#I'm currently in the John's hell again

[serawritesthings]

hi! Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. I don't know if you're accepting requests, if you not, just ignore. But I'm wondering how you would write something related to a jealous Arthur Morgan, high honor of course (with smut or without smut sincerely you know what looks best). the way you write is addictive and passionate, i believe anything you write from this would be great.

OUR DEAR, GREEN LITTLE FRIEND

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | Oh, jealousy. When the thought of you straying too close to the comfort of Charles, the green monster claws its way into Arthur's head. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, tiny bit of angst, description of violence and wounds, fluffy at times, smut Word Count | 10k A/N | Hi everyone! I just HAD to write this request, hope you like it! Also, thank you dearly anon♡

While many found the biting cold of the climate north of West Grizzlies to be bitter–sharp air seeping into your very bones–you saw it oddly liberating despite the current predicament. The circumstance was dire, indeed, and you pondered many times if this would finally be the end for all of you, thinking of the incredible luck you had managed to have so far. Fate, or an astonishingly fascinating knowledge on how to escape the grappling arms of the law with a suspicious amount of people trashing through the roads in utter, sheer panic.

Glancing around you as you huddled closer to the fire, hands rubbing furiously against the wool of your gloves to gain even the slightest warmth to your biting fingers, you were met with the flushed cheeks of your comrades. The skin that now glistened from the melting snowflakes was caressed by the warm, orange glow from the flames lighting up the small hut you had taken residence in. 

The road leading to here had been long, and the time spent in the wagon that did nothing to shield you from the penetrating wind that howled into the night, your thoughts had been entirely focused on the man who now lay dead a few meters away, tucked in some fabric to shield the paling flesh of a corpse. While the thought might not make you uncomfortable, it did its thing on the others who looked weary at the covered man. 

You had done your best to tend to him amidst the severe trembling of your fingers and numbness spreading through you the longer you rode in the worrying storm, finding his blood still staining the cotton of your gloves–a reminder that you had done what you could to help the poor fellow. Despite not knowing him well enough to shed a tear, death was still a death, and a slight melancholy set its claw in all of you as you tried to regain some warmth. 

“Stupid man.” Glancing beside you, you took notice of the dark-haired woman muttering angrily as she held a sleeping Jack close to her body. 

“What’s wrong?” You inquired quietly, curious of her obvious disdain.

“John Marston is what’s wrong.” Blazing heatedly into the fire, you could almost see the depths of hell through her furious eyes. “He didn’t come back with the rest.” Shifting her eyes to yours for a quick moment that, although short, showed the worry hidden beneath her anger. 

Nodding slowly as you leaned against her slightly in comfort, you realized you hadn’t taken notice of the man’s absence until now. Returning with empty hands and another mouth to feed had instead been the case, no Marston as far as the eyes could see as he probably whirred around in the blizzard somewhere.

“Do you think he…” As you spoke, you trailed off, growing unsure of your words while realizing your comments might be prodded into a sensitive subject. 

“No.” Firmly, she sniveled harshly, shaking her head in protest. “No, he wouldn’t leave again.” Although her words were sure, you still felt a lingering doubt cloud your mind, remembering being told of his earlier departure from the gang that caused more scars in their relationships than good–not that it wasn’t faulty from the very start.

As you were about to let your prying win against your common sense, you were interrupted by the door being audibly slammed open, the noisy winds from outside growing louder as snowflakes whirled inside. Walking inside was the prominent figure of Charles, nodding respectfully to its residents as the door shut behind him, once more letting the warmth settle.

“Folks.” He mumbled quietly, treading through everyone huddling by the fire as he glanced curiously at the new woman before settling beside you. You glanced up at him, taking in his snow-covered self before lingering on his hand that rested motionless on his legs, bandages visible under his gloves.

“It’s not too bad; the cold seems to numb the pain.” A slight smile graced your lips at his observance, finding it unique to the man to be so tentative to everyone around him. Letting out a small laugh, you reach to remove your gloves before taking his hand in yours so you could lay it in your lap, unwrapping the bandages to examine the burns covering his skin.

You had given it a quick look-over before you had to tend to Davey, doing the best you could to ease his pain you were sure would be unavoidable. Although the sight was quite gruesome, it didn’t look as bad as you had expected.

“You’re stronger than me, that’s for sure. I would be a crying mess if I burned my hand like that.” Your voice was gentle as you started to rewrap the fabric around his hand, finding it increasingly irritating you didn’t have the tools you usually did that would indeed do a fine job at lessening his pain.

You had managed to gain a slight smile from the otherwise aloof man, probably finding your words humorous. “Let’s hope it’ll never come to that.” 

Sharing a look, you heard the door open once again, the irritated voice of Uncle damning whoever was letting in the cold for the second time. Both you and Charles laughed slightly, and as you looked up, you were faced with a pair of squinting, blue eyes, the icy cold from the outside seemingly enhancing their sharpness although making a welcomed warmth spread through you as they gazed over you in a quick motion–departing to look at the hand that rested in your lap.

“A sad loss, folks,” Hosea stated as he stepped onto the wooden planks, speaking out loudly in the otherwise calm hut, groaning as he helped Arthur lift Davey’s lifeless body, limp like a ragdoll. 

Glancing subtly, you observed him as Arthur’s bulky form lifted easily, unlike Hosea, admiring how he made it seem so effortless. The others called him the camps workhorse, and you didn’t fail to see why, keeping your eyes firm on the man as he carried him towards the door. 

He shrouded you in uncertainty; he did, and you weren’t sure how to behave in his bold presence. You often felt like a goody two shoes, and even though you weren’t the perfect picture of a law-abiding citizen, you could honestly say you were a wimp compared to Arthur. 

You should be embarrassed, you really should, but there was something in his eyes– something that made your heart race. Utterly shameless, yet desperate to lock gazes again despite contradicting yourself and avoiding them every chance you could. Before you could get caught this time, you directed your eyes, focusing on tightening the bandages so they wouldn’t come loose. 

“Try to be careful, will you, Charles?” You spoke quietly while patting his hand, motioning that he was all set to go, but his hand stayed, giving you a grateful look. 

“Thank you.” His soothing voice was hushed as the loud bang of the door slammed shut not long after, ridding you of the tumult after their departure. 

–

Oh, it burned. It burned so deep in his loins that it felt like he would erupt into flames any second. Despite the cold surrounding him, he was sure it could be possible the more he was left with his thoughts. The hushed whispers, the soft touches, and the ever-so-gentle look in your eyes made him want to empty the little food in his stomach. 

“Sneaky little rat,” Arthur grumbled to himself as he shoveled his way through the deep layers of snow. Here he was, out in the cold, tortured by the howling winds of the snowstorm, while Charles remained inside the warmth of the hut, seated next to you, all because of a slight burn. 

He knew what he was up to–what any man would do if it meant getting your attention–and he wasn’t humored. Taking advantage of your good nature was downright uncalled for, bordering on immoral, which Arthur would probably realize wasn’t Charles’s character if his mind didn���t seek to find faults with the man the more his blood boiled.

He scoffed to himself, stabbing the ground maliciously, imagining your warm hands around his instead, the nimble fingers of yours tending to him as you moved in closer, your sweet smell reaching his nose as you gazed up at him, face blushed from the cold with lips begging him to warm them up with his. The thought did nothing more than cover his whole body in shivers, only to be reminded that it wasn’t him that received that attention from you.

“What are you huffing about over there, Arthur?!” Hosea’s strained voice attempted to shout over the loud winds, standing up to rest momentarily.

“Why don’t we just bury him when the storm has settled?!” Annoyance was apparent in his voice, the green jealous monster still wreaking havoc in his mind.

“I told you, the snow will be too heavy tomorrow, so we need to finish it while we still can!” He groaned, starting to shovel once more. “And I’ll be damned, we are going to give Davey a proper burial. He deserves that much!”

As Hosea blabbered on about justice and other forms of respect Arthur had no intent on listening to, he zoned out, feeling sorry for himself as he imagined you might be keeping close to Charles right this moment, warming yourself to his body in a desperate search of bodily heat. Rubbing the melted snow off his face, Arthur damned the heavens above for making him the unluckiest bastard in the West. 

Despite Arthur seeming dead set on you being lovey-dovey with a man you barely knew, Charles had left you after making some small talk, mentioning that he would try and get some well-deserved rest after the tumultuous past few days. Many others did as well, attempting to ease their minds from the constant threat against their back amidst the terrible cold.

Although, as days passed and John being back rid you of Abigail’s constant muttering, the cold only seemed to take its toll on you, unlike the others who quickly got used to the environment. Furthermore, the days only seem to get longer up in the mountains, and you wondered obsessively when you would get the chance to leave–damning everyone who thought seeking out Colm O’Driscoll in your compromised state a good idea instead of moving forwards.

Despite your dismay, you put yourself to use like the others, preparing to help Pearson in the grim act of cutting through the poor deer that had been brought back. While the sight gladdened you, knowing you would finally get a meal in your stomach, the brooding aura of a chestnut-haired, blue-coated man seemed to rain over you endlessly.

What could you have done to gain his stinging glare? It was almost cutting through you entirely from the burning that resided deep in his eyes, watching you ferociously, making your hair stand on edge. When he had returned with Charles, it had been nothing short of unpleasant ever since, although thankfully–despite his glare–his harsh words were directed towards Pearson instead of you, which you were glad for.

“How’s the cold treating you?” Glancing away from the two men bickering, you laughed slightly at Charles’s innuendo, dressed worse for wear as you pulled the thick, woolen scarf tighter around your neck, hugging yourself to keep warm.

“Could be worse, I guess,” you said, clouds like smoke surrounding you as you talked.

“I suppose. Still, I don’t want you freezing your fingers off.”

“Mhh,” you nodded thoughtfully, speaking up after silence. “Who would look after your hand if that happened?”

He chuckled heartily at your unsuspected joke, and you glanced up at him bashfully, a light smile covering your face at his apparent amusement. While your embarrassment of being so easily swayed by the cold, it felt nice having someone take notice of your obvious discomfort, even though you would say you were pretty good at keeping it to yourself. You couldn’t be surprised, though, well aware you and Charles were both tentative to your surroundings, always knowing but rarely telling.

“Here.” Taking off the large gloves covering his hand, no doubt doing an excellent job keeping him warm, he grabbed your trembling hands in his, rubbing them between his pleasant temperature hand and bandage-covered skin before gliding the fabric over yours. 

“No, Charl-” you protested, trying to stop him from continuing. 

“They’ll do you more good than me, I promise. They’re just in the way.” Stubbornly, he planted your hands back into your lap, petting them like you had done to him some nights ago before raising with a huff. 

“Thanks for the help, Arthur.” Charles nodded at the now grumpy man observing him as he rested against the wood of the wooden wall with arms crossed, seemingly ignoring Mr. Pearson’s lecture about the navy he felt so strongly about, only providing a quick tilt of his hat before heated eyes were set on you.

Your gaze faltered, the blush on your face from the cold only intensifying the spread of warmth you felt from gaining his profound stare–something you rarely took notice of. It wasn’t that he didn’t look at you; he probably looked too much at times, but he was never so ardent with it, scrutinizing you under their heavy weight–making you feel ten times smaller under his towering height. 

“Well, why don’t you skin the deer, Arthur? I’ll help you cut them up in a while, miss.” Mr. Pearson’s words were hasty, and you didn’t miss the bottle glistening under the sunlight as he tried hiding it behind his coat, scurrying away. He would, in fact, not be back; you were sure of that much. 

It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with Arthur, and you never strayed too close, finding his presence somewhat daunting. Not that you’ve had many chances to speak amidst all the chaos surrounding you, and being relatively new to the gang meant the trust lacked significantly from both sides. But, the intrigue was always present in every glance and movement.

You felt his gaze fixed on you a moment longer as you stared heedlessly at your hands, rubbing them together anxiously, having no clue what to do with yourself. While you weren’t one to speak the ears of others, you never had any problem socializing with those around you–but Arthur, he was something else entirely. Finally, though, he moved, approaching the hanging carcass.

“How are ya?” His sudden words surprised you, hanging awkwardly in the air.

“Oh, um. Good?” You cringed at yourself, finding the words stuck in your throat as his voice rumbling was loud and confident.

“Cold?” 

“A bit,” you said softly, staring at his back as he heaved the skin away from the animal, movements rigid and harsh. “Charles gave me his gloves, so it’s a little less chilly now.” You stumbled over your words, admiring his strength unabashedly as he hauled the skinned deer over his shoulder, slamming it down the table with a loud bang. He gave you no answer, instead bringing out the knife in his belt to do the job you were assigned to.

“Oh, let me!” Standing abruptly from your seat, you stepped towards him hurriedly in shame, feeling like you were just lazying around while Arthur was doing all the hard work. 

Grabbing his thick coat to let you take his position, you found him staying right where he was, looking down at you when your hand rested on his bicep. It was unusual for him to be so close, and a blush warmed your cheeks as his towering frame became more apparent when standing a short distance from one another.

“S’alright.” He spoke lowly. “I’ve got it.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as he gazed wholly at you, letting you know he had no problem with helping you. It warmed you, finding his action kind–just like the small acts of kindness he reserved for the other girls. You would sometimes glare after them, intensely jealous that Arthur seemed to have a soft spot for them, yet acting like you didn’t exist.

“Anything else I can do to help since you just did my job for me?” A shy smile found you, peering up at him as he sniveled, glancing at you while you sat on the bench again.

“Well, you’ve already done your charity work for the day, so you’re fine.”

“Charity work?” You wondered, staring at him curiously as he cut through the meat. “What do you mean?”

He only sighed heavily, like you should be able to understand his cryptic words. 

“He won’t die from a small burn; it ain’t enough reason to coddle the man like a child,” he grumbled. 

It took you a while to get the gears turning, but when you did, you felt yourself grow shy from his statement. “Charles? His hand isn’t looking too good…”

“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t be so forward. You’ll give the poor man false hope.” He scoffed, stabbing the poor carcass harshly.

Staring at his back in disbelief at the sudden hatred, you had trouble understanding where it came from and why he suddenly grew so invested in whom you diverted your attention. You and Arthur rarely spoke, only changing quick words occasionally ever since you found yourself staying with the gang, and for that reason, you had failed to understand the reason for his hatred.

It seems all you ever did was look after everyone else, paying attention to their various troubles and tribulations regarding bodily harm. It wasn’t strange to you, and by no means did you give anyone false hope, merely trying to find your place with these people, an attempt to prove your usefulness.

“False hope?” You questioned, baffled. “I’m trying to help; I fail to understand how that is a problem.” 

“It ain’t a problem!” He grumbled, voice roaring hotly in his chest as he resheathed his knife and began to make his way out, repositioning his hat without glancing at you. You followed him, stopping short by the table as you didn’t want to stray too close to the fuming man.

“Well, it is since you are so angry about it?!” If this was how he carried out every conversation, you were glad the exchange of words wasn’t typical between you, more so the simple fact that your company had never seemed to bring him any enjoyment. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wha-” He stops short, suddenly turning around and stalking towards you in significant strides. Gasping at suddenly having him so close, you backed away; his sharp eyes penetrated you as the warm blue of his orbs turned ice cold, glaring daggers into your own.

“What’s wrong with me?” He spoke dangerously low as his brows raised, grabbing your upper arms as he hoisted you up the table without an ounce of struggle. “I’m not the one taking every small, insignificant chance to take advantage of your good nature.”

“Charles’s not like that. He’s very kind.” You spoke in his defense, leaning back from his prolonged stare that seemed to cut through you deeper the more he stared. You had always pitied the people who got on Arthur’s lousy side, finding his presence at those times unnerving. 

Now, it seemed you were at the receiving end of it, and while it chilled you to the bones, you weren’t sure if your beating heart were because of fear or the thought of him being the closest to you he’d ever have.

You had never quite got to admire his eyes, always hidden under his furrowed brows and squinting eyes. Now that it wasn’t because of the blazing sun down west, it was from the blaring whiteness of the snow surrounding you as you found his eyes glaring at the current climate more often than not–displeased.

His eyes being dead set on you didn’t help as you could hear his breathing grow heavier, the warmth of his breath hitting your cold cheeks as his broad frame blocked the chilly winds from reaching you.

“Kind, huh?” Although momentarily distracted, you recovered as you heard him speak in a low voice, still finding his assumptions wildly out of reach while insulting you and Charles. Times were hard, and if you couldn’t look after one another, it would surely lead to your doom–Arthur, if anyone, should know that.

“Yes, kind.”

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he backed away from you, shrugging his shoulders while walking away–like your conversation hadn’t happened in the first place.

“Sure.”

��

It wasn’t like Arthur didn’t know how to restrain himself, for he applauded himself for avoiding his apparent anger when Charles had, yet again, stolen away your attention–not that Arthur had any plans on striking up a conversation with you anyway. 

It became clear to him that when you two were left alone, you almost turned into a living statue, barely responding to him. It was unlike you, for the time he had spent observing you, you had no problem talking to anyone else–and although it was usually calm, it never deterred you from gaining the likes of the others and liking them in return.

Why did you cringe away from him and not Charles, he pondered, glaring at the picture that plagued his mind. The reason he knew, deep down, but his stubbornness didn’t let him justify your actions. In all honesty, Charles was a more reliable man than himself, intentions often apparent with a slight sense of, well, goodness perhaps—something Arthur didn’t possess in the slightest.

Goodness, in all honesty, wasn’t something he was too familiar with, and he didn’t doubt one second that you found his character to be callous, seeing as the dirty work no one wanted to do fell upon him; work everyone else found to be too cruel to do themselves. He could almost feel your disapproving gaze when he picked up his slack from Mr. Strauss’s poor victims that he always tried to prolong, and while it wasn’t his most favorable way of lending a hand, sometimes he did it out of spite. 

If that’s what you thought about him, then he couldn’t do much to sway your opinion, finding it much easier to continue with his ways than realize that your sudden carefulness off him wounded him more profoundly than he let on.

And, he was indeed a harsh man in your eyes, and although his company wasn’t entirely unwished for, he was still grim–ignoring your presence like you weren’t there most of the time. It made you wildly unsure of him, but the allure he had kept bringing you back, always wondering when you would see a glimpse of him again. You chastised yourself for it, more so now that you got a taste of his famously sullen mood that pestered everyone around him, but your eyes were still drawn to him when he was nearby. 

Maybe it wasn’t what everyone else would describe him as, but you thought of him as mysterious. Gods, you have stayed with this group for quite some time now. Not once had he spoken to you more than the standard greeting, and you didn’t know much about him besides the sharp-shooting, brutal force of a man who had no problem letting his thoughts be voiced, even though the listeners might be less inclined to its harsh deliverance.

He had been cruel, sure, but you couldn’t help but remember how close you had been before when he spewed words that clung so viciously from his tongue. Faintly, you remembered the deep scent of gunpowder and smoke, something you were certain probably penetrated his skin by now, but also the slightly musky scent hidden underneath. Your head raced in curiosity, wondering how his hands would grab you if it wasn’t in anger. Was he even capable of that, you pondered.

It’s ridiculous you knew those thoughts were born from misconceptions and assumptions. You had heard how he behaved amongst the camp women, forever gentle and careful, and you had sharpened your ear when you’d been told timidly about his earlier flings. He could be more heartfelt than your head let you acknowledge, and the thought made your head spin even more with your endless imagination.

Despite the inner turmoil that filled you from your earlier argument, you had avoided him for some days now, and it seemed to grow easier the colder you got, huddling close to the fire with every chance. It was the only thing keeping your thoughts occupied, wondering when you would get to leave this desolated mining town that grew more covered in snow the longer you chose to stay.

“Do you need help, Hosea?” Just after you spoke, heavy blankets were handed to you, the fabric made from a thick wool that looked heavenly. “Yes, thank you. I take one step outside; I fear that it will be the end of me.” You only stared warmly at Hosea, who patted you on the back. “Don’t you worry, miss. We found more blankets we thought had been lost in that dreadful storm, so we all will sleep warmer tonight.”

“Oh, of course, I’ll help-” Despite the whistling winds that had picked up as the sun shone its last tendrils, you didn’t oppose the idea, but you were interrupted by a mischievous look handed to you by the older man.

“Make sure Arthur grabs one, too; you know how he gets.” Before you could question his meaning, he slunk away, pulling the warm fabric tighter around his shoulders without a glance at you, chuckling merrily. You chose not to ponder too hard on his strange ways, instead making your way to the door, shivering badly as you stepped outside.

Smiles were all you were greeted with as you handed them off, and it was no surprise as it was a welcome sight to everyone to gain some extra warmth to wrap around themselves. Although feeling content by being of help, you couldn’t help but wonder where Arthur could be, a single blanket now left in your hands.

Grumbling to yourself, you stepped out from the hut Dutch and Molly resided in, glancing at a smaller building some paces away, finding the orange glow of a candle lighting up the smaller barn where the horses were kept. A small smile found you, finding it very fitting for him to be where there were fewer people. 

Although slightly fearing what could come to be an awkward encounter, you found yourself being too forgiving many times, and you damned yourself for it. What he said hurt you deeply, making you ponder if you had given Charles other signals than intended. It could be a possibility, yet you had never had too many romantic dealings with men to presume that that was the case, but his eyes held something tender the last few times you spoke as you recalled it.

“Arthur…” As you stepped inside after pulsing through the thick snow, you searched for the blue coat you had grown familiar with in this weather. “Are you here?” You asked quietly, wondering if he could hear you.

You cautiously stepped further into the barn, placing your feet steadily on the ground before you so you didn’t slip and embarrass yourself. It was friendly out here, you could admit, the snow muting every sound and almost making every slight sound caress your ears. 

As you stepped further inside, it turned out he was here, and he took no notice of you as you rounded the corner to gaze at his seated form, seemingly writing something in his journal. It was an unusual sight. Sometimes, you observed him as he wrote in his journal back at camp, yet you didn’t make a habit of it, too shy to question him at the time.

How he didn’t freeze to death in this climate was beyond you, his fingers bare as he scribbled, fingertips red from the cold and dirty from the chalk. You made a motion to speak up once again but found yourself tongue-tied as you took him in, and as you did, the thought struck you that he wasn’t writing but drawing.

How unlike him, you thought, watching his brows furrowed from time to time, fingers moving expertly while the soft glow of the candle beside him almost softened his features. Your presumptions might be harsh, but you had never found him to be a man well-versed in the creative aspect of life, and while the brutal ways of his life spoke for him, you found it to make him slightly more approachable. 

“I didn’t know you draw.” You stated fondly, his eyes fitting into yours the moment the first word left your mouth, growing visibly stressed as the journal was planted into his coat pocket. A rough cough left him as he did, eyes faltering when he saw your observant gaze linger on him unabashedly.

“I don’t.” A small laugh left you at his abrupt words, not teasingly but perhaps warmly, choosing not to bug him since he grew uncomfortable before your questioning eyes. 

You were given an expectant look that reminded you of your actual business here as you stepped inside the building, closing the barn door behind you to shut out the wind that somehow managed to find its way through the cracks in the walls. 

“Here, we found some more blankets. Hosea asked me to bring you one.” You met his eyes briefly as you stretched out your arms for him to take the blanket, eyes faltering to it at his piercing gaze.

“Hosea, huh?” A scoff left him, resuming his arms to cross over his chest, shaking his head slightly. “You keep it.”

“No, I-” 

“Nah, you chattering your teeth keeps us up at night. Take it.”

His words should have taken you back since his voice was stinging, but a light laugh left you, knowing he was right. Wrapping yourself in the soft, warm blanket, you surprised Arthur by sitting beside him, heavily clad shoulders touching each other as you did. 

“I don’t understand.” You stated, staring at the large shadows that flickered on the wooden wall before you. “How can you not be cold? I feel like if I spend one more day out here, I’ll freeze to death.”

You turned your head towards him, caught off guard when you felt his gaze already set intensely on you. Your eyes faltered to his chest, growing shy as you always did when you had his attention on you. It wasn’t unwanted, but you didn’t know what to do with yourself in moments like that, unused to the fire that always burned so deep in his eyes.

“Used to it, I guess.” His voice rumbled hotly in his chest, fingers flexing against his will as he took the chance to observe you. He had never had the opportunity to see your face this close. Your wet lashes clung together as you blinked, undoubtedly from the heavy snowfall outside, framing your eyes that Arthur always noticed were so very easy to read, yet at many moments also locked away.

“I don’t believe you.” How could anyone possibly get used to this? It was raw, pure torture. 

You didn’t get an answer, and as you returned your gaze towards the wall, Arthur’s eyes found your features again. He had indeed been cold before you came, but it was his only chance to find a moment of peace; the thought of spending another night in that god-forsaken hut with his dear friend and his lover giggling the night away grew incredibly distasteful.

Here, he could finally hear his thoughts, the solitude of the snow muting every sound heavenly; the only noise was the familiar scribbling in his journal as he wrote about the past few days. Though his head was calmer than before, he still dreamt of your fingers encasing his like they had done Charles, the small, elegant touches rising his arms slowly, making him shiver wildly as the scene flashed before his eyes. 

He knew he shouldn’t think of you like that, and he certainly had no right to be angry at Charles since he felt so unabashedly filthy things about you, but he couldn’t help it. Your every scent, every motion set his blood afire; small deeds of good you always found yourself doing so harshly contrasted his actions he couldn’t help the fact that you intrigued his whole being. 

So good, so… soft and warm. As he stared at you, all he wanted was to reach out and pull you closer to him so he could feel your shivering body close to him, knowing many ways to warm you up. Sighing, he removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair as the thoughts took a turn he always hated himself for.

“Hey, I uh…” Arthur trailed off, finding the words he wanted to speak stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, like I did back then.” He stared before him, yet he felt your eyes heavy on his.

He did feel bad, and it had been the reason for his brooding temper since then, not coming to terms with his wrongdoings until now. He had probably scared you, he concluded, and could only assume he was right as you had done your utmost to avoid him as of late.

“Don’t be,” you said with a light smile, not expecting his apology, even though he didn’t say sorry directly. “It’s a lot right now, I understand. But I still don’t understand why you’re so angry at Charles.” You were briefly met with a light sigh, eyes flickering to yours before diverting the flickering candle. 

“Nah, forget it. Just me being stupid is all.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. Maybe you’re mean sometimes and grumpy,” you said, giving him a teasing glance. “But not stupid.”

A scoff left him at your words, yet you could see the corners of his mouth chirp up lightly. “You’d be surprised.”

As your snickering died down, you rested your head on the wall behind you, not wanting to leave the quiet comfort you found yourself in nor the conversation that panned on longer than you had anticipated, much to your surprise.

“Why are you out here if you are so cold, girl?” He questioned you, catching a glimpse of your almost blue lips. “Go on inside; you’ll freeze to death if you stay here.” It would be best for you to return because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his thoughts progressed like they did before in your presence. As he placed the hat on his head again, he glanced down quickly, doing a double take as he found you staring at him. 

Was the cold finally getting to your head, or was it simply being in the presence of the man you were so unsure of but wildly intrigued by? You couldn’t tell, but the warmth spreading in your stomach as he glanced down at you spread ferociously through your stomach, almost warming you to your fingertips. 

Suddenly, Arthur moved his arm slightly, and the motion made you jump, leaning away from him as you unconsciously drew closer to him. You couldn’t tell, but it almost felt like your body sometimes contradicted your mind, defying your sense of morality.

“Are you afraid of me?” He questioned, gazing at you unexplainably. Both of your breaths were audible in the quiet night, blowing like smoke out your mouths as the world around you blurred. It wasn’t like Arthur couldn’t contain himself around women, but you were something else entirely. Only in his wildest dreams did you stare at him like that, like you were expecting–waiting– for him to do something. 

Yet, you looked guarded, like a cornered lam, waiting for the right moment to sprint away. You pulled away, only to lean in further, the cogs in your head turning something so awful in your mind, observing his every move yet not registering your own that reached out to him.

And gods, did he want to do the same; his internal battle proved to be more difficult as your hand gripped his coat tightly, only wanting to warm your blue lips with his own and show you how he could warm you up better than Charles’s damned gloves ever could.

“Sometimes.” You let on, voice shaking from both anticipation and uncertainty.

Leaning down towards you hesitantly, he felt hot all over when he realized you didn’t shy away from him like expected, mouth only parting further as he drew closer. As you did, you felt your breath hitch when a hand was placed on your upper back, Arthur’s weight only making you glide further down the wall until your head was resting in the crook of his elbow.

“Arthur…” He was so close now you could almost feel his heartbeat through the vast amount of clothing, breath hitting your cold, blushing cheeks as he leaned closer, the calling of his name only drawing him in. He was sure you had bewitched him, for not a single thought in his mind was about anything but the woman in front of him, entirely and utterly overtaken by what was solely you.

And through those few moments between frustration and desperation, all senses of logic disappeared as the skin of your lips conjoined, drawn together like magnets that snapped together like they never wanted to be apart again. Eyes grew shut, the only sound now the deep humming in Arthur’s chest as your hands found his cheeks, caressing the chilly skin under your palm with your thumbs.

It was ragged and scarred, a deep contrast to your own that had never tasted the metal of a gun and the blood of a foe, and the thought made a gasp rise in your throat as his weight fell heavier onto yours, pressing you into the hay-filled, snowy ground. 

“Tell me to stop.” He grunted against your now wet lips, only taking a second before joining them again. He was covering your entire body as he lay above you, resting his weight on his elbows as your head rested on his arm. 

“No…” You mumbled, words almost not audible against his desperate mouth, feeling just as affected by the desire as he did. You felt his face scrunch up almost painfully before he took the hand that rested on your back to glide under your coat, resting it on the side of your waist as he stroked gently, feeling the curves that hid underneath the damned fabric.

It was torture. It was an unexplainable torture that you would freeze to death if he removed the clothes that covered you, and he would surely go insane if he couldn’t feel the skin he imagined would be so very soft under his rough fingers. Just a taste, he thought sinfully to himself, slowly lifting the fabric of your shirt from under your skirt’s waistband, worming a freezing hand inside to feel the warmth that hid underneath.

You gasped at the sudden sensation but were quickly silenced as his tongue massaged your own, and the slight moan that left you only made a groan rumble loudly in his chest. The feeling of his cold hand rose your skin, stroking every bit it came across as if memorizing it to his brain, mapping out every single inch. 

It was too much for you, the sheer desperation and want, not knowing what to do with yourself or how to dampen the intense feelings that nailed your firm to the ground. Every bit of you grew into static, and every touch from Arthur sent shockwaves through your body as his fingers caressed you.

“Come here.” Opening your eyes, you found his, although lidded with desire, gentle eyes gazing into yours, pulling his hand reluctantly from your waist to help you sit up. “I won’t let you lay on the ground.” 

You only stared at him as he seated you on his lap, chest flush against his as his hands stroked along your arms as if to warm you up, tightening the blanket around your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat pick up at his actions, your stomach fluttering fiercely as he ensured you stayed warm.

You could tell he grew wildly unsure as you remained silent, clearing his throat as if he had been in a daze before speaking. 

“If you’ll have me, that is.” You didn’t give him a chance to say more, hands finding sanction in his hair as the motion knocked off his hat, exposing the sandy locks he always kept hidden underneath it.

“Stupid question.” You mumbled softly against his mouth, pressing yourself closer to him as your fingers started fiddling with the buttons on his coat. You could already feel the heat emitting, and your fingers grew hasty as you tried to move faster, the motion of your lips faltering against his eager ones.

You would have been ashamed if it weren’t for Arthur being just as stressed about getting the buttons of your coat loose, hands wounding their way around your waist and pressing you closer to him the moment they became undone. Likewise, you wormed your arms under his shoulder, gasping as you felt the heat buried underneath the fabric, hugging him close as you placed your face into the crook of his neck. 

Breathing in your scent, Arthur revealed in the way you nuzzled against him, feeling a warmth spread in his groin when the thick coat didn’t keep the pressure of your middle away from him any longer. It was heaven, he concluded, trailing his hands down to your backside as he caressed the curves, pushing you flush against his.

Oh, how he reveled in it. He was selfish; there was no denying it any longer, but he craved you so profoundly it would eat him up bit by bit if he couldn’t have you. It wasn’t about Charles any longer; it was about the fact that you had never spared him a glance, almost bordering on fearing him, deciding that everyone else company had been much safer than his own. 

He knew it and had seen it in your eyes countless times. Arthur wasn’t unfamiliar with the look of utter horror plastered on people’s faces, for he faced it every day, and he wanted nothing more than to show you that you had no reason to feel that way with him, for he would never put a single finger that was unwished for on you.

And he couldn’t possibly hold it against you, for he wasn’t a good man, quite the opposite actually, and every lingering touch made him hate himself even more, wishing you would find it in you to push away from him–let him know that if he ever touched you again, you would kill him. 

But, he would find that you didn’t, instead only pressing yourself even harder against him in the cold of the night, breath shaking something so terribly as he moved your lower region against his in a gentle movement. It only fueled his want for you, hands struggling their way up your skirt, caressing your stocking-clad legs as he did, reaching your undergarments with a content sigh. 

His touch lighted a path up your legs, the cold nothing but a memory now even though the brisk air found its way underneath your skirt, following his hands that caressed your inner thighs in soft motions.

It was suspenseful, waiting for the skin to touch the skin, for his strong hands to wound around you as he had already wormed himself around your heart. And as he did, the coil in your stomach grew so incredibly tight you felt like it was too much like his touch alone wounded your every fiber, but instead of hurt, it was an undeniable pleasure that hit you tenfold.

The hand that had crawled its way inside your undergarments stroked alongside your tender parts, never touching you where you wanted him the most–the place that longed for his touch. He had to be teasing you; there was no other explanation as he smiled softly at your expression, gasping for air as you gripped the sides of his arms, trying to push against his fingers. 

“Ah, sweetheart.” He only cooed at you, gripping your wrists with one hand as his other finally glided over the wetness of your heat, gazing directly into your eyes with his sharp gaze, admiring your pleasure-filled face that begged him to give you more, to provide you with his all. And, as he spread your folds with his fingers, the filthiest whimper of pleasure left you, laying its noise into the quiet night with no worry about anyone hearing, only fools deciding to stray outside in this bleak, frigid night. 

Falling into his arms yet again, you let him enter a finger into your warm cavern, gasping desperately for air as the unfamiliar stretch widened you, dragging wonderfully against your clenching walls. It was vile, the way Arthur reveled in how tight you felt against his finger, and as he pondered on how you would feel when he pushed it you. The thought made a striking, white pleasure shoot through him, making him grunt out against your neck.

“That good?” He spoke out, adding another finger into you while placing wet, hot kisses against your blazing neck, wanting nothing more than to hear your heavenly sound of approval. 

You attempted to nod, but the motion was interrupted by the increasingly more extensive stretch from both of his fingers; gasping like a madwoman as you moved against his hands, wishing to pull his fingers even deeper into you, dissatisfied when you realized it didn’t do the job.

He could only groan when he realized your intention, slipping his coated finger from your warm heat, bringing them to his mouth quickly while his other hand found the zipper of his jeans, fumbling in a stressed fashion to get rid of the constraint.

A dissatisfied moan left you as he did, wishing for nothing more than to feel the delicious stretch yet again carry alongside your walls. But, as he fumbled with his zipper, you quickly got your senses together. You helped him undo his suspenders, then slipped underneath the fabric to trail your hand alongside the apparent bulge that stretched underneath, finding his groans to fuel your actions. 

For a short while, your eyes met amidst the hurry your bodies experienced, and the moment slowed down to a halt as your lips found each other once more, moving against one another like starved men. You couldn’t be closer to him, and he couldn’t possibly be closer to you, and while you earlier had pondered that this was a good idea, you couldn’t imagine anything else at this moment.

And, as your hand wrapped around him momentarily, Arthur could feel his brain’s short circuit, like he had never been able to hold a single thought in his mind his entire life. You had to have bewitched him, for he complied to your every touch, body moving against your every move like your hand was glued to his body.

“God,” he mumbled against your lips that massaged his own, thrusting against your hand as you stroked him tenderly, gasping against him quietly. It wasn’t hurried but warm and slow, basking in each other’s presence like you had never before discovered the feeling of another’s touch against your own.

“That good?” You replied teasingly, mimicking his earlier words as you smiled a toothy smile, feeling him chuckle lowly at your apparent teasing, giving you a playful slap on your behind as his breathing picked up.

Suddenly, you felt a hand encase your own. As he removed it from his throbbing member, he only grabbed you closer, wounding his arms around your back as he pulled you into a hug, the feeling of him underneath you wonderful as you glided along it–moaning wantonly as the friction shot sharp streaks of pleasure up your body.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll warm you up.” As he spoke, he could feel himself shudder as your wet lips encased his tip, groaning audibly as he thought you rubbing against him. You were illegal, he concluded, for nothing could ever be allowed to feel this good–it wasn’t possible.

“Please,” you gasped against his lips, moving your hips slightly as you felt his hands circle your waist. “Please, Arthur.” 

He hushed you quietly, finally feeling you wrap your lips around him as he slowly entered your warm cavern, the walls fitting him snugly as a grunt left him unexpectedly, lost in the pleasure you brought him. 

While it felt too good to imagine, you could only keep your mouth open at the sensation, wondering how something could ever fill you up quite as good as this. Without a single thought, you sat down entirely, feeling him stretch you wonderfully as you wrapped around all of him, wounding your hands around his neck. 

You didn’t need to move much, for he thrust up into you when you had gotten used to his size, feeling yourself being hitched up to his body as the motion made your whole body rise to then fall back down on him, once more filled to the brim. His grunting in your ears filled your senses, and while the slight consciousness entered your mind, wondering what you were doing, you pushed it far back, relishing in how your body responded to his.

Despite the cold that was surely creeping into your bones the more you stayed out here, the sound of skin against skin filling the empty spaces around you made you feel more connected to each other than you had ever felt with anyone else. 

You started to move with him, bringing down your hips to meet his while he thrusts into you, growing more desperate by the minute. You found the hands hugging your waist, circling their arms around it, pushing you even further against him as you rested your hands on his cheeks, having no choice but to stare into his lidded eyes as he grunted roughly underneath you. 

God, how he wanted to push you down onto the ground and drive into you, damning the snow that covered the ground. Instead, he glided down further from the wall, feeling your weight press against him more as your head found sanction in his neck, feeling his thrusts grow more in power as he pistoned into you harder from the new position.

“Arthur.” You breathed out, feeling the stretch of him grow as the position made him reach even deeper inside you, one arm reaching down to grab your bottom so he could hold you firmer against him.

“I know, honey.” He murmured, head growing dizzy as you clenched around him so wonderfully, mewling sweetly into his ears as you let him take control. 

Did it make him an evil man for reveling in what he knew Charles would never gain from you? Maybe it did, but those thoughts were placed far back in his mind as your lips found his, small moans now muted as you grew desperate for his affection, growing insatiable to once more feel the fondness that laid in his every touch.

He had been so angry that someone else had gained the courage to do what he couldn’t, realizing he had been too late. Yet now, as you remain unknowing above him, it only made his lips plant themself firmer against yours, determined to make you understand that nobody could make you feel this way except him.

Grabbing the blanket off your shoulders, he threw it down towards the ground as you gasped, stroking your waist tenderly before slowing his movements. 

Your breath heaved something so terrible, your voice shaking as you spoke. “Don’t stop, Arthur. Please.” He felt his stomach coil at your words, throbbing inside you as he moved to a seated position.

“I ain’t stopping, sweetheart,” he let on, leaning you backwards lightly. “Lay back for me, okay?” You did as he said without a protest, the cold now gone as your legs spread from him.

He almost groaned from the sight, taking a moment to observe you as you stared at him through lidded eyes, blushed cheeks so wonderfully red against the whiteness of the snow you almost looked like an angel–your hair spread like a halo around your head where you laid on the blanket.

Crawling over you quickly, he grunted as he felt your hand encasing itself around him, stroking slowly as you guided it to your clenching hole. For a moment, he felt a relief spread through him at the feeling of your walls surrounding him before the sheer and utter desperation set in, beginning to move into you at a faster pace than before. 

Your breath hitched at the sudden movement, yet you gripped his arms to keep him there, not baring the thought of him stopping again. Being over you gave him more control, and his primal instincts set in as the coil in his stomach shot burning flashes throughout his body, wanting nothing more than to feel your warm walls around him forever. Maybe it was the desire talking, but he swore that the thought of you being like this with any other man than him would make him heave.

Encasing his arms around you as your hands found his hair, he felt your legs wrap around his waist, now so close he was grounding into you relentlessly. Rough yet tender, he moved into you with care, but you could feel that he was holding back as he panted above you.

“Don’t stop!” You begged him once more amidst his thrusts, pulling on his strands as his lips found the softness of your neck. Why you were begging, you couldn’t say, oblivious to the words leaving your mouth in utter bliss.

“Hm?” He mumbled, smiling lightly from hearing your ruined voice beg him. He felt like a sick man gaining pleasure from it, but his mind was too hazy to take notice, longing to hear those words leave your sweet mouth once more. “What was that?”

“Don’t stop,” you voiced breathlessly as his hand found your breast, rolling the nub softly between his rough fingers. Despite your begging, for his own sickly twisted pleasure his hips ceased their movements, moving torturously slow as he raised his elbows to stare at your tear-filled eyes.

They shot open as he slowed his pace, displeased he didn’t listen as you already felt shameful for sounding so desperate. You couldn’t help it, for it felt too good, and now that he had stopped, you wished he never had. Was he teasing you? The thought made you blush from embarrassment and annoyance, pleading with your eyes.

“No…” You mumbled, trying to move against him, yet his hands held you firm against the ground.

“Say it.” Arthur’s voice was coarse as he spoke, grabbing your hand to place tender kisses on it as your displeased sounds reached his ears. He only got a confused look, smirking slightly at the longing and apparent dissatisfaction plastered on your face. A biting shadowed lust replaced his usually sharp eyes as he watched you, carnal written deeply in his eyes.

“My name, sweetheart. Let me hear you say it.” Suddenly, he pistoned his hips against you, driving up your wet walls as a mewl left you from the sudden force. You felt his intense eyes on you as your eyes shut momentarily, and through your blurred vision, they didn’t stay open for long.

“Arthur,” you moaned, eye-rolling into the back of your head as your back arched, a wave of pleasure shooting through you at his demands. He held the same controlled yet sensual pace, knowing he’d slip out of you if he went any harder. Still, his accuracy was wicked–hitting the right spot with every move.

“That’s it,” he praised you, placing another kiss on your palm as his thrusts increased, grunting roughly as your walls squeezed him tightly. You break into sobs as you reach out to grasp his arms, tilting his head up just enough to let you know he’s watching you, his hazy gaze roving over the devastation on your face. 

The snow around you mutes the sound of skin hitting skin as he sets a brutal pace. “I didn’t tell you to stop, sweetheart.” The deep rumble in his chest as he spoke the words laced with possessiveness made your heartbeat pick up faster than it already was, the light ringing in your ears increasing as your body was hoisted up with each of his thrusts.

You call his name like a prayer amidst the pleasure, and satisfaction at hearing his name come so sinfully from your mouth made his eyes roll back, knuckles turning white from gripping the ground so harshly. Oh, you had no idea that every noise you let out from his advances made his heart soar with pride, feeling the softness of your skin under the palm of his hands.

Arthur feels the abrupt stop of movements from your hand, gripping tightly on his arms as you spasm around his cock, clenching tightly as the pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen nub as your orgasmed, a loud whine leaving you at the contact. It’s too much for you, the sensation too unfamiliar yet devastatingly addictive–not knowing if you wanted to drive your hips away from his brutal assault or enjoy him even more profoundly. 

Even if you had decided on the prior, he didn’t let you, pushing you firm against the ground as he twitched inside you at the noises you let out, groaning lowly as he came inside your warm walls, planting himself deep inside you. 

“Christ-” He grunts out, teeth clenched as you feel his cock throb inside you, cum gathering at the base of him as his hips slow to deep thrusts, grinding into you in sheer pleasure as the knot in his stomach unleashed, feeling you placing small kissed on his neck.

The slight motion made him smile amidst his pleasure-filled mind, caressing the curves of your waist as he nestled his head into your neck, still panting heavily. As you both calmed down, it didn’t take long for your hand to find his, fingers wounding themselves around the others in the blissful aftermath.

As you opened your eyes after catching your breath, you found a pair of blue ones already gazing at you. You didn’t speak for a while, both of you trying to digest the situation as tiny snowflakes could be seen falling from the sky through the cracks in the walls. It reminded you of how cold you should have been, but with Arthurs’s broad chest covering you, it felt like you were clinging to a furnace.

“Shit, you must be freezing.” He suddenly let out, shaking his head slightly as if in a daze before rising to pull you with him. As he pulled your skirt down your legs, rubbing them between his hands to warm you up, you could only stare at him in quiet wonder.

“What?” He grumbled out, sniveling lightly as he glanced at you. Had you not wanted this, he wondered, doubt starting to fill his mind. You were too quiet for his liking, only staring at him as he tried to prolong touching your soft skin, fearful of the hurtful words that were sure to come. 

“Are you jealous of Charles?” 

If crickets had been this far north, they would surely be the only thing audible as Arthur stopped. Bear of a man, hardy and stubborn to many, yet a faint blush could be seen rising to his cheeks as his face lowered–wishing so dearly he could find his hat that had seemingly disappeared so he could hide.

If he had been looking at you, he would have seen the toothy smile covering your face, a tender laugh leaving you as your assumptions became reality. You had to give him credit, though, for he had you completely and utterly fooled. 

“No.” He stated firmly, rising on his legs to pull up his pants. He found himself unable to, though, your hand grabbing his suspenders to pull him back down. The same heat that had lessened in his stomach came back as he felt your nimble touch caress him through his pants, gaining a mischievous look from you as you widened your legs. 

“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll give Charles his gloves back if you stay here and keep me warm.” 

Oh dear, that would do it. Whatever thoughts that filled his mind flew out the window, wholly consumed by you as your hands caressed his back, staring expectantly up at him. 

“Only me, right?”

“Only you, stupid.”

[dewwinchester]

stitches | d.w.

synopsis: dean texts you for help, and you drop everything for him.

requested by: @dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy

pairing: pre-series!dean winchester x reader

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: fluff, some angst, john winchester, blood, wounds/injury, stitching up wounds, typical spn series warnings. no use of y/n, no pronouns used!

a/n: if john winchester has no haters, i'm dead <33 also, it's currently 12am, so if the editing is a little wonky, pls forgive me

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as you navigated through the torrential downpour hammering down around you and your car. The rain was relentless, blinding you as it pounded against the windshield. The smell of wet asphalt filled your car as the tires slipped on the rain-soaked road. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears – a mixture of adrenaline from trying to avoid a horrific car wreck and anxiety from the message still illuminating your car in a dim light.

I need your help.

It wasn’t a message you were expecting. Normally, in your line of work, pleas for help came in the form of a frantic phone call or a scream in the dark. They never came in the form of a random text message.

And they never came from Dean Winchester.

You were having a relatively normal night, working a case and staking out a couple of vamps, when your phone buzzed with several messages from Dean. First, he asked if you were busy. Then, he asked if you were nearby. Moments later, he sent you an address to a motel. Then, came the message that caused you to leave the stakeout completely and go frantically speeding down the road.

Your tires screeched as you rounded a corner. The neon light of the motel soon appeared ahead, its reflection dancing across the many puddles on the asphalt. You pulled into the first parking spot you saw and stepped out of your car. The rain immediately soaked you to the bone, wetting your hair and your clothes, sending a chill through you, but you couldn't find yourself caring as your eyes scanned for Dean's room number.

The motel was rather seedy-looking – more so than normal. The wooden palings were splitting, and the paint was chipping off the trimmings and walls. There wasn't any other car in sight. You wondered just how bad things were if Dean had found himself in a place like this.

Once you found his room, you practically ran over to the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock. Your eyes immediately landed on Dean, who sat on the edge of one of the beds, his back to you. A wave of relief washed over you – he was alive – but the sight of his tense shoulders and the untouched beer bottle in his hand kept your anxiety simmering.

You closed the door behind you and took off your saturated jacket, leaving it next to Dean's leather one.

"Hey," you said with a sigh, "You okay?"

Dean responded with a curt nod but said nothing more. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, and you felt a pang in your chest. When you finally got close enough, you quickly scanned his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his normally sharp gaze was clouded with exhaustion. HIs hair was wet and spiky, and his lip trembled from the cold.

Your eyes continued to trail down to his side, where his shirt clung to his skin, dark and wet with blood. Three jagged and deep gashes spread across Dean's side. His shirt was torn.

Your eyes widened as panic once again surged through you. You frantically looked around for anything you could use to stop the bleeding. You grabbed the first towel you could get your hands on and pressed it to his side, grimacing when Dean winced in pain.

"Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Werewolf," he gritted out.

"I think you're gonna need stitches."

There was no first aid kit in sight, so your mind began running through alternatives. You could go to the front desk and ask if there were any supplies, but asking for anything more than a simple band-aid would cause suspicion, and the last thing you needed was someone knocking on the door asking too many questions.

You could use dental floss. You had known plenty of hunters that used it in the past and not had a problem, but you weren't sure there were any needles…

"There's a sewing kit in the bathroom."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "You read my mind."

“One of my many talents.” 

----

Needle, thread, dental floss, tissues, water. You looked over the supplies in front of you, mind racing at a million miles an hour. Despite being a hunter yourself, you weren’t exactly a natural when it came to stitching wounds and performing first aid. In fact, the sight of too much blood caused your head to throb and your legs to go numb.

Dean had already taken off his shirt, leaving you to see the full extent of his injuries. The gashes started at the top of his ribs and curled around to his left shoulder blade. Blood continued to trail down his back, causing your mouth to go dry. Pins and needles tingled your toes, and the room began to spin…

You shook off your thoughts and shifted your weight between your two feet, hoping to get some blood flow back there. You put your thoughts and discomfort behind you and prepared to begin. 

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” you said, trying to control the shake in your voice. 

“Not my first time,” he replied. 

You grabbed the needle and thread, and – with shaky hands – tried your best to thread the cotton through the eye. You sat behind him, deciding to start around his shoulder. With a damp cloth, you tried your best to clean around the area, whispering apologies whenever Dean flinched. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly, using your gentlest touch to guide the needle through. 

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “werewolf.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” you trailed off. “Where’s your dad?” 

Dean clenched his jaw, and you immediately knew you had touched on a rough subject. Throughout the time that you had known Dean, you had learnt his relationship with his father was far from healthy. John Winchester was not your favourite person in the world. In fact, you and Dean had gotten into plenty of arguments about him in the past. 

“He’s not here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, continuing your stitching. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Do we have to do this–?”

“--Yes.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. The anger and tension radiating off him was palpable, his shoulders were tense and his breathing was heavy. You finished stitching the first gash, and tied the thread off with a neat little knot. Instead of immediately moving on to the next one, you moved around and knelt in front of Dean so you were eye level. You placed a hand on his right knee and traced gentle circles into his skin with your thumb. You raised your eyebrows, sending him a look that was simultaneously stern and empathetic.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

“We’d been stakin’ out the thing for weeks,” Dean began. “We finally pinpointed it to this boathouse. Dad was sure that it was in there, so he sent me in first to sweep the area.”

“And…?”

“Turns out it was a lot smarter than we thought,” Dean said, a dejected smile on his lips. “It was waitin’ there for us. Dad knew, but I didn’t.” 

“Then why did he send you in there?”

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But the thing had me on the ground before I even realized what was goin’ on. Put it’s claws in me and ran.”

You shuddered. 

“Dad didn’t stay,” Dean continued. “The second he realised it jumped ship, he went too. Left me with my phone and wallet… I walked here.” 

“What?” 

If Dean’s anger was palpable, you were damn-near irate. You pressed your lips together, trying to control yourself from spewing all sorts of profanities. If you had it your way, you would have marched your way up to John Winchester and given him what for. You would have knocked his lights out if Dean had let you. 

You stood and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes.

"He – you? God!"

"Alright hot-head, calm down."

"No, I will not calm down!" You spun on your heel, turning to face him again. "Your own father left you for dead!"

"He's done worse."

You laughed bitterly. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Alright," Dean sighed, raising a hand to stop your tirade. "I'm okay! I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Oh yeah, you're the pinnacle of okay."

"Your sarcasm isn't helping."

You shook your head. Angry tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you were too stubborn to let them fall.

"I just wish you would understand that you deserve better," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You could leave his ass behind any time you like -"

"Oh yeah? And then what?"

You paused, and looked down to your feet. 

"You could come with me?" 

For half a second, Dean smiled. “You and I would kill each other in half an hour.” 

He was right – but you’d never let him admit it. 

“Why’d you text me then?” You asked. “If we’re just gonna kill one another–”

Dean shot you a pointed look. 

“– I’m serious.” You said. 

Dean stood up with a groan and walked over to you. You stood with your arms crossed, a slight frown creasing your brow. Nothing could be heard but the rain that battered against the windows and the thundering of your own heartbeat in your ears. 

Dean tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear, “You’re the first one I thought of… The only one I wanted here.” 

A blush crept onto your cheeks and you shook your head fondly. “You’re fantastic at changing the subject.” 

Dean winked, but his smooth-talking was soon replaced by a painful scowl. 

“Let’s finish this up later, shall we? I’d rather not bleed to death.” 

You helped Dean back to the bed and prepared to finish stitching him up. You knew this was far from over – with Dean, it never was – but for now, you would focus on the rain that pattered against the roof and the relief that Dean was with you, safe. 

[annwrites]

⸻ tell me i'm your national anthem. part five. ⸻

· pairing: homelander x collegestudent!reader · type: part of a series · summary: tragedy strikes when a plane crashes. john insists upon your relationship taking the next step. · tags: mothering kink, lactation kink · tw: possessiveness, codependency, attachment issues · word count: 3,742

One hundred and eighteen people are dead. In an instant. Just…gone. Fallen from the sky. Innocent people just trying to get from one place to another. Including a mother and her little girl. Teachers, families, couples…

It’s been everywhere today: on the news, social media, and on the lips of every person you pass in the halls at your college.

And you feel sick every time you think of the terror they must’ve felt. How…helpless they were as they probably clung to each other in those final moments, praying for someone—something—to save them…

You try to push it out of your mind, to the best of your ability, so you might make it through the rest of the day without bursting into a puddle of tears.

That evening, you pick idly at your dinner as you watch John on your flat screen.

Three minutes. If he’d been three minutes sooner, there at least would’ve been a chance at saving them.

And then you watch as he actually gets choked up—as tears stream from his bloodshot eyes—and your own chin wobbles in response.

Please, God, don’t let him blame himself.

He got there as quickly as he could.

While part of you hates him—is terrified of him—for the way he’s been treating you since first meeting a handful of days ago, you're sure he would’ve practically carried that plane to safety if it’d still been in the air when he arrived. He has every right to be angry. To be upset. Because countless lives have now been destroyed, and over a hundred taken through an act of evil—of terrorism.

At least they’re dead now, too.

You hope that if there is a hell—from whatever religion is it that they prescribed to—that they’re suffering in it.

You glance down to your barely-touched dinner, then rise to put it away.

Once you’ve brushed your teeth and are ready to lie down for the night, you glance to your balcony doors, and, most unexpectedly, fill with disappointment when you find the space to be empty.

Then, you quickly fill with guilt immediately after. How could you expect him to show up here after the day he’s had? You are the furthest thing from his metaphorical plate—from his mind.

The real world is calling now, and your time of being a distraction to him is over.

He’s gone, and he’s not—

Just as you step toward the doors to close your curtains is when he lands outside them, causing you to jump from fright.

And then tears quickly gather in your eyes as you turn the handle.

John turns around slowly, and he gently rests his hands on his hips while shrugging slightly. “I—”

He shakes his head and glances to his feet. “I tried. I really—if I’d gotten there sooner—”

You throw yourself against his chest and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you choke out between sobs.

You run your fingertips through his hair and bury your face in his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper. “There is nothing you could’ve done. This is not your fault.”

He slips an arm beneath your legs, and he carries you back inside.

John currently has one of your nipples in his mouth, and is gently sucking on it for comfort while you rub his head and keep blankets tucked tightly around him.

You turned quiet white noise on awhile ago to try and lull him to sleep, but every time you think he might be close to drifting off, he begins sucking again.

Such a strange arrangement this is tonight. And in general, really.

But you won’t tell him no in anything he needs to soothe himself. He’s been through utter hell today, and he came to you of all people to make it better. To hold and console him.

“Do you think they’ll do it?” You whisper.

He hums in curiosity.

“Let supes into the military,” you explain while resting a palm against the warm skin of his back.

He releases your breast from his mouth and swallows before replying, wishing you could lactate. He’d like that tonight. But he instead has to make do with what you have to offer.

At least he has the rest of you to do with as he pleases. Whether you like it or not.

And you’re even stupid enough to buy his sob story about being filled with immeasurable guilt over not being able to save the day. When, in reality, he doesn’t feel an ounce of it.

Because, really, it may just work out in the long-run for Vought, and get them exactly what Madelyn has been wanting for months on-end.

He smiles at the thought of her being pleased with him this time. She should’ve been for the last plane he brought down, but he set things right with those words he fed VNN just a handful of hours ago.

And now here he lies in your arms, while you coo over him like a loving mother.

He snuggles closer to you, feeling completely content for once.

He could get used to this. But only when he needs it—rather, wants it—of course. He can’t keep coming over here every night like he has been. Can’t come off as needy.

Even if he feels like he does need it: you, your attention, affection, and maternal comfort and love.

Finally, he replies. “It’d be ignorant as shit for them not to after what happened today, don’t you think? I mean, for the military to say that they’d rather have ordinary soldiers on the frontlines, as opposed to those who can survive a bullet or bombs…”

He shakes his head in indignation. “No different than today. Every day this country fails its people—people the government is supposed to be working for. Instead, they’re getting them killed needlessly. So, if us entering the military can save innocent lives, then I’m all for it.”

Your eyes flit between his while you gingerly cup his cheek, and he nuzzles into your touch. “I know that physically, you can’t be hurt.”

You trail your fingertips up to his temple. “But what about in here?”

You press a kiss to his forehead. “Sweetheart, you have already been through so much pain because of these people. Going to war…the things you’d see—”

“I can handle it,” he says, cutting you short.

You grow silent for a moment.

“Is this something you want, or something you’ve been told will happen to you if the people at Vought get their way? Meaning you have no true say.”

He’s not used to this: someone looking out for him. He’s not so stupid as to think that when Madelyn tells him that all she does is to protect him that she actually means it. She’s just…telling him what he wants to hear. But, because he’s so desperate for the attention…he’s willing to pathetically play along.

But with you, it isn’t a sick game. It’s honest. You are.

You ghost your fingertips over his lips, waiting for a response.

Until he decides that he doesn’t much feel up to trying at giving one.

So, instead, he takes your nipple into his mouth again, and he begins to suck.

You sigh quietly, but don’t push the subject. Instead, you gingerly cup the back of his head and begin to hum a nursery rhyme, so as to lull him, hopefully, to sleep.

When John wakes in the morning, it’s not in your arms, but he’s immediately comforted by the smell of eggs cooking and the sound of bacon sizzling on the stovetop across the room. And you hum along quietly to pop music, which plays softly on your little vintage countertop radio.

Sunlight streams through sheer gossamer curtains a few feet from the bed, and he’s practically swaddled in blankets, with plenty of soft pillows to keep him comfortable.

He really likes it here with you. It feels like…home. A home he’s never, in all his life—over forty years—had a chance to have. But this place is just that.

It’s well-decorated, cozy, clean, and warm. Charming. Idyllic, even. Honestly? You deserve an entire house, he thinks. He’d love to see what you’d come up with in turning it, gradually, into a home. Maybe into one for the both of you.

You playing the role of his perfect, dutiful little housewife…? He loves the idea. Fucking adores it. And it’s not like you could ever hope for better, anyway. What woman wouldn’t want such a life given to her by him of all men? Only an imbecile would refuse it.

Now, he has something to truly think about and consider. Given you continue behaving yourself for him—continue doing as he says, and being his well-behaved young lady…and playing mommy to him, which he needs most of all.

“This is nice,” John says after taking a bite of buttered toast, with a smile on his lips.

A smile that you return while gently brushing your foot against his beneath the table.

You’re still wary of him. You’re not so stupid not to be. To be wholly trusting and adoring toward him when you know what he’s capable of would just make you careless toward your own safety and well-being.

Maybe you are anyway.

But what choice do you have but to continue entertaining him like this? To continue…mothering him.

“I’m glad,” you say quietly before taking a drink of orange juice.

He leans back then, and you watch as he looks around your apartment, carefully taking in every feature and facet.

You shift nervously in your seat, wondering what he’s thinking—why he’s studying the space so intently all of a sudden.

And then his eyes meet yours again, and you merely look at him shyly from beneath your lashes while swallowing a forkful of cheesy scrambled eggs.

“I like it here,” he remarks. “It’s so…homey. You’re a good little homemaker.”

You flash him a toothy smile, and he genuinely returns it, enjoying the sight of you so happy.

You like being praised, he notes. You probably have no one to give you regular encouragement and approval. No one to give you attention.

He likes that you seemingly like having his. And certainly likes that his is the only that you have.

He doesn’t need to worry about someone else standing in his way—between the two of you. Between him and what now belongs to him. But, even if such a person existed…it wouldn’t be for much longer.

“Thank you,” you say while actually blushing. “I’ve worked really hard on it. It’s not much, but I’ve done my best with what little space and money that I have.”

He takes a sip of milk, then licks his lips. “I can tell. I do wonder, though…”

Your brows furrow when he begins to trail off. “What, baby?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. God, he really fucking loves when you call him that. He likes when you call him any pet name, in truth. Baby, sweetheart, sweetie… He wishes you’d call him more. Like, perhaps, your sweet baby boy—or your perfect little boy. Maybe, in time, you will.

He shrugs, then waves his hand, as if he’s trying to be nonchalant. When, in reality, he wants you to push him to tell you. Wants you to show interest in what is it that he has to say. Wants to know that what he thinks matters to you more than anything. Well, that he matters to you more than anything—not just what he thinks.

You gently set your fork down on your plate, then rest your hands in your lap. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”

He glances to his right, to where your balcony doors lie. “Just wondering what you might think about my place at Seven Tower.”

You blanch momentarily as he looks back to you.

He’s about to segue into asking you to come see it, isn’t he? His apartment, that is. You wouldn’t be surprised if he offers to give you a tour of the entire building, just as an opportunity to show off. Not just how he, most likely, knows the whole of the place like the back of his hand, but also so you can witness how everyone there probably bows and scrapes before him: the face of the Seven. The face of Vought. The face…of the entire country—of America.

You know he’s waiting for a specific response. An agreeable one. One that will please him.

“What’s it like?” You ask, feigning mild curiosity, even if you couldn’t care less.

It’s probably like every other corporate skyscraper: soulless and without character. Just a giant advertisement for their brand. A monument to their greed.

He takes a bite of his bacon and chews thoughtfully for a moment before answering. “Guess you’ll just have to come and see for yourself to find out.”

You proceed to stare at him in response to his, admittedly, predictable answer.

You refrain from shifting in your seat, so as to prevent him from bearing witness one of your ‘tells’ for when you feel uncomfortable.

“Oh. W-when?”

You grab your glass of orange juice and hold it between your hands to try and keep them steady—to prevent them from shaking from nerves.

“How about today?” He replies, taking another bite of his eggs.

You grip the glass more tightly. “How? I mean—”

“I can fly you up. We’ll just go in through the roof. No need to bother with metal detectors and what-not.”

You nod slowly.

At least you won’t have to worry, then, about crowds and people snapping pictures of you on their cellphones. That is the very last thing you desire: obnoxious notoriety, and to have yourself splashed across the cover of a supermarket tabloid with a question in bold print asking who Homelander’s new girl is.

And there’s still Emma.

Emma, who you’ve been…somewhat avoiding as of late, strictly from guilt. Guilt that you’re lying to her by omission. Omitting the fact that you’re carrying on with Homelander, for lack of a better term, that is.

If she ever finds out, her heart will break in two. You’re dealing with enough right now, such as the man who sits before you. Adding the loss of your best friend to the list of stressors upon you might just be more than you can handle.

“Okay,” you finally say in reply.

John watches and trails along behind you as you walk slowly around his apartment, looking it over.

He suddenly feels like all his nerve endings have been exposed. It’s a similar—if not near-identical feeling—to how he felt that first night he laid in your arms without a stitch of clothing on, minus his briefs.  But he’s gotten used to it; likes it even: the warmth of your body against his own in the middle of the night, when it feels like the two of you are all that’s left in the world.

“So, what do you think?” He asks, eager for your thoughts.

You turn around and ease your head back as you gaze up at him and into irises of blue.

“It…” You trail off.

You don’t want to anger him with your answer, but are also growing tired of lying to spare his overly-sensitive feelings. It’s exhausting walking this dangerous tightrope every time you’re together.

If he doesn’t want an unpleasant answer, then maybe he shouldn’t have brought you here in the first place, and furthermore shouldn’t be asking your opinion on his personal living space.

You nearly flinch when he reaches up and cups your cheek.

You truly detest his suit, including his gloves.

So, you reach up, take his hand in yours, and pull gently against the fingertips of the soft red material.

He stays quiet as you remove it, and then his other one, before tossing them both onto a nearby table.

You blink innocently up at him and he smiles.

You fill with relief that he didn’t take offense to the gesture.

God, he is truly exhausting.

He cups your cheek again and brushes his thumb along your soft, flushed skin. “You can be honest.”

You mentally raise a brow at that. “Did you decorate it, or—”

He purses his lips and shakes his head. “No. Not something I’d ever waste my time with.”

He smirks. “That’s women’s work.”

You do raise a brow then and frown slightly as well, so he grins at your response.

He turns you around and pulls you back against his chest before wrapping his arms around your neck. “So?”

“Well, it’s very clean, which I like,” you say while resting your hands on his arms.

He snorts. Of course you’d reply with that.

“And?” He pushes, wanting for more.

You sigh. “I hate it. It’s very…empty. Impersonal. It feels like we’re in an American History museum instead of what’s supposed to be your home. There’s no…personal touches. It feels far more like Homelander’s living space, and less like my John’s.”

He stills, which you take immediate note of, and you grow cold all over.

You fucked up. Said too much. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Your John,” he whispers.

With your back against his chest, you can’t see the tears shimmering in his eyes at the sweet sentiment.

Your body loosens and relaxes, and you lean further back against him—your legs now a bit wobbly-feeling from the sudden onslaught of adrenaline.

“I mean, do you like the way it’s decorated and arranged?”

His mouth tugs into a frown and he shrugs. “I don’t spend much time here, to tell you the truth.”

You turn around and slide your hands up his chest and into his hair while standing on tiptoes. “You could always have it redone, sweetie. Hire a decorator, pick some things out and—”

He smiles widely and you shut your mouth while your brows furrow.

“What…?” You ask hesitantly while cocking your head slightly to the side.

He rests his hands against the small of your back, holding you close.

“I could just have you do it for me,” he states while sliding his hands higher, beneath the soft feminine top you have on.

Your eyes flit between his, waiting for explanation.

“You could come live here,” he explains. “We hire a decorator, like you said, or I just give you my credit card and let you do as you please to turn this place into a proper home. I foot the bill while you…y’know, go nuts.”

He…wants to live together?

Oh, no. No, no, no. That is way too big of a step to take, and far too soon.

His attachment issues know no bounds.

There’s a specific word for this level of it, isn’t there? Co…something. Codependency, yes! And now he’s made you the subject of his sick version of it. You wonder how many have come before you—have failed and disappointed him—then disappeared, per Vought, so he can inevitably find another to take their place.

Or, maybe you’re the first.

Who knows?

But if you are…why?

He never did answer that question, did he? Why you, that is.

You don’t think you should force that answer out of him right now, though.

“Baby, that is…a huge step. And I don’t think that…after only knowing each other for little over a week, for us to…take that leap—”

The light slowly drains from his eyes, and his smile disappears.

You swallow thickly while your heart jumps into your throat.

“What? You don’t want to be here? Don’t want me around?”

You jump into damage-control mode. “Of course I do, baby. But… I have less than two months left in school before I get my diploma. I’m about to be loaded down with finals. And there’s work, too. Just…to move in the middle of it all…”

You cup the back of his head and smile warmly, desperate to keep him from getting angry. Terrified of what will happen to you if you don’t succeed.

“How about this, sweetheart: we can compromise, maybe, if you like? You could pack a bag: clothes, toiletries, books and movies—I’ll even help you. Just…whatever you like. And you bring it all back to my apartment. I’ll clean out one of the drawers in my dresser for you, and some space in my closet, a spot in my bathroom—whatever you need—and you can continue staying there, just like you’ve been. But this way, it’ll feel more like your home, too. I mean, you like it better there, right? You said that you do.”

You press a soft kiss to his cheek, then gaze warmly into his eyes as you wait for—you desperately fucking hope—a positive response.

He considers for a moment—you note how he grinds his jaw while in thought—and then he exhales while nodding. “Alright. Fine. But only until you’ve graduated. Right?”

You ignore the feeling of fear that overtakes you at his insistence. “Of course. I’ll just have a lot less on my plate then, sweetie. And it’ll be good to wait. Because it’ll give us more time to get to know one another. And you to have an opportunity to make sure that that’s what you truly want: me living here. Because I’d hate to…to just move in, and you decide a week or two later that you’ve made a huge mistake, and I have no apartment to go back to because I gave it up, you know?”

He nods his head from side to side in understanding. “Okay. I’ll pack a bag or two, and I’ll just continue coming to you every night.”

He smirks while leaning down and cupping your face between his hands—the image of him crushing your head between them flits briefly through your mind—and he presses a kiss to your lips.

“Besides, I love seeing you comfortable and in your element, anyway. And it’s nice having home-cooked meals so often.”

He grabs one of your ass cheeks, and your eyes widen in surprise. “And we don’t have to worry about the lemmings here at Vought up both our asses when we’re being intimate and when you’re…y’know, looking after me.”

You nod. “That’s all I want: privacy. And for me to have you all to myself.”

You hope he likes that last bit… You only tacked it on for his benefit.

When you feel his erection suddenly pressing against your stomach—hard and firm—you have confirmation that he does.

And then he presses his lips to yours once more.

· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @highsummon @chaimshelii @sacha1slytherin

[kimoralov3]

lay all your love on me 24

jj maybank x heyward!reader

<- previous next ->

"y/n come on, we're gonna be late if we keep waiting on you!" pope calls from outside your door. you roll your eyes at that, putting on one more swipe of mascara.

"stop rushing me! i just need like two more seconds!" you call back as you apply your lip liner and lip gloss. you give yourself a final once over, making sure you look decent before grabbing your sandals and sliding them on as you hobble over to the door.

when you open it pope is still standing there, arms crossed over his chest as he shakes his head. you stick your tongue out at him before taking the steps two at a time to meet everyone else outside in front of the twinkie. sarah wasn't feeling well today, so it'd just be you, pope, jj, cleo, kie, and her girlfriend lex going to the party at the boneyard today. sarah and john b were sitting on the front porch when you got out there, so you stopped to talk to them.

"hey guys. are you two sure you don't want me to stay home? i wouldn't really mind." you ask as you stand in front of them. sarah waves a dismissive hand at that.

"yes yes, we're sure. besides, you have more important things to worry about." she says as she and john b wiggle their eyebrows at you. sarah was pregnant so you couldn't exactly hit her, but you sure as hell did give john b a good punch in the shoulder before walking away.

ever since you and jj had fallen asleep together outside, the pogues would not leave the two of you alone. i mean, it's not like it meant anything. just friends helping each other out. friends who had been doing a lot of... hanging out lately. the kind of hang outs that felt like dates. but they weren't! jj was just trying to make up for being an ass. in a very rom-com way. but still! the two of you were just friends. much to your dismay.

you all had been at the boneyard for about 3 hours now, and it was really starting to crank up. not that you could really focus on that, though, because you had spent basically the whole time running and hiding from jj.

"y/n, would it really be that bad to talk to him?" aubree asks as rafe comes back with her drink. rafe immediately wraps an arm around her, and you get the sense that that should make you upset or something but it doesn't. you've both moved on for the better.

"obviously. don't wanna embarrass myself. besides, he seems a little... preoccupied at the moment." you say as you tilt your cup in his direction. he's currently talking to some girl that went to school with you guys- her name was like, ashley or something? doesn't really matter, what matters is the fact that she has jj's full attention and not you.

"aww, are you jealous because he's talking to other girls?" kiara asks teasingly, causing lex to elbow her in her side.

"i am not jealous. if he wants to talk to other girls, he's very free to. it's not like we're dating or anything." you say as you take a sip of the beer you'd been nursing since you got there.

"but you want to be." rafe says. it's a statement and not a question, which makes you even more frustrated with all your friends. why couldn't they just butt out of your love life?

"i'm leaving." you say, walking away quickly before any of them could poke fun at you again. as you're walking towards the water you hear someone calling your name, and you turn to see jj jogging towards you. just what you needed, great.

"hey, y/n! haven't really spoken with you since we got here." he says once he catches up with you. you force a smile on your face as you try and come up with a response.

"yeah, sorry about that. to be honest, i'm not really in the partying mood tonight." you say with a shrug. "i'll probably head home soon, anyways."

"you're gonna walk all the way back home by yourself?" he asks as he shoves his hands in his pockets. it's a nervous habit of his that you've always found cute, but you can't help but wonder what could possibly be making him nervous at the moment.

"yeah. don't wanna ruin the fun for everyone else." you say with a light chuckle as you kick up some sand.

"i'll walk with you." he says as if it's the easiest decision he's ever made.

"what? no, jj. you stay, i'll be fine." you say quickly. "you love parties."

"yeah, but i'm not really feeling this one. 's kinda lame." he says with that boyish smile of his. god, he's making this really difficult.

"alright, fine. if you insist." you say as you toss your empty cup somewhere. (sorry kie!)

"lead the way, m'lady." he says as he tips an invisible hat at you. you roll your eyes, shoving him gently. he just laughs, seeing as your little push didn't do much in the way of moving him.

the walk back home is pretty much silent, save for the late night sounds of the town. you almost wish that it could be like this forever, the two of you just enjoying each other's company. but there's this thing that keeps floating around in your head, and no matter how hard you try you just can't seem to rid yourself of it.

"so, i saw you talking to ashley earlier." you say so quietly that jj didn't hear you. "the two of you looked pretty cozy."

that causes jj to stop walking, looking at you as if you had grown three extra heads. "huh?"

"you and ashley. the two of you were talking at the party. are you into her? it's totally cool if you are. i mean yeah, she was kind of a bitch to us in high school but i'm sure she's changed-"

"and they call me the oblivious one." he says with a chuckle. he was looking around as if he thought he was being pranked.

now it was your turn to be confused. "what?"

jj looks at you for a moment, almost as if he was studying you. "y/n, do you honestly think i'm interested in any other girl besides you?"

had you drank more beer than you thought? was it actually beer in your cup, or had you been drinking something else the whole time? because that was the only logical explanation for what you thought you just heard. "huh?"

jj smirks, taking a step closer to you and using his finger to push your chin up. "close your mouth, mama. wouldn't want bugs getting in there would we?"

you couldn't believe it. had jj really said what you thought he said? "i'm sorry, could you repeat that please?"

"i'm in love with you, y/n. have been for a while now. and i know that i acted like a total fucking asshole about the whole rafe situation, and there will never be enough time or enough words for me to properly apologize for that, but i want to be with you. genuinely. in fact, i don't think i've ever been so serious about something the way i'm serious about you." he says as he gently takes your hand in his.

"b-but, you were talking with ashley and it looked like-"

"i was talking with ashley because i was buying something from her. something for you." he explains as he reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a braided bracelet. he slides it onto your arm, making sure it's secure before removing his hands so you can get a proper look at it. it was fairly simple; peachy colored thread holding up a bead with the letter j on it. "i was gonna give it to you when i asked you to be my girlfriend."

"i don't know what to say." you whisper, still in awe. you hear jj laugh at that, and when you look up he bring a hand up to cup your cheek.

"just say yes, y/n. say you'll be my girlfriend." he whispers as he brushes his thumb across your cheek.

"yes, jj. i would love to be your girlfriend." you say with a smile. the biggest smile you'd ever seen broke out across jj's face, so big you're surprised his face didn't split in half. he brings his other hand to the other side of your face and pulls you in for a kiss. it's a lot more gentle than you would've expected from someone like jj, but you wouldn't have it any other way. his lips were soft, almost cloud like and he tasted like cheap beer and his favorite spearmint flavored gum.

you honestly couldn't tell how long the two of you kissed for, but you didn't want it to ever end. unfortunately the two of you needed to come up for air and when you did, jj pressed his forehead against yours.

"i love you too, jj." you say, pressing a small kiss to the tip of jj's nose. he smiled again, but this time it was charged with something else, something you couldn't quite put your finger on. but if you had to guess, it was somewhere between love and admiration.

"good. now let's get you home." he says as he grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together as the of you finish the walk back home.

taglist: @arkofblake @ivysprophecy @murdockcastleslut @queenvane64 @yoongling @cassiewritessalot @iloveeejjjj @divierses @dreamybabbyy @freyawhitexxx1 @sheisntyou @212-apricity @beeskisses

[gnomewithalaptop]

Batfam Time Travel Fic Recs

Because @clarenceislazy requested it on my last fic rec compilation, here's a list of my favorite DCU time travel fics! They're all pretty Batfam-centric, but eh niche is niche what can you do

Damian fics:

A Good Place by LemonadeGarden - Damian gets sent back in time to a Batman who's never had a Robin. Very sweet, very fun.

The Rule Stands by Engineerd - After Dick's death, Damian has to deal with a time-displaced ten-year-old Dick Grayson. Love a good Dick and Damian bonding moment, PLUS this gets a happy ending <3

to stay in one place by Jezebunny - Injustice!Universe Nightwing!Damian time-travels/dimension-jumps to a timeline where Dick Grayson is still alive and his counterpart is still Robin. Ugh this is so angsty -- I have an unreasonable amount of love for Injustice Damian

looking for the shapes in the silence by popsunner - In a world where Dick died on the job, Damian falls through a hole in reality where Dick is still alive and finds that some things don't fit the way they used to. SUCH an amazing representation of complex grief -- literally every time I read it, I cry

Steph fics:

time slip by almondrose - A mistake in time leads to six Robins meeting. Honestly, this one is kinda cracky, and only barely qualifies as Steph-centric, but I still like it a lot

and we'll never be the same by almondrose - Steph and Tim go on a road trip to figure out the post-universal-reboot anomalies. This is more of a post timey-wimey-bullshit fic than a real time travel fic, BUT I think it's real cute regardless

Tim fics:

Tractors by lieu42 - Ooh this one is honestly so so fun! In a reimagined universe where DC's heroes operate out of the UK, Red Robin Tim finds himself right back in the year before everything went to hell. He has a duty to get back to his correct timeline so he can find Bruce, but with Bart and Kon still alive, there's a part of him that doesn't want to leave. Literally SO well written and trippy as hell -- this fic deals a lot with addiction, drug use, and grief, so definitely go into it forewarned. TimKon

not for very much longer by CreamOfTomatoSoup - ugh what CAN'T I say about this fic, apart from the fact that it's one of my favorite time loop fics of all time. Post Cult of Dionysus Bernard Dowd finds himself reliving the worst day of his life -- the day Darla got shot. Featuring identity porn, Steph as Robin, Original-Personality!Bernard, the grief of a childhood you can never return to, and the weirdness of having to interact with your significant other when he's currently a sixteen year old who doesn't know he likes dudes. Don't look at the incomplete warning -- it's not abandoned, just a wip, and I legitimately cannot recommend this fic enough. This fic made me read War Games. This fic made me a Darla Aquista stan. This fic made me ship timbern. Please read this fic.

Jason fics:

The View From Jade by lowflyingfruit - Jason Todd accidentally travels back to before Bruce took Dick in. I feel like this is on every time travel rec list, but what can I say: I'm a basic bitch

Two Dead Birds by InsaneTrollLogic - Jason Todd wakes up in the middle of his Mob Boss Era and immediately decides to rewrite his own history. This is very funky fresh of him, just in my personal opinion.

Dick fics:

So It Goes by 60sec400 - Bruce from Dick's Robin era receives a troubling call from Nightwing. Be warned -- this fic is angsty as hell. Implied major character death. Don't look at the incomplete warning -- it's a lie (the author has specified they intended it to work as a oneshot)

In This Or Any Other Universe by wildsofmarch - Dick-as-Batman ends up in Battinson-era Gotham. Again, I think this counts more towards the Dimension Travel pile than the strict Time Travel variety, but I'm still putting it here because I enjoy the hell out of it

a million dreams by CaptainOzone - In the seconds between the trapeze line snapping and their bodies hitting the ground, John and Mary Grayson find themselves transported twenty years into the future. SO GOOD I honestly can't stand it.

If you think I missed a fic you love (or if you've written any yourself and want to self-plug), feel free to drop a link in the reblogs! Especially if you know of any that center around Steph, Cass, or Duke -- istg I've scrolled through fifteen pages of the AO3 Time Travel tag, and I've found like maybe two fics that center around any of them. It's honestly a little ridiculous

[romanticintheory]

on my knees BEGGING for more price and civilian!reader. i just read it and i can’t stop thinking about all the cute itty bitty interactions- their date, their convos, maybe him meeting her surprisingly scary dog (currently in love thinking about COD men and K9s yknow?).

Like if there’s not a single supporter for this, i’m dead in a ditch somewhere

what it's like dating john price as a civilian.

john price x gn!reader

part 1

more fluff, more domesticity, me being down bad

a/n: KSAHDASDKJ im so glad u love them as much as i do!! hope this does them justice for u <3

-

the date went really well, thankfully. he showed up at your place ready to pick you up with the bouquet of flowers he knew you deserved. call him old-fashioned, but he was adamant on making sure you didn't have to lift a finger for anything.

hell, he even asked you why you were standing out there in the cold by yourself, saying, "i could have come to your door so you didn't have to freeze all the way out here, sweetheart!"

he held out his hand for you to take as he guided you down the stairs, opened your side of the door for the car, and always walked with you on the side closest to the street.

the movie was a cute action comedy. it was even funnier with john because he'd sometimes pipe up at the action sequences talking about how unrealistic some scenes were.

when you told john that the main character's actor, a built, older-looking man, was used to be your celebrity crush in high school, he couldn't help but let a chuckle rumble in his throat and ask, "got a type then, love?"

"yeah, probably do," you admitted shamelessly.

the dinner was just as nice as the movie: he took you out to a nice restaurant and hung onto every word you spoke. likewise, you couldn't take your eyes off him whenever he told you stories about him and his boys.

he wouldn't tell you stories about him doing his job, mostly because he didn't want to disturb you with what he's had to do. he did, however, happily tell you stories about the ridiculous things he's seen his task force get up to.

"they sound like a handful," you said warmly, "you sure they're not your kids?"

"no, but they certainly sound like it," he leaned just a little bit closer to hear you better over the chatter of the restaurant.

"i get that. i've got a handful at home, too." you paused to take a sip of your drink. "a little puppy."

"really? what's its name?"

when he takes you back home, he wordlessly walks you back to your door.

"would you like to meet beau, john?" you ask, hand hovering over the door you unlocked.

he opens his mouth to speak but gets interrupted by the sound of scratching and a dog panting on the other side of the door.

"well, only if he's okay with meeting me."

when you open the door, john is surprised to see a full-grown rottweiler launching at him at full speed. for a second, he saw his life flashing before his eyes before he realized the wagging of beau's tail.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry!" you call out immediately, "he's usually more polite around strangers. beau- beau get down!"

john only laughs at your panic and took your dog's friendliness as a sign to pet him. "'s alright, love. i trust you enough to know you wouldn't put me in harm's way."

he takes in beau's stature. from the looks of his larger-than-average size, he might be a guard dog for you. or maybe you just wanted company and decided to hone in on his scariness and bulk by adding that spiked collar.

"so, a puppy, huh?" he points outed humorously, locking eyes with you after realizing that your canine was, in fact, fully grown.

"hey, he's still a puppy to me!" you interject, kneeling down beside john's crouched figure to also show the rottweiler some affection.

"i see," he nods thoughtfully, turning his attention back to beau. "you're just as gorgeous as your owner, huh?"

your face is on fire again. "you flatter me, john."

"how does the saying go? it's not flattery if it's true?" he stands up much to the disappointment of beau and to take a step closer to you.

"you're too kind."

"jus' trying to treat you like how you deserve."

it's like he's trying to light you aflame on purpose. your embarrassment grows so much you have to cover the smile on your face with your hand. once your face has cooled down, you take a deep breath and let your hand fall down back to your side.

"thank you for tonight," you say quietly. "i had a really good time."

"glad to hear," he replies. "'m also happy to see beau likes me, too."

"well, we both have that in common, i guess."

"oh, who's doing the flattery, now?" john says playfully, his hands on his hips as you laugh softly at him.

"still you!" you insist.

"hm. maybe next time we can figure it out, yeah?" he proposes, a hopeful glint in his eye.

"next time? you already ready for a second date, price?"

oh, he was ready for more, but he didn't think you were ready to hear that.

"unless you're not," he tells you slowly, afraid of pressuring you into saying yes already.

sensing his worry, you reassure him with, "how could i not be?"

he relaxes at your admission and leans forward to give you a kiss on the cheek. "i've got your number. next week sound fine to you?"

"of course. whatever you like, soldier," you nodded, the lingering feeling of his lips on your cheek leaving a tingling sensation. if you were just a bit more confident, you would have kissed him then and there.

"i'll see you then, love."

he bends down to give beau a well-deserved goodbye pet before turning to leave, looking you in the eyes one last time before leaving for home.

[somehow-a-human]

The angels don't have to ask to enter the bookshop.

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY.

We've been operating under the assumption that BOTH the angels and demons have to ask to enter the bookshop, but I don't think that's true. I'm pretty sure it's one of our red herrings for season 2.

Continued under the cut.

When Gabriel shows up to the bookshop nude and oblivious, the doors are closed and (I believe) locked. Gabriel doesn't even know who or where he is, so he does what the default is... he knocks, and asks "Can I come in?" Aziraphale is frightened at first and tells him he can't come in but eventually our angels empathy wins and he says "Alright! Just... just get in!"

>> It's never clear that Gabriel would have physically been unable to come in otherwise.

When the Archangels show up Aziraphale literally cuts them off before they reach the door of the bookshop. Saraqael suggests, "Shall we discuss this inside?", and Aziraphale continues, "By all means. Would you like to come in?"

>> If Aziraphale hadn't rushed out to meet the angels, why wouldn't they have just walked into the bookshop like they did numerous times in season 1? Additionally I am fairly certain Aziraphale's "By all means. Would you like to come in?" was added in post via ADR. That doesn't necessarily add credence to anything, just an observation.

When Muriel arrives to surveil Aziraphale they ask, "Great! Well, could I come in and do it inside please? Only cause it's really noisy out here and I can't hear anything." Aziraphale replies, "By all means."

>> Muriel is an endearing angel who doesn't know much about life on earth, but had the shop been open and unlocked at the time of their arrival, they might've just wandered in as well.

We're never told the angels *can't* enter the bookshop explicitly like we are for the demons. We've always just assumed the same rules apply to all of the ethereal and occult beings.

But then, might I ask, why does Aziraphale tell us "Technically, this bookshop still counts as an Embassy"?

If the bookshop is still an embassy, the angels wouldn't need permission to enter, they would still have jurisdiction, and would still be able to monitor what's going on there... yes?

Let's compare this to the demons attempts to enter the bookshop, because Shax states clearly that she can't enter without permission. We see this again when she tries to get into the Bentley after it's canonically 'our car', and therefore at least partially owned by an angel.

I'm pretty sure John and Neil make a point of having the angels all ask in some way to enter, and Aziraphale seem to grant them permission as a red herring. They don't need to, but they want us to assume a false sense of security, to think that the bookshop is a safe space for our duo, outside of the reaches of both Heaven and Hell.

Technicalities are big in season 2 and I definitely think they're a huge underlying string running through all of Good Omens. In season 1, Crowley and Aziraphale stop Heaven and Hell from trying to restart Armageddon on a technicality. Gabriel and Beelzebub don't technically know if the great plan *is* the ineffable plan! It's definitely a favorite trope of Terry and Neil's to mock unfair, broken, bureaucratic systems, and Heaven and Hell are a PERFECT example of this.

**Somebody has written a meta on technicalities, I know I've seen it but I cannot for the life of me find it so if anyone could tag me so I could link it that would be brills! (Yeah that's right I'm adopting that from Charles from Dead Boy Detectives, 80's british slang ftw, I'm obsessed; please watch it, please, I need a second season.)

Neil has mentioned that the plot for season 3 might've had to be changed from he and Terry's original vision a bit, based on the political climate of the current day, and I'm sure that means we'll see some technicalities being the downfall of Heaven and Hells systems in Season 3 as well. I don't think the metatron is a villain, nor any of the other angels or demons. They're just fulfilling their function, following a set of rules, very much to a fault. This is all just God's big experiment after all, freewill, choice, eating the apple, and the angels and demons aren't exempt.

I wouldn't be surprised if there's some sort of technicality about the angels and demons themselves in season 3. We've seen that they're of the same stock, and we know Crowley at least is technically still the same person he was when he was an angel... more or less. Could the book of life end up revealing something like that the demons still exist perpetually as their angelsonas? A technicality, if you will?

Given the bookshop is still technically an embassy, is everything that happens inside observable by Heaven? Can they access the bookshop in their Earth Observation Files? There is some questionable blocking surrounding the bust in Aziraphale's bookshop, coupled with a curious record cover from Maggie's bookshop pointed out by @noneorother

Anyway... Let me know your thoughts. I haven't been posting as much, I have been mega busy and I'm trying to be thankful for it. Love you all, hope you have something nice happen for you today! <3

[swtsupernatural]

D&S W. || NEVER ENOUGH

Dean & Sam Winchester & Winchester! Middle-Sibling! Gender Neutral! Reader

Content Warning Takes place after John's death, no specific episode, just soon after. Swearing, dealing with John's death & grieving, reader throws up once, use of knives and guns, mentions of demons, dean being unable to communicate his feelings

Summary Angst !!! hurt/comfort for reader - Dad died, and all you could think about was how he died not even liking his middle child. You.

W.C. 2.2 k

Ask anon : Could you do something with the Winchester brothers and a Winchester reader? Where the reader is the middle child and is the forgotten one of the family. The reader feels kind of useless compared to Sam and Dean.

Playlist: ♫ I Love You So - The Walters, Better Than Me - The Brobecks, I Know the End - Phoebe Bridgers

A.N. first platonic winchester reader fic ! wrote this sooo fast lol (I think I was projecting even though I'm the oldest child) also I had to include my fav chaotic old man duo in this one...enjoy! - claire <3

Dad was dead. It hadn't been too long since he left, but fuck. He was dead and all you could think of was how much of a shit child you were. You tried your entire life to prove yourself to your dad; but you weren’t Dean; you didn’t follow him blindly, listen to his every order, pick up on hunting skills like it was playing cards. And you weren’t Sam; you weren't booksmart, you didn't have a touch for understanding, and you weren’t as defiant. Yet, it still seems like your whole life that you were your dad’s least favorite. Now you didn’t have Dad, and you felt sick to your stomach that you were almost relieved. It was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and another one had been placed in your stomach. Your own father had died and you were relieved. No wonder you were the least favorite. 

When you were younger, you’d been more like Sam. Dean was Dad;s pupil, and to you both it didn’t matter who was second because you were both not your older brother. You’d move to a random small town school,get picked on like Sam did, Dean told you he’d beat them up for you, and then you moved again. Every now and then shit would go down and you’d spend some nights at Bobby’s — and it repeated all over again. Then, Sam had graduated highschool and left you and Dean for Stanford. You and Dean never went into upper education, it hadn’t really crossed either of your minds. Sam was 18, you were 20, and Dean was 22. You’d been out of school for a bit, trying desperately to keep up with Dean and Dad, you were just never as good. You didn’t know anything else, and couldn’t see yourself doing well in any other ‘profession,’ if you could even call it that. A couple weeks after Sam left, you were digging through the trash like a damn raccoon looking for a note cliping you’d accidentally thrown away with some crucial information about your current hunt. You found the sticky note, but it had latched onto a thick, white piece of paper. It was a job application. It was Dean’s. You nearly cried, he wanted to be a firefighter. You were so emotional because you know he totally could; he’d be wonderful at it. But he’d never leave the hunting life, especially not after Sam had “abandoned Dad and us,” as he put it. The heat of the fire brought you back to the stupid forest you’d bought Dad’s body to. The fire was warm, but still not comforting in the slightest despite the chipping cold. Your cheeks were pink, and you could feel your eyes starting to water. This was it.

You began walking with your head down in the opposite direction of the Impala. 

“Where the hell are you going?” Dean’s voice was gruff, his own head and heart in turmoil, showing in his wavering voice. He never sounded like that. It was so uncharacteristic and gazing up at their faces made you sick. They were lit up warm from the fire, both of their green eyes shining, frowns and dirt on their faces. You doubled over by a tree, placing your hand on the tough bark as you threw up your breakfast on the dewy grass. You heard Sam sigh, the thick, uncut grass rusting, a hand coming to your back as he pushed the hair from your face. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes told you everything. He knew more about your struggle with Dad than Dean did. Sam had always been easier to talk to. That’s why you wanted him to leave.

“Sam,” you whispered after wiping your face, “you need to go back to school, dude.” Sam looked down sheepishly.

“Y/N, cmon, you know I was there on scholarship, I–

“And you were also the best in your program, Sam. Dad’s gone. Go back, go make something of your life, please.”

“And what will you do? Keep hunting?”

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do? I’m not good at anything else, Sam! Hell, I’m not even that good a hunter. I’m half the reason he left to go on that stupid hunt in the first place.”

“Don’t start with that, Y/N.” 

“I know it, you know it, and Dean knows it. Just…I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t.” Dean’s voice came from your left, walking up at a quick pace with his hands in his jacket pockets.

“You don’t get it.” You whispered, and they just heard your small voice.

“What’s there to get?” Dean huffed, shaking his head.

“Dean, knock it off,” Sam muttered.

“What you don’t get, is that Dad never fucking liked me while like he liked you both. And Sam, don’t act like he resents you for leaving or something. He stayed up sighing and reading all those student aid and college billing bullshit because he knew you could do it. And Dean, he always taught you so much more than me because you actually got hunting like he did and knew what you were doing. I was never good at either. I wish I was the one burning in that fucki—

Dean grabbed your shoulders and pushed you against the tree.

“Can you shut up about yourself for two damn seconds when we're at Dad’s funeral? I don’t need you crying about him being a dick when he’s dead. He had funny ways of showing it, but he loved you, Y/N.”

“No he didn’t,” You shoved him off of you, shoving your hands in your coat and huffing out steamy air as you returned to the car. Your brother’s followed you, but you were already lifting the trunk and grabbing your duffle bag. 

“Bye. See ya around.”

“Dean, let them go,” Sam grabbed his arm, stopping his brother from getting to you. “Even I know Dad was always a dick to them.

“C’mon, dude, give ‘em a break, just for now. We’ll call them in a couple days, it’ll be fine.” Dean shook Sam off of him, opening his car door and slamming it aggressively. Sam sighed, getting in the car and watching the black smoke in the rearview mirror flying up into the sky.  __________________________________________

It had been four weeks. Four weeks, two cases solved, 11 missed phone calls from Sam, 6 from Dean, and now you were cornered in a damn demon’s trap. It was 5 against 1, but that didn’t change how useless you felt. You were never as good of a fighter as Sam or Dean, you weren’t as obnoxiously tall or particularly strong. You always felt useless as a child, as a sibling, as a hunter, and as yourself. Of course this would be how you died.

You were at the point of just giving in and calling it quits on your life when a booming BANG rang out. From behind you, two more shots rang out, knives slashing. You didn’t question it, you just acted. You managed to corner the last demon, grabbing his head from behind and shoving your knife in his throat, killing it. You focused your eyes up and saw the last person you were thinking about. But boy, were you glad to see him.

“Bobby?” He crushed you in a big hug, gun in one hand and a first aid bag in the other. 

“Heard’a some weird stuff in this town, deaths and weird figures, figured it was demons. But, when Rufus and I went into the local police office as P.I.s, they said someone with your description already came by,” He grumbled.

“You know how stupid it is to go on a hunt alone when you're young, kid?” Rufus spoke, as his way of greeting you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder in a half-hug. “That’s why I always drag this old man with me in case shit goes down. So I can throw him in the storm and buy myself some time to run.” Bobby rolled his eyes at Rufus’ sarcastic words, and led you both out of the building.

“Why aren’t you with the boys, Y/N?” You sighed, running a dirty hand through your hair. 

“You uh…heard about Dad?” Bobby stopped the tread to his old car, turning and peered at you with dark eyes. 

“I did. Don’t worry, m’not gonna hit you with all that “I’m sorry, woe is you” crap you hate.” You huffed, smiling at Bobby, “But, I am gonna tell ya you always have a place to stay, kiddo.”

“Thank you.” 

He looked at you expectedly, his head tilting towards you, “...So?”

“I left them after the funeral. I was just…having a hard time, Bobby.” You muttered, sitting in the back seat like a little kid.

“I know, kiddo. How’s about you come to my place and get yourself straight, hm?” You nodded, and Bobby watched you through the rear view mirror hanging above him. Your hair was greasy and the bags under your eyes almost purple. This had been fucking you up a lot.

Bobby got out and opened the trunk, rearranging things while Rufus opened the garage to grab salt, bullets, and gear to restock after your predicament. He tossed you his keys and you caught them with a jingle. You shoved them in the door and finally turned the janky lock, pushing it open. You froze.

Sam and Dean were sitting on the couch. The second you sighed and stepped inside, Dean shot up from his seat rushing towards you, wrapping you in a far too tight hug. He pulled away, his lips in a straight line as he lightly smacked you upside the head.

“You scared the shit out of us, dumbass.”

“Great to see you, too.” 

“Where were you?” 

You shrugged, moving past Dean to Bobby’s cramped, warm, familiar living room.

“I was on the road…hitchhiking, looking into cases, all that.” “I’m gonna refrain from telling you how dangerous that is and opt for a hug,” Sam grumbled as he wrapped his long arms around you. 

“Why are you here?” You asked, settling down on the couch like no time had passed at all since you last saw them. Sam began to speak up, but Dean cut him off and Sam stared at him sternly.

“Cause we couldn’t find you and you weren’t answering us, and Bobby said he found you on a hunt near his place. We got here right before you guys. Y/N you had us fucking worried.”

“I’m sorry. I needed some time alone. I…love you guys. But being around you after Dad, it just reminds me that I’ll never be good enough for him. He’s dead and all I can think about is how he died not even liking me. I’ll never be like either of you.”

Sam laughed; he actually laughed out loud. “Like me? Are we talking about the same people? Cause I see visions of people dying, Y/N. I dropped out of college and can’t do anything right in anyone’s eyes, not just Dad’s.”

“That's not true, Sam…” He sat down next to you on the couch, his knees turned towards you, his eyes dark and watchful. Dean mumbled something about getting you all drinks and disappeared into the kitchen, sensing a touchy conversion he'd rather not be a part of just yet.

“And Dean,” Sam continued, “Dean would rather die than open up to anyone, even either of us, and he can’t function if he’s not drinking, hooking up with some random girl, or drinking. Which is why he’s getting us drinks right now. If anything, you’re the one I’d rather be like. I know Dean would too.” You rolled your eyes pointedly, like Sam was talking nonsense. He moved his head to find your eyes, tilting his head towards you with that face he made that would always stop you from talking. “Y’know, you’re so good at reading us and we didn’t even realise until you were gone. Honestly, Dean and I have never fought that much. And you’re always good at talking with the vics and feds, way better than me or Dean, I–

“Can we end the girly-crap convo now, please?” Dean handed each of you a beer, throwing his back the second he sat down, drinking way too much in one sip.

“Sorry we have feelings, Dean. In case you forgot; most people have those.”

“Yea, yea. Listen,” he turned to you after he groaned, trying to look sincere, well, as sincere as Dean could look. 

“You’re probably the least fucked up one in our freak family, Y/N, so quit it, alright? Sammy and I…we love ya.” He threw his hand that wasn’t clutching his drink up in a surrender. “That good? Can we please drink now and head to our next stop with a hangover in the morning?”

You chuckled, clink-ing your drink with your brothers, and nodding to Dean. He smiled silently, thankful you were back. He hadn’t realized how much you kept the peace and sanity between the three of you. He really missed you. 

“There better be two of those left, idjits,” Bobby grumbled, Rufus on his tail as they went into the kitchen grabbing a bottle each. They sat opposite of you all on the other couch and you held up your bottle. 

“Cheers. To being a weird, fucked up family.”

“Cheers!” Sam gave you a tight lipped, sweet smile. “Cheers to that,” Dean finished the rest of his drink, throwing his head back.

“You kids are gonna kill me,” Bobby muttered.

[lisenberry]

Haven't done a Feral Friday in a while, and I'm a bit stumped on the current chapter of BDSM Price.

So, let's skip ahead to a bit I was able to write that comes further along in the outline. Just a tease at where we're going.

MDNI/18+/NSFW

CW: Dom!Ghost, nonparticipating Dom!Price, bondage/rope play, temperature play/wax, spanking/pain play, angst, sub drop.

Was this his way of apologizing?  Or was he trying to put you back in your place?

“Don’t look at him.  Look at me,” Ghost demanded, bringing you back to your center.

And John didn’t look at you, not when Ghost tied you up and hung you from the hook in the door frame, or when you sucked his cock hands-free while he lazily dripped paraffin wax between your shoulder blades. 

“Bloody hell, Cap.  Is she always like this?  This is what I’ve been missing?  Taught her to give a good head, did ya?”

No, John didn’t look up once when his friend took turns warming your ass and pussy with a crop, as strings of drool and slick soaked the floor from both ends of you.  There was no vibrator this time.  John never used one, didn’t have one in his box of tricks, so Ghost sloppily worked you over with his fingers and his tongue before slipping himself inside.

You were used to the stretch of John, but it was something new and different from Simon.  Far from the cold and sanitized nature of your previous encounters at Life Connect 141.  He barked out oaths and moaned praises like he’d been given a gift so exquisite, he would hide it under his pillow.  Carry it with him everywhere.  Wear it into the ground.

“I knew you’d be a gem, dove.  Such a sweet little toy,” he muttered, as he pulled harder on the rope that held your hair, arching your back even further.

His enthusiasm was so contagious that you came just like that, on his cock before he pulled out and painted your blistering ass with his spend.  You could tell the skin was split in places by the way the salt in his seed stung and burned as he spread it around like a salve.

If he touched your clit again, you wondered if you could come a second time at the fresh sensation of it.  But you were too tired to ask.  Too drained to speak.  Wrung out and soiled like a mop that had scrubbed the floor.

It was everything you’d wanted...once. 

And yet, it was John who reached out to hold you up, while Ghost carefully untied you.  Finally showing some notice, some attention.  Too late, you thought.  Once freed, you turned into Ghost instead, on wobbling ankles and numb knees.

“I’ve got you, dove.” 

He carried you to the sofa, wrapped you in your robe, and traced circles on the back of your head as you slowly came down.  You laughed into his shoulder as he joked about being ruined for the 141 for good after that and lit a cigarette.

But before long, he looked at his watch and kissed the top of your head. 

“That’s my time, hon,” he mumbled, lifting you up gently and helping you sit on your own.  The ache along your backside was not nearly as strong as the one in your heart.  It never was. 

“It was good to see you again, Simon.”  You smiled and squeezed his hand once before letting him go.  For good.

You sat there, awkwardly, in the living room you’d come to know so well while John followed him out to the hallway.  Their voices were too low to hear what they were exchanging.  A sudden, frigid dread crept along the back of your neck, despite the coziness of your thick robe. 

The chill turned to a quaking, as your teeth chattered, and you fought to still your hands.  An adrenaline crash, you recognized.  A sub drop.  You’d heard about them, but never had one.  Not with Ghost before, and never with John.

And now you were alone, with tears streaming down your face, and uncontrolled panic in your chest.

Before John could come back and see your sorry state, if he even came back at all, you fled to the shower and turned on the stream.  Willed it to heat up faster while you tested it with trembling hands. 

“You need any help in there, sweetheart?”  His voice was too soft, too concerned.  You couldn’t take it.  Not from him.  Not like this.

You didn’t want to think about what had just happened.  The consequences.  Why he’d done it.  Why you’d agreed to it.  You just wanted to go home. 

How’d things get so wrong?

It was you, you realized.  It had always been you. 

[dingodad]

Ok, so this has driven me crazy for the longest time. What the fuck happened to post retcon Japsersprite? The one we know is from pre retcon, since he was on John’s planet when he brought it into the void. Nothing was ever mentioned to happen to post retcon Jaspers, so where is he. I can’t believe Hussie forgot about him, he didn’t forget about the two Nannasprites. Did post retcon Jaspersprite just not exist? Maybe he died on LOWAS when Typheus blew it up, but there is no mention of that at all. I guess only Jade or the Nanna’s would know then, but nothing is ever said about it. Also is there a way to know if the Arquius that becomes lord English is the pre or post retcon version?

i'm gunna play good cop bad cop here cus there's an answer you don't want to hear and then there's a sort of interesting consolation prize answer at the end.

the answer you don't want to hear: it doesn't matter! :P i don't think this really needs explaining but the whole point of davepeta/jasprose's ultimate self spiels is that tying yourself in knots trying to figure out who's "pre-retcon" and who's "post-retcon" is, as they say, for the birds. john is john is john. hussie didn't "forget" that there are supposed to be two jaspersprites: while a story can occasionally get away with having two Daves or two Roses because Dave and Rose have interesting things to say to themselves, the fact that homestuck has even ONE character called jaspersprite simply strains the reader's ability to give a shit. there is the room nor the need for TWO jaspersprites, of all the damnedest things.

(there can be two nannasprites because two nannasprites are funny - but if there's one thing worse than creating the same CHARACTER twice, it's telling the same JOKE twice.)

the other answer is about sprites in particular. do you know why video game graphics used to be called "sprites"? i only thought to look this up just recently: it's because, like the fairies or spirits of folklore from which they get their name, they float above the background of the game world without interacting with it directly. this should form the basis for our understanding of homestuck's kernelsprite, as well, which borrows both from folklore and from computer programming. they are of course ghosts on a literal level, with spritely undead tails and the ability to pass through walls and physical barriers like they weren't there - but the way they interact with the story itself is similarly ethereal-and-or-ephemeral.

sprites appear at the whim of the heroes to serve a very particular purpose - which, you will notice, is exactly what davepeta says they're doing when they show up in hell - but then the moment that purpose is complete they might as well stop existing. dave- and jadesprite show up inexplicably on the battlefield as the reckoning begins: are they killing themselves now that their purposes are complete? where are all the lususprites, anyway; did they do the same thing? erisolsprite initially seems to indicate that he's going to fuck off and possibly explode like all the other sprites who hate themselves, but then just shows up again 200 pages later later at the convenience of the trickster arc. the same is true of all the sprites presumed-dead following the events of GAME OVER, who show up as-needed in the new timeline to form the next generation of redundant ghost freaks. this is simply how sprites operate. whether they're "alive" or "dead" at any given moment is the wrong way of looking at it - they're ghosts for goodness' sake!!

the fact that the story never tells us what happened to "that other jaspersprite" is supposed to make us think less about it, not more, because knowing where one of them is - the "ultimate" one, in fact - should be enough to put our minds at ease. but it also deliberately leaves the door open for another jaspersprite to show up if the story ever somehow, against all odds, finds a place to squeeze one in. which is again exactly what the plot point is currently doing with sprites like erisol, who for all intents and purposes was dead up until the moment page 666 started

[marsspeedway]

COD HEADCANONS! (1?)

This is translated from Spanish so I'm really sorry if there is a translation error or a word that shouldn't be there!

SIMON RILEY GHOST

His casual outfit is really simple: jeans and a t-shirt or hoodie, his shoes of choice (usually his sneakers or boots) and a leather jacket if it's a more "formal" outing (a date?) or if he feels like dressing up.

Yes yes, balaclava on the base and cloth mask off the base.

Due to his past he has developed a defense mechanism of making jokes to "get over" or lighten his trauma.

After the betrayal of his team and his capture by Robas he basically got used to survive with very little. Therefore: he doesn't eat much, doesn't sleep much and is always in alert mode.

His chuckles are low, deep and feel mocking 99% of the time even though they are not. Instead his real laughter, his guffaws, are LOUD but very very strange to hear.

This man does NOT have a driver's license.

He has constant nightmares and/or night terrors so he tends to sleep very little.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is sleep deprived.

Ghost is the soldier, Simon is the human. So, Ghost is the armor that protects Simon, the tough exterior that protects the sensitive and too fragile interior. 

His room is simple, he doesn't have many belongings and the few he has are really valuable for him.

Ok yes, "Ghost collects knives" or "Ghost collects guns" but... Ghost collects lighters.

Bonus if you think he's a smoker.

Bonus X2 if you think he's an EX-Smoker!

Sleeping near Soap, or cuddling him, surprisingly calms him down (considering how much he dislikes and discomforts physical contact).

Soap is like his safe place, then Price follows, but he doesn't get that close to him physically (almost not at all really).

His closeness to Price has been very helpful to him, the man is a great listener and a great advisor and Simon can't thank him enough for always being there when he needs a shoulder to lean on or someone to give him good advice.

Ghost's "Fucking hell..." at the moment of meeting Soap in MW2 is mainly because he didn't expect to meet him again, he didn't expect to see him again after Makarov, let alone have to WORK with him again. It's not that he dislikes him, he just didn't expect the guy to be HIS sergeant instead of Price's.

During "Alone" Ghost tells jokes and talks to help Soap through the bad time, to calm him down and help him move forward but he also does it for himself because damn: just betrayed at the border of a country/city they don't know, with the colonel who received them captured, with a (his) wounded and messed up sergeant who is the only ally he has right now and who in turn is trying to get to him, with mercenaries nipping at their heels... I think the poor guy has a right to be a little bad. Well, Simon is bad because Ghost seems to be hiding it well.

Hairless?

He tends to eat fast, very fast.

JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH

He told Price that they should make varsity jackets with the Task Force logo on them...

Guess who has varsity jackets with the Task Force logo on them?

OG!Soap (2009) hates dogs (according to a line of dialogue) but personally I think Reboot!Soap (the current Soap, the one from 2022) likes them quite a bit.

He's a bit (too much) hyperactive.

He tends to gift and buy things for Ghost, little trinkets or things he knows Simon can use. It goes from clothes to some toy he thinks Ghost might like, they are usually toy soldiers, little action figures or legos (or anything that reminds him of Ghost).

Simon keeps them all. Every single one, even if it's a rock or a note that Soap left him or a doodle that Soap gave him.

He's a freaking master with butterfly knife tricks.

No, he doesn't use them to impress Ghost....

Maybe he does...

Ghost pretends the tricks don't impress him but they do.

He gives me Golden Retriever Boyfriend vibes that can send a bomb to your house.

Let's not forget he's a 30 year old man, military, explosives expert who basically operates in an elite task force... I mean, he could easily kill you. But, still, he's got a nice vibe, he's sociable and it's hard to dislike him.

Bookworm! He'll devour a book in a matter of hours and if he likes it enough he'll do an essay or summary.

He's a homebody with a big, big family. And he would love to have his own family with his own little house in the camp.

To pass the time he usually draws and occasionally writes in his journal. That thing is a little bit of everything: drawings, notes, stories, a personal diary, etc. Anything goes in there.

He cuts his mohawk himself and also usually takes care of rookies' hair, or really anyone who asks (nicely).

He can actually do more than cut mohawks or shave heads, his mother knows how to cut hair and he learned how to do it himself.

You want him to braid your hair? Of course, he's the one! He grew up with several sisters, so of course he knows how to braid. Ponytails? Go ahead. A bun? Sure. You ask and he'll know what to do and if he doesn't, he'll find it.

He can cook a little, just enough to get by and not live on instant noodles and take-out.

[blingblong55]

To live without- 141 + Alejandro

Based on a request:

Hii can I make a request for some angst?? Maybe the reader having an argument with the TF 141 + Alejandro, inside the car or anywhere resulting to a break up?? Cause I'm a sucker for angst, thankss 🫶

F!Reader, angst, established!relationship, break-ups, cheating (not all)

A/N: This will be in 5 parts

Part 2, (Soap), Part 3 (Gaz), Part 4 (Alejandro), Part 5 (Ghost)

It has been a stressful few months for him, between his job, you, his own safety and yours, let alone the current argument over her. It's why you and he are now in the car, having this argument.

Price:

He decided that since Laswell invited him to dinner with a few other soldiers and agents, why not take you? Besides you and him haven't gone out much since his last deployment, so this is the perfect opportunity. While having dinner at some restaurant, Price and a woman, much closer to his age than you, stroked conversation. He was telling her stories that not once he had told you and of course, his natural flirty state was in the mix. You were talking with Kate and her wife when you saw how close the woman was getting with your boyfriend. So, as one does, you took his hand and he immediately let go of it, not once making eye contact with you.

Kate and her wife saw this and knew it would not end well if the woman was not taken elsewhere. After dinner, you were the first one to leave the establishment. All others inside were either saying their goodbyes or getting acquainted. "yeah, this is my-" he turns to introduce you to some agent only to find your seat empty. Immediately he left too, only to find you in the car, probably telling your friend what was going on. He gets in, " alright, so will you tell me what the hell that was about?" he asks you. You look at him, for a while now he has been distant, so of course you had even more motives to suspect him. "You let go of my hand," your voice soft yet hinting at some hurt his past action left behind.

That was it, the final straw that threw him over the edge, "you fucking walked away from dinner because I didn't hold your hand any longer?!"

"Yes, do you even care how that even looks? I hold your hand all the time at dinners and this was the first time you let go of it because of that woman!"

"Don't you dare bring her into this." by this point some of the wine he had drunk was making its way into his system. "Why not, hm? why did you let go of my hand, John!" your eyes teary, trying to blink them away. "You really think this is all about you? That I intend to hurt you by some little thing like letting go of your hand?!" Your argument is being heard by some people. He knows better, that at dinners or in public when you hold his hand it's because you are trying to calm yourself down, your social anxiety gets the best of you and his hold brings comfort. "...she's just a friend.." he murmurs. And just when you were going to say something, he gets a text, "Will you come over after you drop her off?" he knows damn well you saw it and now he is prepared for the storm. "you are cheating on me?" oh the way your voice cracked and how tears spilt from your eyes. "...sorry," was all he could say. "you let go of my hand because you and this fucking whore have a thing!" back to yelling. "R/n, you are just a fucking pain in the ass! So of course I am cheating on you!" the instant regret once those words left his mouth.

The look on your face as he said them, never to forget the last time he saw that face of yours. And now you are far from him, he alone in his empty house, never to be called home again. Never to be greeted by you and your happy personality, truth be told, he still looks for you in every place he goes.

A/N: Hi, so since I don't want to make this post too long I separated it into parts, who do you want for part 2?

[brainr0t-landfill]

T

Chapter One: You get baptized.

Captain Price x male reader

(T.W: forcemasc fetish, kidnapping, forced headshave, reader is currently girlmoding, implied stalking, implied cheating)

The road to your new home is long and wet John is stiff in his seat as the cold lights of the bumfuck, misreable town you called home for years bleed across the dark car he wonder if you can see them if you're still awake, rain splashes against his front window.

Wrongness gnaws at something burried deep in his chest even though it's been hours since your struggle has died down; your desperate pleas and pathetic threats muffled by an old rag and held in place by duct tape, all the frantic energy in your soft body weighed down by exhaustion, he feels bad for you so confused and lost but he knows he's doing what's right like his old man always told him.

"No one finds their true love, son."

He'd tell him sitting on his old throne shallow, warm glass of whiskey in hand.

"You make it, wives like your mother are for husbands like me. I didn't find her on the side of the road as she is today, made her i did."

The contradiction is that Senior Price was more shaped by his wife than his wife by him John's mother with her dishwasher white knuckles and red stained lips, an ex whore, a cols blooded creature in a warm home trying to make her claws into wings.

The contradiction is that John never wanted a woman like his mother, never wanted a woman at all.

On the edge of town he stops the truck, turns the engine off and steps outside walks through the murky mud puddles to the trunk pops it and beholds you, curled into yourself with eyes like a desperate dog you thin wrists held together by zip ties, knobby knees knocking against eachother.

He kneels infornt of you on one knee like a crude mockery.

"I know you're confused."

He tells you rubbing across your ribs,

"But in due time you'll get it luv, I'll be so good for ya, never gonna want for nothing y'hear?"

He gives you his best smile but you don't respond he shushes the sniffles with a heavy hand grabbing you by your scruff and dragging you out, you don't struggle at all and he gently rips the tape off it leaves red lines across your pretty, soft cheeks and pink lips glossy with spit.

"Please, please I won't tell anyone I need to go home please please-"

He stands there as you kneel on the ground big paw rubbing at your sore jaw as you work yourself into tears and sobs begging for things you don't want, he sees your eyes stuck where the sun is setting on the other side of the road desire peeking out like teeth.

"Shhh, shhh it's alright now, it's alright"

He tells you as he rubs his hands across your beautiful locks, such a shame

"I'm not gonna hurt ya luv, no, no not at all. But you need to trust me, alright?"

He looks down at you and clicks his tounge in dissapointment but of course, men are proud animals they play best when they think they'll win, they grasp at any chance to prove their loving masters wrong.

"Looky here, let's make a deal, yeah?"

He takes a deep breath and plays a gamble, rolls the dice knowing he holds every card.

"A year, ya stay with me a year, listen, and be good and if by the end of that year ya still wanna go back home, I'll let ya. Hell I'll even drive ya, drop ya off at the door. But untill than you play by my rules, yeah luv?"

He asks and rubs his calloused hand over your cheek watches the war raging behind those eyes.

"O-okay."

You croak out and your trembling seizes as you steel your shoulders.

"Okay, y-you've got a deal, just please don't hurt me."

He pats your head and takes the clippers out, drags you to the gutter, walk you on your knees deep into the filthy water, stains your pretty, modest white skirt not that you'll have much use of it anymore.

You start screaming again struggling like a feral dog, he thinks of what name to give you, dogs get new names after all to know what they should answer to your old one never fit you anyways.

"What are you doing-? What are you-"

He starts it up and runs it across your scalp, your soft hair falling into the water and your sweat stained blouse as be buzzes it all off, there will be better cuts in the feature; neat crew cuts like his in barber shops before your wedding and once every month, routine trims and beard oil.

"Oh don't pretend you don't know luv, look at you! Even with ya short height everybody can tell, ya make such an unconvincing girl, sweets but that's alright. Everybody strays sometimes, not ya fault ya never had anyone to guide ya right, ya just trust me, alright? Ya just trust me."

He burries your face in his crotch to muffle your noises as he shaves your head feels you go limp with shame.

He pities you, he doesn't know what it's like to be seen after a life spent hiding, to be in the light after two decades of chasing it.He strips you off your skirt and blouse there, pockets your jewelry and wedding band takes out your I.D and taps your picture there.

"Ya recognize her?"

Your lips twitch, mishapen face scrunched up in shame.

"No, ya don't, ya never did..."

He thinks for a second, what to name you, who to make you, how to love you.

"Tommy, Tom Price, ya recognize that?"

You nod and he brushes the hair off your scalp as he leads you back to the car, lays you in the back seat to stew, throws his uniform jacket over you.

"Wait-"

He looks down, at you half hidden under the jacket, pulls it further, tucks you in to hide a body that's of the past.

"Yes luv?"

"What's you name?"

He smiles and huffs out a laugh that's been brewing for weeks, weeks and weeks of watching you, feeling your yearning eyes burn kisses on his skin.

"Jonathan, Jonathan Price, ya can call me sir."

[alessandra-14]

Not as planned

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

John Winchester x daughter!reader

Summery: You failed a hunt and your father is very disappointed. He always thought little of you. And now he is really done with you. But luckily your older brother is here to comfort you

Trigger warning: John Winchester 🤢, swear words, use of Y/N

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: This is my very first story. I hope that you guys like it. Please let me know what I can do better. And also english is not my first language and you will be able to tell. I'm sorry about that!

❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥

You have been begging your father to go on a hunt with him for months now. He never agreed. John was firmly convinced that you would never be able to keep up with it. Yet you never stopped trying to prove to him that you are made for the hunting life.

Now that Sam is gone of to college and Dean is the only one left accompanying John on hunts, he decided to give you a chance to prove yourself. He could use some extra help from time to time.

That's how you found yourself in your current position. Cold and covered in vampire blood. John standing in front of you screaming at you like his life depends on it. But you don't hear it. Your ears are ringing and your gaze is stuck on the dead headless body laying ten feet away from you.

That headless body laying disgracefully in the dirty ground was a girl you once knew. Maria. You have only met her four days ago. She was staying in the motel room next to yours. She was your first friend.

But now she is dead. Died by the hands of no other than John Winchester.

Maria was one of them. How could you have been so stupid? You should have seen the signs! But you were so happy and excited that you finally found someone your age who you can hang out with, that you didn't pay attention to the suspicious way she acted.

At some point through your father's lecture you felt his hand forcefully grab your jaw, taking your gaze away from Maria and insted set it on his harshly cold glare.

"You fucking look at me when I talk to you Y/N"

You flinched hard at his cruel tone. However you don't say anything in return. Your father tugged roughly on your jaw again.

"Did you understand what I just said?! This whole thing could have been mostly avoided if you wouldn't be so stupid! " His eyes express a deep burning fury towards you. "Yes sir" You don't dare to call him anything other than sir. Not after what happened. Not after tonight

"Good. Now go back to the car. I don't want to see your face right now. You are a disgrace at this point" You can hear the clear disgust in your father's voice. So you numbly turn around and walk back to the Impala. His words keep replaying in your head.

Deep in your heart you always knew that John only tolerates you when necessary. After all John Winchester never wanted a daughter, especially not a weak one.

You sit in utter silence. Cold tears dangerously close to rolling down your blood covered cheeks. But you suppress it. To afraid that your father might come back at any second and see you crying. To afraid that he would lash out on you again. But your thoughts get interrupted by the car door slamming close and John sitting down on the drivers seat. He doesn't say a thing instead he starts driving off to the direction of the Motel. You sit completely still, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Fearing what he may do if you did move even an inch.

Your father drops you off in front of the Motel before storming away, probably to the local Bar. The first person you see once you enter your Motel room is Dean laying on the bed watching TV. You simply walk past him to get to the bathroom so you can finally scrub all the blood of your skin.

"What in God's name happened to you Y/N? and where the hell is dad?" A worried Dean says frantically as he walks over to you and gently grabs your arm. However you pay him no mind and instead you pull your arm away from his grasp and walk past him to the bathroom and close the door.

The hot water feels amazing against your aching muscles. You wish you could wash away all your thoughts. Even for just couple minutes.

A deep sigh escapes your lips as you exit the bathroom. Unfortunately Dean is impatiently waiting for you. "Kid you better tell me right now what happened" Dean's voice is stern and you can clearly tell he is not playing right now.

"The hunt went wrong." That's all you answer him while you sit down on the other bed. Dean rolls his eyes. "What do you mean the hunt went wrong? Be more specific" Dean's voice is still stern but once he sees your sad expression his tone turns softer.

"Maria the girl next door was a vampire. She pretty much used me. She is dead now" You keep it as short as possible. Your also keep your head down trying not to breakdown in front of your big brother.

"Oh shit. I'm sorry your first hunt went this bad. And sorry about Maria" He tries his best to reassure you but you just simply stay quiet head still down.

"Where is dad?"

Dean can see you shrug and how your expression turns dark. "I don't know. He is probably at a bar drinking everything away like always"

Dean sighs walk over to you. He sits down. "Y/N are- are you ok?" That's all it takes for you to just completely break down. Tears streaming down your face, loud sobs coming out your mouth.

Dean immediately wraps his arms around you. Even though he is not a big fan of physical touch, he can clearly tell that you need his comfort.

"Dad called me a disgrace" You sob out against his chest. Dean pulls away and gently grabs your face to make you look at him

"Hey Hey listen to me you are not a disgrace. You hear me?" His tone is a mix between firm and gentle at the same time. "What he said to you is completely wrong and he shouldn't have done it"

All you manage to do is nod and quietly sniffle. For Dean that's enough. He smiles softly at you. "Alright kid. How about we go to that store down the road and buy that favourite pie of yours? What do you say?"

A little smile immediately spreads out on your face at the mention of pie.

"Yes please what would be really amazing"

And of course without hesitation the two of you go get that pie and enjoy it quickly before John even comes back from the bar.

Your big brother has always known the best way to cheer you up whenever you needed it. He will always be there for you if you need it. No matter how big or small the problem is.

[lousypotatoes]

Never Again Pt. 2 - Andrealphus x GN! Reader

Song Recommendation:

All Of Me - John Legend

Pt. 1

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was now currently 8:30 at night. Patiently, you were sitting at a table in one of the fanciest restaurants in hell, waiting for your husband to show up.

You and Andrealphus decided that he would meet you at the restaurant, that way he wasn't too pressured to finish his work.

Tapping your foot against the leg of your chair, you looked around the restaurant, hoping to see you husband, a frown etching itself on your face when you didn't see him. You had been waiting for him for almost forty-five minutes now. Where the hell was he?

"Are you ready to order yet, ma'am?" the server asked, walking up to your table.

"Not yet I'm afraid," you said. "Still waiting for someone to show up."

"Okay, well when he gets here, wave me over," the server said, walking away from the table.

"Okay, where the hell is he?" you mumbled to yourself, pulling your phone out of your purse, attempting to call him.

"Of course it went to voicemail," you said, starting to get angry and annoyed.

'Hey, I've been waiting for forty-five minutes. Where the hell are you?' you texted.

You waited ten minutes, and still no text or call from Andrealphus.

Eventually, you just decided to order some food, hoping Andrealphus would show up while you were eating, besides, what you ordered went straight to his tab anyway.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spoiler, as much as you wanted him to, your husband did not show up.

You were beyond furious. He was the one that came up with the dinner date idea. You called and texted him all throughout the night, with no response from him. You even went out of your way to order food for him, in case he did show up.

You spent the car ride back with tears in your eyes, eating some of the food that you ordered for Andrealphus. You decided that because he didn't show up, he didn't get to eat his food. (Sucks for him, it was delicious)

When you got back to the castle, you went straight to your shared bedroom, hoping that Andrealphus was still in his office. You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that he wasn't in the bedroom.

Setting down your purse, you began to undress and get into your nightgown. Normally you didn't like going to bed without your husband, but you made an exception for tonight.

"There you are, my love," said a voice from behind, making you jump slightly. "I was wondering where you were."

You didn't say anything, instead crawling into bed and turning your body away from him.

Andrealphus frowned. "Is everything alright, dear?"

No answer.

"Darling?"

Still no answer.

"Y/N, please talk to me," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Maybe if you would have texted me back or answer my calls you would know," you said, venom lacing your voice.

Confused, Andrealphus took out his phone.

Seven missed calls and ten missed text messages.

And all of them were from you.

His eyes widened as he remembered that he was supposed to meet you for dinner.

"Oh, Y/N I am so sorry," he said grabbing onto one of your hands. "I was so busy today that I completely forgot that we had plans tonight, however, that is no excuse for what I did."

You didn't say anything, instead sitting up in bed, now looking at him.

"How long were you waiting for me?" he asked softly, softly rubbing his thumb over yours.

"Almost two hours," you said. "I even ordered you food, but I ate it on the way home."

Andrealphus laughed, making your lips twitch upward a bit.

"Ah, sweetheart, I'm so incredibly sorry," he said, engulfing you in a hug. "You know, what the worst part about being a prince is?"

"Hm?" you asked, breathing in his minty scent.

"Not being able to spend every waking moment with you."

Andrealphus kissed your forehead, then both your cheeks, then finally your lips. Andrealphus kissed you slow and passionate, wanting to savor the moment.

"What can I do to make it up to you, love?" he said, in between kissing.

"Mmm, just you being here is enough," you said. "Just promise me you won't forget about me anymore."

"Never again."

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I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE THIS @al-of-the-stars

I JUST GOT BACK FROM TOKYO DISNEYLAND AND I HAVENT BEEN ABLE TO WRITE

I PROMISE I WILL START WRITING MORE

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

[starberry-cupcake]

I'm back! Thank you kindly for your patience, we're done with Act III! It was probably a terrible idea to wait because this is so long, I'm so sorry.

previously, in harrowhark! a vagrant the ninth:

this happened

also a couple previews that will show up in this but are in the tag

currently, chapters 24-31 (END OF ACT III!!!):

harrow wakes up after sleeping a sensible amount of hours in yandere twin's room

yandere twin, who's into chomping cavaliers, complains about having had some harrow soup

they have a sort of tender moment, I guess

they have a complicated dynamic

harrow falls asleep again

she's in the bed and yandere twin is sleeping on the floor

and harrow is woken by the sound of self inflicted pain and torture

harrow gets tired of this and decides to just rip yandere twin's arm off

@lady-harrowhark reminded me that I called this (!!!) in this recap

I had absolutely 100000% forgot I said that but congrats past me!!!

so, there's this scene in which harrow rips yandere twin's arm off and puts a new bone-y one in there, remade with her own parts

like this

some people have told me in the replies that it's a sessual sort of scene, and I get that, I suppose it was the vibe it was going for

total respect to that

but I'm gonna be honest here

it felt like I was witnessing a birth and harrow was the midwife

so harrow lets yandere twin know that she's been improving her necro powers via studying and practicing to try to make up for her being "lyctor lite"

harrow and alleged gideon aka ortus are the only people here that seem to be getting any work done tbh

so now, with the new arm, inner chad can use the sword again

and yandere twin is happy because she's now a proper lyctor and has senior chad aka augustine's approval

harrow is proud of herself for doing nice necro things like chopping and reconstructing arms

as a thanks, yandere twin agrees to help harrow to kill alleged gideon the first aka ortus

nobody asked you, but ok

I actually have no qualms with alleged gideon aka ortus

because he's at least direct and honest about it

everyone here has an agenda, at least this guy's like directly trying to physically kill harrow

at this point, I respect the direct approach

augustine and emperor reverend professor john can go fu—

WELL, ACTUALLY, WE'LL GET THERE LATER

CHAPTER 28

we're back at gideon-less canaan house

canaan house isn't safe in any universe, all the trails lead to death

everyone who's alive or accounted for is having a sleepover

there's a bunch of people unaccounted for, actually

the kiddos from the fourth are allegedly hidden elsewhere

who knows, at this point

I don't trust anyone

there's a fog and rain and water rising still

which reminds me of the movie identity, in which they all were trapped in that motel because it wasn't actually a motel and they weren't actually alive per-se

magnus and abby say that protozoa should have decked mayonnaise uncle

which is one of the reasons why the gideon universe is superior

aside from the presence of gideon and camilla

I miss them so much I'm gonna start biting cavaliers

anyway, where in the hell is duracell bunny nephew???

he wasn't with mayonnaise uncle when he yeeted himself

his soul, which got detached from his body in the gideon universe, is still flying like a balloon across universes and dimensions, I guess

abby didn't expect regina george twin to die, apparently, and says "if she's gone, then perhaps that means..." but doesn't elaborate

nobody ever elaborates

abby also makes harrowbean read another one of the "harrow texts"

I can't keep adding them all together in recaps because this will end up being super long but here goes the new one

"I will remember the first time you kissed me —you apologized— you said, I am sorry, destroy me as I am, but I want to kiss you before I am killed, and I said to you why, and you said, because I have only once met someone so utterly willing to burn for what they believed in, and I loved him on sight, and the first time I died I asked of him what I now ask of you. I kissed you and later I would kiss him too before I understood what you were, and all three of us lived to regret it—but when I am in heaven I will remember your mouth, and when you roast down in hell I think you will remember mine"

so yeah, we've got a triangular situation, I suppose

I need to put all of them together to continue to draw connections

my though was that this could be ice cube barbie aka annabel lee, because of the long-lost sun, but I'm unsure still

I don't think the timing fits the other side of the 3d model that's the gideon's mom and rebel leader situation

inconclusive still

abby suggests harrowbean she might be haunted

which might also fit with ice cube barbie??? maybe??? idk

CHAPTER 29

harrow says she doesn't remember shit about chad

get perpetually owned, chad

mercygirl asks harrow things about her necro process for the arm reconstructing and the last thing she asks is "what is the name of the saint of duty?" to which harrow says "ortus the first" and mercygirl goes

me and my "alleged gideon" theory are very happy about this

the hill I will die on

mercygirl continues to use onomatopoeias to express herself

I do not want to think about what that would imply in a later situation I don't want to dig into

"you read unholy omens in the way people say good morning" that's what these recaps are, thank you very much harrow

that's our tagline over here, that's our brand

"how you loathed any sentence beginning with augustine says" SAME, BESTIE

I HATE THAT MAN

he can go fu— ANYWAY

harrow and yandere twin are having sleepovers so that harrow isn't murdered in her sleep

apparently the nudes are cyrus and his cavalier and yandere twin likes that energy

they gifted them to others as souvenirs too

it's like if you had a university classmate who sent nudes to the groupchat every birthday

yandere twin says augustine the asshole has agreed to help kill alleged gideon aka ortus the first

I don't trust any of these lyctors if they're willing to kill each other this easily

how do I know they've got my back in combat if they don't have each other's backs—

I CAN'T EVEN ARTICULATE MY THOUGHTS AND NOT SOUND TERRIBLE NOW THAT I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS LATER IN THE PARTY

ANYWAY

yandere twin reminisces about not having been apart from regina george twin much in their lives and hoping she's sleeping well wherever she is

I also don't know where she is

yandere twin tells harrow that she was more farsighted than her

which I'm sure she was, but she doesn't seem to remember shit about it, and the letters remain unopened

harrow thinks it's kinda gross that the cyrus lyctor murdered his cavalier to become a lyctor and then took all of their nudes to the emperor's bolthole

none of these lyctors are operating from a place of common sense, harrow

"you were lucky that the memory of your own cavalier did not hurt you—except sometimes in the form of a sick headache in your temples, or in words stuck on repeat in your head"

so, augustine's plan involves dinner

harrow, hearing that, is like this

they look for clothes in the cavalier's things

yandere twin says "valancy trinit was my height, weighed more than both of us put together, and —judging by her portraits— had a body that did not quit"

I sure hope she's a thick girl, because I've had enough disappointment with the gideon cover not letting her have the arms she deserves

I hope valancy trinit looks kinda like this

ANYWAY, here's the makeover vibes, as previously shared

apparently chad could embroider, which I have to admit is a good quality

hate giving him any props, but I must be fair

harrow painted the less cute skull in her repertoire and we respect that

they went to augustine's room and he's still an asshat

I don't like how he treats yandere twin tbh

I feel like yandere twin has a thing with validation because of how her life has been and he uses that

augustine justifies his betrayal to his fellow lyctor saying that he "caused more pain over these last scant forty years than I dare to admit"

mercygirl is also here for the party, all dressed up

SO HERE'S THE THING

I am so embarrassed I didn't pick it up on the fly and it took me the whole chapter to put it together

augustine tells her "dios apate, minor"

at the time, I didn't remember what it meant, and when I finished reading the thing, I was like "oh, it's exactly like the deception of zeus"

I forgot that's what it was called

I mean, I got the "dios" part, obviously, but forgot the "apate"

my ancient greek professor is going to come back into my life to shoot me at my doorstep

to be fair to myself, it was a long while ago that I took ancient greek

AT LEAST I PICKED THE REFERENCE UP AFTER, OK????

god, I'm so embarrassed

palmolive, I'm so sorry, I promise I figured it out eventually

mercygirl punches augustine in the face, which is great

he insists on it being "minor", which idk where the line is there and I'm not gonna ask

idk which things are or aren't...involved in a minor form of zeus's deception

mercygirl says she's not wearing the right dress, I don't think it matters, it worked just fine

CHAPTER 30

everyone gets drunk except for alleged gideon aka ortus and harrow, because they're the only people in this group project who are doing the work

augustine and mercygirl start fighting about something their cavaliers did back in the day

they start toasting for cavaliers and talking about how "hot pyrrha was"

there is no respect for the dead in the emperor's bolthole

there's about to be something else in the emperor's bolthole in a minute though

I was excited about them drinking, though, because that's when people start spilling some truths

the lost commander of BOE is a "she", her name is/was Commander Wake, she almost killed alleged gideon aka ortus

I'm still spinning with the gideon's mom theory

and the background telenovela I've got going on

BOE found a Herald, killed it and turned it into weapons against these clowns

good for them, tbh, kill these drunk irresponsible bastards

emperor reverend professor doctor john thinks it's narcissistic of him to toast to himself

I want to murder him in cold blood

I hate this man so viscerally I want to rip him apart with my hands

the twist in this book is that I'm gonna reach to his murder and it's gonna be me

it's like bastian reading the neverending story but it's me killing this man

his full name is john gaius but I had been spoiled of his name by people not tagging their posts

he also does a "your mama" joke because he's my villain origin story

"part of your brain temporarily calcified into atheism" I'M GLAD, HARROW

so, they start to make out, all three of them

I finally caught up about zeus's deception and all about here

emperor awful is sandwiched between mercygirl on a table and augustine behind him and they forget there are children in the room

well, not children, but same difference, they're a million years old

harrow and yandere twin get the hell out of that display

CHAPTER 31

yandere twin wants to kiss harrowbean before she leaves to kill alleged gideon aka ortus, but harrow doesn't let her

harrow says "my affections lie buried in the Locked Tomb" to which yandere twin responds "Somebody might even exhume them for you"

when harrow mentioned not wanting to be touched while sleeping beside yandere twin, I remembered the pool hug and all that, that was a nice time

people were being killed left and right but it was a nice time

ANYWAY

harrow has a whole plan and has it all figured out, it's a really good plan, it works very nicely, but alleged gideon aka ortus isn't where they told her he was

sometimes, life works that way

the man you plan to kill isn't in the training room and all

she goes to look for him in not!dulcinea's crypt or whatever

and she sees this

and the spear

she follows the children's hospital trail of blood to the incinerator

alleged gideon aka ortus is inside the fire thingy and not!dulcinea is operating the controls

I wonder who could have predicted that this woman could still be an issue even after death

me, it was me

anyway, no time for I-told-you-so's because harrowbean decides to help him out of there

I'm very happy because I need him alive

he knows things and he's less bad than everyone else around here

because he's upfront about the killing

he tells her some things while he's kind of out of it

like to use blood wards instead of bone ones

that it will make her safe from "us"

"I know you're there. Kill me all you like. I would know you in the blindness of my eyes" he says and, among other things "Just tell me—back then—why you brought along the ba—"

WAS HE GONNA SAY BABY???? WHAT IF HE WANTED TO SAY BABY???

I'm still on my gideon agenda, sorry if it's embarrassing to read

of course emperor dickhead stops him before he can finish it

alleged gideon aka ortus says he doesn't remember shit afterwards and harrow sees her own mental state reflected in his

they can't find not!dulcinea, apparently

she's probably operating heavy machinery elsewhere

harrow is putting up her blood wards when she hears augustine and mercygirl argue about the whole zeus situation

the incinerator alarm apparently interrupted their plan of letting this happen

whether or not they had a hand on the not!dulcinea thing idk

mercygirl says she didn't move her

we end this act with ice cube barbie maybe annabel lee saying "The water is risen. So is the sun. We will endure."

obligatory yearning for camilla moment

That is the end of Act III and of my commentary because this was way too long and I need to make less chapters at a time istg