#If you can even call it a joke and not simply a description of the Swipp pinglist life

[starsystems-fr]

Me putting myself on a ton of Swipp pinglists: Haha fuck yeah!!! Yes!!

Me getting a ton of pings: Well this fucking sucks. What the fuck.

[immortalmrwavell]

Getting The Job

(Original story posted November 7th 2021. Original story title “Better Life, Cop Life”) This story has been mildly Updated!

Recently Eric’s life had been going down the drain. First he split up with his boyfriend Jake after discovering he was cheating. Then he lost his job due to staff cuts. And to top it off he then lost his old apartment since it was all in Jake’s name. Now his ex was living in their old place with the guy he cheated with while Eric was struggling to find a new job while living in the cheapest apartment he could find. As he applied for shitty job after job he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to deserve all this? Was it all some kind of cruel universal joke?

As he was job hunting, one of the positions that popped up was a job at a small clothing shop called “Threads for Life”. The description of the job itself was extremely vague but he assumed it would just be retail. Working a till and serving customers etc. So he applied.

Surprisingly they were the first to get back to him about his application and in such a short time frame as well. They emailed asking for him to come in for an interview. Of course Eric accepted. Why wouldn’t he? The only weird thing was how close this shop seemed to be. It was just down the road from his old apartment and still rather close to his current one but he could swear he’d never seen or heard of the shop before. He just chalked it up to him being unobservant and forgetful.

On the day of the interview Eric found the shop just where it was said to be. Even after seeing it though, nothing clicked. He could’ve sworn it wasn’t here before. He shook the odd feeling off however as he stepped up to the front door perfectly on time and looking his best.

Upon entering he was greeted by a middle aged man who introduced himself as the owner of the establishment, Tony. The two exchange greetings before Tony ushered Eric to follow him. Eric expected to be taken immediately to an office but instead Tony simply walked through the many isles of clothing with him while chatting casually about the shop and its history.

Before Eric had assumed this to be a simple clothes shop. One that sold shirts, pants and all the rest like most other shops. And it did. But something Eric was quick to notice was how most of the clothes seemed to be matched together in outfits. Rather than being separated into different sections, almost all the clothes in the shop had already been prematched. There were plenty of casual combos like t-shirts and jeans or shorts and tank tops however as they moved from aisle to aisle there were a very noticeable amount of clothes that seemed more like costumes.

Some were more understandable like suits. But a lot of the others?… Eric took note of medical scrubs, fireman uniforms, motorcycle gear, handyman clothes, police uniforms, cowboy costumes, construction clothes and so much more. Eric also couldn’t help noting that none of the clothes seemed to be marketed towards women. He supposed the shop specialised in men’s attire specifically. Still he couldn’t help but find the layout of the store to be… strange.

“Soooo… Eric was it? Before I can give you a job. I want to ask you a couple questions.” The owner said as he sat down on a cushioned stool near the back of the shop, prompting Eric to do the same.

Eric of course agreed to this as questions were standard procedure for almost any interview so he was ready for it..

“Okay first question then. Growing up, did you ever have any dreams of who you’d eventually become? What job you’d want to strive for? What kind of man you’d want to become?” Tony asked.

It was a strange question for sure but Eric still pondered it for a moment before answering. “Well I don’t think I was ever dead set on anything but I remember wanting to be something along the lines of a fireman… or a police officer maybe?”

Tony nodded, seeming pleased with that answer. “Okay then second question. Are you content with the current direction your life has taken or would you still like to fulfill that childhood dream if you could?”

Eric chuckled at the bizarre question. “Well… my life hasn’t exactly been going in a good direction recently. If I could change some things I would. But if you’re asking me whether I’d wanna become a cop then… I just don’t think I have what it takes.” He gestured down at his body. “I’m thin and lanky. Don’t really go to the gym that much and I’m not all that good with confrontation. To be honest I just don’t think I have the right mindset to be a cop you know?” Eric huffed before looking back up at the owner. “And no offense but what does that have to do with me working here?”

Tony didn’t answer at first. He just smiled before standing back up again. The owners eyes glanced around the store, mainly at all the costumes and then turned back to Eric.

“Alright. I think I can give you a job.”

Eric was surprised when he heard that. All he’d done was answer two silly questions. He tried to query as to how those questions even mattered but Tony simply asked Eric to follow him. Confused as ever, Eric did just that.

The pair made their way back down the isles of outfits. They passed by the suits, doctors scrubs and all the other costumes yet again. Only the weird thing was now that Eric was getting a closer look at them, he started to notice how real the costumes looked. They weren’t just silly fake costumes you’d wear to a party. They were the real deal! Actually looking as though they belonged to real firemen and real doctors. Even the tradie outfits looked dirty as if they’d been used for actual tradie work.

Tony stopped in front of the police uniforms. Eric was quick to notice just how real those looked as well. Not just uniform but genuine looking police badges as well. Not to mention the radio, utility belt and even a body cam that all looked completely real. As if they’d been taken directly from actual cops and put on display.

“Pick one.” Was all Tony said.

“What? Seriously?” Eric was baffled. This had to be some kind of joke right?

“Oh come on. Humour me a little. Pick one out.” Tony urged, patting Eric on the back. “Though if I were you I’d certainly pick that one.” The shop owner pointed out a specific uniform amongst the selection. Eric didn’t really see why it’d matter which one he chose as they mostly looked the same anyway.

Eric sighed. “Fine, I’ll pick that one then. Now what? Want me to go try it on.” He joked only to be met by an affirming nod from Tony.

“Changing rooms are just over there.”

Eric raised an eyebrow at the man but decided what the hell. He took the uniform off the rack along with the equipment. Tony then picked up the large black boots and placed them on top of the uniform in Eric’s hands. Eric shook his head as he turned and walked off towards the changing rooms.

He shut the blue curtain behind as he stepped into one of the stalls. It was a fair bit bigger than he’d expected it to be. Eric sat the uniform down on the bench before striping himself down to his boxer briefs. After setting his own clothes to one side, he began to get dressed in the police uniform.

First thing he did was pull on the pants which he found to be rather baggy. He sat down to prevent them from falling as he grabbed the shirt, pulling it on and buttoning it up. He made sure to tuck it into his pants before grabbing the utility belt and strapping firmly around his waist. He still couldn’t believe it had a real taser attached to it and everything. Lastly Eric slid his feet into the heavy black boots which were clearly a couple sizes too large.

With that Eric stood up to take a look in the mirror. He looked ridiculous. The uniform was far too big and baggy on him. He looked like he was playing dress up more than anything. He slid his hands into his pockets as looked at himself a little more, amused by the uniform. Though as his hands dug around in the pockets, he realised something was in one of them. It was small and metallic. Eric pulled it out to reveal a name tag with “J. Desmond” engraved on it. Jokingly Eric decided to pin it to his shirt for a laugh.

Eric shook his head again at how silly this all was. Why had Tony made him put this one anyway? With a shrug he was just about to start taking the uniform off, not wanting to look stupid when he stepped out of the changing room. But before he could even start unbuttoning the shirt, he began to feel…weird. Like a warm wave of pure pleasure began flowing over him. A wave so incredible that he almost didn’t notice his body starting to change.

His upper body was first to see a transformation. His back widening significantly as his flat chest began to bubble and swell into two thick hefty pecs. Pecs that grew larger until they started to strain his shirt slightly. The same shirt that’d been hanging loosely off his frame moments ago now starting to fill out at an alarming rate. Especially as his shoulders bulged to the size of cannon balls while his traps grew to match. His waist grew larger but tighter at the same time as fat melted away in place of pure raw muscle. Showing itself even more so in the form of abs. They weren’t chiseled washboard abs, they were thicker and softer than that but still impressive all the same.

But his arms. They were what really caught Eric’s attention. Partly thanks to the cop shirt he was wearing being a short sleeve which gave him a full view of their transformation. He got to watch as veins pulsed across his skinny twig-like arms as though they were being pumped full of unseen energy. And then with pain or warning they started to swell. His previously non existent biceps began hulking into reality as the muscle beneath his skin inflated. It should’ve been impossible. Seemingly gaining mass from nothing. But his eyes witnessed it all. His forearms expanded rapidly while his hands cracked and thickened. His biceps continued to balloon with power and size until they stretched his sleeves. Only then did they finally stop. His veins subsided as his arms reached their new colossal size.

His upper body might’ve been massive now but his lower body was getting ready to catch up. Eric’s waist and hips had already widened enough for the waist of the cop pants to fit securely. Now it was his legs turn to catch up.

In seconds they put on an unbelievable amount of sheer muscle mass. It was as though someone had plugged an air pump into his legs and started filling them up. But it wasn’t air. It was pure real muscle. Eric couldn’t help but groan a little as his pants began to feel tighter. He leaned against the wall of the cubicle for support as his thighs and calves continued to bloat thicker and more powerful by the second. The once baggy cop pants now fit him like a glove. But it wasn’t just his legs. His backside started to swell as well. His once average butt growing into a juicy muscular bubble ass that strained against the back of his pants perfectly. Not to mention his feet cracking and lengthening similar to hands. Growing multiple sizes until they fit perfectly inside the black cop boots he had on.

When the next change kicked in, Eric’s eyes widened as one of his hands instinctively flew towards his crotch. Grabbing his bulge tightly as even that began to swell and grow. His eyes began to roll back as his cock snaked down one his legs, growing girthier in the process. Meanwhile his balls followed suit as they bloated into fat heavy nuts full to the brim with cum.

His body was complete but his head still had to change. A stinging sensation came over his face as it started to morph. The shape of his head and all of his features altering dramatically until he was unrecognisable from the man he once was. His new look being much sharper and masculine in a way that would’ve screamed high school jock had he been a little younger. All the while the light stubble he’d always carried grew into more of a short well kept beard while the messy mid length hair he adorned shortened into faded crew cut.

“Fuuuuuck…” Eric groaned as the transformation subsided at last. There was a clear difference in his voice. It must’ve been altered with the rest of his body. He found himself looking back into the mirror with amazement. No longer was he that scrawny pale figure of a man he’d seen reflected all his life. Now he was… buff. Really buff! And hot as fuck!. It was unreal. The uniform that was more or less falling off him moments ago now clung to him as though he were made for it. He couldn’t stop himself from running his hands up and down his torso, feeling a set of strong abs hiding under his shirt before drifting back up to squeeze his power new pecs through the fabric. He never thought he’d actually have fucking pecs but here he was now! Groping and kneading them.

In all the excitement his cock began to firm up. Eric could feel the blood rushing to his crotch as his growing erection created a clear outline in his pants. He smirked as he brought both hands down towards his crotch. Gently he rubbed his hands across the length of his dick through his pants.

Eric looked back into the mirror before bringing both arms up into flex. His already hard cock twitched at the sight of his biceps bulging, threatening to rip his sleeves in the process. The strength he felt flowing through his arms… No, his whole body was intoxicating! With his left hand Eric proceeded to grasp and squeeze his right bicep. It seemed impossible, like he was living in a lucid dream!

Just then Eric thought of something he’d always wished he could do. He’d never been buff enough to do it before. But now? He lowered his arms to his sides, stood up straight before flexing his chest. His pecs bounced. Eric’s eyes widened in amazement at the sight of his new muscle tits jumping underneath the shirt. He bounced them a few more times before cupping them again with a sense of pure wonder flowing through him. “These feel fucking amazing…”

Once he’d finished admiring his pecs, Eric remembered something else that’d grown. He turned his back to the mirror and looked behind. His cock twitched extra hard this time as he caught sight of his muscular new cop butt straining against his uniform pants. He couldn’t help himself. Before long his greedy hands were reaching back and grasping at his thick bubbly ass. “Oooohh fuuck.” He growled, feeling just how hefty they were. “My ass is fucking huge!…” Eric murmured aloud, lost in the pleasure. So lost in fact that he didn’t even notice Tony peering through the curtains. Watching with a horny gaze as Eric squeezed and groped his fat new ass. Even watching as Eric went as far as to place his hands just under his ass cheeks and start jiggling them, dumbly laughing as he did.

Eric felt his cock pulsing and bucking uncontrollably as he played with his cop butt. So much so that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Soon enough he spun back around to face the mirror again before unzipping his pants. Tony continued to creep in on the show while Eric shoved a hand into his underwear, struggling to free his erection. With a little effort however Eric was able to let out a satisfied sigh as his girthy python sprung free. The thing must’ve been around 9 inches long and insanely thick. It was every man’s dream cock.

A slapping noise could be heard from the changing rooms as Eric began smacking his cock against his hand while he admired it. Every smack sent a pleasurable shiver through his body. He had to stroke it. He was just able to wrap his hand around its full girth before he started to pump. It had to have been at least three times more sensitive than his old cock as Eric couldn’t stop cursing while he pumped it.

He began to jerk faster as he looked over his new body in the mirror again. His handsome bearded face and buff body. How thick his legs were. How buff his arms had become. How massive his chest had grown. Just looking at it all reflected back at him allowed him to jerk off furiously. He then looked down at his cock. He loved seeing it. Soooo thick and excited as some precum started to drip from the tip. With how sensitive it was and intensely he was pumping it, Eric could tell he was gonna to blow any moment.

He turned to his left, getting a perfect side view of his body. He couldn’t help but fixate on how much his ass stood out. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching his free hand back towards it again. Before long he was groping his ass and jerking his cock all at the same time. The new cop was having the time of his goddamn life!

“Fuuuuuuuccck!” That was enough to send him over the edge. Tony, who was still watching, saw Eric's ass clench and his cock erupt with an enormous load. One so big that it shit cum all over the benches adjacent to the new cop as well as his old and now ill fitting clothes. His cock continued to buck and twitch for a good few moments afterwards. Shooting a few more times as it covered the floor in front of him with cum.

“See. I knew you’d like that one.” Tony finally made himself known as he pulled back the curtain.

Eric whipped around, still panting a little. “Fuck I… my deepest apologies sir… I couldn’t stop myself.” He tried to reason.

“No need to apologise Officer.” Tony smirked as he glanced down at Eric’ softening cock, still dripping cum. “Most find it hard to contain themselves after what you just went through. So no need to worry. I’ll even get it cleaned up for ya.” The store manager smiled innocently.

“Officer?…” Eric repeated what the other man had said to him as though it weren’t the truth. It sounded weird and off putting to hear someone call him that. So why did it sound so right at the same time?

“Well you are a Cop now. Officer James Desmond to be precise, so you better get used to hearing it.” Tony nodded towards the name tag that was pinned to Eric’s shirt.

Hearing that name triggered something inside Eric. Memories of being Cop flooded his mind along with a bunch of other unfamiliar memories. He still remembered who he used to be but now he had a whole new life filling his head that made his old one feel like a fleeting dream. A new life as Officer James Desmond.

“Thank you sir. You have no idea how grateful I am for all this…” James stated, his new manners kicking in right away. Immediately after he tucked his fat new cock back into his pants before pulling up the zip. “But I’ve got to be back at the station in half an hour.”

“No worries Officer! I completely understand. You head off and I’ll be sure to get all your ball batter cleaned. Might take me a while though.” Tony joked, earning a chuckle from James.

“Heh sorry sir. Got myself a pair of bull balls down here.” James gave his crotch a quick squeeze. “Well I’m off. If you ever need anything don’t hesitate to ask for me down at the staton.” He said, passing by Tony as he exited the changing cubicle.

“Oh don’t worry I will.” Tony replied, giving James’ ass a smack as he passed. He continued to watch James’ ass shake as he sauntered away up until the sexy new cop reached the front door.

James hopped into his car, not even noticing it’d been morphed into a cop car, before starting up the engine. As he drove towards the station he couldn’t help but daydream about plunging his cock into some other hot cop’s ass or having another cop fuck his new bubble butt. Surely some of his buddies down at the station would be down for some fun. According to his memories he seemed to recall catching his own partner checking out his ass a couple times…

Back at the shop. “Another life bettered and another hot stud on the streets. A pretty good day I’d say” Tony sighed to himself with a smile before turning back towards the changing room. Looking over at the huge mess of Cop nut he now had to clean. “Well… best get to work.”

[sarahghetti]

blood on your lies; m.s.

pairing: marc spector x reader centric, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: after an argument with marc, you go missing. he tears himself apart trying to find you.

warnings: a dive into the mind of marc spector, angst, hurt with some comfort (i.e. jake and steven), kidnapping, vague descriptions of violence.

word count: 3.0k

notes: kind of a continuation of all the echoes in my mind, but can be read as a standalone. written as part of the @moonknight-events bingo! prompt: "insecure", I promise that not all my entries will be this sad lol

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

You’re not home yet.

It’s nearly been three hours. Marc paces the apartment like a caged animal, likely wearing the hardwood underneath his feet. Steven and Jake have run their course about how stupid he is, how he shouldn’t have said what he said, how he should’ve run after you the second you stepped out the door—

But jokes on them. There can be no harsher critic of Marc than Marc himself.

He checks his phone again in case you’ve responded to his many texts and calls, but there’s nothing. As far as he knows, you haven’t even seen any of it.

His temper still lingers under their skin, and he holds it tight with both hands; anger is easy. It’s easier than admitting that the peaks in his heartrate and the sweat on his brow is from anything other than his own self-flagellation.

Anger is familiar.

This, however? The waiting for you to walk through the door, or to give them any sign of life—so much of his sanity rests in the comfort of you being safe. Marc didn’t realize how lucky he was to not know what this was like. Now, he doesn’t know if he can ever forget it.

Jake’s voice is clipped. “Check again.”

They’re all on edge, and it’s terrible. Most of the time, at least one of them manages to keep a level head during stressful situations—usually Marc. Jake is prone to anger, Steven to anxiousness.

“Marc!” Steven yanks him out of his head, and his phone is in his hand without any memory of having taken it out of his pocket. He does a dutiful look through his notifications—nothing.

Three sets of disappointment and concern pile on top of one another and drags them all down so much further.

“Do…” Steven’s voice is quiet. Unsure. “Do you think something might’ve happened to her?”

There is no dissenting opinion, no devil’s advocate. Marc doesn’t try to calm his alters down, and only clenches his jaw.

You’ve never gone quiet on them like this. They’ve never let you leave the flat at night like this. They always opted to be the one to go take a walk because even in the middle of an argument, they wouldn’t risk your safety.

The lingering silence is Steven’s answer.

When the suit wraps itself around his body, the accompanying burst of power in his veins is suffocating. His wounds begin to numb over, but Marc barely notices. He hasn’t spared them a thought since you left.

The cool air does nothing to assuage him. Clouds blot out the sky, leaving nothing but a murky backdrop as he scales up the nearest building for a vantage point. A quick scan over the horizon—nothing. Not a hint of your silhouette under the streetlights, and a lump forms in his throat.

“Khonshu!”

A gust of wind signals the god’s arrival, who, even with a bird’s skull for a head, looks remarkably bored as Marc is clinging to any semblance of sanity. He must already know what’s going on but frustratingly just spreads out his hands, a silent question—what?

Marc grits his teeth. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Khonshu.” The name is a snarl on his lips.

He simply scoffs. “You have the gall to make demands? As if I need to be involved with your lover’s spat?”

“She’s not answering her phone.”

A lingering pause.

“She might be in danger,” Marc snaps, trying to get the god to understand even a fraction of the severity of the situation. They might bloody their hands night after night, staining London’s streets each time they go out on patrol, but it’s never enough. There are always more monsters to take their place, and the thought that you might have run into one of them—

Khonshu cocks his head. “Maybe she’s just finally had enough of you.”

Marc hates how that’s a possibility. Still, desperation crawls out of his throat. “Can you find her?”

Khonshu turns to look over the city, the silence stretching out between them. Whatever divinity he’s channeling, Marc isn’t privy to; all he can do is stand there like a useless dumbass and wait for some hint of you to show up on the god’s radar. Even if you had had enough and never want to see him again—he’ll swallow down that fate in stride as long as he knows that you’re safe.

When Khonshu finally breaks from searching, his head cocks slightly to the side. “Interesting.”

This is hardly the time for theatrics. “Do not—”

“I cannot find her,” the god admits. Not apologetic or ashamed, but—awed. “Where she is right now, her footsteps through the city—there is nothing, Marc Spector. There’s not even a trace of her in your own home.”

The blood rushes in his ears. His chest constricts until he can barely breathe at all. Marc barely manages to wrap his head around the information before Jake and Steven come roaring back again, shocked and confused.

“Stupid fucking bird—”

“She was right here!

“Let me out, pendejo, I swear—”

“What the bloody hell does he mean—”

“How?” Is all Marc manages to get out, every one of his senses on overload.

“Something is hiding her from me; whatever took your lover is very powerful indeed.”

Took. Not a single doubt about it now: something took you. Kidnapped you because Marc couldn’t keep it together for ten-fucking-minutes. Jake and Steven can prattle all they want in the background—his mission is clear.

“Where do we start?”

-

The flat seems even bleaker when they return, your absence all the more chilling. Steven clamours to take the reins with the obvious assumption that research is the first step they need to take, but that’s quickly dashed away when Khonshu returns with a name.

“Apep.” God of darkness and disorder, Steven supplies from their head. “He’s been cast away for eons, but there have always been those trying to get him to return.”

“It’s another cult?”

Jake swears under his breath. “Figures.”

Ignoring them, Marc presses on. “Who are we dealing with now?”

“If it were easy to find them, I would’ve done it already,” Khonshu bristles. “Apep is helping them—hiding them as they work. I will continue to do what I can.”

“Fine.”

The god disappears in a whirlwind of loose papers, and Marc switches gears. Steven might have the advantage in research, but tracking? The skills he’s honed as a Marine and as a mercenary wait for him like an old pair of shoes; the others can’t help but let him work in peace.

He finds some old tourist map that spans over the city and unfolds it across the dining table. There are only so many places you would’ve gone, so many routes you could’ve taken. London doesn’t become deserted at night and barring any divine intervention, kidnapping someone would cause a scene—you would have caused a scene, he thinks, imagining you fighting tooth and nail against your assailants, screaming for someone to help—

Marc closes his eyes, clenches his jaw. A wave of pain washes over him, and he languishes in it for a minute, not a moment more.

His eyes reopen, spots dancing across his vision as he analyzes the map again. The feeling has been sealed shut into a box, shoved into a corner of his mind. Steve would throw a fit about his mental state if it were any other time, lecturing him on coping mechanisms and compartmentalization, but there’s no time for him to feel sorry for himself.

He grits his teeth and refocuses his train of thought. If they’re up against a cult, then they probably would’ve sent multiple people to grab you. Would’ve had to lure you somewhere quiet if it was by force, or they could have convinced you to go with them somehow. Or threatened you. Or…

The more he gets into it, the more he feels himself detaching from the situation, piece-by-piece. The memory of you is like a minefield; it’s a testament to his will that he can recall anything about you without breaking down. What you were wearing—and not the look on your face—when you left. Your favourite park—and not how your hand fits perfectly into his as you walked down the paths—that you might have passed through.

He reduces you to intel, just another folder on his desk. It’s not unfamiliar to him. He wouldn’t have made it this far if he couldn’t take an objective approach to his work. But it’s different because it’s you, because the stakes include you, and when he looks up to try to ground himself again, he spots your favourite mug on the coffee table. Half-empty.

-

If Layla were here.

The words bounce around his head as Marc stares up at the ceiling. He didn’t mean it. Steven and Jake are both better with words than Marc, but he’s never loved you any less—he’s never wanted you to be anyone but yourself.

It’s been almost two days since you left, and it’s only now that he’s allowed himself to be corralled into bed. His grip of the hot seat is ironclad, however, which means that the body isn’t getting any sleep tonight. The sun will rise soon, and he’ll pick up his work right where he left off.

Quietly, from the back of his head: “Marc?”

“Could’ve taken the victim anywhere,” Marc murmurs, mind still whirring in the dark.

“’Victim’?” Steven’s voice shifts to be full of indignance. “How could you possibly call her that?”

“Ay, easy on him,” Jake pipes up. For Jake to immediately to jump to his defence means that Marc must be worse off than he thought, but he can’t bring himself to care. “How’s it going, hombre?”

“No sightings on any security cameras. Nothing reported to the cops.” Hours of his time—your time—summarized in a breath. His face remains blank. “I’m going to sweep the remaining areas tomorrow. Find some people who might’ve seen something.”

He’s been doing nothing but cross possibilities off his list. It’s barely any progress and his remaining leads are weak, but his resolve is as strong as ever.

“Nothing from Khonshu?”

“No.” Marc has no idea what the god is doing.

They lay in silence for a bit, listening to the maddening tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall. Anger is unsustainable, but Marc wishes that they’d return to yelling at him again. At least he knows what to do with that.

Instead, all he gets is Steven’s restrained tone: “Something has to change, you know.”

“Are you really telling me to go to therapy right now?”

“Can’t do much else.” For a moment, Steven’s bitterness resonates. There’s another conversation to be had here—one about their individual capabilities and protective natures—but Marc lets it rest for the night. He knows he’d be driven up the wall if their situation was reversed, if you were in danger and he had to rely on someone else to save you.

He still deflects. “Not the time for this.”

“Maybe not,” Steven concedes, “but you need help, Marc.”

Distantly, Marc recognizes that he’s always needed help. Even after reconciling with Steven and Jake, even after meeting you—the wounds are still there, despite how hard he’s tried to ignore them. He’s stubborn and self-destructive, not stupid.

“We’re with you, always,” Jake adds. Discomfort crawls under Marc’s skin from the supportive words, and he knows that his alters are well aware of it. It’s never stopped them, of course.

“We can talk about this after—after we save her.”

A general murmur of consensus. Marc quickly regains his footing, eager to move on from this line of conversation.

“I’ll find something. Or Khonshu will.” Steady and reassured—trying to convince them and himself. “We’ll get her back.”

Steven’s voice is small, even in the confines of their head. “But why would they take her in the first place?”

-

“He needs an avatar?” The body hasn’t slept in days. That void of feeling pulses with anger, desperation, fear—it simmers low in their gut, a torch passed along between them.

“Apep will need a vessel once they release him.”

“Here I thought one of his cultists would volunteer.”

Khonshu taps his staff against the ground thoughtfully. “They knew we would come after them, and we’re not the only ones.”

For the briefest of moments, Marc feels hopeful, like the odds aren’t as stacked against them as they thought. It disappears just as fast—Khonshu doesn’t deliver hope. The blood drains out of his face as he actually starts to consider the god’s words.

“If Apep possesses your precious lover, would you really be able to stop her? To take up arms against her?”

Khonshu leans in close then, hollowed eyes burrowing into him.

“Would you let others do the same?”

-

Over the next week, things begin to look up.

Someone’s girlfriend’s cousin says that they saw someone who looked like you walking down The Mall. There’s a fuzzy image of a car with no license plates. Khonshu catches the briefest hint of you on Westminster Bridge and follows you far, far east—it’s a mere grain of information that’s slipped through Apep’s power, but it’s enough for Marc.

They find the car abandoned in Dover, near the water. It rules out France—driving through the Eurochannel would’ve been the fastest route there, after all. Trying to take a public ferry would’ve been stupid with a captive, which means that they probably chartered or owned a boat.

The remaining pieces fall into place, and he can feel the anticipation from the others build in the background. Marc has led the charge so far with very few breaks to let Steven and Jake breathe a little. Steven misses you so much, he cries whenever he fronts. Jake has gone eerily quiet, and Marc knows what’s simmering underneath the surface; when the fighting starts, Jake will be called to action. His excitement is brutal.

It's all coming to an end soon. Laying on some dirt in the Norwegian countryside, shrouded in darkness, Marc’s never seen more stars in his life. If he’s right—and he is right—they’ll be bringing you to a nearby compound for the final step of their ritual. He couldn’t care less about the how or why. Come the morning, you’ll be here. Marc will get them inside. Jake will get to you. And then…

Marc will probably never be the partner that you deserve, and you never should’ve been subjected to his life. To sleepless nights and patching up his injuries and comforting him after nightmares that has him thrashing in the sheets—

But he can’t survive without you. It’s a simple little fact that gives him the power to move mountains; there are none bigger than the mess of his own head.

Exhaustion creeps up on him, and he can’t help but struggle against it. Fighting to keep his eyes open, his thoughts spill into the air. “Need to take care of her first.”

“Taking care of yourself is taking care of her,” Steven says gently. Have they had this conversation already? Marc’s been so singled in on this mission that everything else has fallen by the wayside. He can’t remember the last thing he ate, or what he’s wearing under the suit. The ground is the softest thing he’s ever felt.

If there’s any comparison to be made between you and Layla, it’s that he’s failed both of you. Maybe he could be different this time. Even if you decide that you want nothing to do with him after all this, he could still get help. He’ll have Steven and Jake. He’ll have himself and his scrappy resolve and the memories of this heart-aching pain, and maybe he’ll finally get better.

Marc lets his eyes close; the body needs rest for what’s to come. You don’t deserve any less than their best.

Just a few more hours.

-

Marc watches the fight from their headspace. Jake doesn’t miss a single shot and never so much as falters when one of them manages to land a hit. This is the longest break Marc’s gotten from fronting in a while, but he can’t bring himself to look away.

Jake loops their arm around the neck of cultist unlucky enough to be nearby, gripping his hair so hard Marc can nearly feel the strands through his fingers, feel it when Jake jerks their arm to the side and twists—

-

Your handlers left you alone in another room with nothing but a hard cot to curl into as you waited for them to retrieve you again. Locked inside but unbound—Marc hates how you startle when he breaks through the door.

Eyes wide, your mouth opens and closes multiple times without success. “You—you came.”

Marc wishes there weren’t so much surprise in your tone. Of course he came for you, it was never a choice for him—for any of them.

But clearly there was a part of you that thought he wouldn’t, wasn’t there? That he might just leave you in the clutches of some power-hungry cult because—because what, you’re not his ex-wife? Because you think he doesn’t love you?

The need to rectify that pierces his heart. He pulls you close, knuckles white in your shirt. “I love you.”

You shake in his arms. “Marc—”

“I love you.”

The words don’t stop; they fall from his lips like a prayer. Even as you weep, soaking the suit with your tears, he says it. I love you. I love you. I love you. In every variation, in every way—he’ll never let you believe otherwise again. He’ll say it over and over, work tirelessly to become the man you both deserve. For the rest of your lives. For the rest of time.

However long you’ll give him.

[pascals-doll]

“dont make a fuckin sound, hands up”

ellie williams x reader

🫧 yes, i lowk tweaked out when she said that before proceeding to kill the woman but i-

🫧 i had originally titiled it dont say a word cause i thought what she originally said was too long of a title BUT FUCK IT THAT SHIT MAKES MY PUSSY THROB

🫧 description: outbreak ellie! joel isnt dead teehee, smut smut SMUT lesbian smut, ellie being rough, fingering, oral sex (both reciving), bonadage with a flannel (reader recieving), finger sucking/gagging?, no mentions of y/n just pet names like princess, doll, pretty, and babe

you were dripping, your own juices trailing down your thigh….

how did you end up in this predicament exactly?

You went to Joel’s house, simply because he asked you to come over and help ellie out in the stables in the morning.

you arrived and greeted Joel, telling you that Ellie is upstairs.

The second you open that door, you were not safe. not for a second.

youre hand turns the knob, the door slightly opens to reveal no one in your view yet.

“Ellie?” you call out, slightly peeking.

you’re suddenly slightly pushed in, door closing shut simultaneously before youre swiftly pushed up against a wall.

your body had no choice but to go along with the jerking of each movement.

you were shocked slightly but by the non-aggressive behavior behind it, you knew who it was before even being against the wall.

“hi pretty” ellie says softly, hastily laying yet the softest kisses on your neck.

“oh, i see someone was definitely ready to see me” you joke, as you slightly pull her back to pull her in for a kiss. yet a kiss, led to her cupping your ass.

“lock the door” you mutter in between the heated lip-locking.

ellie locks it, wasting no time in scooping you up with all her strength and leading you onto her bed.

you pull away from the heated kiss momentarily.

“babe, Joel is right down-” you began to softly say before ellie placing a finger on your lips, shushing you.

she gives you a mischievous smirk before lowering her head in between your chest.

you can’t help but let out a soft sigh of relief as your squirm around under her hold.

“you missed me princess?” ellie mutters softly now undoing your bra clasps, straps falling off your shoulders revealing your perky chest.

you slightly shrug your shoulders so the bra falls off graciously completely.

ellie wasted no time in attacking your hard nipples and soft plush skin of your tits.

your hands made their way through her soft short brown locks, slightly tugging causing her to wrap her tongue around your right nipple, palming the left one.

“dont make a fuckin’ sound, hands up” ellie says in a stern yet calming tone, yet enough to make your heart race and back arch.

her hands grabs ahold of your wrists, putting them above your head.

ellie quickly grabs one of her flannels that was laying on her bed, grabbing it and rolling it slightly to tie around your wrists.

“is that good, doll?” she reassures lowly, you swore you couldve let out a purr with the shiver she sent down your spine.

you lift your hips up to brush up against hers “lets take these off, yeah?” she teases as you evidently get impatient.

“ellie baby, please” you coo out, moving your arms from the position they were even if they were tied together.

“nuh-uh, keep them there.” she says, looking up at you through her hooded stern eyes. she begins to undo the button of your shorts, zipper following quick after.

you raise your hips as she slides them down your legs, she grabs each of your thighs, pulling you closer to her and spreading your legs farther apart to reveal the pathetic wet patch seaping through your panties.

“seems like im not the only real excited” she teases with a sly smirk.

you grow pink and shy, trying to shut your legs but her hands quickly pulling them back to their original position “no need to get all shy doll, you look gorgeous like this” she says lovingly, before lowering herself so she can peck your thighs teasingly.

you were hot, you’re entire body felt like it was on fire with each kiss, touch, and word that came out of ellie just made you feel engulfed in a flame.

you’re mind felt hazy as she inched closer and closer to your pussy, making you squirm even more within her embrace.

“please el, please” you whine out.

“please what?” she teases, smiling at you, bringing two fingers to rub your wet folds through your panties.

“please fuck me-fuck me, ellie” you whine out, maybe a little too loud. ellie wasnt so pleased this time.

“what the fuck did i say?” she says before sucking harshly on both titties as she removed your panties quickly as her two fingers finding your pussy.

you let out a pressed shut whimper as your lips are pressed together in pure bliss of finally being rewarded by her.

“t-to not say a word” you say in a delicate tone, it made ellie spiral at how vulnerable you looked.

“ima make you feel so so good, princess” ellie coos, her hand caressing your face then going to cares your tits as her tongue swipes a long line along your juicy folds.

you continue to press your lips shut as soon as ellies tongue fucks you relentlessly.

the sensation of ellies tongue running all along your clit in a circular motion while sucking ever so slightly will have your back arching every fucking time and she knows it.

ellie with both hands pushes your legs up to your chest to get full exposure of your pussy. you bit your lip so aggressively, you swore you couldve bled, biting back the loudest moan possible.

you could feel ellies eyes on you, watching you from the crevess of your cunt and both legs. she smiles as she takes one hand and within no time, she has her middle and ring finger sliding inside of your pussy.

youre eyes roll in pure bliss as you lift your hips to meet closer to her tongue, you struggle in not wanting let everyone outside and Joel know youre getting slutted out in ellie’s bedroom.

“doing s’good pretty” she praises as she fucks her fingers into you nonstop and moving her tongue away.

ellie’s face finally meet yours making you lean up for a kiss hungrily, your lips meet together in perfect moving in sync.

ellies fingers continuing to ease you to you closer and closer to your orgasm.

you let out the softest whimpers against her lips, ellie swears she could listen to you make those noises like the music that plays in her headphones like nothing.

ellie pulls away causing you to let a little frown settle upon your face but being quickly replaced with your jaw loosening and back arching by the vigorous rubbing of your clit by her thumb as her fingers get wetter.

your mind gets hazy as no words fall out but heavy pants and breathy whines

“good girl, c’’mon cum doll” ellies praises were enough to send you over the edge.

you dig your nails into her arm as you cant help but slightly shake “mmhm, thats what i like to see” ellie whispers to herself as she slides her white coated fingers out of you.

“open” she says, you open your mouth taking in her fingers and sucking softly.

you keep eye contact as you taste yourself on her fingers.

“my turn” you say, all done cleaning off her fingers causing her smile as you quickly pull down her sweatpants and quickly switching positions.

you lay ellie down as your lips meet hungrily.

you pull her panties down, she was just as wet, if not even more.

“youre such a good girl for me” ellie mutters, admiring the site of such a beautiful sight infront of her, you in between her legs.

you love each praise that leaves her lips as you inch closer to her pussy, immediately attaching your lips softly to her swollen wet clit causing her to groan out a “fuck” it was little loud.

just like that, a knock on ellie’s door.

you move your head up and look at her in panic.

“is everything good in there girls?” Joel says loudly, concerned sealed into his tone.

“y-yeah! i got a wound and shes helping me clean it! we’ll head to the stables soon!” ellie yells back, giving you a look of panic and hope.

“okay, unlock the door once youre done.” he says before you hear his steps walking away from the door.

you both let out a fit of giggles.

“lets continue you this after?” you suggest, mischievously smirking.

[adverbally]

Oh Baby

Written for the @stmarchmm prompts “omega/omega” and “pregnancy” | wc: 816 | rated: T | cw: pregnancy and birth related anxiety, vaguely implied past abusive relationship (Billy/Steve) | tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Omega Eddie, no Upside Down, alternate meeting, pregnant Steve and birth coach Eddie, pre-relationship

———

Steve doesn’t know what he expected from a potential birth companion, but Eddie Munson isn’t it.

The man practically bounces into the consultation room, haloed by a head full of frizzy hair and carrying a haphazard stack of papers. “Hi! Steven, right? I’m Eddie.” He holds out a hand for Steve to shake.

“Just Steve, please,” he corrects. “Only my parents call me Steven.”

“Steve. Gotcha.” As he sits on the other side of the desk, he grabs a pen to note Steve’s preference in his file. “And what brings you here today, Steve?”

There’s something in Eddie’s eyes, deep brown, big and soft, that makes Steve want to tell him everything. He can’t smell him underneath the scent-blocking patches at his pulse points, only knows Eddie’s an Omega because it says so in the practice’s brochure, but Steve imagines a dark chocolate aroma that matches his eyes.

“Well, like I told the receptionist, I’m pregnant. Obviously,” he jokes, resting a hand on the gentle swell of his belly. “But it’s my first pup and I’m starting to, uh, freak out a little?”

Eddie smiles sympathetically. “What freaks you out more, the end product or the process?”

“Definitely the process. I’ve always wanted pups, I want her, it’s just… There’s a lot of painful and bloody stuff that has to happen to get her here. Steve lowers his voice, suddenly sheepish. “Which I knew in, like, an abstract sense, but it’s feeling a lot more real now that we’re past the halfway mark.”

��Totally normal,” Eddie reassures him, flipping through his intake paperwork. “Twenty-two weeks, huh? Looks like your OB is happy with how you’re doing so far. You’re not high-risk, no complications.”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, so far.”

“Any reason to think that will change?” Eddie’s brow furrows as he looks up at Steve. He’s too pretty to look so serious when Steve is just being ridiculous.

“My roommate,” he sighs. “I love her to death, but she can be…”

Eddie nods. “A little paranoid?” he guesses.

“It’s contagious, I guess. Robin tells me everything she’s read that can go wrong. Then I can’t help but worry, even when I know Baby and I are healthy.” Steve rubs his eyes, not tearful but exhausted.

“I gotcha. Sleep is already a precious commodity during pregnancy, and it probably doesn’t help that your Alpha is so nervous.”

He can’t help but laugh at that. “Robin? No, she’s just a friend. My best friend.”

Steve must be imagining the relief that crosses Eddie’s face. “So Baby’s other parent…?”

“He’s not in the picture.” He lets own scent take on the sour edge it always gets when he thinks about Billy, hoping it will keep Eddie from asking.

Eddie simply nods and makes another note. “Okay, any other birthing support besides Robin?”

“Robin actually isn’t allowed in the room because I’d probably have to kill her, so…” Steve claps his hands on his thighs. “That’s where you come in, I guess?”

“Killing Robin falls a little outside my job description, but I do try to go above and beyond for my clients.” When that gets a chuckle out of Steve, Eddie winks at him. “But seriously, that’s what I’m here for. We’ll make a birth plan, work on whatever physical or mental preparation might help, and then I’ll be there for the main event. Anything you need, ice chips, a massage, a hand to hold, someone to yell at the nurses for you, I’m your guy.”

Steve bites his lip. He feels a little better already, just knowing he has Eddie in his corner. “That sounds like exactly what I was hoping for.��

“Excellent. I aim to please.” Eddie smiles at him. “Our receptionist, Chrissy, can get you set up for weekly appointments if that works for your schedule. Do you have any questions for me before we wrap up for today?”

Several, actually, but Steve knows better than to start asking if Eddie is single or into other Omegas. Instead he clears his throat. “No, I think I’m good.”

“All right.” Eddie stands, ready to hurry to his next consultation, and Steve fights down the urge to beg him to stay. Stupid hormones. “Well, Steve, it was a pleasure to meet you. If you need anything before your next appointment, give us a call.”

Steve shakes his hand again, relishing the warmth and strength of Eddie’s grip. “Thank you. Really, this has already helped so much. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Me, too. Not to mention meeting the little lady.” Eddie inclines his head in the direction of Steve’s belly. “Just not any time soon, right? Stay nice and cozy in there!” he tells the baby. “See you both next week.”

As he watches Eddie leave the room, Steve knows the flutters in his stomach are from more than just his pup kicking.

He is so screwed.

[neocrias]

hey guys,can you do a post on how svt would ask you out?

Heyyy!! Thank you for the request, that's a really great idea! Especially in the spirit of Valentine's days :)

Seventeen asking you out

warnings: descriptions; headcanons; gn (mostly) reader self insert; you might find it a little kinky at some point;

pairings: svt x gn reader

gender/aus: fluff; slightly suggestive;

S.Coups

When S.Coups asks you out, he already has everything planned. Head down, no distractions. He knows what you like and don’t like, your favorites, and he makes sure to plan a date that’s absolutely irresistible to you. I feel like he’d choose something fun and playful, like an amusement park - where he can show off his perfect aim at the shooting booths (of course he won’t stop until he wins you a plushie) and just how fearless he is when it comes to holding you at the top of a roller coaster or inside the haunted house. He’ll also be ready for a romantic moment at the top of the Ferris wheel. And, of course, he’s picking you up and dropping you off - no way he’s taking no for an answer.

Jeonghan

He’s going to make a mystery out of it. Where are we going? What should I wear? What are we doing? He won’t give you a single detail besides, "Dress casually, and I’ll pick you up at seven. And how will the date unfold? Well, Jeonghan ends up taking you to a Seventeen game night. Chaos might not be your ideal version of romance, but he has his reasons: this way, he gets to show you all the ways he cheats and pulls tricks to win everything - which he believes is his best flex. It also gives him the perfect opportunity to tease and be playful with you, which is totally his love language.

Joshua

Okay, this might sound a little unusual, but hear me out: a beach date. I mean, have you seen his surfing photos?!?!! Shua is another one who has everything planned out, but he’ll obviously give you all the details - and he’ll probably invite you out well in advance, just to make sure your plans are made for him and no one else. He’ll hype up the date a lot, casually mentioning little details or new things he’s planning to make your day amazing. (He might even joke like, "Can you send me a picture of the bikini you're planning to wear? Just to make sure my outfit matches haha.") And when the day finally comes, he WILL pick you up and drop you off, obviously. He’ll also have snacks and drinks all prepared, along with beach games, towels, sunscreen, sunglasses, hats, his surfboard, and anything else you might need. It’ll be playful and romantic - just like him.

Jun

I feel like Jun is more the type to agree on meeting you at the date spot. He will probably be a little flustered to ask you out in person, but if it’s through text it’ll be a lot easier and flowy, with even some rizz going on. He will choose something playful yet cute, like an ice skating rink! Has he ever gone ice skating before? Nope, but he thinks it “can’t be that hard, right?”. If you’ve never done it either, he will try and tease you before the date, saying you can cling onto him if you need to and all that romantic stuff. At the actual date, he might realize that no, it’s not as easy as he thought it was, and no, it’s not easy at all to flex about something you’ve never done before lol. But don’t worry, he’ll own it (after becoming a blushing mess, of course) and you both will have a date full of funny falls and clumsy hugs, trying to find balance together and enjoying yourselves a lot. At the end of the evening, Jun scored lots of points with you without even realizing. Cute.

Hoshi

The total opposite of Joshua. Soonyoung will not ask you with any advance, probably won’t prepare anything too neatly and, heck, he might not even ask you out in fact. I just feel like he would be laid back enough to call you up in the middle of a regular day and ask you to put on some clothes, because he will be passing through your house and he will be picking you up. That's it, bye. He will be simply taking Latte for a walk and think “hm, why not?”, and the next second you’re getting a call from him saying he’s already at your front door. If you disagree or complain, it’ll make it funnier for him, and he’ll probably come up with some threatening such as “well, my car is already entering your street and I can’t park in here or I’ll get fined, so… you better be there when I arrive” and just turn off the call. Yeah, he is a menace, but you’ll enjoy the date nevertheless, even if it’s something as simple as just taking a walk through the park with his annoying ass.

Wonwoo

A little bit shy, Wonwoo might ask you out to some type of event (like a comic con sorta thing, or any type of “cons” really, maybe related to books or games/technology or something he finds that you both have in common) with the excuse that “he already had an extra ticket”, because he probably won’t admit that he already bought them with you in mind, knowing that he would ask another friend and he would say no, which would make the perfect opportunity to take you with him. I think he might meet you at the spot, but drive you home at the end of the evening. The date will be pretty smooth, he will charm you with some nerdy jokes and might even buy some goods you’ve been eyeing behind your back, just to give you at the end of the outing as a small surprise and souvenir from your first date.

Woozi

Jihoon wants to take you to where he knows he is his most confident self. So when you’re granted free-pass tickets to a Seventeen concert, to stay at a private box with a friend, you don’t feel that surprised - even if it’s a big BIG flex. He might send a car to pick you up before the show, since he’ll be busy practicing. Woozi will do his best, taking even more effort knowing that you’re watching him, and he might even suggest something that relates to you during one of his ments, eyeing the box you’re at with a grin that’ll make your heart flutter. At the end of the concert, you will obviously see him backstage, and he will ask you honestly what did you think of specific parts of the concert - just to make sure you were actually paying attention to him all the time - at this point, your friend will get certainly get distracted with the other twelve great-looking guys, which will provide you both some alone time, and even if he’s tired, you and Woozi’s night will surely not end just there. 

DK

As for Seokmin, he’s also one of those who prepares in advance - although he will probably ask you out just a few days from the date, not because he is careless, but because he was a little nervous, and kept procrastinating it. You obviously could never refuse those cute eyes of his, and he feels like he might explode. He will try to play it cool, but will keep on texting you just to make sure you actually know what you’re getting yourself into, and that it’s okay to cancel if you can’t make it, or if you’d like this or that for the date. On d-day, DK will text you with the address info, and as soon as you get there, you’ll see this beautiful picnic set he made only for you. He’s waiting for you with a bouquet of flowers and a wide smile. He shows you all the food he cooked himself and makes sure you’re comfortable on the blanket, giving you cushions and plushies, super proud of his work. It goes without saying that Seokmin will make you laugh during the entire afternoon, and at the end of the date, he’ll open up the door of his car for you like a gentleman and drive you back, feeling all mushy inside.

Mingyu

Three words: late night drive. What better way to get you to stare at his big muscles than driving right by your side? Plus, he’ll get to show off his driving abilities and his nice car. Since it’s a very casual outing, Gyu might warn you about this without much advance (even if he definitely thought of it for some time) and try not to make a big deal out of it (even if he does, in fact, make a big deal of it). It will be funnier than what you expect a late night drive to be, with Mingyu stopping somewhere to buy you food and then parking close to a nice spot so that you can walk a while, hand in hand.

Minghao

He’s really all about balancing and stuff, so he will be something between Hoshi and Joshua: he will ask you out properly, but as soon as you say “yes”, you’ll only be hearing from him when he finally texts you his location at the nearby art gallery. Well, at least he explained to you the setting somewhat previously, because he also understands that dressing up might be important for you. At the date, Minghao will act casually, and effortlessly compliment your outfit or your looks in general. He will enjoy the afternoon to explain to you how he feels about the different arts, and will be definitely eager to hear your impressions too. At the end of the exhibition, he might take you to a café or an ice cream shop, just to prolong the moment a little bit.

Seungkwan

I think Seungkwan will probably ask you out in advance, too, not because he wants to plan it out in detail or because he is a perfectionist, but because he can’t wait for it. This volleyball game has been one of the events he’s been most excited to for the last months, and bringing you along is nice because he can do something he really enjoys doing, which is watching sports, while having someone to share the experience with. On the day of the date, Seungkwan picks you up with his car (he probably texts you a lot of times to make sure you’re ready to go). He promises he will explain to you everything that’s happening throughout the game if you’re not familiar with it, but at the end he gets way too excited cheering for that - which, thankfully will be cute enough for you to let it pass. 

Vernon

He tries to play it cool by asking you to go to the movies with him. It won’t exactly feel like he’s asking you out necessarily, since you are already friends and usually hangout at places like those, but trust me, in his mind, this will be the date. Unfortunately, Hansol lets it slip that he’ll be watching a movie with you and some of the boys might end up showing up - which will then cause some chaos, and ruin all Hansol’s plans of turning this casual hangout into a proper date. He, then, will have to make it a little more obvious that this was not the type of outing that he was planning on taking you to, but that’s fine, because it gives him a nice excuse to run away from that cinema with you, and finally find somewhere more personal and hopefully, more romantic. At the end of your escape and your now real date, Hansol will make sure to walk you to the bus stop (this man simply refuses to drive) and if he’s feeling especially clingy, he might even take your bus with you (even if it doesn’t go even near his house).

Dino

Oh dear Channie… All he needs to hear is that you’re having a difficult day at work and then, at the end of your working-hours, his car will be parked in front of your company. This puts him in the “doesn’t really ask you out” box, but in a less extreme way, because the poor guy was just worried about you. He might be waiting for you with a snack you like, or even a small gift, just to make sure you leave all your worries behind before embarking on his sudden-date. He will drive with you for a while, feeling extremely proud for causing such envious looks from your co-workers when he parked in front of the building (which he’ll totally brag to you about) and then he’ll stop next to a somehow empty park, asking you to walk a little and just talk. Chan is overall just happy to be the one that helps you unwind after a stressful day - especially if he gets to kiss your worries away at the end of the night.

[sanjisblackasswife]

Gojo’s 𝕋𝕪𝕡𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕎𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟

CW: It’s all my opinion don’t get butthurt if a HEADCANON doesn’t fit YOUR description.

He loves a woman that is not easy to get: meaning he does in fact love a chase. He enjoys spending half his day bothering you, calling you little pet names such as “my wife”, “girlfriend “, “sweetheart” all to hear u say “Never in a million years”. He’s delulu. But he also gets what he wants.

He loves a woman that can make him laugh, he NEEDS someone that can match his energy, being a sorcerer is tiring and always so serious, but when he thinks about coming home to a witty joke or just banter between you and him, he simply can’t wait.

He loves a woman that can accept the difference between you both. Gojo was pretty much a spoiled, pretty boy all his life. Anything he wanted he got, he never had to need either, and he just wants a girl that can accept it.

He needs a patient woman, he acts childish because he lacked that will to be one as a child. So his sarcasm, and playful/annoying demeanor is his way of trying to make up what he lost. He will press your buttons a few times, but he isn’t above apologizing to you if he overstepped his boundaries, but please dont hold it against him.

Gojo wants a woman that’s strong willed. He will protect the weak, but only if the weak if willing to fight to live. He is NOT captain save a hoe and him being with a woman that has EXTREME low self esteem and always causing more of a burden on him because she doesnt love herself enough. It just isn’t his thing. He goes to you for an escape, not to be troubled more.

Gojo loves a woman to surprise him, whether it’s with kisses, his favorite homecooked meal, or even just a happy greeting. He loves feeling wanted.

Gojo wants a woman that is adventurous both in bed and in real life. He will literally text you “Get up we are going on a trip.” So, be prepared for that. As for the bed, he’s a slut. He is. He loves being dominated, he loves using toys, he loves watching twitter videos with you to recreate and try out.

Gojo needs a woman to baby him, he will never admit how much he loves being praised, and held, and even taken care of but it’s something he holds dear to do.

Gojo loves a woman that can help hold the weight he carries in his heart.

Gojo needs a woman to love him as Satoru.

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

Hands to Yourself - Bob

Pairing: Bob / Wife!Reader

Word Count: 0.7k

This work, all my works, and my blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Pregnancy; Touchiness; Excessive Fluff; Use of "You," No Physical Description, No Y/N

Summary: Bob can't keep his hands to himself after he finds out his wife is pregnant.

Master List

It was impossible to tell just looking at you, but you were just around eight weeks pregnant. And the only people on the planet who knew were you, your doctor, and your husband Bob. And frankly you wanted to keep it that way for now. It just felt that much more special to hold that news.

The only problem? Your husband.

Bob wasn’t huge on PDA, but ever since you found out that you were pregnant, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. You would just be standing there and he would come up and rest his hands on your belly as he asked you about your day. If he stopped just a little too harshly while driving, he dropped his hand down to your belly just in case. If you were simply chatting with friends, he would slowly wrap his arm around your waist and rest his hand on your belly.

And you didn’t mind his sudden touchiness. You loved your husband and you might have had a slight personal obsession with his hands for most of your relationship. And you were more than thrilled that he was excited to be a dad and was very much there to support you.

But you didn’t want to give the secret away. Not yet.

Standing with the Dagger Squad and their significant others, you chatted with Phoenix as Bob returned with your ginger ale. You thanked him and pressed a kiss to his cheek before turning back to your conversation with Phoenix. And before you could even finish your sentence, you felt Bob’s hand snaking around to rest on your belly and pull you subtly back against his chest.

“Can’t let her get too far from you,” Phoenix joked to her backseater, who shrugged in response. “Afraid she might run off?”

“Just love my wife, Phoenix. That a crime?”

“Not at all,” Phoenix drawled, glancing between the two of you suspiciously as she sipped at her beer. “Just an observation.”

Phoenix walked off, being called in to referee some stupid argument between Hangman and Rooster, leaving you and Bob alone. Threading your fingers through his own, you turned and slowly slipped his hand off of your belly.

“You’re going to give it away, Bobby,” you whined playfully, causing Bob to grin at you.

“I’m sorry, darling. It’s just instinct.”

“Just a few more weeks, okay?” you promised, resting your hand on your husband’s chest. “And then you can scream it to the world as loud as you want.”

“I plan on it,” Bob assured you, causing you to smile and press a kiss to his lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. And you two,” Bob replied with a wink, causing you to shake your head playfully.

“Am I going to have to listen to terrible dad jokes for the rest of my life now?”

“Small price to pay,” Bob stated, pressing a kiss to your head.

The rest of the night wound down and you and Bob eventually moved to make your exit. Walking inside to the bar, you moved to pay your tab. While you chatted with Penny, Bob came up from behind you and wrapped his hand around, resting it directly on your non-existent bump. He pressed a kiss to your head and told you he had to grab something for Fanboy before walking off.

And when you turned back to Penny, you shrunk a bit at her knowing expression.

“Please don’t tell anyone. It’s still early,” you pleaded, causing her to smile a bit wider.

“Tell anyone what?”

“Thank you,” you breathed out, waving goodbye to Penny before moving to locate your husband. The two of you walked back to the car and within seconds, Bob’s hand was planted firmly on your belly once again, causing you to nudge him in the side. “Penny knows.”

“Knows what?” Bob asked innocently, causing you to shoot him a look. Placing your hand over his own, you motioned with your head down towards your belly, causing Bob to smile a bit sheepishly. “I’m sorry, darling, I just can’t help myself.”

“I know, Bobby. It’s okay.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Bob promised, pressing a kiss to your head.

“Yeah?” you replied, grinning up at your husband. “How?”

“I think the usual options will do,” Bob returned with a wink as the two of you reached the car. Pressing a kiss to your lips, Bob reached over and grabbed the door for you. “Take your pick.”

“Oh, I will,” you mused, slipping into the car.

A.N. Why did I pick Bob for the whole hands idea? No reason. None at all.

Okay maybe there was a reason.

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

⚠️Elysium Spoilers!⚠️

I didn't plan on writing anything at all about the new World Underneath story until tomorrow but alas I am God's weakest soldier and am literally going to burst if I don't yap about a particular part of the story that both made me giggle and kick my feet, and caused my heart and eyes to well up. So if you haven't read Elysium yet, scroll past this post!

As for what I desperately need to write about, it's this:

I have said it before and I'll say it again now: whenever Sylus is called a red flag booktok LI, an angel loses its wings. Sylus is the biggest yearner to ever yearn. He is the posterboy of loverboys. A loser in love. A man who wears his heart on his sleeves. This special available exclusively for MC solidifies it. It confirms that MC has always been at the forefront of Sylus' mind.

Let's break the special down:

The Items:

So, what do pepper walnut tart, rosemary gelato, pomegranate jelly and red wine marshmallow have in common?

They're all sweet. According to Dragon!Sylus, Sorceress!MC had a sweet scent - "Like cherry wine".

But the desserts above are not purely sweet. They also have other flavors that add a unique spark, a kick. Just like Sorceress MC (and present MC as well), who was sweet but had an equally strong fire to her. A kitten with claws.

And then there is the last item on the special:

10.5 grams of soul

Now... how much does a soul weigh?

21 grams

What do you get when you divide 21?

10.5

So, 10.5 grams of soul = half a soul.

In other words, it symbolizes the half of MC's soul that Sylus has carried within himself ever since the myth, where she offered it up to him in exchange for half of his 🥺💘

The Description:

"I'm waiting for you"

Shut uuuuup 😭😭😭

I can't with this man... the nerve to drop this on me during my period 😤😭

Who Can Order This Special?

Just MC. The Special is exclusively available to her. And so, naturally, is the side dish that comes with it. Which just so happens to be: Sylus

This is the cutest shit ever

Sylus, the loser in love that you are 😩💘😆

No joke, I'd die for him. It's that serious. I am never leaving the chokehold that he has me in. Not even wild horses nor Paperfold's evil greedy shenanigans can drag me out of it atp.

But yeah, like I said at the beginning of this post, I think this special proves definitively that MC was always at the center of Sylus' mind and heart. His vision for the future life he'd lead in the N109 Zone always included her. He was simply waiting for her to walk into Elysium and order the Sweet Evil Trap. And then they'd be reunited, and she'd be by his side, ruling the N109 Zone.

But, as we know, things took a very different turn due to circumstances beyond Sylus' control. Not only did he have to meet MC in a way he had not planned nor expected, but she also hated him thanks to Ever and Sherman besmirching his name </3

[ask-postcrash-curly]

❤️‍🩹the blog in chronological order❤️‍🩹

[hi! blog mod here. all in-character posts are tagged #curlyposting. all out of character posts are tagged #modposting.

this blog operates on a queue. the queue changes speeds based on how many asks i’m getting. currently, it’s maxed out at 50 posts a day. your ask will probably take nearly two days to publish.

replies are not canon, but i’ll sometimes jokingly rp in them. curly will sometimes respond to reblogs.

rules, curly’s optional boundaries, and FAQ are under the cut.]

RULES:

you cannot directly affect the world outside curly’s mind. that means you can’t manifest yourself into a physical form, physically interact with curly, physically alter the environment, or change fate.

you can send curly audial and visual material through links, description, embeds, etc. you cannot manifest physical sensations, taste, or smell (although you can briefly give him a headache through enough caps usage). you cannot affect curly’s real world senses.

curly can tell the difference between what you send him and what’s physically going on around him.

curly typically cannot interact with what you send him. if you send him a video, it will play until the end or until another video starts; he can’t pause it or rewind, can’t click website links, can’t scroll, etc.

curly is not allowed to have definitive proof that he is fictional. if you simply tell him “you’re a video game character” he’ll still respond but he won’t believe you. EDIT: someone found a loophole. curly is now allowed to know that we perceive him as a video game character provided you present it as “we’re from an alternate dimension and in our dimension there’s a game about you” and not as “we’re real and you’re not.”

sex jokes are fine, but i won’t respond in character to anything that i find too explicit, graphic, or otherwise uncomfortable.

try not to send asks concerning historical events that are happening Right Now.

if i think of anything else i’ll add that!

now onto CURLY’S BOUNDARIES. you do not have to abide by these. EDIT: curly is now standing up for his boundaries again :) be proud of him

don’t compare him to food, especially meat, or talk about wanting to eat him.

same goes for jimmy. he doesn’t want to eat jimmy.

don’t ask him whether he and jimmy are/were/would ever be in a relationship.

you can lightly flirt with him, but he will not reciprocate. if you flirt with him in a more overt or sexual manner, or compliment his current appearance, he will not respond well.

don’t send him things depicting fire or explosions, especially if he’s the one on fire/blowing up, and especially without warning him first.

you can bring it up, but he doesn’t like to think too much about the crash or about pills.

don’t describe ways that the pain could be worse or call his attention to the pain, as this causes him to fixate on these scenarios / struggle to ignore the existing pain.

if you say you are going to touch him in an aggressive or romantic/sexual way he will react badly. at this point he’s so desperate for a hug / any platonic affection that he won’t mind that at all, even if realistically he knows it will hurt.

don’t use all caps at him. it hurts.

if curly thinks of anything else, which will probably happen since many of you enjoy upsetting him, it will be added.

—

FAQ:

Does Curly have a favorite color?

No, but he used to pretend it was green so people wouldn’t think he was weird. He stole it from Jimmy.

Does Curly like Chappell Roan?

Maybe a little too much.

How is Curly typing?

He isn’t. He’s thinking. You’re voices in his head.

What are Curly’s favorite books / movies / shows / songs?

Favorite books are the Oz, Tom Sawyer, and Narnia books. Favorite movies are the Back to the Future movies and Brokeback Mountain. He doesn’t watch a lot of shows because it’s hard to keep up with them when he’s in space so often. His favorite songs are inconsistent.

Will Curly feed the Curlings?

No.

i hope this hurts ❤️‍🩹

[hrefna-the-raven]

Mask

Horror masterlist - Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

RZ Michael Myers x female nurse reader

Part 1

Words: 1248

Warnings: very mild and short descriptions about violence

Summary: you seem to be the only person who's able to communicate with Michael and so you continued to take care of him on Dr Loomis' orders

Reader: short female reader in mind, but no specific descriptions are used

The following days and weeks passed with the same routine. You were overseeing Michael in the observation room until Doctor Loomis would arrive for the therapy session. Occasionally, the doctor would even request that you stay, hoping that Michael would open up in your presence. He did, although the doctor was too engrossed in his own theories to notice it each time, but you saw all of it. The little amused huffs behind the mask whenever you challenged him with a question, the silent chuckles and crinkling eyes whenever you told one of your jokes and the way his breath hitched as soon as your hand found his in an innocent touch. All the while a frustrated Loomis sat across the table, huffing as he scribbled down in his notebook, so much to write and yet no wisdom to share, only speculations.

The conflict within Michael kept raging on, torn between his urge to kill and the growing fondness for you. You were a thorn in his flesh of bloody sin and yet, you soothed his mind and your touch left a sense of longing burning beneath his skin. Your fingertips brushing the side of his hand as he tried to help you make your own mask felt electrifying, a spark straight to his rotten heart, nourishing its dying flesh. His heart raced, threatening to burst out of his chest while his breaths grew heavier. As his eyes finally locked on yours, the entire world around him froze, time trickling away while you observed him, your perfect lips slightly parted, realising what was happening to him, what you did to him.

"Well mine doesn't look as good as yours but I still have time to learn from the master", you giggled, holding your mask up for him to see, "shall we try them on?"

A faint smile spread across his lips, well hidden beneath the painted paper on his face. The way you giggled so carelessly in his presence, the graceful movements of your hands, making the piece of paper-mâché seemingly dance in the air, Michael could feel a knot forming in his stomach. He had never felt like this, not even prior to that one fateful Halloween. Although his heart suddenly jumped as he observed your cheerful expression falter, replaced by a hint of fear. Would this be the inevitable moment of truth where you'd finally realise how ugly he truly was on the outside and deep within?

"I...I should turn around", you murmured, "sorry I forgot for a moment that you don't like showing your face."

His fingers moved up to grasp your chin, preventing you from turning your head away. Observing your initial confusion, he handed you his new mask and slowly removed his old one. A hushed gasp slipped passed your lips, eyes wide in shock as you gazed upon Michael's real face for the very first time. He let out a rasped groan as your fingertips graced his forehead, brushing the long blonde strands of hair away to tuck them behind his ears. His handsome face bore a rough charm, tiny dark stubble adorned his broad jaw and chin, his lips trembling ever so slightly while his icy blue eyes locked onto yours. He noticed your flustered expression and the heat rising to your cheeks as you leaned closer and put the mask over his head, but you didn't pull it down immediately.

"That...uhm...is a very beautiful face", you whispered, "thanks for allowing me to see it...for the trust."

You pulled the mask down and right before it covered his face entirely, you saw his lips curl into a wide smile. As you were about to put your own mask on, the metal door swung open and Loomis entered with Cruz following closely behind.

"Thank you nurse", the doctor called out while Cruz simply waved at you with a smile, "you can take your leave now. Mister Cruz will take care of Michael in the coming days and I will commence the daily therapy session now. Happy Halloween!"

You sensed Michael tense beside you, the breaths under the mask becoming more erratic with each second of silence passing. Your hand found his, squeezing it gently while his gaze met yours at the subtle reassuring touch.

"I'll take a week off from this evening on, but", you spoke calmly, sensing his rising panic, "I know tomorrow is Halloween, soooo....after discussing it with Dr Loomis, I got the approval to drop by and visit you, in my Halloween costume. And of course I gonna bring you some candy."

You offered a gentle smile while your hand remained on his but it wasn't nearly enough to quell the anger burning within Michael in this moment. He had trusted you, opened himself up to you, and now, like everyone else in his life, you were about to leave him again. Leaving him all to himself and his darkness again? The thought of being abandoned consumed him, causing his teeth to grind and his once warm eyes turned cold and lifeless. His hand instinctively moved towards your neck while his mind exploded with images of how he could simply smash you head first into the table. The cracking sound of your skull, the crimson trickling from every wound, pooling around your face in perfect contrast against the dark grey metal underneath, all mingling with the sweet melody of your panicked last breaths, realising your life was drained away by his hand, the very one you're still holding onto right now.

"If you write me down your favourite candy, I gonna try and get that one for us. Promised!"

Your soft voice snapped him out of his murderous trail of thoughts back into reality and he felt his hold on your neck loosen, gently caressing your skin before retreating. Steel blue eyes blinked at you a few times, the love and gentleness slowly returning to them and with a loud sigh Michael leaned forward, hastily scribbling a few words on a piece of paper before sliding it towards you. The chuckle escaping your lips went straight through his chest, it being the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, forgetting all the pain and doubt it had caused within him just a few seconds ago.

"Oh those two are my favourites too", your finger tapped on the paper, "you have an excellent taste in sweets, Mr Myers."

He rolled his eyes in response but you could almost see the smirk peeking out from behind the paper-mâché.

"I'll see you tomorrow then. Make sure to wear your scariest mask", you winked at him before heading towards the doors.

Before the door fell shut, Loomis slipped through it, calling out for you. It amazed you how this man knew so much and so little at the same time about his most famous patient. He listened, analysed and yet, he never seemed to truly see or hear Michael. Maintaining a friendly and professional expression on your face, you continued to listen as he provided additional instructions for your visit the following day.

As you laid in bed that night, a stash of candy and sweets stowed away and ready, excitement bubbled in your stomach while your restless mind got lost in the anticipation of your first private meeting with Michael, outside your nurse outfit and the obligation to watch over him. It would simply be you and him having as much Halloween fun as a place like Smith's Grove would allow.

Part 3 - Home (18+)

[pshbites]

LOVE ON AiR: 16. YAP CENTRAL EP.136: did social media ruin relationships?

WARNiNGS » profanity, mentions of d wording, sexual jokes, crying, ynhoon teasing, yn never being safe

wc: 3.1k

episode desc - enjoy your stay today in yap central! as we’ve done the whole cycle, todays episode is a deeper one! we open up with a positive impact we’ve seen on each other. then we go right in with how our presence on social media has affected our relationships. following that up we keep the theme of the deeper episode and go over the influence social media has on us and how we view ourselves. we end the episode off by saying one thing we’ve noticed about one another as we’ve grown and how we think it affects the friendship. the episode ends off on a bittersweet note but we hope you enjoyed your stay today in yap central!

*the 6 of you are seated in your assigned seats. jungwon adjusts the soundboard and riki tests the mic out, then giving him a thumbs up. sunoo sets his mic up a little closer to pick up his audio and looks to the camera, setting his phone down*

sunoo: it’s been so long since we sat in here

giselle: i know like two weeks right?

yn: i think almost three *you say, adjusting your outfit as well as your seating position. riki scoots over so you have more room.*

jungwon: i mean it counts as like a summer break since we didn’t really take one.

kat: good point. you know guys do you guys remember those um fuck what were they called

riki: it would help if you gave a description

kat: shut up im thinking

*the rest of you stare at kat in silence until jungwon breaks the silence to laugh, the rest of you following suit*

jungwon: im sorry it’s just what could it be that has you thinking that long

giselle: she’s using everything in that little brain come on now!

*giselles comment makes the rest of you laugh even harder, kat laughing as well*

kat: i can’t even think of it nevermind

yn: it’s okay babe you’ll find it later.

riki: i have to say these costumes are amazing actually. might be my favorite theme

giselle: you know riki you’ve been hating a lot less recently.

jungwon: i was gonna say that too, he’s a bit nicer

riki: what can i say, finally holding my deal for the new year’s resolution

yn: watch now that we said this he’s gonna be doing some fucked up shit by the time the episode comes out

*a text box pops up on the screen saying “he in fact did do some fucked up shit during the editing process of the episode - jungwon” then disappears after a couple seconds.*

riki: you have no faith in me

yn: simply stating the facts

jungwon: you guys ready for me to sign in?

kat: go for it man *she nods at jungwon who smiles back. jungwon adjusts himself and looks to the camera*

jungwon: beep beep! you’ve arrived in yap central i am your host today, jungwon or aang. starting from my far left we have.

kat: toph

riki: zuko

yn: katara!

giselle: azula

sunoo: appa!! *he shows off his fuzzy appa bucket hat, earning a smile from all of you*

yn: sunoo i love you please don’t die

*sunoo looks at you in horror as the others burst out laughing*

jungwon: anyways.. *nervous laugh* the cycle is complete so today is a deep episode!

giselle: oh my god last time i literally bawled on my way home

kat: won you always pick the most brutal questions

sunoo: i cannot believe you asked us if the younger versions of ourselves would like the us now. like that is so ugh

riki: look at the way he’s smiling i think it’s something torturing again

*jungwon grins evilly at everyone making the rest of you groan in both discomfort and agony.*

jungwon: starting with my first question! what is a positive impact you have noticed on each of us. let’s start with sunoo. you guys don’t have to go one at a time just build it up.

sunoo: okay well.. lay it on me. *he looks to the rest of you, nervously, then shocked at who speaks up first*

riki: you laugh a lot more

*giselles eyes widened as riki spoke, the rest of you sharing the same reaction. everyone stayed quiet so riki could talk.*

riki: like when we were in highschool you always seemed to be bothered, or like you just never really were happy. and i think when we started doing this and you started tiktok you’ve been a lot happier

yn: i was honestly gonna say the same thing. you seem happier when we go out sunoo, like you want to be there.

sunoo: i feel a lot happier, honestly it sounds stupid but doing this with you guys does make me really happy.

kat: i agree. i mean i really wouldn’t trade it for anything.

giselle: awww look at us having our moment!

*both you and sunoo giggle at giselles comment, jungwon nodding to giselle, signaling she’s next*

kat: giselle, you don’t really care what people have to say about you anymore.

jungwon: ahhhh i was gonna say that

kat: like you seem so much more confident now than you did before.

giselle: when though? because i feel like i just started feeling like this overnight.

yn: if i were to pinpoint a time frame id say when you broke up with [BLEEP]

sunoo: no i COMPLETELY agree, like there’s a brightness to you now.

giselle: aw thank you guys *she pouted then smiled*

jungwon: guys please be nice to me.

riki: you’ve always been a natural born leader. i just think you’ve always been positive.

yn: i agree but there’s like a glow to him now

kat: oh my god are you pregnant?

*everyone looks at kat then bursts out laughing. some of you stop but jungwon and giselle can’t stop laughing.*

sunoo: oh my god it has something to do with who gave you that bracelet

jungwon: sunoo seriously *his cheeks turn pink, hand now covering the friendship bracelet*

giselle: oooo who made it for you?

jungwon: it was a mutual swap

yn: mutual swap.. or she gave you that wap?

*the others start laughing again, jungwon as well. riki daps you up*

riki: that was a bar

jungwon: i’m not admitting anything.. on camera.

everyone: OOOOOOOO

jungwon: next! go flame yn!!

yn: not fair, we weren’t even done with you

jungwon: don’t care, you’re not as closed off as you used to be

riki: oh my god yeah, when we were kids you were so shy

yn: really? i feel like im still in my little shell

kat: no i get what they mean. i mean even when i met you, you were really shy.

yn: thank you?

riki: i think jungwon means it in the way that you’re more open to meeting others now. like you enjoy being a people person

yn: ahhh, i see now. i guess the podcast really helped with that. like seeing people say how they enjoy my little bits and just things like that. it sounds conceited but it almost made me feel like people actually valued me? you know.

giselle: i get it, it doesn’t sound conceited babe

yn: okay i don’t like this much attention

giselle: this sounds weird to say but riki has gotten nicer atleast to us

kat: yeah i see

riki: die

sunoo: glad to know you haven’t changed..

jungwon: guess someone doesn’t wanna open up today

riki: oh would you look at that! it’s kats turn!!

yn: i think kats tells us a lot more now. like before you never really told us anything about yourself.

kat: i just have trust issues, it was nothing personal.

giselle: it’s true it took her so long to open up to me

riki: i honestly think the podcast brought out the best in us. surprisingly enough

jungwon: i see what you mean. maybe another way to put it is that we realized how much closer the camera brought us

giselle: or this friendship is just a ploy for jungwon to make more money off of us

*everyone laughs*

sunoo: we’re such coworkers

yn: heard it here first!! giselle hates her friends

giselle: can you stop with that *laughs*

yn: oh i’ll drag it through the mud

giselle: then i’ll drag yn[BLEEP] through the mud

*everyone laughs even harder now, you side eyeing giselle.*

sunoo: she kinda got you there

yn: let’s move on?

jungwon: speaking of relationships. *you glare jungwon down as he chuckles a little, looking at his phone once more.* how do you guys think social media affected your relationships and how do you think social media just influences how you view yourself. you can answer it in any order.

sunoo: i feel like having a presence on social media just makes having a relationship so much harder.

giselle: it kinda does, like people just expect for you to lay out your entire lives on social media.

jungwon: i think it depends on what kind of person you’re with, it’s almost like that person has to be up to your fans standards you know.

yn: i think there’s some people who can be normal about it but at the same time you have to be okay with everyone knowing everything about you.

kat: yeah but then it just shows that people online think that we don’t deserve privacy. it’s fucked up like they’re borderline stalking us you know?

*riki glanced at you as kat spoke, noticing how you stiffened at the word stalking*

riki: a lot of people aren’t okay online, it’s weird. like being so obsessed with someone to the point of finding out their personal information

giselle: if that ever happened to any of us i really don’t know what i would do.

jungwon: i think i honestly would try to sue you know. you have to be a certain level of fucked to do something like that.

yn: yeah, i agree it’s so weird.

kat: i kinda don’t wanna sound like a pick me

riki: just say it, you won’t sound like one.

kat: it’s so much harder being a girl with a social media presence.

sunoo: the fact that you had to hesitate to even say that says everything

jungwon: i really don’t get it either, like i’ve seen both women and men do the same things online and sometimes the guy is worse than the girl and yet it’s always the girl getting attacked and harassed.

giselle: i think it’s because people just view girls as easy targets almost. like a girl could do something completely normal and the internet would spin it to make her a villain

yn: it’s disgusting really, no one really ever really wants to side with a girl.

jungwon: do the comments still get you guys? i mean i know it was really bad in the beginning

kat: actually no i remember when it got bad. it got bad that episode where [BLEEP]

*jungwon and giselle glance at each other then start laughing*

giselle: remind me to edit that out.

yn: honestly no, the comments don’t bother as much anymore. after a while i realized that they’re just saying this because they have nothing else to talk about so i just stopped looking.

kat: i agree, it gets better when you just stop reading the comments all together.

riki: god please take periods away from women and give it all to me.

*you and kat give riki a look then burst out laughing, sunoo jungwon and giselle following that.*

sunoo: can’t stay serious for a second

riki: i would never joke about women in pain

*jungwon and kat keep laughing as riki goes on, unable to take him seriously*

yn: going back to the original question i just think it’s hard, like seeing people overstep a boundary or intrude on your life and just be okay with it

sunoo: and people just say oh well you asked for this um? no i didn’t actually i just wanted post skincare videos

*jungwon snorts, causing a chain reaction for everyone else to laugh*

kat: im glad we haven’t cried in this episode yet.

giselle: oh my god don’t jinx it he still has two more questions

jungwon: you might cry at this next one *kat sends a look to jungwon and he gives her an evil smile* my next question is what changes have we seen in one another as we’ve grown up together. it can be good or bad.

riki: jungwons lost it this is so similar to the first question

yn: i feel like he means overall

jungwon: thank you! atleast someon listens to me

yn: *you look around shocked and confused* oh my god.. did you guys hear that? was that a ghost?

*jungwon stares at you as everyone else laughs at your joke*

sunoo: so are we gonna go around in a circle?

jungwon: no how about.. the person sitting across from you. like riki sits across from giselle so they can say it about each other

kat: wait i wanna start

sunoo: this is too much pressure

kat: *she stares at sunoo and smiles warmly* sunoo i admire your love for us. like i don’t know you always support all of us no matter what and i feel like as we’ve grown closer you just have so much love to give

giselle: that’s so adorable

riki: sunoo i love your videos please don’t die

sunoo: STOP WITH THAT JOKE *he turns to look at kat* thank you kat i love you. i have to say sometimes i feel like you don’t tell us everything but it’s okay, just because we’re your friends doesn’t mean we have to know everything about you. i just want you to know that we’ll always listen no matter what.

*kat stares at sunoo as he smiles at her, then looks down when she feels tears welling up in her eyes. riki looks at giselle and jungwon panicked as they pass him the box of tissues.*

yn: aw babe *you frown looking at her as she lifts her head up to see tears streaming down her cheeks*

sunoo: wait i didn’t mean to make you cry

kat: it’s okay i jinxed myself

*everyone laughs slightly, still worried about her. sunoo moves his mic and gets up to hug kat. they stay like that for a few seconds until he lets go, patting her head. he says something but the mic can’t pick it up then walks back to his seat.*

kat: it’s not that i don’t want there was just a time where i felt like no one really care you know?

jungwon: you’re not obligated to tell us everything, but we care more than you think even if we have weird ways of showing it. *he glares at riki who only throws his hands up*

*the rest of you laugh at riki’s reaction and even kat lets out a chuckle after wiping her tears*

kat: to the viewers watching.. this never happened i am mysterious and batman doesn’t cry

giselle: nurse.. she’s out again

riki: okay giselle! lay it on me! *claps his hands together*

giselle: you use being mean as a cover up you actually care a lot about what people think but you use being rude or mean as a shield.

*sunoo gasps, the rest of you stare in silence because giselle is 100% right*

riki: okay cut the cameras

jungwon: i mean she’s not wrong

riki: if you wanted me to cry it’s not gonna happen

giselle: i know

riki: i hate you guys

sunoo: yeah sure you do

riki: well, since you want a taste of your own medicine *riki clears his throat* you shouldn’t get into another relationship, atleast until you evaluate how you act during them.

giselle: excuse me?

jungwon: weird ass time to admit your feelings

riki: you’re a weirdo that’s not how i meant it

yn: well then how did you mean it

kat: i’m curious

riki: every time i've seen you get into a relationship you just stop acting like yourself. you’re less confident and it’s almost as if you change yourself to please the guy you’re with. I just don’t like seeing any of my friends like that.

*all of you stare in silence at giselle, the air feeling heavy as she pushes her mic away and mumbles something to jungwon then ups and leaves.*

yn: um. is she okay?

jungwon: she needs a second

riki: was it something i said?

jungwon: it’ll be okay, she just said she needs a second.

sunoo: she’ll be okay guys, let’s move on yeah?

yn: okay well.. jungwon i think you bottle a lot of things up, intentional or not.

jungwon: *he sighs, crossing his arms* it’s not intentional i just think you guys have too many worries on your own plates to worry about mine.

kat: even if we have a lot going on that’ll never stop us from wanting to know what’s going on won

jungwon: i know i guess it’s just hard? to admit i need help?

sunoo: there’s never anything wrong with that

jungwon: thanks guys

riki: yeah yeah

jungwon: okay yn, im glad you like yourself more

kat: um

riki: wow!

sunoo: that is certainly a statement

yn: excuse me??

jungwon: no i worded that terribly

*the 5 of you burst out laughing at jungwons poor word choice. within this time giselle walks back in, closing the door slightly. the mics can’t pick it up but riki mouths “im sorry” to her. causing her to shake her head and smile. “it’s good” she mouths back making him smile back.*

jungwon: what i mean to say is that you’re more confident now. not just about yourself but your videos too. i’m glad to see this change in you

yn: thank you won, it means a lot

jungwon: of course

giselle: well this was certainly an episode

yn: one of us always ends up crying

sunoo: that sadist probably likes it too

jungwon: woah? the term isn’t sadist

*the rest of you laugh*

sunoo: let’s have a group hug! everyone up on your feet

*sunoo stands up, kat and giselle following suit. you and jungwon stand up and riki groans, then reluctantly stands up. the 6 of you huddle around one another and go for a group hug. the mics can’t pick up your voices but the recording has slight shuffling and giggles from you 6. after a couple seconds you pull apart and sit back down in your respective seats.*

giselle: i love you guys

kat: me too

sunoo: me three

jungwon: me four

yn: me five

*everyone looks at riki who only rolls his eyes*

riki: me six..

jungwon: well guys hope you enjoyed your stay in yap central we hope you didn’t cry too much. i have been your host jungwon and please make sure to check out our links in this description and like, share, subscribe, and comment! till next time!!

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AUTHORS NOTE » lol UMMMMMMM sorry guys i didnt realize how long it had been without an update WE ARE SO BACK THO

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[doctorbitchcrxft]

Playthings | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

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

Warnings: DESCRIPTIONS OF CHILDHOOD PARENTAL ABUSE. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THIS. descriptions of parental death, canon violence, canon gore. please take care of yourselves, lovebugs. 

Word Count: 6025

A/N: look at his gorgeous face i'm gonna scream.

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Dean definitely changed after that night with you before Sam disappeared. To be fair, you had as well. But both of you refused to talk about it. It was just subtle enough that Sam couldn’t pick up on it, but there were some lingering glances Dean stole at you and moments when your heart would swell in your chest just catching sight of him. 

Well, Sam probably would have noticed your change in behavior had it not been for the John-Winchester-level investigation he was doing into Ava’s disappearance. Papers covered every inch of your motel room in Peoria, Illinois; some of which were of Ava’s face, some of etchings of demons from the pages of library books, and some even you couldn’t quite make out. You were one-hundred percent beginning to worry about Sam’s mental state.

He’d been on the phone with Ellen for about thirty minutes now searching for more information. You sat on the floor, leaned against Dean’s bed, scribbling in your journal. Dean returned to the room carrying three coffee cups toward the end of Sam’s phone call. “What'd she have to say?”

Sam sighed. “Oh, she's got nothing. Me, I've been checking every database I can think of— federal, state, and local. No one's heard anything about Ava, she just— into thin air, you know?”

Your lips twisted to the side in confusion. He gave you a coffee cup and one to Sam.

“Ellen did have one thing,” said Sam. “A hotel in Cornwall, Connecticut. Two freak accidents in the past three weeks.”

“What’s that got to do with Ava?” you questioned.

“It’s a job,” he replied simply. “I mean, a lady drowned in the bathtub; then a few days ago a guy falls down the stairs, head turns a complete one-eighty. Which isn't exactly normal, you know? Look, I don't know, it might be nothing, but I told Ellen we'd think about checking it out.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised. “You did?”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah. You seem surprised.”

“Well yeah, it's just, you know. not the, uh, patented ‘Sam Winchester’ way, is it?” Dean joked.

Sam deadpanned at him, “What way is that?”

“I just figured after Ava there'd be, uh, you know, more angst and droopy music and staring out the rainy windows, and—”

You gave Dean a look.

He deflated. “Yeah, I’ll shut up now.”

“Look,” Sam huffed. “I'm the one who told her to go back home. Now her fiancé's dead, and some demon has taken her off to god knows where. You know? But we've been looking for a month now, and we've got nothing. So I'm not giving up on her, but I'm not going to let other people die either. We've got to save as many people as we can.”

Dean snorted. “Wow. That attitude is just way too healthy for me, and I'm officially uncomfortable now. Thank you.”

Sam ducked his head, chuckling, as did you.

“I’ll call Ellen,” you said. “I’ll tell her we'll take it.”

***

“Dean, can I pick a cassette? I’m dyin’ over here with Metallica. Love ‘em, but you haven’t changed the tape in, like, a week and a half now,” you groaned.

“(Y/N), you know the rules,” Dean warned.

“Yeah, but—”

“ ‘Sides,” he cut you off, “We’re almost there anyway. I’ll change it when we’re back on the road, deal?” 

“Deal.”

Sam looked between the two of you strangely. 

“What?” Dean questioned.

“When’s the last time you changed your music when somebody asked you to?” Sam questioned.

Dean thought for a moment. 

The younger brother shook his head. “Exactly.”

“I’m thinking,” replied Dean, scratching his head. He seemed to pick up on what Sam was suggesting and was doing his best to dodge questions. You understood; the two of you hadn’t exactly had an opportunity to discuss anything— not that you even wanted to. You were perfectly content just… “being,” as you’d written in your journal.

The car’s rumble quieted down considerably as Dean slowed in front of a victorian-style structure marked “Pierpont Inn” by the sign on the front. The air was slightly misty, blanketing the ground in a bit of a haze as your boots hit uneven gravel.

“Dude, this is sweet. I never get to work jobs like this,” Dean grinned.

“Like what?” you asked.

“Old school haunted houses, you know? Fog and secret passageways, sissy British accents— might even run into Fred and Daphne while we're inside.” He closed his eyes contentedly. “Mmm, Daphne. Love her.”

You jokingly shoved his head as if to say, “Shame on you, I’m right here.”

He chuckled at your antics. Sam turned to you strangely once more, but shook his head.

You noticed an urn on the porch next to the front door. “Hey, wait a sec,” you said, inspecting the urn more closely. You noticed a five-point symbol engraved on the urn. “I’m not so sure ‘haunted’ is the problem.”

“What do you mean?” Dean questioned. 

Sam nodded. “Good eye, (Y/N/N). That's a quincunx; that's a five-spot.”

“Five-spot,” Dean repeated. “That's used for hoodoo spellwork, isn't it?”

The brunet affirmed, “Right, yeah. You fill this thing with bloodweed and you've got a powerful charm to ward off enemies.”

“Only thing is,” you began, “I don’t see any bloodweed.”

“Yeah, anyway, don't you think this place is a little too, uh, white meat for Hoodoo?” Dean jested.

Sam shrugged. “Maybe.”

You held the door open for the brothers and followed in behind them. An auburn-haired woman briskly entered the room. “May I help you?” she asked.

“Hi, yeah, we’d like two rooms for a couple of nights,” Dean said. 

You jolted back as a young girl darted in front of your legs. You smiled at her as she ran away giggling; you couldn’t remember a time when you’d ever felt that innocent. 

“Hey!” the woman called after the girl. She gave you a weary smile. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” you said.

She sighed. “Well, um, congratulations, you could be some of our final guests.”

“Well, sounds vaguely ominous,” Dean stated.

You fought back a grin. 

“No, I'm sorry, I mean we're closing at the end of the month,” she said, seeming a little sad. 

“Yeah, I heard. I’m sorry about that,” you told her. “I’m into antiquing; this place came up on my radar. Figured I’d stop by before you guys shut down. I, uh, dragged these two along for the ride,” you finished, gesturing between Dean and Sam.

“Y'know, speaking of antiques,” Sam cut in, “you have a really, really interesting urn on the front porch. Where did you get that?”

“Oh, I have no idea, it's been there forever,” the woman shrugged. “So, two rooms, two kings?” 

“No, no,” Dean said hurriedly. “We’re brothers. (Y/N)’s just a friend.”

You nodded, feeling slightly upset by being called “just a friend,” but you understood why he did. Still, you wanted him to proudly show you off and claim you as his. “Two queens. And a king, please,” you said, handing her your card. 

Moments later, she handed it back to you along with a key. 

“Thanks,” you told her as she rang the bell on the desk next to her.

“You'll be staying in rooms two-thirty-seven and two-thirty-eight. Sherwin, could you show these people to their rooms?”

You turned to see a balding old man in a black blazer shuffling up behind you. You found him incredibly endearing. He grinned at you, introduced himself, and dragged your clunking duffel bag up behind him.

“I could give you a hand with that,” you suggested to him.

“I got it,” he politely insisted.

You smiled softly at him, grateful.

“So the hotel's closing up, huh?” Sam jumped in.

“Yep. Miss Susan tried to make a go of it, but the guests just don't come like they used to. Still, it's a damn shame,” he explained.

“Oh yeah?”

He went on to explain the history of the hotel; lots of weddings, politicians, and a popular spot for those passing through. He let you into your room, and you tipped him generously before telling him goodbye.

The decor of the room unsettled you quite a bit. An antique wedding dress was displayed on the wall in a weird configuration that almost made it seem like someone was actively wearing it. The room itself was clean, but everything about it made a chill crawl up your spine. You’d take a dilapidated motel room with possible bed bugs over an inn where someone definitely died on the pillow you were going to have to sleep on. 

You connected the victims from the file you put together that both victims were tied up in shutting the hotel down. However, Susan and Sherwin didn’t strike you as the type to be dabbling in spellwork. Given what she said about the urn, you thought it possible that someone who owned the hotel previously or worked here long ago was dealing in hoodoo. 

You caught sight of the little girl running around outside on the playground and heading over to one of the swings. Seeing her so happy sucked you back into your memories.

Reliving your memories always gave you an almost bird’s-eye-view of the situation; you weren’t you. You were standing in the corners of your memories, helpless to change anything and forced to watch your younger self go through those moments all over again.

Your dad was cleaning his guns on the “dining room” table of the motel you were holed up in for the week. You couldn’t have been anymore than ten at the time of this memory. Stevie was playing on the floor of the room with a truck while Scooby-Doo, his favorite cartoon, played in the background on the staticky television. 

“Dad, I want my toys back. I promise I’ll still practice, can I have them back?” you pleaded.

“No can do, kiddo. I sold ‘em,” he replied, not looking up at you. 

“What? Why?” you sniffled, beginning to well up with tears.

“Baby, my job doesn’t pay well. I needed that money to get Stevie his toys,” he sighed. “Besides, you’re better off training with me than playing.”

“But… I don’t wanna train,” you cried softly.

Your father’s head snapped up to you, and he slammed the gun he was cleaning on the table. “Too damn bad. This is important, (Y/N). You’re the big sister. I need you sharp for when mom and I are out.”

“But Dad—”

“(Y/N). Enough,” he stated menacingly.

You cowered away, wiping your nose with the back of your sweater sleeve. 

Your dad picked part of his gun up again. “And cut the crying crap. You’re too big for that.”

Your heart broke as you watched little you trying to stifle your cries. You knew if you kept crying for much longer, your father would be sure to punish you. You wanted nothing more than to hug your smaller self and tell her that it was okay to be sad, and your father was wrong. You watched Steven get up from the floor and bring you his well-loved toy airplane. He offered it up to you, and you took it, smiling through a sniffle. That gesture broke you even more. 

Your brother’s kindness truly knew no bounds. He was often the one to pick up the pieces after you’d gotten into a fight with your father or mother. As much as you tried to be the strong one for your little brother, there were just some things you couldn’t hide from him.

You were sucked into another memory from that stream of consciousness.

“Dad, I wasn’t gonna shoot with you standing in the way! I couldn’t get a clear shot!” you screamed at him. The two of you had gone after a werewolf in Arkansas, leaving your twelve-old-brother and mom back in the motel room. Your dad had insisted you needed to kill this thing yourself as one of the many tests he laid for you to prove your abilities. You were fourteen at the time.

“(Y/N), we’ve discussed this. You always. Take. The shot. No matter what,” he argued.

“What, even if it costs me somebody else’s life?” you protested.

“You should be a good-enough shot that that shouldn’t matter!” he roared. “You and I are going to the range. First thing tomorrow.”

“Dad, no,” you shook your head, backing up in fear. The last time you missed a shot on one of the moving targets, he beat you so hard when you got back to your motel room that he bruised one of your ribs.

He glared at you harshly, stepping closer to you. “What was that?”

“I— I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Uh-uh,” he said firmly. “You know ‘I didn’t mean to’ doesn’t mean shit. You argued with me. We’ll go to the range every day for the next week.”

You brushed the scar on the right side of your jaw from the beating that followed one of your sessions at the range that week as you came out of the memory. He punched you so hard that he split the skin deeply, and you had to stitch it up yourself. You refused to speak to your father for a month after that.

“I do this because I love you,” he’d said. “I need you to keep getting better, so I know you’ll be safe when you’re on your own. I want you to be even better than me.” 

You’d been doing well with keeping memories like that at bay while you helped Dean and Sam recover from their father’s passing. However, it was beginning to overwhelm you. The mental walls you’d built around those awful memories were beginning to crack. Leaking through those cracks was the memory of having to lay your parents to rest.

Their screams had been horrible. As fangs ripped through their gums, red rimming their eyes as the blood of the recently-decapitated vampire dripped from their lips. Your father approached you first, teeth bared. You ran through the hallways of the abandoned house, trying to find a way out. The windows of the house had been boarded, though, giving you no opportunity to escape. Cornered in a room at the back of the house, you realized what this would likely come to. You gripped the handle of your machete tightly, tears streaming down your face as your father broke into the room by destroying the door. 

“Dad, stop!” you pleaded. He approached you slowly, chest heaving as he noticed a cut on your arm that one of the vampires you’d slaughtered earlier had given you. He stalked toward you, teeth glistening in the room’s dim light.

“Dad, please! Don’t make me hurt you!”

“(Y/N), you have to—” he breathed out. “I can’t control myself—”

You shook your head furiously. “Dad, I won’t—”

“(Y/N)!” he roared. “You have to!”

Your tears flowed freely down your face.

“(Y/N)! Now!” he ordered, just as he reached you. 

Your sobs wracked your body as you sliced his head clean off. Your breath caught in your throat as you heaved, trying your hardest to gain your composure. You knew your mother wouldn’t be far behind him, and you were trying to keep yourself from breaking down and becoming vulnerable to your mother’s attack.

“(Y/N)!” she called. “Baby, please! Please, help me!”

You ran to her despite your instinct telling you not to. When you arrived, she was sobbing on the floor, shaking. You stayed a distance back from her to avoid her lunging at you.

“Baby, please— you have to—”

You shook your head. “Not you, too, Momma. Please—”

“Baby,” she sobbed. “I can’t control it. I don’t wanna be this. Please. Please!”

“Momma, I can’t—” You backed away from her. 

“I won’t be a monster,” she said. “Listen to me.” She temporarily stopped her cries and steadied herself. “You have to. Please. It’s okay.”

You took in a shaky breath.

“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you,” she continued. “I don’t wanna hurt Steven. Please.”

At the mention of her potentially hurting your brother, you nodded. “I’m so sorry,” you cried.

“It’s okay, my girl. It’s okay,” she said, closing her eyes in preparation for the blow.

You swung your machete forcefully to make sure her death was quick and as painless as possible. Horrified by your actions, you dropped the machete and screamed. You sank to the floor next to your mother’s body and cried, draping yourself over her bleeding, headless body.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” you sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

Forcing yourself back to the present moment, you took in a shuddering breath. You pressed your hand to your mouth to keep yourself from crying out as you sank to the floor. You buried your hands in your hair and pulled your knees up to your chest, allowing yourself to cry for the first time in quite a while. 

“(Y/N)?” you heard from the other side of the door.

‘Dean.’ You couldn’t respond due to the hold in your throat trying to suppress your cries.

“(Y/N), I think we got something, you in there?” he tried again.

Still, you couldn’t answer.

You heard him fiddling with the lock for a few moments before entering your room, searching for you frantically. When his eyes landed on your crumpled form, he rushed to your side. “(Y/N), hey, hey.” He held your head in his hands and swiped away tears with his thumbs. “Hey, I’m right here, sweetheart.”

You collapsed into his arms and wrapped your arms around his neck. You buried your face in his chest as you clung to him, and he held your head to him with one hand and held your waist with the other. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

Comforted by his presence, your sobs turned to sniffles. You wiped tears away with the backs of your hands and apologized profusely for crying all over him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “What happened?”

“Just… memories.” Your mind was still hazy.

He nodded solemnly. Neither of you needed to say anything after that. He just held your hand and sat with you against your bed while you tried to collect yourself. When you had, Dean talked again. 

“C’mon,” he said, standing. He pulled you up with him. “You want a burger? I’m starving.”

You snorted, grinning widely, and nodded. 

***

“So,” Dean began through a bite of his cheeseburger, “We think the shut-in granny might be our witch doctor.”

“What makes you say that?” you questioned, chomping a fry.

“She’s got a bunch of creepy ass dolls, Susan was really weird about us going to see her, and they’ve got a creepy ass exact replica of the hotel,” he explained.

“Dolls can be used in hoodoo spellwork,” you considered. “So, I’m guessing after dinner, you and I are lookin’ into the grandma?”

“Yahtzee.”

“What about Sam?”

“Left his ass back at the room. He’s got enough laptop research on his plate to last him enough time for us to look into the history of the hotel at the library.”

“Aw, why’d you do that to him?” you pouted, smiling a little. 

“He’s a nerd. Probably enjoys it,” he shrugged.

“You sure you’re not using this as an excuse to get me alone?” Your tone shifted to slightly more sultry, attempting to tease him.

He chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’m a professional. Just thought the two of us could cover more ground lookin’ up the records together.”

You hummed, unconvinced. “Sure.”

***

When you returned to the inn, police and EMTs were flanking the building. 

“What the fu—” you mumbled, looking around. You spotted Susan, and you and Dean hurried to her. 

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“Oh, the maid went in to turn down the sheets and he was just… hanging there,” she explained, covering her mouth with her hand.

“That's awful. He was a guest?” you asked.

“He worked for the company that bought the place.”

Dean hummed. You’d discussed your theory with him about the spellwork being used against people trying to get rid of the hotel. 

Susan shook her head. “I don't understand.”

“What?” Dean pressed.

“Had a lot of bad luck around here,” she sighed. “Look, if you'd like to check out, I'll give you a full refund.”

Dean shook his head. “No thanks. I don't scare that easy.”

When you arrived at Sam and Dean’s room, Sam had his back turned to the door and was sitting in an armchair.

Dean was all-business as he shut the door behind him. “There's been another one. Some guy just hung himself in his room.”

“Yeah. I saw,” Sam said.

You turned to him, surprised. His tone wasn’t usually that dark.

“We've gotta figure this out, and fast. What'd you find out about Granny?” Dean said, still pacing.

Sam raised his hands sarcastically, mocking his brother. “You’re the boss.”

Dean wheeled around in surprise. “What?”

“You’re bossy. And short,” Sam giggled. He actually giggled.

“Are you drunk?” you asked him.

“Yeah,” he replied, still laughing. “So? Stupid.”

You suddenly noticed the several empty bottles around the room.

“Dude, what are you thinking? We're working a case,” Dean scolded.

Sam began to tear up, staring at nothing. “That guy who hung himself. I couldn't save him.”

“What are you talking about? You didn't know, you couldn't have done anything,” Dean assured.

Sam moved his gaze to his brother. “That's an excuse, Dean. I should have found a way to save him. I should have saved Ava, too.”

Dean approached his brother. “Yeah, well, you can't save everyone. Even you said that.”

Sam slammed the table next to him. “No, Dean, you don't understand, all right? The more people I save, the more I can change!”

“Change what?” you asked.

He leaned forward toward you, a hand to his chest. “My destiny, (Y/N)!” 

“Alright. Time for bed. Come on, Sasquatch.” Dean leaned over and hauled Sam up by the shoulders. “Come on.”

“I need you to watch out for me,” mumbled Sam.

“Yeah, I always do,” Dean said simply.

Sam stopped his brother. “No! No, no, no. You have to watch out for me, all right? And if I ever... turn into something that I'm not… you have to kill me.”

“Sam—” Dean protested.

Sam shoved Dean to get him to face him. “Dean! Dad told you to do it, you have to.”

“Yeah, well, Dad's an ass,” Dean replied. “He never should have said anything. I mean, you don't do that, you don't, you don't lay that kind of crap on your kids.”

“No. He was right to say it!” Sam cried. “Who knows what I might become? Even now, everyone around me dies!”

“Yeah, well, I'm not dying, okay? And neither are you. Neither is (Y/N). Come on. Sam.” 

He pushed Dean down onto the bed, but Sam remained seated, clutching Dean’s jacket. “No, please! Promise.”

Dean shook his head. “Don't ask that of me.”

“(Y/N), please—”

“(Y/N), don’t you dare!” Dean cut his younger brother off.

“Sam, I can’t do that,” you protested.

“(Y/N), please.” Sam stared past his brother at you with sad eyes. “You have to promise me.”

You looked between Sam and Dean. Dean cut his eyes at you harshly. However, you knew Dean could never kill his brother if it really came down to it. You weren’t sure you would, either, but you would rather Dean not have another dead family member to blame himself for.

“I promise,” you mumbled.

“Thanks,” Sam grinned. He extended a hand to you. You grabbed it and squeezed. “Thank you. You are—”

“Alright. Come on,” Dean grumbled. He shoved Sam back on the bed. Sam hugged his pillow and snuggled into it. You stared at him sadly, afraid to meet Dean’s gaze.

You turned and left the room, Dean hot on your heels as you unlocked your door.

“How dare you,” he growled. “What the fuck, (Y/N)?! I’m not gonna let you kill my brother!”

“And I’m not gonna do it, either!” you argued, shutting the door behind him. “But I couldn’t let you promise that. I won’t let you.”

“And why not?!” He roared.

“Because I’m not gonna let you have another death to blame yourself for! You’re falling apart, Dean,” you pointed out. “No matter what I say, you’re always gonna blame yourself for John. I’m sure, in some ways, you blame yourself for your mom. Sam is your world. Trust me, I know how that feels. I won’t let you be the one responsible for his death.” You held your ground as he stepped closer to you. 

“You don’t get to make that call for me, (Y/N)!” he yelled. “I don’t care what happens, you’re not fucking killing Sam.”

“Dean, you think I wanna kill him? Fuck no! He’s family to me,” you retaliated. “You know I wouldn’t do that to him. But I also saw your face. You were gonna promise him, weren’t you?”

He didn’t answer, looking away from you.

“Exactly. I’d rather you blame me than yourself,” you said, voice quieting considerably.

Dean’s turned-away face was set in hard lines, but he seemed to have nothing else to say.

You stepped in front of him and held up your pinky. “I promise you, I won’t make a move on Sam unless it’s absolutely last resort. I promise I’m gonna do everything I can to try and save him, first. And even then, I won’t do anything until you give the okay.”

Dean considered for a moment, and you could see his brain flooding with conflicting thoughts. Finally and wordlessly, he linked your pinky with his.

“My parents begged me to kill them,” you said after a moment. “I didn’t want to. Everything in me screamed at me not to. But I realized they didn’t wanna become something that wasn’t, y’know, them. I can imagine Sam’s in the same spot. Except… he knows it’s coming. He wants to know that if it does happen, we’ll take care of him.”

Dean still didn't say a word to you for another few moments. “I’m gonna get a drink,” he said finally.

“Okay. G’night, Dean.”

***

The next morning, you were afraid to talk to Dean or Sam. You didn’t want Sam to remember the promise you made to him, and you didn’t want Dean to be upset with you because you were trying to protect him and his heart. You didn’t want him to have to cope with the guilt you felt every single day, clawing at your heartstrings and pounding against your memories. 

Knuckles rapped against the door of your room. Having been dressed since three that morning, you opened the door expecting Sherwin or Susan. Instead, it was Sam.

“Oh, hey!” you said cheerfully.

“Hey,” he grimaced.

“Hungover?”

He nodded. “Look, uh, we’re gonna go talk to Rose. You should come with.”

“Sure,” you said. You couldn’t quite gauge if Sam remembered what you, he, and Dean had talked about the night before.

Dean picked the lock to the private quarters after ensuring the room was clear. You headed up a winding staircase to see an old woman, possibly in her nineties, sitting in a wheelchair. She was trembling unceasingly, and you started connecting the dots as to what was going on here.

“Guys… she’s had a stroke,” you explained gently as the two of them were trying to soothe her tremors.

Dean turned and spoke to you for the first time that morning. “Yeah, but Hoodoo's hands-on; I mean, you've got to mix herbs, chant, and build an altar.”

“Yeah. So it can't be Rose,” Sam added. “Hey, maybe it's not even Hoodoo.”

“Or she could be faking,” Dean suggested.

You scoffed. “Yeah, what are you gonna do, poke her with a stick?”

Dean frowned, nodding.

“Dude! You’re not gonna poke her with a stick!” you hissed.

“What the hell?!” came Susan’s voice from behind you. “What are you doing in here?”

You and the brothers babbled, searching for an explanation.

Susan rushed over to her mother. “Look at her, she is scared out of her wits. I want you out of my hotel in two minutes or I'm calling the cops.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you nodded, leaving without hesitation.

***

When you got in the car, Dean pulled just down the road from the hotel to watch the entrance and exits for anything suspicious and searching for an opportunity to go back inside.

You and Dean still hadn’t spoken to each other. It was odd; usually you were talking to each other at a mile a minute. However, to your shock, Dean took out the Metallica cassette tape he promised he’d change and replaced it with your favorite Alice in Chains cassette; “Facelift.” You took it as a sign of goodwill and smiled to yourself.

About an hour or two passed before you saw Susan exiting the hotel and packing boxes into her car. You and the brothers ducked down when you noticed Sherwin driving in your direction. When your heads popped back up, Susan was walking over to the playground at the sight of a swing moving back and forth on its own. Without needing to say anything, you and the boys hopped out of the car and sprinted into the woods to get closer to the situation and help Susan, should anything happen. 

The see-saw moved up and down next, then the rest of the playset. Suddenly, her red car’s engine revved. Sam knew what was going to happen and ran at Susan to tackle her out of the way of the charging vehicle. 

“Are you okay?” he asked her while he pulled her up from the ground.

“I think so,” she replied breathlessly.

“C’mon, let’s get inside, let’s go,” Dean ordered.

Sam helped Susan into the inn and over to the bar.

“Whiskey,” Susan demanded when she sat down.

You headed behind the bar and slid it over to her.

“What the hell happened out there?” she asked.

“You want the truth?” Dean chimed in. 

She nodded.

“Well, at first, we thought it was some sort of Hoodoo curse,” the older brother began, “but that out there? That was definitely a spirit.”

Susan scoffed. “You're insane.”

“Probably,” you shrugged.

“Look, I'm sorry, Susan. We don't exactly have time to ease you into this, but we need to know when your mother had the stroke,” Sam urged.

She looked at him strangely. “What does that have to do with any—”

“Just answer the question.”

“About a month ago.”

You licked your teeth. “Right before the killings started.” 

Sam looked to you and Dean. “See? So what if Rose was working Hoodoo, but not to hurt anyone. To protect them.”

“She was using the five spot urns to ward off the spirit,” Dean noted.

“Right, until she had a stroke, and she couldn't anymore,” the brunet finished.

Susan laughed humorlessly. “I don't believe this.”

“Listen, sister,” Dean grunted, “that car didn't try to run you down by itself, okay? I mean, I guess it did, technically, but, but the spirit can— forget it.”

Sam interrupted his brother’s quickly derailing train of thought. “Look, believe what you want. But the fact is you and your family are in danger, all right? So you need to clear everybody out of here: your employees, your mother, your daughters, everyone.”

“Um, I only have one daughter,” Susan replied.

“One?” Sam questioned. “I thought Tyler had a sister named Maggie.”

“Maggie's imaginary,” she said simply.

‘Fuck,’ you thought. “Where’s Tyler?” you asked, trying to keep your cool.

“Uh, maybe in the playroom,” Susan suggested, sounding frantic. “Tyler!” she called as she burst through its door. 

You were horrified to see the floor littered with broken porcelain dolls, and Susan’s panic became worse. “Oh, my god. Tyler. Tyler!”

“Susan, tell us what you know about Maggie,” Sam demanded.

She tried to steady herself. “Uh, not much. Um, Tyler's been talking about her since Mom got sick.”

“Okay, did you ever know anyone by that name?”

She shook her head.

“No dead relatives?” you chimed in. “Maybe somebody who used to work or live here?”

“Oh, my god,” she realized. “My mom. My mom had a sister named Maggie. She died when she was little.”

“Uh-huh,” you encouraged. “Where?”

“She drowned in the pool!”

***

You and the Winchesters raced to the poolhouse with Susan in tow. You could see Tyler standing on the opposite side of the balcony, leaning forward.

“Tyler!” her mother screamed.

You ran to the other side after spotting a glass window across the way. You took the butt of your gun that was tucked into your jeans and smashed the glass with it. Your breath caught at the sight of Tyler falling into the pool below, screaming. 

Finally, you managed to get the glass broken enough to get through. You dove over the balcony’s railing headfirst toward the little girl wrapped in the plastic tarp from her struggling. You turned on your back and kicked with all your might over to the side of the pool, holding the unconscious girl in your arms. You gently laid her on the pool’s edge, listening for a pulse. Thankfully, it was there, and all you could do was wait to see if she woke up.

Moments later, Tyler sputtered, choking on water, and she woke up.

“Thank god!” Susan cried, pulling her daughter into her lap. “Thank god, thank god.”

Soaking wet, you crawled out of the pool. “Tyler, do you see Maggie anywhere?”

The girl shook her head. “No, she's gone.” She buried her face in her mother’s neck, hugging her tightly. Your heart broke a little at the sight.

You rung your hair out and followed behind Sam and Dean as they discussed Maggie’s potential whereabouts, heading back up to the hotel.

Susan held Tyler close as they climbed the stairs to get the eldest woman in their family and leave the hotel.

Cold and shaking from the pool mixed with the slight chill in the air, your teeth began to chatter. Wordlessly, Dean took his leather jacket off and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you smiled sheepishly.

Suddenly, Susan screamed loudly. You and the boys ran up the stairs to see Rose slumped over in her wheelchair, dead.

***

Paramedics swarmed about as Sam attempted to comfort Susan and send them off. You were slightly drier, now, having changed into a different set of clothes. Still, you kept Dean’s much larger jacket wrapped around your body. The man in question leaned against the Impala next to you.

“Are… are we okay?” you asked suddenly.

He turned to you, arms crossed. “I don’t know, are we?”

You grimaced. “I just, after last night, I just wanted to make sure that—”

“Yeah, (Y/N), we’re fine. But I don’t wanna keep bringing it up.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

A moment of tense silence passed. Then, he draped his arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Promise. We’re fine.”

You stuck out your pinky. He chuckled and linked yours with his.

Sam approached you and Dean, still seeming confused by the two of you. He shook his head, though, deciding against asking. 

“Feels good getting back in the saddle, doesn't it?” Dean smirked at his brother.

“Yeah, it does,” Sam nodded. “But it doesn't change what we talked about last night, Dean.” 

“We talked about a lot of things last night.” Dean’s voice had a warning edge to it.

“You know what I mean.”

“You were wasted.”

“But she wasn’t. And she promised,” Sam said.

You looked up at him. “Sam—”

“You promised, (Y/N).”

You had nothing to say to that. “But I am gonna try everything in my power not to have to do that,” you added. 

Sam nodded solemnly. The three of you got in the car without speaking to each other and cruised down the road as Alice in Chains played in the background. 

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

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Can I ask for Natasha x reader where one of them calls the other one by their real name and the other one freaks out because they usually call them by petnames? Thanks!

Of course! I always love fics based off this idea 💞 this is kind of angsty because I'm a sucker for that kind of stuff alright 😭 also Малыш is supposed to mean baby in Russian, but I honestly have no idea how accurate that is

Terms of Endearment (Natasha Romanoff x reader)

Warnings: mentions of insecurity/self depreciating thoughts, not really hurt/comfort but also kind of?? Idk

You and your girlfriend Natasha had always been fond of using petnames for each other, often more so than your actual names themselves. Whether it be honey, sweetheart, darling, or simply just babe, you never ran out of cutesy names to call each other. But as much as you loved hearing the never ending abundance of pet names roll off Natasha's tongue, what you didn't love was how often you got teased for it. 

You knew the other members of the team didn't mean anything by it and would stop if they knew how much it upset you, but the problem was you didn't really have a good reason for feeling that way. It seemed silly just thinking about it, childish even. So you kept your mouth shut, laughing along at their meaningless jokes as you made yourself a promise to cut down on the cheesy nicknames. 

You hoped Natasha wouldn't notice the lack endearing terms on your part, but she did, of course. She always noticed the small things nobody else picked up on. It came with the job description of being an assassin.

Although she'd noticed it, she couldn't understand why there was a sudden change in your behavior, especially when she knew how much you loved the petnames you had for each other. 

Because of this, she cut down on the petnames, too, and only used them when you were alone, hoping maybe she could solve the problem that way, even if she didn't know what it was.

It all came it a head one day when you were cooking together. It was just the two of you, everyone else either busy or in another part of the Avengers base. 

Natasha was standing by the stove, making some sort of soup. "Малыш, could you hand me the salt?" She asked after tasting it and realizing it needed something. 

The way you tensed up at the name she used for you did not fly past her, and it caused her to let out a small sigh. "Are you okay? You haven't been using nearly as many petnames for me as you used to, and I've noticed whenever I use them you seem... upset. Even when we're alone." 

You let out a sigh yourself, knowing it wouldn't do you any good to lie about it. "I... I was hoping you wouldn't notice." You began meekly, looking down. 

Natasha had a slight frown on her face as she turned towards you fully. "And why is that?" Her tone was gentle, but firm. It was clear she wasn't going to let you leave without some sort of explanation. 

"It- its not you. Or me. Its the others," you confess quietly. "I didn't really like the way they teased me whenever I called you honey or babe, so I stopped all together." 

She nodded her head, the pieces suddenly falling into place. "Ah, so that's why. At first, I thought I'd done something to tick you off." She joked, it making her heart warm to hear the laugh that came from you after. 

"No, it wasn't that, and even if it was, you know I could never stay mad at you." You said playfully, finally handing her the salt. 

She took it from you and added some to the pot on the stove before speaking again. "I'll talk to everybody, and tell them to lay off on the teasing, that way you won't have to worry about it anymore." 

You gave her a loving smile, your tone filled with gratitude. "Thanks, hon." 

She smiled back at the petname before giving you a soft kiss. "Of course, darling. Anything for you." 

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[mistydeyes]

the boys during medical residency

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summary: we've seen the boys on the field but how would they deal on the other side of battle: in the medical field?

pairing: none!

warnings: swearing, medical descriptions

a/n: just a lil something something as i'm working on a few requests, wips, and preparing for my hospital rotation on monday!

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price

specialty: general surgery

the long hours or sudden calls don’t get to him bc this man never sleeps

"Price, sorry it's late but-" "I'll be right in"

no one knows how he does it but rumor has it he can be ready and over at the hospital in 20 minutes tops

maybe he's just the king of multitasking

a great educator for his fellow medical professionals and patients

he can make a procedure sound like a walk in the park with his soft smile and reassuring words

in fact, the new intern mistook him for a senior doctor when they first met him

that boosted his ego and made the early mornings even more worth it

once he's in the operating room, he is fully focused and locked in

regardless of the surgeon's choice of music for that day, price is ready to go and immediately steps in when its time

speaking of which, his stitches are textbook, perfectly aligned, high tensile strength, and with no tissue reaction

always has everything prepared for handoff to the night resident

this man is READY to leave once he sees his co-resident enter the ward

he gives the most essential run down (he's just tired, not sloppy) and he gets the hell out of there

soap

specialty: pediatrics

most people think pediatrics are straight forward but actually you need to have some creativity

that’s where soap comes in

a child needs to take a respiratory test but is having trouble? think of it like you’re blowing birthday candles

a child doesn’t understand why they need to have their operation? time to pull out dolls and teddy bears to show how the doctors are gonna make them better

he always shows up no matter how early or late with a smile on his face

easily the kids’ favorite resident (he’s the first person most ask to sign their cast)

hates pre-rounds, he wants to get right in and see the patient's and families for the day

despite this, the other senior and junior residents (even the interns) have to remind him that it is essential to have a plan

when he's finally let loose is able to round, he has a field day walking down the hall

you just know all the attendings and nurses have to keep it a secret that he's working the night shift

or else they'll have a full floor of excited kids waiting to chat when he comes in during rounds

gaz

specialty: physical medicine and rehabilitation

the absolute king of finding resources

he'll whip out a full pdf study guide on spinal cord injury treatment and leave you questioning if he made this or found it online

also has one of those pocket guides that sums up everything you learn in med school

he's always there to help out those in the same boat

has such a steady hand when it comes to injections for spascicity

always has a terrible joke when he sees someone is receiving botulinum toxin

"You're basically receiving a less cool botox treatment"

despite his corny jokes, the residents, especially the geriatric ones, love him

has a friendly demeanor when collecting a patient's history, they simply feel like its a conversation and they'll tell him everything

he loves when people report sport accidents but still say they'll go back to it when they're better

he appreciates the dedication fr

also great at communicating with patient's and giving them detailed instructions to follow before their next visit

but his favorite part of the job? the diversity of the patient's he sees

PM&R is such a unique speciality that you'll see patients with a variety of injuries from all walks of life

this man truly thrives on his adaptability to educate and treat whatever patient the hospital throws to him

ghost

speciality: emergency medicine

sign-out in the morning is always the most awkward with him

as the nurse gives him a run-down of his patients, he'll just stare and occasionally nod to show he's following

"That all?" is his go-to way to end the conversation and actually begin the day's work

despite his quiet demeanor, he'll go through the motions beautifully for any emergency

easily the attending's favorite because he requires no further instruction and keeps a level head given the hectic nature of the room

since he's the attending's favorite, he's the intern's nightmare with his constant stares and the overwhelming presence he gives

"Am I doing something wrong, Simon?" the intern asks as she preps a central line and he just shakes his head, "Personally not how I would do it but go ahead."

this motherfucker

despite this, everyone admits no one deserves the title of "chief resident" more than him

he's not necessarily the best in the "educating others" department but he's sure to give a good explanation if needed

just know he's not happy about it

but if you survive the infamous ghost of the emergency department, you're on the path to success

[the-oblivious-writer]

The Science of Loss

Dexter Morgan and Reader

Part Two: Dexter’s Perspective

Summary: Even in death you hold a great impact in Dexter Morgan's life.

Warning(s): Swearing, (major) character death, clinical descriptions of death/crime scenes, mentions of violence, grief/loss, secondary trauma (Deb), and murder/references to

Notes: Although this is a part two, it can be read separately from Deb's perspective. This is a platonic Dexter and Reader fic, let me know if I should do more

Debra's Perspective

You were one of the few people who never made Dexter feel like he needed to perform humanity. Your interactions in the lab had a comfortable precision – you'd both speak the language of blood patterns, trajectory analysis, victim positioning. He didn't have to manufacture the appropriate emotional responses because you never demanded them. You understood silence.

Now he stands in the lab where you used to work, and the silence feels different. Heavy. He touches the microscope you'd use to analyze trace evidence, remembers how you'd explain your findings without the theatrical flourish Masuka employed. Just clean, methodical observations. You'd been easier to understand than most humans.

"The blood pool indicates they were conscious for approximately two minutes after the shot," he tells Deb, because these are the facts he knows how to process. His sister stares at him with red-rimmed eyes, and he recognizes that this information isn't helpful. You would have known how to translate between his analytical approach and Deb's raw emotion. You'd done it countless times before.

The security footage plays on his laptop. He's analyzed it like any other crime scene: entrance angle, shooter position, blood spatter direction. But something uncomfortable shifts in his chest when he watches you step in front of the teenage clerk. A protective instinct that doesn't align with efficient survival. It's the kind of human behavior he's always struggled to understand, but somehow made sense when you did it.

"You know what's fucked up?" Deb's voice cracks. "They would have fucking loved analyzing their own crime scene. All that blood spatter data."

Dexter nods, because you would have. You shared his fascination with the technical aspects of death, though yours came from a place of justice rather than necessity. You'd once spent three hours explaining to him how different blood pattern classifications could reveal a victim's final moments. Not because it was relevant to a case, but because you recognized his genuine interest.

He finds himself in the morgue at night, standing where your body had been. The metal table reflects the fluorescent lights, and he remembers how you used to joke that the morgue had better lighting than your apartment. Dark humor that made others uncomfortable but made perfect sense to him.

"I don't know how to help her," he tells the empty table. Deb is spinning out, breaking down, and his usual scripts for performing brotherly comfort feel inadequate. You would have known what to say. You always knew how to reach her when she retreated behind her walls.

The irony doesn't escape him – seeking advice from a memory of someone who helped him understand human connection. But you had been different. You didn't try to fix his peculiarities or demand conventional emotional responses. Instead, you'd simply included him in your understanding of human variation. "Different wavelengths," you'd called it, "but still on the spectrum."

He keeps your last case file. Not for sentimental reasons – he doesn't do sentimental – but because your analysis was always impeccable. Sometimes he reads your notes, appreciating the logical progression of your thoughts. The way you could look at violence and find patterns, meaning, justice.

The young shooter is caught three weeks after your death. Dexter sits in the observation room during the interrogation, studying the teenager's body language, the tremor in his hands. His Dark Passenger whispers familiar suggestions, but he remembers your voice during late-night lab discussions:

"Justice isn't always about punishment, Dexter. Sometimes it's about understanding why."

You'd said that after a particularly brutal case, your gloved hands steady as you processed evidence. He hadn't understood then – his own sense of justice had always been more… direct. But watching the terrified kid break down during questioning, he thinks maybe he's beginning to grasp what you meant.

Deb finds him organizing blood slides one night. Not his special collection – just routine case evidence. But he's doing it the way you taught him, with that extra level of precision you always insisted on.

"You miss them too, don't you?" she asks, her voice rough. "In your own way."

He considers this. Misses your predictable presence in the lab? Yes. Misses how you helped him navigate complicated social situations? Also yes. But there's something else – an unfamiliar discomfort when he passes your empty workstation. A hesitation before using your favorite microscope.

"Yes," he says simply, because you appreciated when he didn't elaborate unnecessarily.

Harrison asks about you sometimes. You'd been good with him, patient in a way that matched Dexter's own careful approach to fatherhood. You'd explained complex forensic concepts to Harrison in ways that satisfied his curiosity without disturbing his innocence. A balance Dexter often struggled to find.

"Where did Y/N go?" Harrison asks one evening.

Dexter remembers your discussions about death, how you'd emphasized the importance of being honest with children while respecting their developmental stage. He tries to channel your measured approach.

"They died," he says carefully. "Someone made a very bad choice with a gun, and Y/N tried to protect another person."

"Like a hero?"

Dexter thinks about your final moments on the security footage. The calculated risk, the protective instinct, the technical perfection of the blood spatter you left behind. "Yes," he says. "Like a hero."

He helps Deb pack up your apartment because that's what siblings do, according to the social scripts he's learned. Your forensics journals are organized by date and subject matter. Your case files are meticulously labeled. Even in death, you maintain the order that made you comprehensible to him.

"Fuck," Deb chokes out, finding one of your hair ties. She crumples, and Dexter moves to support her weight, remembering how you'd coached him through similar situations.

"Let her feel it," you'd advised during one of Deb's previous crises. "You don't have to fix it. Just be there."

So he is. He holds his sister while she breaks apart, and though he can't fully understand her grief, he recognizes its patterns. The way it spreads like blood spatter – predictable trajectories, measurable impact points, analyzable distribution.

Later, he finds your notes on his own blood spatter analysis. Margins filled with observations, questions, suggestions for improvement. You'd approached his work with the same detailed attention he gave to his… extracurricular activities. Not questioning, just analyzing. Seeking to understand.

"Your brother processes things differently," he overhears you telling Deb once. "It's not wrong, just different. Like how blood spatter can tell different stories depending on the angle you view it from."

The metaphor had been oddly perfect, much like your presence in his carefully constructed world. You didn't disrupt his patterns or expose his secrets. You simply observed, analyzed, and accepted the evidence before you.

He keeps your forensics kit in his lab. Not out of sentiment – Dexter Morgan doesn't do sentiment – but because your organizational system was superior to the department standard. At least, that's what he tells himself when he finds his hands lingering on the latches, remembering how you'd walk him through your processing methods.

"Evidence tells stories," you'd say, "but only if we listen carefully."

He's listening now, in his own way. To the stories told by your absence. The way Deb's grief spreads like high-velocity spatter. The void you left in the lab's carefully calibrated ecosystem. The subtle changes in his own patterns since you've been gone.

It's not grief as others experience it. He knows this, just as he knows he processes everything differently. But it's something. A disruption in his carefully maintained routine. A gap in his understanding of human interaction. A missing data point in his ongoing study of normal behavior.

You would have appreciated the analytical approach to processing your loss. Would have helped him categorize these unfamiliar reactions with the same precision you brought to blood spatter analysis. Would have understood that his version of missing you would manifest in reorganized evidence boxes and late nights reviewing your case files.

The science of loss, he discovers, is messier than other sciences. Less predictable than blood spatter. Harder to categorize than DNA evidence. But he continues to study it, methodically documenting its effects on Deb, on the department, on his own carefully structured world.

Because that's what you would have done. You would have looked at the evidence, analyzed the patterns, and accepted the conclusions – even the uncomfortable ones. Even the ones that suggest that maybe, in his own unique way, Dexter Morgan is capable of missing someone who made his world more comprehensible.

The security footage plays one last time. He watches you make the statistically illogical choice to step in front of danger. Watches the blood pattern bloom across your chest – medium-velocity spatter, consistent with a single gunshot wound. Watches you break protocol to protect another person.

And something in his carefully ordered mind shifts, just slightly. A new pattern emerging from familiar data. A different way of understanding sacrifice, justice, connection.

You would have appreciated the symmetry of that – teaching him something new, even after you're gone.

-----------