seemed to have calmed her down by the time you arrived at her friend’s apartment complex. She hugged you tightly after announcing the two of you had made it.

“Thank you so much,” she told you.

“Anytime,” you told her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

She nodded and headed up the front steps. She turned to you when she reached the door, waving goodbye one last time.

***

You somehow managed to get back to the motel. Surprisingly, Sarah’s apartment hadn’t been too far from it. You only needed to walk about thirty minutes before you stumbled upon it.

“Hey,” you said as you opened the door to the Winchesters’ room. Both Dean and Sam were packing. “How’s everybody doin?”

Sam looked demoralized. “You were right. It wasn't an angel. It was Gregory. I don't know, guys, I just, uh—” he sat down on the bed. “I wanted to believe… so badly. It's so damn hard to do this, what we do. You're all alone, you know? And there's so much evil out there in the world, I feel like I could drown in it. And when I think about my destiny, when I think about how I could end up—”

Dean sat next to him. “Yeah, well, don't worry about that. All right? I'm watching out for you.”

The brunet smiled. “Yeah, I know you are. But you're just one person, Dean. And I needed to think that there was something else, watching too, you know? Some higher power. Some greater good. And that maybe…” he trailed off.

“Maybe what?” you asked.

“Maybe I could be saved.” He suddenly realized what he admitted and chuckled nervously. “But, uh, you know, that just clouded my judgment, and you're right. I mean, we've gotta go with what we know, with what we can see, with what's right there in front of our own two eyes.”

“Yeah, well, it's funny you say that,” Dean said.

“Why?” you asked.

“Gregory's spirit gave you some pretty good information. That guy in the car was bad news. We barely got there in time.”

“What happened to him?” you questioned.

“He's dead.”

“Did… Did you?” Sam asked.

The older brother shook his head. “No. But I'll tell you one thing. If— The way he died, if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes I never would have believed it. I mean— I don't know what to call it.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What? Dean, what did you see?”

“Maybe… God's will.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

241 notes · View notes

gutterfuuck · 2 months

Note

NERD MARK NERD MARK NERD MARK NERD MARK I JUST NEED TO GO DOWN ON HIM AND HEAR HIM CRY EVEN BETTER IF WE'RE IN A LIBRARY AND HE HAS TO BE QUIET AAHDVSVBABDDN😫

-❄️ anon (if they're isn't already one of so just magic one 4me💗 IM 21🚨⚠️🗣️)

hello! i make my triumphant return to tumblr haha! i have been absent for a while but i am back, and this ask caught my attention!! i hope that you all enjoy!! and yes, you will be named blizzy anon!! i hope that is okay!

cw: VERY SHORT I AM SORRY!! is poor excuse for a return but we are so back, public sex(?), oral, subby mark, fem!reader, college setting!, mark has glasses & braces because he just does, lmk if i missed anything! i haven’t written in a while so i am sorry for spelling mistakes and poor writing and such! this feels kind of rushed but i am certain to rewrite it as soon as i am not in a rush haha!

“oh- o-oh, fuck,”

mark groaned as he bought his hand to his mouth, trying to stop the onslaught of moans that escaped his lips as you squeeze his knees with your hands from your position on the floor. he tried to keep quiet, it was a library after all.

you looked up at him, head bobbing up and down on his sensitive cock as you swirled your tongue around the base, making mark jolt as he held onto the arms of the chair, tightly clutching onto them as if they’d save him from the way you were sucking the soul right out of his cock.

you pulled off of it with a wet pop before you planted a kiss on his tip, mark’s face flushing as he adjusted his glasses, breathing heavily. his dick twitched, craving more of your attention as you gave it a light tap, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough for him to register it as a slap.

mark flinched and groaned, his hips involuntarily bucking upwards as you tapped his leaky cock, your hand coming up to rub your palm along the slit, spreading your saliva and his spit all over him,

“n-noo-ngh..”

he whined as you continued to rub your palm over his leaking cockhead, watching as he twitched and writhed around in the chair above you. the library was quiet enough, all it would take is someone to walk around the corner, walk over to the studying area to see mark disheveled in the library’s chair, glasses fogged up, lip pulled between his braced teeth, trying to keep himself quiet…

you almost wished you would get caught, “y-y/n-! ‘s too much..!” he tried to whisper yell, throwing his head back as your tongue traced a prominent vein on his length, his composure slipping as he struggled to stay silent

you lifted your head up again, applying kitten licks to his sensitive dick tip as you massaged his thighs with your hands,

“too much, huh? so you don’t wanna cum?” you asked mark, to which his body stiffened up for a second and you swore you could almost hear his thought process as he immediately shakes his head, trying to backtrack as he let out a soft whine,

“i… i wanna c-cum,” he spoke quietly, one wrong move and he’d alert someone. one wrong move and he’d be exposed to anyone who walked this way.

you wanted to tease him, wanted to make him cry and beg but mark already looked like he was at his limit, his thighs trembling as you squeezed them in your hands,

“g-g’nna— ah, o-oh..- fuuuck, fuck fuck,”

mark couldn’t hold it anymore, cussing as if it were a mantra, the way your plush lips met his base with a rough smack, smack, smack-ing sound, the way he bit down on his knuckles to keep himself from falling apart in the library…

you took the chance, deepthroating him, his cock hitting the back of your neck as you tried not to choke around the girth, making the most sinful sounds as he neared his orgasm, thighs trembling almost violently, his moans and whines rising in volume.

“y-y/n-!”

he damn near squealed, your throat wrapping around his dick snuggly. you could feel it, the throbbing in your throat as mark huffed out breathily,

“i-i’m cum-ngh.!”

he blurted out, flinching as you sucked hard around him, cheeks hollowing out before his fingers tangle into your hair, pulling you right up against him so his pubes tickled your nose, right up against the base

you trembled for a minute as he held your face down, struggling for a while, sitting there and taking it in the library like a cocksleeve as his hips stuttered and his grip slowed, head hanging back… and that was it, mark’s body shook with pleasure, eyes going black as he felt like the most depraved person on earth, having his cock sucked deliciously by you, you were basically forcing orgasms out of him at this point

“y/n, cumming..! f-fuck— shit-“

mark cried out as he let out a shaky breath, followed by a silent moan, his grip tightening in your hair as he held you there for a second, your eyes rolling back before you tapped at his thigh to let you breathe… he let you go, his chest rising up and down as he huffed in short pants. you sat up, his cum still in your mouth as you reached down to grab at his chin, forcing him up to look at you, your thumb parting his lips

he obediently opened his mouth, letting you stand above him, holding his face in your hands as you let the messy combination of cum and saliva drip from your tongue and into his mouth

he swallowed right away, almost eagerly before he wiped the pleasured tears that pricked at the corner of his eyes.

this was supposed to have been a study date…

#mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson smut #invincible smut #bff!mark grayson #💬 sparkie is typing…#❄️blizzy is typing…

115 notes · View notes

narcpixiedreamboy · 8 months

Text

Okay I’d like anyone that sees this to blind react and put a finger down for each thing in this list you relate to. There are 9 things. You can comment your score publicly or keep it private, up to you, but I think this might be interesting for some people. Here’s the list:

-Do you tend to take criticism too personally, or gotten unreasonably defensive when someone points out a mistake you made? Do you hate admitting you’ve done something wrong?

-Do you like to daydream about doing something amazing (such as saving people from a burning building, being the one to win your team the game, being an amazing actor in a movie, etc.) and having people recognize you for the great thing you did?

-Do you place in importance on being associated with important or high status things, like trying to date/be friends with the coolest kids in your classes, or choosing to go to a prestigious university over a common state school?

-Do you tell people about things you’ve done specifically to get praise for it? Such as telling your friends about the A you got on that really hard math test, or pointing out your cool new hairstyle, or the drawing you did that you think looks really cool, specifically so that they will compliment you for it?

-Do you feel comfortable prioritizing yourself and what you want/need over other people?

-Have you ever diminished your accomplishments, or been purposefully self-deprecating so that the person will reassure you (i.e. “You’re such a good artist!” “Oh no I’m really not, anyone could do what I do” “No really, your art is amazing!”)?

-Do you find it hard to genuinely care about other people’s problems?

 -Do you get jealous easily if, let’s say at a party, your friend is getting more attention than you?

-Have you ever felt secretly happy that someone around you failed or did worse on something than you did? Like maybe you didn’t want your friend to fail their math test, but them failing it did you make you feel a little extra good and proud about the non-failing grade you got on it.

(Scroll for explanation for spoiler reasons)

So what that list was a rewriting of the DSM-5 diagnostic criteria for narcissistic personality disorder, where for each section I filled in one of the ways I actually feel that part of the criteria. So instead of “grandiose sense of self”, I said “bad at taking criticism”, because that’s one of the ways my grandiose sense of self actually presents. If this was the original diagnostic criteria, you would need 5 of 9 to be diagnosed with NPD.

The reason I asked you all to count how many you relate to is that I have seen a lot of egotypicals do this exact same stuff. My goal is to help someone possibly unfamiliar with NPD understand that people with NPD are not the foreign, subhuman monsters that we are so often represented as, but rather people who feel some normal human traits too much.

(Also please don’t use this alone to self-diagnose, it was not made for that)

(Also also, thank you to the people in the reblogs for letting me know I could’ve used the read more feature. I am new to tumblr so tips on how to use it are appreciated)

196 notes · View notes

coupsie-daisies · 3 months

Text

Kinktober '23: Free Use | Jeon Jungkook and Jung Hoseok

Pairing: Boyfriend!Jeon Jungkook x Girlfriend!Reader x Jung Hoseok

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), established relationship

Summary: Jungkook knew that you were his dream girl from the moment he saw you, but when you agreed to be the band's free Use stress toy, he knew he was a goner

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: free use, cumshots, unprotected sex, pet names (pretty), threesome, oral (male receiving), fingering, light overstimulation, praise, homoeroticism lowkey, Jungkook is kinda a simp

A/N: Unedited because, I won't lie, I've been writing and rewriting this for ages and I just keep not being satisfied, so hopefully you guys enjoy it and I'm being overly critical. let me know!

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @moonchild0325 // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1-blog

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited

When Jungkook met you for the first time, his entire world shifted on its axis. He thought you were the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, and he could have sworn that when you spoke to him it was like music to his ears. But Jungkook didn't believe in love at first sight, he was a big boy now, long past stories of fairytale sorts.

So he took his time, he took you on dates, some elaborate beyond measure, and some mundane as anything, he learned you inside out, top to bottom. The most difficult part, he'd discovered, was letting you learn him back. He wasn't always good at opening up to people, but he found that with every piece of him that you became familiar with, it was easier to give you more.

And Jungkook gave as much as he received in return. He knew within months that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, but his fate was sealed completely on a late autumn night. Him and the boys had just gotten back from a particularly long schedule and he was enjoying his night with you over drinks. He knew as well as you did that you were something of a lightweight, the alcohol streaming through you always loosened your tongue and brought out a more relaxed side of you.

But once you were settled on his lap, your mouth inching down his neck, the moment took an unexpected turn. Jungkook gripped your hips as they rolled over his, head tipped back against the couch as he revelled in the feeling of you pressed up against him.

"Missed you so fucking much," You mumbled, nipping at the skin, but hardly enough to leave a mark. "Wish you'd just taken me as soon as you got home. Need you inside so bad, Kook,"

"You were cooking, babe." He laughed breathlessly as your hips rocked over his again.

"Don't care. I'm yours whenever you want me. Don't even have to ask, just fuck me."

So he had fucked you then, and again after that, and maybe a third time in the shower. But it was when you were laying in bed, curled against his side for the first time in ages, that he brought up your words again.

"You mean I could fuck you whenever I want? No matter what?" He asked you. You nodded sleepily against his shoulder.

"Within some pre-discussed limits." You answered. "If you wanted to. But that's not everyone's thing." You answered simply. Jungkook couldn't imagine anyone not wanting practically unrestricted access to their partner at all times, but he figured some people just didn't get it.

The limits discussion came in the morning, long and in depth, paired with safe words and mutual agreements. And after that, many more rounds until the both of you were spent. From that day forward, Jungkook took full advantage of your little kink, and you were happy to let him.

The allowance of his band mates to use you was his idea. He'd seen how stressed and frustrated his hyungs were, and sure it was easy for them to get laid, but it was also stressful to protect themselves as world famous idols if they did. So, he suggested they use you as their stress relief. You were more eager to help them than he'd expected. So another round of discussions came around, time frames when you were at their beck and call. And before you knew it, you were theirs to play with as they pleased.

It was during one of those time frames that Jungkook came home from a schedule, finding you laid out across the couch, legs pressed wide and Hoseok's fingers buried inside of you. When you noticed his presence, you buried your face in your arms, hiding from your lover's hungry gaze. He had already been looking forward to having a little fun with you, but he hadn't expected his hyung to be getting you warmed up by the time he got home.

"Starting without me?" He asked, crouching down beside the couch. Hoseok looked up, grinning at the younger man and continuing to scissor his long digits inside of you.

"Barely. Just got here." He answered. Jungkook reached up, pulling your arms away from your face and leaning down to press his lips to yours.

"Having fun, pretty girl?" He asked. You whined in response, Hobi's fingertips brushing against the spongy spot inside of you and making your hips jerk. "Look at how pretty you are. Always so embarrassed like you're not begging to be used."

His filthy words were still laced with a gentle affection that had your head spinning. Hobi pulled his fingers out of your pussy, pressing them to your lips and watching as you sucked them in. You had only just finished cleaning your arousal off of his fingers when Jungkook was turning your head, moving you so your face was pressed against the bulge in his boxers. You hadn't even noticed him stripping off his pants.

You mouthed at his cock through the fabric, suckling the tip and leaving a dark spot over it, wet with his precum and your saliva. Meanwhile, Hobi moved quickly, stripping his top half, then shoving his pants and underwear off his long legs. You wanted to look, but you couldn't turn your head far enough with Jungkook's hand pressing firmly against your jaw.

"Take it out," Jungkook told you, and you reached up, tugging his boxers down until his aching length was exposed to you. He didn't even have to tell you what to do, just sitting pretty while you wrapped your lips around the tip, tongue dipping against his slit. He grunted quietly, slowly rocking his hips to press his length deeper into your warm mouth.

Hoseok lined himself up with your weeping hole, tapping his cock against your clit and listening to the muffled whines you let out around his friend's dick. He pushed your thighs wider, and you winced at the stretch in your hips, but then he was sinking his cock into you and all thoughts were wiped clear from your mind.

Jungkook stroked your hair, fucking lazily into your mouth and letting you swirl your tongue along the vein running up his dick.

"Look so pretty taking care of us." Jungkook purred, fucking into your mouth deeper until you were gagging around him, spit trailing from the corner of your lips, and as far as he was concerned, it was the prettiest sight he'd ever seen. Nothing compared to watching your body be used to help his friends.

"She clenches on my dick so hard when you gag her like that," Hoseok hissed through clenched teeth, his hips rocking into yours and big hands gripping your hips so tight that there would probably be bruises. "Fuck her throat for me."

Jungkook didn't have to be told twice, holding your head in place and thrusting into your throat like it was his favorite toy. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting to breathe with the tip of his dick kissing the back of your throat. He reached down, using his thumb to pry your mouth open a little more, drool and precum leaking down your face. Hoseok sped up, fucking you with deep, hard thrusts in time with Jungkook's hips. The feeling had you on cloud nine.

Your body had gotten used to the feeling of being used by them, but it wasn't often that you took more than one of them at a time, and it was even more rare for them to treat you like a total slut. Your chest was aching for breath when Jungkook finally let up, pulling his dick out of your mouth and allowing you to greedily gulp down air, coughing and spluttering and looking up at him through the tears spilling down your cheeks.

"Make me cum," He told you, bringing your hand up to wrap around his spit-soaked dick. You took over immediately, stroking him as well as you could with Hoseok's thrusts driving you up the couch. Jungkook groaned, feeling his orgasm building at the sight of you going dumb on Hobi's dick.

"Close," You warned, head tipped back as you swirled your thumb around the tip of Jungkook's dick. Every thrust Hobi made was dragging deliciously against your sweet spot, and your legs were trembling around his hips, pulling him in deeper. He reached down, expertly swirling his fingers against your clit and sending you careening into pure bliss.

The sight of you cumming was too much for Jungkook. He wrapped his hand around yours, tightening your grip on his dick and thrusting into it faster until he was spilling his cum onto you, some of it landing on your chest and neck, the rest dripping down your hand and along your wrist.

Hobi bit his bottom lip, fucking you through your orgasm until you were squirming away in overstimulation, then pulling out to jerk his cock a few times, his own cum painting your thighs. You closed your eyes, tired and sensitive, and a little too embarrassed to look at the two of them.

"Get her cleaned up, I'll get water." Hoseok said, standing up and pulling his boxers on. Jungkook still looked a little high off his orgasm and the sight of his beloved girlfriend getting fucked, but he nodded, using his boxers to wipe the cum off his dick and your hand before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

"Feeling okay, pretty?" He asked, brushing your hair out of your face. You nodded, blinking up at him. "Good, you were so perfect for us. Gonna go grab a towel and get you cleaned up and then you can relax again."

With that promise he was off to the bathroom to wet a rag to clean you up, and you were content to melt into the couch with the two of them pampering you and thanking you for taking care of them. Even if it left you exhausted being the personal stress toy for all seven boys, you wouldn't have turned it down for the world.

95 notes · View notes

rs-hawk · 9 months

Note

Do you have any writing tips? Even if it’s not necessarily for smut?

I won’t be touching on tips for smut at all on this post but I can make a separate post for it if y’all want.

My Top 10 Writing Tips

Love all your characters. Yes, even your antagonists. Hell, especially your antagonists. Even if they’re evil for the sake of being evil, if you want a 3 dimensional character, you have to acknowledge that they’re more than just evil to someone. Their mother. Their friends. Their dog. You have to think of their motivations, and honestly?-acknowledge that every character you write has a part of you in them. Maybe just your anger, your fear, your trauma, but love them for that, and it’ll shape them and your works in ways you never thought of.

Don’t reread your work too often! It’s hard (so very very hard) but when you have to crank out 2k words a day every day of the month but 2 it gets easier. Lol. Fr though just keep chugging along. You can reread later. You can edit later. Just get it done.

Don’t edit too much while you’re still actively writing. I know that’s hard, I really do, but if you keep rewriting, you’ll never be able to finish. You’ll keep writing a handful of scenes over and over again until you hate it, your book and yourself for “giving up”. You can edit later.

Write for yourself. It doesn’t matter how good of a writer you are, how beautiful or eloquent your style, if you hate it with every fiber of your being, it’ll turn to dust in your hands. I consider writing work, and when people enjoy themselves at work, not only do they do better, but the consumer enjoys it more. Think about it. If you’re at a restaurant and the workers are laughing and smiling with each other and seem genuinely happy, you’re more likely to go back than if they’re miserable, on the verge of tears and seem to hate being there, right? The same is true for your writing. Readers will enjoy it more if they can feel how much you enjoyed creating it.

Don’t just write. Listen to music. Get up and go for a walk. Text/call a friend. Watch a TV show. Pet your cat. Experience something. It helps you write but it also reminds you that hey, you’ve been here like eight hours. Get something to drink. Take a screen break. Go outside.

Be comfortable while you write. I’m not going to lecture you on posture because I’m currently laying down with my legs drawn up under me, my upper body turned and my phone in the air because I’m trying to put enough pressure on my lower back to pop it. Anyway, even if you can’t stay in one position long, switch. Listen to your body. A “proper” posture can end up hurting you if you don’t ever relax or if you’re putting too much pressure on your lower spine. It’s okay to lean. It’s okay to lay down. It’s okay to sit cross-legged. Just not at the expense of your body. Be aware, and don’t forget to get up and stretch!

Take breaks. Eat. Drink. Stretch. Go to the bathroom. Some people need them scheduled, and that’s fine, but also listen to your body. If you need to use the toilet but you don’t have another break scheduled for an hour, just go. Pause your timer or delay your alarm if you want, but take care of yourself.

Don’t be too rigid with your “starting” plot. We know most of us have that one scene or one character in mind we want to write, so we create a plot around them. That’s fine and I love it, but your writing is like a living creature. You might change while writing it. Your characters and ideas might change while writing it. Let them change. Let you change! You can edit later.

Remember it’s not a race. Just because you see some people dropping 3 novels a year, or 5 Tumblr posts every day doesn’t mean you’re not good enough. No one can write what you write. No one can create what you can create. Your work deserves to exist and be judged on its own merit. Not compared to anyone else’s, even if it’s you five years ago who could crank out multiple posts daily. It’s okay.

Don’t expect anything. Start writing because you love it. It makes you happy. It itches that part of your brain that no other hobby does. That no other love does. I’ve been writing for about 15 years now. I don’t know who I am without it. I have tried giving it up, moving past it, doing other things, but I always come back. Nothing else makes me feel the way writing does. I have gone years without writing, but when I start writing again, it’s like a high. I can go for hours, and I have! I have been lucky to be able to monetize my work, but it took 10+ years and was only because I got goofy about werewolves on a PTR app. You can’t go into the arts and expect to make money right away, or ever. You can hope, and do your best, but don’t only do it because you think you’ll make a living. It’s a sad but real fact. Capitalism makes us think we should only do stuff we can make money off of, but that’s a lie. You can AND SHOULD create just to create. Humans are meant to make art, and if writing is your canvas like it is mine, write to create. Fuck capitalism. Your art existing is enough reason to create it.

71 notes · View notes

the-traveling-poet · 11 months

Note

Hi! I just discovered your page and I’m so in love! You’re an amazing writer <3. I’d like to request something. I’d like to see how everyone would react to finding out that Levi not only got someone pregnant but finding out she’s also black. They can be together or whatever, but that’s the general request! Love you ❤️

Headcannon no. 7

════════════════════════════════════════

A New Family

══════════════════════

A/N: Thank you so much! I hope I did your vision justice! And I hope you don’t mind I made this in a HC format, but if you do I’ll happily rewrite!

Taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe

══════════════════════

When Levi first opened the letter from Paradis, sent by Armin inviting himself, Falco, Gabi, and Onionkopun to a reunion of sorts, he froze.

He’d been kept so busy the past three years in Marley. So busy, he hadn’t wrote to his comrades about the personal happenings taking place in his life.

Not that he was one to indulge in personal topics, anyways, but still.

Now with his beautiful Ghana woman on his arm and bearing his child growing in her ever expanding belly, Levi realized just how little he’d let anyone aside from her into his new life.

Just how would they react, seeing this new chapter in their ex-Captain’s life, he thought?

He knew no ill will would come from them. It never had. But chancing to open up to someone other than her, about the one good thing to happen to him after the war?

He was nervous. More so than he’d liked to have admitted.

So he took a day to consider his response to the invitation. He counciled with his soon to be wife about how he should handle this.

But her over eager grin and constant reassurance that she’d love to meet the people he’d spent years living and fighting alongside, his decision was an easy one to make.

He sent a letter back to his young companions, thanking them for the invite and reassuring them all of their attendance to the gathering.

And at the end of the letter, with shaking a shaky hand gripping his pen, he wrote of someone he wanted-

No, needed-

Them to meet. Someone special to him.

Imagine the shock and surprise written on their faces when three days later they watch as Levi guides a very beautiful and very pregnant woman by the arm off the ship am onto their docs.

The grin on her face was so wide and so bright it nearly filled her whole face as she greeted each and every one of Levi’s old friends in turn.

They’d accepted her into the gathering easily, as thought she had been there since day one.

Please the amount of teasing and jokes Connie and Jean would throw an embarrassed Levi’s way at the sight of his woman’s obvious baby bump-

He’s be so proud but so flustered at the same time and just a MESS of emotions.

He’d watch on in contentment as Annie and Mikasa sat at a table with his girl, how tenderly they spoke to her about her pregnancy and what to expect as a first time mother, virtuous of Mikasa’s past experiences.

Annie was quick to offer any tips and tricks she’d seen from Mikasa and others around her to help the woman out, making her grin and laughs alongside their banter.

By the end of the visit, Levi’s left feeling full. Full of hope, of joy, of acceptance.

He realized then; he really did have a family after all. The one he was growing with his Ghana princess in Marley, and the one he’d left in Paradis all those years ago.

They’d always be available for him to come back to, and watching them all now, he knew his new family could forevermore do the very same.

118 notes · View notes

snowdropluck204 · 3 months

Text

Magnetic Force - Spencer Reid x reader (pt 1)

So this is a sort of secret crossover between Criminal Minds and Numb3rs, the reader is going to be based off of Charlie Eppes in that show, but will still be referred to as (y/n)! Enjoy! Xxx

WARNING: This chapter contains mention of rape, death, guns and other weaponry, if you are sensitive to these, you probably shouldn't read this book at all. _______________________________

Third Person pov

The BAU hadn't worked a case this frustrating in a long time. A serial rapist, quite uncommon for what it was, they had a good idea of what profile the guy had, but the last of his victims, was the first one he had killed, so they had to rewrite the profile. This case was difficult on everyone, the rapist had attacked and raped twelve women, now killing his thirteenth. It had taken them this long to get a decent view on his mental state, but now, a wrench had been thrown into the works and they needed reinforcements.

Jason Gideon was stumped, something quite rare for him, he was looking around the room at his team.

JJ was reading through the case file, specifically the newly added victim, Rachel Abbott, most likely trying to figure out what to tell the press. The FBI was getting tips about the rapist for weeks but now that there was a new victim, more specifically a dead one, the tips were becoming too much for anyone, even the FBI, to keep track of.

Morgan was trying to reenact the crime, trying his best to get into the killer's head. Everyone had the same question in their minds, why now? What was so different about Rachel Abbott that the unsub had to kill her? If defiling women's bodies wasn't enough, he branded them too. A final show of possession, a brand, the mark was a ring with four small crosses inside of it, pressed into the neck.

Elle was dead quiet, looking over the files of the victim's family, all of the victims' families... Looking for possible psych matches or clues of the killer's whereabouts.

Reid was, as usual, reading everything. He was taking in the room, the case files, the crime board and photos of the scene, anybody else would have shut their brain down with the amount of information he was flooding into it, but Spencer just sat and observed.

Gideon knew they needed help, but didn't exactly know who to ask. Until it struck him. He stood up, grabbed Hotch by the elbow and led him out of the conference room, a flurry of confused eyes following them. Hotch had been busy looking over people to ask for said help when he had been dragged out of his task.

"(l/n)." Gideon said, a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his face. Hotch looked confused for a moment, until he pulled out a file he had been looking at earlier.

Doctor (y/n) (l/n).

_________________________

The agents walked with purpose through the halls of Georgetown University, they knew who they needed and there wasn't time to waste. There was laughing and cheering as they stepped into a lecture hall, seeing 'Maths for non-mathematicians' written in fun, coloured, block capitals on the chalkboard. They also saw Doctor (y/n) (l/n), teaching the classroom filled with everyday people, not students who went to the school, just people looking to broaden their horizons.

"Okay, most people believe that they can trust their natural instincts, right?" She asked, looking around the room and seeing nodding of heads, her gaze met the stony eyes of Jason Gideon, eyes she hadn't seen in years, he smiled and gave a small wave, she smiled back but continued with her class. "However, maths suggests that our instincts aren't always correct. We're gonna play a little game, I want you all to pretend that we're on a game show," She began, gesturing over to three large cards that she had laid upright, the picture facing away from the crowd.

"And I, am your cheesy game show host," She said with a grin, earning laughter from the room. Gideon could practically hear the cogs turning in the room, the fastest cogs were that of Spencer Reid, who looked intrigued, before figuring it out.

"It's the Monty Hall Problem," He whispered, Gideon and Hotch already placing hands on his shoulders and covering his mouth, before the class for non-mathematicians became taken over by a very real mathematician.

Once (y/n) had finished setting up the cards, she looked back at the class, "Behind one of these cards, is a brand new automobile," She informed, wiggling her fingers at the cards, "And behind the other two, are goats. Yeah, goats, don't ask why, that's just what I wanted to put on the cards!" She declared, laughing with the room. Gideon smiled looking at (y/n), he hadn't seen her in years but could see that she had acclimatised to her position nicely, she had the whole class eating out of the palm of her hand, hanging on every word, including his team.

"Now I need a volunteer," Once again, Hotch and Gideon kept Spencer back from volunteering any information.

"Come on, more of you than that!" She jeered, encouraging others to join in the demonstration. "Julie, why don't you pick one of these cards? Remembering, of course, that the objective is to win the car, not the goat, as cute as I have made them!" She muttered, earning more laughter from the class. The girl from the front of the class, Julie, picked a card, the one in the middle.

Before turning it over, (y/n) asked her class, "Now, what are the chances of that card being the winning card?" At this point, Spencer was silently dying and the team was looking over at him, smiles on their faces at their beloved brainiac.

"One in three." Julie responded with conviction.

"Brilliant, three choices, one car, simple enough right?" (y/n) explained, the class nodding along, "Now, here's where the game takes a turn, I'm gonna reveal to you one of the cards that you didn't choose," Turning one of the cards over to reveal a goat. "Cute isn't he?" (y/n) giggled.

"So, we have one card we know is a goat, two cards left to be revealed. Now, knowing what you know, do you want to switch your choice of card? Or, more importantly, for the purpose of this class, does it matter? Will switching your choice improve your chances of winning?" (y/n) asked the class, genuinely curious to see their side.

Julie looked confused, "Well, no. Because now there's two cards, it's fifty-fifty, right?" She asked, the class mumbling and nodding along with her. Spencer was frantically shaking his head, catching (y/n)'s attention and summoning a loud laugh from her.

"Well, it seems like someone in the back knows the next part of this class," She chuckled, leaving Spencer's face red, beginning to fiddle with his fingers.

(y/n) could already see how uncomfortable he was with this attention, so she moved on. "Seems like many of you agree with Julie, yeah? That's what your instinct tells you, but you'd be wrong." She said, her lips forming a straight line.

"Switching your cards at this point, actually doubles your chances of winning the car," At the volume of confusion, (y/n) gives a light sigh of exhaustion, "Let me explain," She smiled. "Since we started with two goats, it's more likely that your first choice, was in fact, a goat."

Turning the cards to face away from them again, (y/n) asks, "Here, what are the odds of choosing the goats, from all three cards. Two out of three, right. So it's more likely that this is a goat," She said, turning the card that Julie had originally chosen, revealing the goat, "And it's more likely that this one, is the car." She explained, revealing the car was on the card that had yet to be chosen.

"See, switching your choice, gives you a two out of three chance of winning the car, rather than the one of three chance that we all begin with!" (y/n) picks up the card with the car, jokingly making some car noises.

Looking back up at the BAU, she concludes her class, inviting them to make their own Monty Hall scenarios, waiting for them all to leave before turning to the BAU and inviting them closer to her desk.

___________________________

"It's been a while Gideon, how are you?" (y/n) asked, already moving forward to hug the agent, shocking the rest of the team, especially when he reciprocated.

"I've been better Peanut," He whispered at her, before moving back and gesturing to his team. "I believe introductions are necessary." He let the agents take over, wandering over to (y/n)'s desk to do what he was best at, profile.

Looking over at the agents, (y/n) gave a small wave, "Doctor (y/n) (l/n), it's nice to meet you all." She said, her voice dripping over all of them like honey, she had that affect.

First to step forward was a tall agent in a suit and tie, with dark hair, dark eyes and an air of authority. "Agent Hotchner, call me Hotch," He shock her hand briskly before following after Gideon, leaving the younger agents to introductions.

A dark skinned man in a Henley type shirt stepped up next, "Agent Derek Morgan, nice to meet you too," He then gestured to the women standing at the door, one blonde, the other a brunette, both gorgeous and intelligent looking. "Agents Jennifer Jareau and Elle Greenaway," He told the professor, and finally pointed to the lanky man with dark hair and eyes, wearing a cardigan and glasses. "And that is-"

"Reid, uh- Spencer um, Doctor Spencer Reid." The man he was pointing to sort of decided. (y/n) smiled at the man.

"Really?" She asked, almost chuckling, "You don't sound so sure?" She finished, Spender blushed a bright red, the rest of the team chuckling at the woman's teasing.

Gideon walked back over, "Listen, Peanut, we need your help." He began, a sombre feeling enveloping (y/n)'s previously cheerful classroom. (y/n)'s smile faded, stepping back a little.

"Gideon, you know I don't do consultant work anymore... After what happened..." She began, her voice taking on a much more meek sound as she avoided eye contact with the seasoned profiler.

Gideon smiled, his fatherly smile, "I know, but we need you Peanut, you helped the FBI with a lot of cases, what's one more?" He asked softly.

(y/n) looked at Gideon, then at the rest of the team, "This is about the serial rapist, isn't it?" She asked, "In LA?"

Gideon nodded, "We have a fairly comprehensive psych profile, but we still have no idea where to begin searching." He told the mathematician, "We fly out this evening, we want your help." He almost pleaded.

(y/n) sighed, she thought back at the work she had done for the FBI, questioning whether or not she should jump back into it, she sighed, pulling out her phone and calling her TA.

"Lewis? Hi, It's (y/n), I need you to cover classes for me for the next few days... I'm being called away for something... Okay, thanks." She hung up the phone, looking back at Gideon, an unsure look on her face. "You owe me." She murmured, "I'll meet you at the airport tonight, five o'clock, I'll look over the files on the jet, gives me four and half hours to pack what I'll need and prep classes, plus the five hours, give or take fifteen minutes for the flight over..." (y/n) murmured.

Spencer watched as she made the calculations, intrigued, he had never met this woman, anything he knew was based off of her FBI consult file and brief things he'd heard in passing from Gideon, apparently, he was her mentor when she was younger, not for FBI purposes, simply to act as a father figure, they were close, based on the nickname he had given her...

From what Spencer knew, she was a prodigy, similar to himself, no Eidetic memory, but she had an IQ of 182, a PHD in both mathematics and psychology and graduated early from basically every educational establishment. Spencer was hoping this was a person he could get along with, but he was also wary, she had clearly stopped consulting with the FBI for a reason, he wanted to discover why, but also knew that any investigating into her past would violate her trust...

But still... He was curious...

____________________________________________

I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! I know I keep starting and stopping on my series, but writer's block has a serious hold on me right now... Anyway! Love you guys! Xxx

#criminal minds #cute #love #romance #fanfiction #x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #genius #genius reader #spencer reid x genius reader

27 notes · View notes

lesbianralzarek · 2 months

Text

pharmacy tips from a pharmacy technician:

if you live in the US, check to see what your state laws are for emergency refills (there are multiple tables with multiple updates, ctrl+f to see your state)

if you have a drug that can't have refills (so you have to get a new rx every time you fill), ask your prescriber if you can get multiple prescriptions queued. ex: sending in 2 prescriptions for adderall at once, but with one saying "do not fill until 09/01/2024" on it. idk if every state allows this (and some prescribers might say no anyway), but it may be worth asking

dick pills are so common. they are so so common. the cute lady handling your tadalafil has already filled 5 others today for people younger than you. its mundane job shit. it wont be weird unless you make it weird

google often tells you how busy a pharmacy is hour-by-hour. if you think there might be weird shit with your insurance, youre likely to get more attentive care if the techs arent doing 6 things at once. if you need the full attention of multiple techs and the pharmacist crowding around the computer, youre far more likely to get that during a slow hour

we know what goodrx is. we know this. i get why youre upset, i really am sorry, but if i say i've run it through the discount, i have. i am not getting kickbacks from the manufacturer, and have no incentive to lie and jack up the price. its worth asking why exactly insurance isnt covering it tho, cause maybe itll cover a smaller day supply or similar drug.... maybe

if youre worried that your family member may be stealing your drugs (via picking them up on your behalf and not telling you), ask the tech to make a note saying not to sell it to anyone other than you (or any other exception you wanna make). their system may also be able to send you texts whenever your meds are picked up

if you just got out of the hospital with an opioid script, ask if you can get it as a physical copy instead of them faxing it to somewhere. you cant transfer those to other pharmacies after its been sent, they would have to rewrite one for you. some places have opioids in time-locked safes and cannot fill them after certain hours, but if you have a physical copy you can just take it somewhere else

16 notes · View notes

dinoartistry · 3 months

Text

How I got these results on my finals without spending hours stu"dying" at my desk.

Now that finals season is over, we almost all recieved our grades and results.

However, sometimes you don't get the results you wanted despite studying for hours and hours on end. It's frustrating and discouraging, right?

Here are my tips on how to get better grades without having to spend all of your free time at your desk! ↓

NB: That doesn't mean that you should stop studying entirely.

Also this is a really long post but you can of course just read the tips that interest you!

1. Be attentive in class. I know it's tempting to just sit down and chat with your friends or stay on your phone, because class can be really boring. However, paying attention to what your teacher says and taking note of everything that might sound useful is a huge step in getting better grades.

Your note-taking doesn't have to be aesthetic. At the beginning of the year I wasted a lot of time making my notes pretty in class, and that made me lose a lot of precious information. You can always rewrite your notes in an aesthetic way later! Re-writing is a great study method too, so it's a win-win. To give you an example, here are the history and theatre history notes I take in class:

They're ugly. And that's okay! If I could score 35 and 50 respectively with these, so can you.

2. Be active in class. Of course, most of the time just listening isn't enough. You need to participate. Teacher asks a question? Raise your hand!

Now, you might be thinking "but what if I don't have the right answer and say something false? Everyone will make fun of me", and to that I will answer, who cares? They're not trying. You're making efforts to absorb the material, they're just sitting there and laughing because they're insecure about their own answers. I'm not making fun of them by saying this, it's just a fact.

3. Ask questions. Just, a bunch of them. If you don't understand the material, or have doubts, ask your teacher! They're not your enemy, even if they might sound dismissive. This year for example, I had a physics teacher who was a PAIN in class. He talked through the lesson super quickly and never really explained anything to anyone. However, there was one time where I didn't understand the material at all, and I went to talk to him. And he took time (like 20 minutes!) to re-explain to me what I hadn't understood.

Teachers are here to help you. Take advantage of it.

4. Research research research! By that I mean, go further! For example, in French class I had to read a book that talked about the genocide in Rwanda. But it was told through a child's eyes, so didn't really talk about what exactly was going on. So, I took it upon myself to take some time to make my own research about it. And guess what? Talking about it improved my grade on that project. In history, make sure you understand the causes and consequences of the historical events you study in class. "Why did it happen?" and "What was its impact on society?" are two questions you must be able to answer at the end of the day.

5. Understand how. This is maths-specific. Take this simple question about arithmetic sequences:

If the first term of a sequence (a1) is 2 and the common difference (d) is 5, what will be the 7th term (an) of that sequence?

It's not enough to know that the result is 32 because that's the answer you got in class. You need to understand the steps you use to get to the result.

Here for example, the formula is:

an = a1 + (n-1) . d

So, here:

a1 = 2, n = 7, d = 5.

The equation becomes :

an = 2 + (7 - 1) . 5

It's now simply a matter of method! 7-1 comes first, so you're left with:

an = 2 + 6 . 5

Then, the multiplication:

an = 2 + 30

And lastly:

an = 32

It's all a matter of taking the time to do things in the right order, one at a time. Think of it like reading a sentence! You can't just read the words in a random order, right? That wouldn't make sense. Read the words in the right order. Calculate in the right order. It's the same thing, I promise (coming from someone who used to hate maths)!

I really like the exam scene in assassination classroom for that reason. The moment the big monster to slay becomes a simple fish to cut because you know from where to start? That's the goal here.

6. Let go. You don't have to be the best of the best all the time. Putting unnecessary pressure on yourself and beating yourself up for not having full marks is doing the exact opposite of what we want here. You're smart, okay? Stressing yourself out does one thing: it turns your brain to mush, making you incapable of remembering information and will make you lose your means when you're faced with a test or an exam. That's what I did for chemistry this year, because I struggle with it, and would you look at that! I got 28. So let go. It's okay, you got this. ⚝

All in all, you're your own best friend. Take care of yourself. Don't put on yourself a pressure you wouldn't put on others. Being too hard on yourself will only end up hurting you, and we don't want that!

#high school studyblr #study motivation #study tips #becoming that girl #that girl #it girl #wonyoungism

15 notes · View notes

verfound · 6 months

Text

WIP Wednesday: 04.17.2024

This was not supposed to be an entire series rewrite??? And it's not??? Sorta???

...anyway, we're Mystik Spiral Kitty Section, but we're thinking of changing our name.

It all came together so quickly after that.

While Rose was out, they hauled some equipment up to the roof: a drum kit that was hanging around the basement studio (that Jagged hadn’t actually used since the air had broken), Juleka’s bass, Luka’s favorite guitar, and a few amps. They spitballed ideas while Rose was gone, tossing around potential band names and set lists. When Rose finally came back, a mountain of a boy was lurking behind her.

“Ivan!” Marinette cried, her eyes widening in surprise. He waved sheepishly while he rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand, his eyes trained on the floor. His face looked flushed, but that could have been the heat. “You play?”

“…a bit, yeah,” he mumbled. “Myles says I’m good, but I think she’s biased.”

But as it turned out, Mylène wasn’t biased. Ivan was honestly, truly good.

“…this might actually work,” Luka said, nodding as Rose screamed a metal version of his dad’s first single into the mic. He turned to Marinette with a grin. “Sure you don’t want to join? We have a tambourine hanging around somewhere. Anyone can play a tambourine.”

“Weren’t the tambourine players mostly eye candy?” she asked, her nose scrunching adorably. He chuckled and shrugged, looking back at the little makeshift stage they had set up.

“Maybe,” he said. His smile softened. “Maybe I just like having you around. It could be something fun to do together, like Rose said. Maybe we’re all gonna suck and the band’s gonna need some eye candy to distract whoever’s watching from how bad we sound.”

Her eyes widened at the look he gave her, heat flooding her face. She turned back to the stage with a cough, shaking her head.

“I-impossible,” she said, sitting up straighter. “You can’t suck — you’re performing on a Jagged Stone album, Luka. You’re amazing.”

“That’s not skill, though,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “That’s nepotism. You know there’s no way I’d be on the track if I wasn’t his kid.”

“Give yourself some credit,” she huffed. “XY being top of the charts? That’s nepotism. You know the only reason that idiot’s gotten anywhere is because his dad owns the label. You, though? Yeah, your dad being who he is helps, but you’re good, Luka. He wouldn’t let you play if you weren’t — you know it’s just as much about making himself look good as it is giving you a foot in the door.”

He couldn’t stop the little smile that quirked his lips as he glanced back at her.

“Not a big XY fan?” he asked, and she snorted as she tipped her head back. His smile grew a little at the indignant expression on her face.

“Please,” she tsked. “I like real musicians. Besides, I’m kinda over blonds.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but the song was wrapping up and Rose was calling for his attention again.

“So?” she asked, bouncing by the mic. “Is he in?”

He glanced back at Marinette, who was grinning at him as she nodded, and he sighed as he shrugged.

“Ok, if Ivan’s cool with it, I’m in,” he said, and Rose’s squeal — especially echoed back in the mic — was loud enough to make them both wince. She started jumping and turned to Juleka, throwing her arms around her neck and hopping onto her. Luka laughed as Ivan nodded, saying he was in, and whistled to catch Rose’s attention. “Ok, ok! Rose, since this is your band…what should we call ourselves, anyway?”

“How about…” Rose hummed, tapping on her chin as she looked up. She looked back at Luka with a manic grin, snapping her fingers. “Kitty Section! And I have just the song to debut at the festival!”

“…o…k,” Luka said, nodding. “I can roll with that. Heard weirder names. Do we even want to know what the song’s about?”

Rose’s grin was as dangerous as ever, her eyes lighting up in a way they had all learned to be wary of over the years.

“Unicorns.”

#wip wednesday #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain-cheng #luka couffaine #rose lavillant #juleka couffaine #ivan bruel #kitty section #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #wip fic #ver fic #all these signs #you know I love unicorns #they always make me feel better

21 notes · View notes

brighttears · 1 year

Text

Battery II Charged

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series masterlist

No physical description

Summary: On the road, your ease lasts only a couple hours before your luck runs out. An overhead confession from Joel leaves your head spinning.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: mention of Joel’s pill abuse, mention of death, suicide, and grief

A/n: not super exciting tbh, good stuff’s at the end. i’m gonna be fucking with some cannon stuff just so i’m not just rewriting scenes from the show so some things are changed/missing! don’t worry Joel stops being an ass like halfway through this and then we will have soft Joel from now on (mostly, probably)

—

You’ve been up for hours before anyone else wakes, Tess being the first, wandering into the room, obviously having just opened her eyes.

“Hey.” She says when she sees you.

“Hey.”

“Coffee?”

“You have coffee?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she chuckles, strolling into the kitchen to start a pot.

“Thanks,” you say as you get up from the couch, stretching.

“Joel’ll be up soon. Just has to shake off those pills.”

“Does he take those a lot?”

She nods, “Can’t blame him.”

“Why not?”

She turns to you, resting her elbows on the counter behind her. “Let’s just leave it as I can’t blame him.”

You nod. Not your business. Just as long as he doesn’t take them on the road. “Are they coming with us?”

Tess shakes her head, “Nah, he’s not stupid.”

As if on cue, Joel emerges, looking lost. He glances at you, double takes, eyes still almost half shut, and then shambles over to Tess, placing his hand on the handle of the coffee pot.

“It’s not done yet. Just put it on.” Tess tells him. He grumbles incoherently and then goes to slide into a seat at the table, rubbing his hands over his face. “You gonna be good to get outta here soon?” He nods slowly, face still in his hands.

“I can help you guys get packed up if you want,” you offer.

“Sure, you can help me get some stuff together. It’s all under the floorboards in the bedroom.” Tess answers.

Joel speaks up, audibly groggy, “No. She doesn't need to touch anythin’. I can handle it fine myself.”

You sigh, unable to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, and Tess chuckles.

“Whatever you say, sir.” You salute him. Joel stares at you, then looks to the floor, shakes his head, and peels himself out of his seat to trudge into the bedroom. You ignore the scraping of furniture on the floor and choose to join Tess at the table.

“Is he always like this?” You whisper, sipping the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had, granted you haven’t had one in at least a decade.

She shakes her head, making a face as she sips from her own mug, “He’s better once he warms up to you. But, he’s kinda just that kind of guy, you know? He’s a good guy, and he can be sweet, but, world’s really fucked with his head, you know how it is. He was a whole different person before.”

“You knew him?”

“No, but I knew his brother. He told me what he used to be like. Huge softy, if you can believe it.”

You nod and sip, trying to picture that in Joel. “So, what’s the whole story with him and his brother?” You whisper.

“Well,” she sighs, “they were together from day one. I met them a few years ago, we ran with a crew for a while, met some Fireflies, and Tommy wanted to split and go with them. They kind of had a falling out, Joel and I stuck together, came here. They were communicating through the radio towers but Tommy stopped responding a few weeks ago. That's when we started looking for a car, go out and find him. Just got a tip he might be somewhere in Wyoming, so that’s where we’re going.”

“You think he might be somewhere in Wyoming?” You repeat back, giving her a leery look. You’re not in love with that plan—Wyoming is very far and a big state, there might already be nothing to find there. But, on second thought, you don't really care. You’ll be in a car with two capable people, and that is more than you can ask for. You’re fine just being along for the ride.

“You got anything better to do?”

“Nope.” You chuckle, and she returns one, smiling into her cup.

Yeah, you guess you are friends. The thought almost makes you choke on your coffee; a whole year with nothing like this, only passing faces, fake friends created for the sole purpose of getting something out of it, and, well, Rat King. But now, you’re exchanging an honest smile and chuckles with a woman over coffee. What a lucky break, to have met Tess.

Ruining the moment, Joel plods back into the room, filling up a mug and choosing to lean against the sink rather than take a seat at the table with you.

“I’m not infected, you know.” You say to him. “Not contagious with anything. And if I smell, you smell worse.”

“Fuck are you talkin’ about.” He says into his mug, squinting.

“You’re acting like if you come too close I'm gonna put a knife to your throat.” You stare at him in all his beheaded glory, marks from the sheets not yet faded from his cheek. “I don’t bite.”

Joel just stares back, then, finally and reluctantly, he takes a seat across from you at the table.

“Ok, I’m serious,” Tess says, setting her mug down, “you two better not keep this shit up. It started off cute, but now it’s getting real fucking annoying.”

“Cute?” Joel says, screwing his face up, and you say over him, “I’m not doing anything.”

“Alright, alright,” Tess puts her hands up, “we’re gonna cut this shit out now. You two, shake hands.”

“What?” Joel screws his face up again. You sip your coffee, looking between them.

“Shake her hand.” Tess gestures, raising her eyebrows at him. Joel moues. It’s been nothing more than irritating so far, but now, it’s starting to hurt your feelings a little. You haven’t done anything wrong. For god’s sake, he should be on his knees thanking you for what you're doing for him. What is it about you that’s so wrong?

Finally, he offers his hand, and you shake, his hold firm and warm.

A shock suddenly runs through you as if he was a live wire, and you feel like your skin is melting in the most delightful way possible. The moment of contact is over in a second, but you feel that something inside of you has shifted. You can’t put your finger on what it is, but it feels like trouble. You set your hand on your leg, but it’s as if the warmth from his hand has been transmitted through your skin and onto your thigh. You quickly take your hand away to place on your mug, warm like it’s supposed to be. Your eyes are stuck on each others, but neither glares. Just, stuck. His are brown like dark bark in the sun, rich, deep, pretty. You look down at the table.

“Alright, we got that taken care of?” You hear Tess.

“Yeah.” You answer, eyes still on the table. Joel clears his throat before he copies your response, his tone devastatingly unrevealing. You will your gaze back up only to be caught in his again, and you look around at the wall, down at your coffee, and back up, all in a second, only to be caught again. He holds it for a moment before looking down at the table. Whatever this feeling he’s giving you stinks to high heaven of trouble.

“Alright, good, then let’s get the fuck outta here.” Tess concludes.

You bring the battery back up on your back while Joel and Tess carry the rest of everything you’ll have for a while, abandoning your coffee, not even bothering to place the mugs in the sink. This place will be left exactly as it is, but neither of them seem to mind leaving all of this behind. You leave the apartment and then follow the two wordessly through a maze that eventually leads out past the gates, ending in emerging from a literal hole in the ground. Once outside, still crouching on the ground, you take a deep breath of fresh air, free from smoke and ash and stink. The dawn is breathtaking, being seen for the first time in years, half of the sky barely past midnight's shadow, pulled up like a shade by blood orange leading down to the peachy halo of the sun somewhere behind the toppled buildings, speckled and tangled with green. A flock of birds pass overhead, dancing in the smearing sky. You could laugh.

“Focus,” Joel hisses, looking at you over his shoulder, also crouched, scowl back in play, though it’s understandable in the stress of the moment. You nod. He’s right. Plenty of time for this later. Right now, you’re still not quite in the clear.

The three of you scamper silently through the badlands between the Boston QZ and freedom. As you venture out, though, your excitement begins to fade, realizing that you’ve been looking through rose colored glasses for a while now. The QZ is a shithole, but out here is just a much wider shithole. There's less people, no rules, but neither of those pluses are as good as they had been sounding in your head. Less people, because they’re mostly dead or infected, the rest being not much more than animals who know how to talk sweet. No rules, means, well, no rules, no morals, just the loose goal of ‘survive’, which translates to fight dirty, do anything you can, anything to survive. Live to fight another day.

“How far’s the car?” You ask, the first to speak.

“Not far.” Tess responds, distracted as she scans your surroundings. You're in the city now, the remains of it at least, weaving around crashed cars and large, rocky craters, twenty years of weather and neglect preceded by bombings and a storm of hysteria. You were expecting Joel to say something like ‘We’ll get there when we get there’, but he stays silent, eyes also scanning around. You seem less fazed. Are you not scared enough? Or have they just been inside longer than you have? You do feel like an animal in its natural environment, ears knowing what sound to look at, eyes knowing what movement to check, agile feet over the broken mounds of rock and glass and all of the other debris out in the open broken world.

“The car’s supposed to be at the church on Park Street. Few minutes walk from here.” Tess finally answers you.

“I know where that is.”

“Good for you.” Joel says.

“Fuck off.” You reply.

“Excuse you,” Joel looks at you, screwing his face up.

“Hey,” Tess interjects, shooting both of you a look, “Jesus, I feel like the parent of two disobedient kids. Knock it off.”

Joel huffs and looks at the ground. You smirk to yourself, seeing him again as a pouting dog being checked by his owner.

It’s silent until you reach the church, red brick with a steeple reaching high into the sky. Parked directly in front of it, as if on display, is an old Dodge Caravan, white with fake wood siding, dusted with dirt, wheel wells caked in dried mud.

“This thing looks like it’s from the 90s,” Tess comments. “You think it’ll run?”

“It better.” You say, shoulders aching with a vengeance from the battery still hanging from them.

“You said that right.” Joel adds gruffly.

You stop at the front and lower yourself to the ground to unload the battery from your bag. Finally free of the thing, you stretch your shoulders back with a deep sigh.

“Surprised your back’s not broken by now.” Joel says as he comes to squat next to you, looking over the battery.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’,” he glances at you, “jus’ maybe we shoulda traded bags.”

“I can handle it.” You retort, though he sounds honestly well intentioned, “I’m not weak.”

“Wasn’t callin’ you weak. What, I can't say anythin’ without it bein’ an insult?”

“That’s all it’s been so far.”

Joel just sighs, then stands to open the hood of the car. You stand to look inside with him; all looks right, though you’re not sure you know enough to make a judgment.

“How’s it look?”

“Looks fine.” Joel says, then bends down to take his pack off and dig through it, pulling out a couple tools which he sets on the ground before hefting the battery up and into the empty space under the hood, grunting with its weight.

“You came prepared, huh?”

“Sure did.” Joel mumbles as he picks up the tools and leans over the engine to start working on it.

“How do you know how to do all that?”

“Used to be a mechanic.”

“I thought you were a contractor.” Tess questions, coming up beside you.

“Before that.” Joel replies, “When I was in high school.”

“I can just see you now,” Tess chuckles, “jumpsuit all covered in oil, you name embroidered on the little pocket.”

You laugh at the thought—Joel leaning over a car, jumpsuit tied around his waist as he works, dirty white t-shirt straining against his back muscles and those broad shoulders—”Fuck,” you say to yourself, startled by your own thoughts.

“What?” Joel looks back at you, panic in his eyes.

You dart your eyes away, shaking the thoughts of him out of your head. “Nothing, nothing, sorry.”

“You sure?” Tess asks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“Yeah, yeah, it was nothing, really, sorry. Is the car ready?”

“Just about.” Joel replies as he leans in close to continue with a wrench.

“You sure you remember how to do it right?” You say, recovering yourself. He pauses to glare at you but doesn’t respond.

“Let’s hope he does.” Tess says.

He glares at her too, then states, “I know how to do it. Just give me a damn minute.

“Alright,” Tess chuckles, raising her hands defensively, then steps back to examine the van. She slides over the side door to step inside, “Damn, look at this thing. We could sleep in here.”

You come over to peek next to her, “How the fuck did you score this?”

“Beat it outta someone.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Must have been a good beating.”

“It was.” Joel calls from the front, then drops the hood down and comes around to get into the driver's seat. A pair of keys fall into his lap when he drops the visor down, and he takes a deep breath before easing the keys in and turning the ignition. The van roars to life, and you all laugh with delight, Joel clapping his hands and whooping.

“Hol–ly–shit,” You laugh, half of it being at Joel’s sudden enthusiasm, “look at that.”

“Look at that.” Joel repeats, and you watch his grin through the front mirror.

Just as he catches you, Tess says, “Alright, let me out.” You step back out and she walks around to get into the passenger seat, “Alright, grab your shit and let’s go before our luck runs out.

You and Joel nearly bump into each other as he gets out and he mumbles a sorry before you both go to gather your things. He hands you your bag and you mumble back a thank you. The relief from having a working car must have flooded all the resenting sarcasm out of you, and you actually almost smile at each other as you both get back in. You flump onto the backseat, sighing as you rest against the cushion, rolling your aching shoulders again.

“Thank god I don’t have to carry that thing anymore. N’ I’ve got plenty of room in my bag for all the shit we have to pick up now.”

“What’s our first stop?” Joel asks, adjusting the mirror to look at you.

“About twenty miles west.”

“What am I lookin’ for?”

“Gas station. BP. Next spot’s just the same, gas station about thirty miles west from that one.”

“Alright, perfect, we’ll see if we can find some gas.” He says as he puts the car in drive and starts out, rounding the corner, “We’ll be there in no time.”

You lean back in your seat and let yourself smile. It all worked out. With a car, dare you say, it looks like smooth sailing from here.

“Lemme see if I can find some music,” Tess says, digging through the glove box. “Oh, shit,” she chuckles, pulling out a CD, “Don fuckin’ McLean. Were you ever into him?” She asks Joel.

“Shit, is that American Pie?” He asks hopefully, glancing at it held out in Tess’s hand, “Oh shit, put that on. I love this album.”

You chuckle from the backseat. Such a wholesome little moment, and as Tess slides the CD in and the music starts to play, an air of ease falls over the cabin. Morning sun cascades through the windows and you squint through the dirty pane, watching your surroundings start to speed up past you. On the road again, heading somewhere far, finally free again. No more curfews or guards, no more fucking ration cards or deals in basements. You look ahead to the front seat at your new companions, catching a small smile on Tess’s lips. All you can see of Joel is his shoulder and his hair, wavy and stroked with silver. In the mirror, his eyes are locked on the road, but his brow is relaxed, and there might even be a smile of his own hidden under it. Leaning back in your seat and looking back out the window, the music in your ears for the first time in many years filling you up with giddy warmth, you think you could get used to this.

—

The next couple hours are in fact smooth sailing, both stops being stress free and bountiful, two crates, found exactly where you’d left them, full of food, guns, and ammo next to you on the seat with two red jugs full of gas on the floor below them.

The car breaks down just past the border of Massachusetts.

“Shit.” Joel seethes, waving the gray smoke away from his face as he slams the hood shut. “T’s done.” He announces, looking at you and Tess.

“Fuck.” She mutters, closing her eyes and dropping her head.

You watch the fumes slinking out from the hood. It was foolish to think this thing would take you all the way across the country. Of course it would break down within two fucking hours. Why not?

“Come here and help me get this shit out before the car explodes.” You say, going back to open the side door and start packing whatever you can fit into your bag. You shove another gun into the back of your jeans and empty half a box of bullets into your jacket pocket. Joel is behind you when you back out, and you shove a crate into his hands, “I got most of it. Just take whatever else you can fit in your pack. Same with Tess. We’ll probably have to leave some behind.”

Joel does as you ask, kneeling to unload the contents of the crate and dividing it up for the two of them. Once everyone’s pack is filled to the brim, you leave only a few things behind, set in crates next to the car, and set off on foot.

Joel traces his finger over the folded map found in the glove compartment as you walk. “We’ll just follow route 20. Maybe take a turn at, uh, Albany, ‘bout a day's walk. That’s the next real town, pretty much just farmland for a while.”

“Great.” Tess says through tight lips.

—

At dusk, you decide to call it a day, though you’re only a few hours away from Albany. You set up under an overpass and light a small fire before nightfall takes away the option. Everyone is all deep sighs as you sit back to rest, no one used to all that walking. Your shoulders are still throbbing, a lasting consequence of that damn battery, and you pull your shirt down to see red bruises covering both sides, flashing like a mockery in the light of the flames.

“Damn, that battery really did a number on you.” Tess comments, leaning over to examine the bruising.

“I can’t decide if it was even fucking worth it.” You say, readjusting your shirt with a huff.

“Well, commendable act.” Tess sighs, resting her arms over spread knees.

“Thanks,” you mumble, not used to genuine praise.

After a moment, Joel says, “You look tired.” You look up at him and he’s staring with puppy dog eyes, probably unintentionally, but puppy dog eyes just the god damn same.

“I am.” You mumble, not meaning to be honest about it.

“Well,” he grunts as he stands, pulling his gun out, double checking it’s loaded, and leaning against the concrete wall, “I’ll take first watch. Tess, I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”

“This is starting to sound like you still don’t trust me.” You say.

“T’s not.” Joel says, “You just look the most tired.”

You sigh, torn between a longing for sleep and hesitancy to be in such a vulnerable position.

As if reading your mind, Tess assures you, “Don’t worry, we’re not gonna kill ya or split. We’re in this together now, and we need you sharp. Get some sleep.” She nods her head to the ground. You pause, then obey, curling up on the hard ground with your hands between your knees and pack under your head. You’re out within minutes, being more exhausted than you had realized.

—

An almost silent scuffle is enough to wake you up and tense every single muscle in your body, but the two familiar, faint voices relax them just as fast. It must just be Joel waking up Tess for her watch, chatting in between shifts. Their low tones tell you this isn’t for you to hear, but you listen anyway.

“She’s jus’… she’s just so damn… pretty.” You hear Joel. Who is? …Who else would it be, but you? At this realization, your face lights on fire. Tess starts to chuckle, but then it turns into cackling, as quiet as she can manage.

“Sh!”

You can hear the wild grin on her face as she whispers, “You have a crush on her!”

You want to squirm, twist your legs up, but you stay still. You don’t understand the impulse, but you don’t like it, either. You feel like a fucking highschooler; a callback to an alien world, but you haven’t felt anything like it since.

“No, I do not, now be quiet before you wake her up.”

“Yes, yes you do,” she continues to stifle laughter.

“No the fuck I don’t.” A pause. Then, “Shit, maybe I do.” He groans, voice muffled, “I’m fucked, aren’t I, god, I’m so fucked.”

Oh, shit.

“Yes, yes you are.” Tess chuckles.

The worst part is that you’re just as fucked as he is. It seems to be hitting you both at the same time. A crush, yes, that’s what the young aliens used to call it. A fucking crush. Maybe it’s due to time, being much, much, older—hundreds of years older, it seems—but this crush doesn’t feel like any one you’ve had before. Maybe because it’s Joel, like no one you’ve ever met. But, how, exactly? You’ve met damaged people, you’ve met people just as cold, just as standoffish. No man has exactly been this standoffish to you, though; most men you’ve met on the road have tried something within a couple days, even if it’s been in a group. Warm bodies. Hungry animals. Horny survivors.

There’s no way you’re going back to sleep now. Your mind is spinning, gyrating, tying itself into knots. Joel, Joel, what is it about him? You’ve met handsome men. You’ve slept with a couple handsome men. You even held one of their hands once. But, Joel, you’ve barely even touched.

Pretty. That’s all he said. Is he just another horny survivor? None you’ve known have confided in anyone, cared to discuss it with someone. And not anyone has ever used the word crush. Come to think of it, most of them only use the word sexy to describe you, just to say, hey, you’re so sexy, let me fuck you. That’s about it.

Joel, Joel, Joel, shit, what is it?

“Ah, Jesus,” Joel says.

“A crush, wow. Gotta say, I was not expecting that from you. I always thought you were a pork ‘er and move on, never say a word about how you actually feel kinda guy.”

“Hey, you callin’ me a slut?” Joel says. Tess tries to muffle her laughter but it burst out of her hands. “Sh!” She sounds like she has her hands pressed firmly against her mouth, but she’s still laughing.

“Yes, actually, I am calling you a slut.” She finally manages to say, “I mean, with us, it was never like that. I mean, did you have a crush on me? Because, I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t call it that.”

“No,” Joel whispers. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, you know I… care about you, all that. But, yeah, y’know, it was jus’…”

“Yeah, we’re on the same page, don��t worry.”

“Jesus, Tess, this is… goddammit, I don’t have time for this shit. I mean, what should I—what should I do?”

“Don’t look at me, loverboy. I’ve got nothin’. Are you gonna tell her?”

“Fuck no.”

Tess chuckles, “Why?”

“Why on earth would I? This is my problem, not hers. You think shit’s tense now, imagine how’d it be with that piece of fuckin’ information hangin’ in the air.”

“You don’t think she likes you back, do you?”

“Of course she doesn’t.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I—well, I mean,” Joel stammers, “why the fuck would she? Look at me, I’m just some fuckin’... old man, who—who—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Joel. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a good guy. You’re handsome. You’re kind. You’re gentle. You’re a fuckin’ badass. You’re—holy shit, you’re blushing,”

“Would you keep your fuckin’ voice down?”

“Aw, you’re killing me, Joel. I’ve never seen you like this. Never. She has got a fucking hold on you, doesn’t she?”

“Tess, stop fuckin’ around, and just tell me what to do.”

“Hey, I told you, I’ve got no advice on this one. Crushes are not my strong suit. I’m sorry, but you’re on your own on this one.”

“Ah, don’t tell me that. Shit, Tess, come on,” he nearly whines, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

“Alright, why don’t you just sleep on it?”

There’s a pause, then Joel sighs, and you hear him shifting into place on the ground behind you.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This is bad. But it feels good. But it feels bad. You’re almost nauseous with the number of wings fluttering in your chest, almost dizzy, and you realize you’ve been biting the inside of your cheek so much it hurts. Half of your brain is having a party while the other half is looking for a knife to stick in its chest. What does this mean? What’s going to happen? What do you want to happen?

What do you want?

Joel is the first word that comes to mind, and you want to bang it out of your head and into the ground. But there it is, sticking like a bullet under your skin. Should you talk to Tess about it? The only person you can talk to? Tell her you heard everything? Or should you tell Joel? Oh, god, you don’t even know how you’d broach the subject to him.

What, are you two gonna start holding hands now? What else do couples do—oh, god, couples, what, are you gonna start dating? You almost laugh to yourself but you catch it before either of them realize you’re not asleep like you’re supposed to be. This is all like an out of body experience. None of this exists.

Your mind wanders to the one time you have seen something like this—Agatha and John, who you met on the road along with a few others; the lovers, everyone always used to call them. Joined at the hip, linked by their hands almost all of the time. You used to make fun of them for their googly eyes at each other, but they never minded. They were in love, and they knew it, everyone did. Marriage without the $25 piece of paper or veil and bowtie. There was always this rosy air about them, their love was enchanting, so real, so innocent, so sweet.

And then John died. And then Agatha killed herself.

The whole group fell apart after that.

That’s why all of this, ever since the second you touched him, just that shaking of his hand, had given you such a bad feeling. Because you knew what it was, and even before you found the word for it, you knew it’d end bad.

What John and Agatha had was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, even before the world ended. They found each other, and they chose it—love, despite everything, the ugliness, the loss, the loathsome world. And it was so pure, like an angelic little bubble that they floated in. The way they touched each other, the fleeting passes over waists and arms, they way they flowed like a living duet. The way they held each other, when they cried, when they laughed, just, whenever they could. You’ve never seen people sleep so peacefully. The love was tangible between them.

And then when John died, Agatha fell apart, like an angel from heaven, like a baby bird from a nest, into a pile of feathers and blood. She was a shell. For a week. And then she killed herself. She couldn’t live without him.

You envied her before. And then, immediately, you mourned her.

These violent delights have violent ends.

Love is dangerous. A crush is a bullet with god cocking the gun.

60 notes · View notes

alexblakeisgay · 3 months

Text

Cope With Me

Ship: Emily Prentiss/Derek Morgan

Summary: A rewrite of my long-ago fic: Healing. Post Retaliation. In the aftermath of the case, all Derek wants is to take care of her. All Emily wants is to feel something.

Word Count: 3143

Author's Note: This fills the Bruises square on my @cmkinkbingo2024 card.

Now that the case was over and the adrenaline was wearing off, the pain of her injuries was really starting to hit her. Derek had spent the entire case at her side, to the point that it was really starting to piss her off (as was their love language). It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to see her vulnerable – as weak – so much as it was everyone else...and now that they were alone, she no longer had the energy to resist him, so she let him support her as she hobbled towards their hotel room.

Once he kicked the door shut behind them and they were closed off from the rest of the world, he swept her into his arms, holding her tight to his chest for so long that she wasn’t sure he was ever going to let go. (Normally, she might not have indulged him so completely, but she had a feeling he needed it. And, though she’d probably never admit it, she needed it too.)

At length, he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed, setting her down gently so as not to cause her more pain that she was already experiencing. Then, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, saying far more without words than anyone should be able; it was a skill they’d perfected over the years, the wordless conversation.

“Did the doctor give you any painkillers?” he asked, crossing the room to dig in her go bag for her pyjamas.

“I wish,” she said dryly, propping herself up on her elbows, “He said over-the-counter Ibuprofen should be fine. I have some in the...”

“In the mini-pharmacy you carry with you,” he finished for her, “Be prepared or whatever the Girl Scouts say.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hey, I’m a mom,” she said with a shrug.

“A damn good one,” he said, returning to her side and kissing her quickly, then tipped two pills into her palm, waited for her to pop them in her mouth, then passed her a bottle of water. “Do you want to get undressed and go to sleep?”

She shook her head. “No, I need a shower – I feel gross.” A beat. “But first...” She paused, tongue flicking out over her lip. “Could you...just...hold me for a bit?” She stared up at him almost pleadingly, as if he could ever deny her anything.

Normally, he might’ve made a joke, but he could tell she was feeling raw and vulnerable after the day’s events, so he held it back and climbed onto the bed next to her, pulling her into his side. He’d lost track of how many times they’d done this dance over the past three years, how many times they’d held each other during their most vulnerable moments, times they might normally have pushed everyone away for fear of seeming weak, instead letting each other in and finding a safe space in their arms.

He kissed her temple softly. “I was really worried about you,” he whispered, feeling reassured just to have her in his arms.

Her reply was muffled by his chest, but the words didn’t really matter. She was just grateful for the human contact, the feeling of his protective embrace and the sound of his heart beating softly. It was a sound that grounded her, that made her feel safe...it had from that first moment she’d rested her head on his chest years ago and had known that she was falling too hard, too fast, in a way she never had before. The accident had shaken her up far more than she cared to admit – in those moments as the car was rolling, she’d realized how very close she came to losing everything, how close she came to leaving their daughter without a mother.

Feeling her grip on the back of his shirt tighten, he kissed her temple again, murmuring against her skin, “You okay?”

“I just...” She trailed off, shaking her head. She didn’t know how to continue, why she felt this inexplicable urge to cry. For his part, he didn’t say anything when he felt her tears soaking the fabric of his shirt, he just held her tighter, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear as she cried.

She spent so much of her life trying to prevent people from seeing her as anything other than completely composed and confident, but he’d changed that. He’d broken down her defences and the walls she’d built up over the years to keep people out and, as surprising as it was, she found she didn’t really mind... She loved him and trusted him enough to let him see the real her. She let herself run into his arms when she needed comfort and warmth.

When her tears started to subside, she sniffled, pulled back from his chest to wipe away her tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling guilty without really knowing why.

He cupped her tear-stained face in his hands and gently wiped away the tears with his thumbs. Staring into her eyes – and still finding them breathtakingly beautiful, even as they shone with tears – he saw the fear and pain glinting there and he felt his heart break just a little all over again. “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. Let’s get you in the shower so you can get a good night’s rest,” he suggested.

She nodded, smiled faintly, grateful for the change of subject, though she didn’t say as much. When she attempted to stand from the bed, though, she winced, groaned, and fell back slightly. Instantly, he was at her side, helping her to stand. Reluctant though she was to admit it, she mumbled, “I can’t do it alone...”

Unable to resist teasing her just a little, he said, “Are you asking me to get wet and naked with you?”

She rolled her eyes, but barked out a laugh all the same. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You love it,” he retorted as he helped her limp to the bathroom. She settled on the edge of the bathtub and he proceeded to ease her shirt over her head and tossed it aside, but before he could unbutton her pants, she cupped his face in her hands, pulling him closer to her so their lips could meet in a tender kiss. He indulged her a moment or two, then pulled away, eliciting a little whine of disappointment form her. “I love you,” he told her in a quiet murmur to ease the sting.

His touch was soft and gentle, almost timidly so, as if afraid she would break were he too rough. At the same time, though, the careful way he undressed her was tender and affectionate in a way that only he could manage, a way that showed no matter how much he might want her, he would keep this chaste out of concern for her injuries.

The part of her that, in the aftermath of the accident, longed for human contact, to feel close to him, almost wished that he weren’t such a gentleman; the way he loved her always left her feeling loved and needed.

As he eased off her bra, she could feel his gaze wander across her skin – and not in the way he usually looked at her: full of lust, barely able to contain himself – and it took her a few moments to realize why... Her skin was mottled purple with slowly forming bruises; the diagonal line across her body from the seatbelt was going to pain her black and blue for weeks, that much was already apparent.

“Baby...” he murmured, then dropped a kiss to her shoulder. Then another lower down. Another lower still.

As chaste and sweet as his kisses were, they sent a shiver down her spine and her head lolled back a little as her breath hitched. If he didn’t stop kissing her like that, she was going to really want him in the shower and she knew it wouldn’t come without additional pain. “Get undressed,” she commanded once she’d managed to marshal her concentration enough to form speech.

“Wh-what?” he stammered, clearly taken aback by the command.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt. “If you’re going to help me shower, you’re going to need to be naked...” she pointed out. And, if she let her eyes wander as he tugged off his pants and boxer-briefs in one motion, well...she didn’t think anyone could fault her for that. (Afterall, the Bureau rumour mill – which wasn’t particularly known for its factual accuracy – had managed to get one thing right when it came to the size of his cock...)

Once they were both standing under the spray of warm water, Emily let out a little contented sigh as the water massaged out the knots that had tangled themselves into her muscles over the events of the day. She buried her face in Derek’s chest and he held her close, letting the water wash over them and wash away the fear and pain of it all.

At length, he gently turned her so that her back was against his chest and he proceeded to wash her hair for her, massaging shampoo through her hair, massaging her scalp as he did so. “Did I ever tell you that you have very talented hands?” she whispered, eyes falling shut as he languished in the feel of his fingers on her scalp.

“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble if you keep talking like that, Em,” he said with a laugh.

“I’m okay with that,” she replied, a mischievous smile crossing her lips. The way he was so lovingly taking care of her and the feel of his body pressed against hers made her willing to forget the pain in favour of a little more intimacy.

He almost laughed, thinking her joking, glad to see that her sense of humour remained intact. But, when she turned and looked into his eyes, he saw no hint of levity and quickly realized that she was completely serious. “Baby,” he said gently, trying to find the right words to soften the blow, “You know that’s not a good idea...”

Her face fell a little, a quick flash of sadness in her eyes, though she tried hard to hide it. Immediately, he felt bad, even though he knew he wasn’t wrong.

He remembered the time he’d been knocked unconscious by Foyet when he’d pushed him through the plate-glass window; he remembered the following night, wanting nothing more than to not feel so alone, to replace the horror and depravity with the warmth and closeness of being loved by someone he cared about.

“I don’t want to hurt you...” he whispered, hoping she’d understand that he was only refusing because he cared about her, rather than any lack of enthusiasm.

“You won’t,” she was quick to insist in reply.

He liked the fact that she trusted him enough to believe that he would never do anything to hurt her. “Baby,” he whispered again, kissing her gently, “I don’t want to take a chance. I don’t want to see you in pain again.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but didn’t get a chance to say anything because his lips found hers in that moment, kissing her deeply. He indulged her for several long moments before he eased out of the kiss, grinning to himself when she huffed petulantly. He could tell that he wasn’t going to win this one (not that he won all that much to begin with, to be quite honest), so with a sigh of concession, he said, “You have to promise you’ll tell me if I hurt you even a little.”

She nodded, quick to agree, though she had absolutely no intention of stopping once they got started. She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

He moved to once again kiss the path of her bruises down her shoulder, between her breasts, across her belly until he was on his knees before her. He pressed a soft kiss to her clit and she gasped, her hand finding the back of his head.

He worked his tongue through her folds with delicate precision, having done this more than enough times to know exactly what it was Emily liked. He dipped his tongue inside her, tasting her juices, before once again renewing his efforts to make her see stars.

He could tell that he was effecting her by the way her nails slowly started digging into his scalp, the way her breathing became quick and ragged, the way she had to brace herself against the wall to keep herself upright. That’s when his tongue found her clit...

“Derek!” she gasped, “Derek, I want...”

He chuckled. “What do you want, Princess?” he asked, as if he really had no idea.

“More,” she said breathlessly, “I want your cock...”

“What my Princess wants, she gets,” he said, pausing to drop kisses along her hips where the lapbelt had left its imprint. Then, he stood, found her lips once again, swallowing her moan as he guided himself into her in one smooth motion.

He paused then, giving her a moment to adjust to the intrusion, resting his forehead against hers. “You alright?” she murmured, kissing him softly.

“I should be asking you that...”

Rather than answer that directly, she grabbed his ass, pulling him closer so he was forced deeper inside her and she let out a little moan. He knew then that he wasn’t going to last long if she kept going this way...and he knew her well enough to know that she absolutely would.

As he began to move, he did his best to be gentle, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on her hips where the lapbelt had lacerated. It took tremendous effort on his part to maintain his cautious pace, the feel of her throbbing around his cock making him want to lose all control.

Her arm wrapped around his neck anchored her as he thrust into her and it was all she could to do keep kissing him in silent encouragement. She arched against him, taking him deeper, wanting – needing – to feel more of him. She hummed in pleasure as he brushed the sweet spot inside her, all thoughts of her pain slipping away.

His fingers were delicate, tracing along her bruises, but she didn’t want delicate... She grabbed his hand, guiding it to her breast, cupping it with his palm and hoping he’d get the message. He quickly took over, rolling her pebbled nipple between his fingers and repeating the motion to coax each and every delicious sound from her lips.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

She opened her eyes, following his gaze, watching his hand slide down her water-slicked skin, gently caressing the cuts, bruises, and abrasions on her ivory skin until his hand reached her clit. She watched for a moment as he toyed with the sensitive bud, then shut her eyes again, the sight of him moving within her and his hand touching her was too much; she didn’t want to come undone so quickly.

“Look at me,” he commanded a second time.

This time, when she opened her eyes, it was to meet his gaze and, in that moment, it all became too much and she felt her orgasm flooding through her. She cried out as she came, feeling his thrusts slow as he languished in the feel of her cunt spasming around his cock.

When she came down from her high, she found his lips again, murmuring into the kiss, “Come with me this time.” She took it to mean agreement when he began to trail open-mouthed kisses down her throat, knowing that never failed to drive her wild.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his thrusts a little more wild, less controlled. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer...how could he when she was so wet and so tight around him?

“Derek...right there,” she moaned as he hit just the right spot, making her see stars. She was making it very difficult for him to keep things slow and tender the way he’d intended. She was eager, moving against him, matching each thrust so their hips bumped into each others’ sharply.

He fought an internal battle between wanting to be gentle as he’d planned and wanting to take her hard and fast, railing into her over and over until she forgot her own name.

“Baby...” she panted, “Baby, harder...”

He groaned aloud at her request. The last thing he needed was her egging him on like that, knowing he should be gentle with her after the events of the past twenty-four hours. Knowing that he’d hate himself if he caused her any more pain than she was already experiencing.

“Can’t do that,” he murmured between kisses. He tenderly stroked her cheek, looking deep into her eyes, needing her to see that he wasn’t refusing for any lack of desire. “Don’t make me do that, Em. I can’t hurt you. Don’t make me regret this...”

“Please,” she begged. “I can handle the pain. I want the pain...” He raised an eyebrow at that, but she was desperate and willing to beg. “Please...I need this.”

She was doing a good job of breaking down his best intentions – he wanted to give in to her, really, he did...and the way she was clamping down on his dick only made it that much harder to resist. Almost apologetically, he said, “I can’t give you what you want tonight.” He lifted a finger to her lips when she whimpered. “Shh. I promise you this will be good.”

She sighed in defeat, knowing that he was only resisting because he cared so much about her. He hadn’t even wanted to do this in the first place, only relenting because she begged him and because she’d promised they’d take things slowly and avoid the roughness that they weren’t altogether unfamiliar with.

“Emily...” he murmured, kissing his way back up her neck to her ear before finally meeting her lips once again. “So close...” he husked against her lips, thrusts growing erratic, his moans ragged. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “Come with me, Baby,” he urged, his eyes boring into hers, watching the way they seemed to glaze over with passion.

The sensation was too much for her: the feel of his lips showering kisses on her flushed skin, his trigger-calloused finger rubbing sharply on her clit, his cock hitting all the right spots inside her... With a final breathy shudder, she reached her climax once again and he hungrily drank in the sight – the way her lips parted, her skin flushing, her entire body trembling as she arched against him. She’d never looked more beautiful to him than she did in that moment, bruises and all.

#criminal minds #emily prentiss #fanfiction #mine #derek morgan #derek morgan/emily prentiss #cmkinkbingo2024

13 notes · View notes