#Roadkill N' Friends

[r0adkillz]

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[sluckythewizard]

Keep calm, and drink soda

[CW for blood and gore and vomit] takes place a day or two after emizel was sired. just two boys adjusting to a shift in their daily norms. would YOU drink your homies blood? still not used to writing fanfic so any and all advice IS appreciated. i hope u enjoy.

There were very few things that Soda enjoyed more than well, drinking soda. It was a hobby, an interest, a comfort. And by extension there were very few errands that Soda would look forward to more than the occasional soda run.

The gas station closest to the Demons hideout had stopped selling Faygo entirely about a month or two ago, and it was near impossible to find it anywhere else. The closest place was now this janky little Shell gas station, lovingly titled the Shady Shell, that thankfully sold more flavors than any of the other ones ever did.

It made the hour and a half walk here entirely worth it. Even if this side of town made his skin crawl. Normally he would ask someone to accompany him on this daring little quest, but everyone at the hide out tonight just seemed too tired, too preoccupied, too uninterested.

He knew not everyone really got the soda thing, but they were accepting of it for the most part. Soda is something that, clearly, Soda really loves, but he knew not everyone else was into it.

Which was fine, of course. They didn't need to get it. But, still, sometimes Soda found himself wondering how much of it was a bit, and how much was him.

Emizel gets it perfectly though. He would've been the first person Soda would ask to go on this soda run with him, but, well. He's been preoccupied too, with the whole vampire thing.

It's been a bit more than a day since Soda had last seen his close comrade. For a friend that he saw just about everyday, going without him this long left him feeling a little emptier.

That was fine, though. Emizel had shit he was working out, he had things he needed to do. It's not like he could go out in the day anymore, so of course Soda wouldn't be seeing him at all the usual times.

It was a lot of weird and heavy magical stuff, it made Soda think about those superhero shows. Where the hero needs to keep his identity hidden from everyone. Family especially. He knows how much of a piece of shit Emizels dad is, so he hoped that Emizels home life wasn't stirred up all stupid-like over this.

He hasn't told anyone else, about what happened that night. For the last 2 days, Soda would spend time with close friends and not let them know a thing about what happened to Emizel so, so recently. Why he's so suddenly absent, so distant, so.. off…

'Maybe his dad's just giving him a hard time', he would say, hoping to smother their questions. The less questions they ask, the better. At least until this vampire stuff gets figured out a bit more. Should Emizel wear a disguise when he goes out at night now? Just like a superhero? What kind of hero outfit would Emizel have anyways? Soda figured it would be something really cool.

If anyone could figure out a way to balance all this vampire stuff, and all the leaderly responsibilities that come with being the biggest dog in the Demons, it was Emizel for sure. That guy is so seriously cool.

He was sure this rough patch would even out, and they would weather the next rough patch together no problem. There was really nothing to worry about! All Soda has to do is stay positive, and well, drink soda.

As Soda walks quietly down the crumbling sidewalks of this dreary hive of strip malls and shops, he goes to pull his backpack around to his chest, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. Which was a little annoying, considering the tab of his zipper had fallen off forever ago. He really needed to get around to fixing this damn thing. Maybe another ziptie and a soda tab will do the trick.

Humid air hangs heavy in the night, the sidewalks still somewhat warm after a hotter day. The diesel-soaked air provided enough warmth on its own that Soda had considered taking his jacket off a few times, only for the occasional, annoyingly sharp and chilly breeze to brush by, reminding him to keep the thing on.

Tripping only once and only slightly on an uneven sidewalk, Soda manages to pull a bottle of Faygo from his backpack, a smile glowing on his face. Another short fight with the zipper seals up the bag, and he slings it over his shoulder again.

His flavor of choice tonight was actually the Red Pop, the tried and true, the absolute classic, one of the best Faygo flavors for sure.

But, this kind wasn't actually his favorite. Normally he would stock up on the cotton candy ones, but something about the last few days had him craving the red stuff.

Securing his backpack all the way, he goes to crack open the bottle. Just the clack and the hisssss of the fizzy drink were enough to lift his mood.

Not that his mood needed lifting or anything. Of course. Sure he missed his friend and sure he found himself wondering what he’s doing and where he is and if he's okay. Maybe sometimes he found himself wishing they talked about funeral plans more.

Emizel talked up all sorts of crazy funeral ideas for himself, usually involving the use of his dead body as an inconvenience for others. Outlandish and hilarious ideas, like filling it with explosives and tossing it into a busy road. But what would he want seriously? What would Soda ever do if he just stopped showing up one day?

He had to swallow down all these unnecessary anxieties, so he took a swig of his soda. Sweet, bubbly, comforting. He felt better already! Just stay positive, and drink soda..

It was a lovely night out, and he didn't come all this way planning on letting it go to waste. There was a place he was heading towards, a particular alleyway in this particular place that led off to a particularly tall concrete ledge.

 It was a run-down little space, littered with trash and shitty trees and those bushes with just too many goddamn ants in them. But the view was fairly nice, overlooking a massive deformed intersection. A particularly stupid one, at that; about 3 times a week you could witness a gnarly crash at this spot. Soda always heard people saying that LA folks can't drive, but he was just starting to figure that maybe no one can drive.

That was the place he really wanted to go to enjoy this soda, and he wasn't too far off from it. Just a few more blocks, and he would be there.

Oh wait, didn't he still have a bag of chips in this backpack somewhere? Hell yeah, he couldn't wait to sit down and relax with a good soda, a good snack, and a good view of the night.

Living as a Demon had its fair share of stresses. He felt lucky to have this life, but he knew well that it could be better. That not everyone has to worry about survival the way they do. That not everyone gets injured on the regular and not everyone has to worry about being sick and never getting better.

Living is hard. But it's finding the small moments of joy that make it all worth it. Dying would be scarier anyway. He didn't want to die, and he felt glad to feel so confident in that nowadays.

The sudden   THUNK  of something slamming into the ground just a block away from him, jolts him out of his thoughts, all his gears screeching to a halt as he freezes in place. What the fuck was that?

It looked like a person, laying flat on the ground with only their head and shoulders peeking out of the alleyway ahead. Fuck. He hated this side of town..

Anxiety churns in his stomach as he debates just turning around, but the way the victim reaches an arm out, attempting to crawl away; it made his heart ache aswell. he's no goddamn fighter, but he couldn't just leave someone like th-

The body is suddenly yanked back into the alley, snatched at a startling speed. It didn't feel exactly real, how could something vanish so fast? It reminded Soda of something from a horror movie, or whatever. What the fuck was that??

His foot takes a step forward, before the rest of his body notices its rebellion and locks down again. Was he seriously going to investigate that? He could just walk away and take another alley. But that was the one he was supposed to turn down! All the other alleys are either walled off or gated off and he wasn't about to go climbing over a damn wire gate. His soda would get too shaken up! Fuck!

Another foot goes in for another step forward. He's gotta get the fuck out of here. He could hear more commotion in the alleyway, a scuffle, a skirmish. He could hear someone cursing through a choked breath. A loud and nauseating crack echoes out from the alley, and yet, Soda takes another step forward.

This was stupid, he shouldn't be getting tangled up in someone else's business. What if something happened to all this soda?

Thankfully, it was that thought that actually got him to pause, and take in a deep breath. It wasn't worth it, maybe he should head straight home.

Atleast, that was the thought his heart and mind were about to agree on, until a particularly familiar grroowwwwlll bleeds out from the alley.

Emizel?

All reason immediately evaporates as Soda makes that connection in his head, stepping right up to the corner of the brick walls, and peering around to investigate.

There was a body on the floor, face down in a puddle of red, head split open in a way that reminded Soda of a smashed watermelon.

But standing over that body, was the familiar, blackened coat, and short blonde hair, of Sodas closest comrade, Emizel.

Despite the carnage on the floor, Soda couldn't help the smile that lights up his face. That was Emizel! That was his boy!

But before he could get over just how happy he felt to see his best friend, something else caught his eye. Movement, behind the dumpster closest to the vampire boy. A person, rising out from the shadows with a glinting baseball bat clutched fiercely in their hands.

"Oh fuck, look out!" Soda speaks up, and Emizels gaze immediately clicks over to him, silencing Soda with just that startlingly red stare.

He had forgotten just how uneasy those red eyes made him..

The attacker, silent and professional, rushes up behind Emizel and CRACKS the metal bat downwards onto his blonde head, the sound ringing out like a  gun shot  in that dark little alleyway.

Soda cringes from just the sound of the impact, but was amazed to find that the bat had warped under the force of it!

The attacker hardly had a chance to process his mangled weapon before Emizel whips around to retaliate.

It looked like he had just swung his hand at his opponent, so the way a shower of red spills outward from the slash, catches Soda completely off guard. The monster boy had cleaved an excruciatingly massive gash up from the attackers right hip, to his left shoulder, the slice spewing with scarlet.

 It wasn't until Emizel had pulled back his arm, that Soda could process the way it had darkened with more than just blood, distorted into an odd, spear-like shape.

The victim hardly had a chance to yelp before that blade swoops up into his chest at the speed of a snapping bear trap, plunging through meat and bone with disturbing ease, and forcing blood and viscera to erupt outwards. The red patters down onto the concrete behind, the sound similar to rain...

With another low, inhuman snarl, Emizel brings the twitching, dying body closer, until that signature squish of teeth sinking into fresh meat bleeds outward into the space.

What a disgusting sound, Sodas first instinct was to simply avert his eyes, but as the sound persists, he resolves that he has to do something.

He finally steps out into the alley, and speaks.

"Hey ma-"

He could hardly get two words out before Emizel suddenly rips its teeth away from its victims throat, tearing out a hefty chunk of jellied meat, and slamming the remaining fodder onto the concrete floor.

It immediately whips around to stare down Soda, red eyes glowing with reflected light, and with hardly a chance to process the moment-

-It's immediately right infront of Soda.

A gasp lurches from Soda's lungs as he almost stumbles back in shock. How was Emizel so fucking fast?

Other than that single step back, Soda was frozen in shock, his tongue buzzing with the physical pain of such a startling jolt. 'White boy jumpscare' is something that came to mind, but while usually such a thought would evoke some sort of laugh from Soda, this time it offered no such comfort. Okay maybe it did a little.

Emizels snarling face was only inches away from Sodas. Its eyes were wild and unnatural, teeth menacingly sharp and reddened with so much fucking blood. It was everywhere, coating most of his face, smothering his shirt and his coat, and absolutely choking the air with its thick, metallic stench.

Soda would gag if he felt he was safe to even move. He felt like he was locking eyes with that of a creature, something he would only ever see in his nightmares or in scary movies. But it was real. Those monsters are real. And his best friend is one of those monsters. His bestest friend in the world...

His mind was skewered on that unnatural glare, completely frozen with anxiety. Stalling too hard to come to a proper conclusion, Soda instead falls back onto what Soda does best.

"H-hey man... You want some soda?"

He very gently presses the opened bottle of Faygo into Emizels chest.

The two boys stand there for a moment, locked in a tense, silent pause, before the monster boy finally peels its gaze down to the bottle.

It's quiet, for a few seconds, the gears turning in its head. Until the monster blinks, and its eyes clear, and Emizel processes the sight of the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah dude, is that the Candy Apple Faygo? Man, that stuffs my favorite!" Emizel smiles as he goes to accept the bottle, and immediately takes a massive swig.

Soda tries to disregard the way his hands were still shaking. "Uh, n-nah man, its just Red Po-"

The words are bit off as Emizel suddenly retches, a heavy flood of red blood and red Faygo spewing out onto Soda, as the vampire boys body entirely rejects the fizzy drink.

The shock of getting fucking projectile vomited on had snapped Soda out of whatever daze he was just in, and it seemed to snap Emizel out of it too. Soda backs up with a groan, looking down at all the blood and bile and pop on his shirt and coat.

"Ohhh fuck dude, what the hell??" He cringes, not even wanting to try smearing any of it off with his hand.

Emizel was coughing, still holding out the Faygo bottle, but hunched over as his body dared to convulse again.

"Ohhhhhh fuck, ohhooohhh fuuuuucckkk" he grumbles towards the floor "Fuuuck I’m sorry dude, I don't know what fuckin- oohhhgg shit,” He coughs and groans,  offering the bottle back to Soda.

Soda was still staring at his messied coat with a displeased grimace, but looking up to meet Emizels eyes...

There was a guilt on Emizels face that Soda didn't see too often, and it helped wash away that irritation he felt. This sucked, but Emizel was probably going through a lot more. 

“It’s, uhm.. don't, don't worry about it, man..” Soda decides to reassure him, offering a sympathetic smile, and a hand on Emizels shoulder, as his comrade spits out the remaining blood and bile.

"Fuckin hell… I’m uh, I'm sorry about your shirt, man."

"What? Nahh it's okay man, don’t worry about it." Soda shrugs, taking the Faygo bottle back. "I mean, are you okay man? That uh.. looked like a pretty crazy fight."

Emizel was rubbing his eyes, smearing more blood across his face as he seems to be collecting himself. he spares a glance back at the carnage behind him.  

"Ah.. yeah.. I thought I uh.. I thought I saw that one fucker from uh. That one night. Yknow, the one that uh.." He snaps his fingers, as if trying to summon back the memory. "Vampire bitch... Anyway after that I just kind of, uh.."

He seems to space out again as he looks around. It was as if he was just woken up from a deep sleep, like he was certain he had just known what he was doing, but found the dream escaping him. "I guess I just.. went crazy on these guys. I dunno, they're Fangs anyways." he finally shrugs it all off, but Soda still felt unsatisfied by the answer.

"Oh.. huh…” is the only response he manages to scrounge together. Sure they were Fangs, but did they really deserve.. all that? It just seemed a bit brutal, even by Emizels standards.

He found his eyes wandering over to the split-open head. It was mostly red and bloody, but even in the dark, he could still make out some of the finer details of the gray jelly seeping from the gash. A human brain. He wondered if his own brain looked the same on the inside..

“So what are you doing out here, man?” Emizels question helps Soda pull his eyes away from the gore, instead looking over to his bloodied comrade.

Emizel looked messy and even exhausted, but his drowsy gaze was focused on Soda with a worried expression. 

“Oh, uh, yknow, just a soda run. Decided I would stock up on some Faygo from the Shady Shell.” Soda shrugs, his eyes flickering down to the opened Faygo in his hand. The top was covered in regurgitated blood. unnaturally blackened blood…

“Are you.. okay, by the way? Other than the whole..” Soda gestures vaguely at the gruesome crime scene. “Are you hurt?”

The question has Emizel pausing to consider. He straightens his back and stretches his arms, as if trying to detect any pain from any possible injury. Nothing seemed to be bothering him though, and after a second, he decides to shrug.

“Nah, I'm all good.”

“Oh.. That's good, I uh…” Soda found himself looking over Emizel aswell, searching for any wounds the monster boy might be simply disregarding, as he often does.

There was a fairly gnarly gash on his shin..

“Hey uh, I was actually gonna go hang out by the ledge down that way. Yknow, the one with the funny intersection.” Soda says, gesturing off towards where he intended to go. “Wanna come with?”

Emizel looks back that way, before turning back to Soda with a big smile on his face. 

“Oh hell yeah I do! I love the funny intersection!” he starts to walk down the alley, about to step over the body of the broken skull, when Soda speaks up.

“Uh, hey, shouldn't we uh.. Do something about the.. uh..” He waves a hand over towards the bodies, trying not to look directly at them. 

Emizel spares the corpses an inconvenienced glance, and a sigh, but ultimately shrugs them off. “Ehhh I'll just dump 'em in a dumpster again.. That's what I've been doing anyway.”

“And you're not worried about, like, anyone finding them?”

Soda anxiously watches on as Emizel paces around the body with the torn-out throat, licking the blood from his own mouth. Was his tongue always that long and pointed? That's neat, and normally Soda would point it out, but he was a bit.. preoccupied right now 

“Nahh not really. I haven't had anyone bother me at least.. Anyone been bothering you?” Emizels eyes finally flick back over to Soda. 

“Nah, I'd say things are actually more lax than usual. Anything that would end up being trouble’s been pretty much crushe- er, killed- destr- stamped out, by uh, by you.” Sods was cringing with every attempt to find a word that didn’t make his stomach turn, but Emizel didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Emizels eyes were currently a bit more focused on the body laying before him. He had that weird look on his face again… 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that's good that uh, no troubles coming back to you guys…”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two as Emizel stares at this corpse, and Soda was about to open his mouth to fill the silence, but Emizel speaks up instead.

“Hey uh, why don’t you go ahead of me? I’ll uh, I'll meet you at the place.” He suggests, pointing vaguely off down the alley, but not removing his eyes from the kill. 

Soda certainly hesitates, his eyes narrowing before he even forms a thought. He opens his mouth to object, but then his eyes flicker back towards the body.

“Are you gonna eat this one too?”

The question leaves Sodas mouth as soon as it comes to mind.

Emizel pauses, and considers, before giving a shrug. “I don't see why not. Perfectly good blood.” He reaches down to grab his kill by the shirt, the one with the split open head. As the corpse rises from the concrete, gray matter drips and sloughs from the crack in its skull. Once again, Soda felt the need to look away, and yet his stupid eyes remained fixated on the horrendous sight. Emizel looks over the spilling brain of his meal, licking his lips curiously. “Dude, what do you think would happen if I ate his brain?” Emizel asks, looking back over to Soda with a wild, bloodied smile. Something about that look made Soda shiver, but.. Not really in a bad way… “Uh, I.. Dunno…. Eating a persons brain is how you get like, mad cow disease right? But you might also be immune to disease.. Are you immune to disease?” “Uhhh, I don't know yet actually. I'm still figuring out how much of this is like video games,” Emizel says, rubbing the back of his head as he idly sways the body of his kill around, watching the blood and gore drip and drop from its broken head. “Eh, I'll chance it later.” Without another word or thought, Emizel goes to sink his teeth into the shoulder of his kill, a pleased growl radiating from him as the blood gushes around the bite. More fresh blood upon less fresh blood upon old blood upon older blood. Just so much fucking blood. Soda thought he was used to seeing blood, but this… this was just egregious. Was he really starting to get used to this? It’s just blood after all, and it’s not from his comrades, so it's… fine… He finally manages to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Emizel feeding, but his eyes instead wander down to the blood on his own shirt. Emizels blood was strange, darker than usual, and carrying a different scent. Something about the smell of his blood was more savory, more appealing than the standard metallic miasm. His shirt was smothered in it, his jacket was coated in it, and his opened bottle of Faygo was also splattered with the deep red ichor. Ink swirls within the bottle of red fizzy, spreading out into all sorts of odd patterns. It was a lot of blood. He was certain a lot of it came from however many people Emizels been feeding on. With how much hes been terrorizing the Fangs in just the last few days, and with how nonchalantly he feasts on his kills, who knows how much blood hes actually ingested… Soda swirls the bottle, watching the blood inside thin out into strands, dancing within the bubbly soda as they gradually dissipate, fully assimilating into the drink. A bad idea chews at the back of his head… The sound of ripping flesh once again knocks at Sodas head. He doesn’t look up this time, but he knew Emizel was just playing with his food again..  Did blood taste good to a vampire? Did some blood taste better than others? What did Sodas blood taste like? What did Emizels blood taste like? There's a visceral snap of something among the chewing and ripping, very clearly a bone or a joint snapping out of place. It made Soda shiver a little. When did his heart start pounding? There's an animal standing only 8 feet away from him, feeding on its kill. That animal is a person, and so is its kill. He wanted to know what vampire blood tasted like, but he already knew what human blood tasted like. It hung so densely in the air, he could feel it forming a vile film over his tongue. The blood of a person just like him. Eaten by an animal that eats people.  All this stress was no good. This bile rising to his throat was no good. This creeping anxiety was no good. He's friends with an animal that eats people. Would it eat him? This weird feeling was no good. Maybe it will never eat him. But it needs to eat people. This worry was no good. He needed to wash this awful taste from his mouth, replace it with something sweeter. He needed to keep his head clear enough to be there for Emizel when he needed to be. He needed to hold a light to these shadows. And he needed to stay positive, and drink soda. He takes a swig of the open Faygo bottle.

[imshii-kin]

Good Luck

Platonic Yandere Dc x reincarnated Reader

I made this a bit ago so have mercy :,)

Wattpad

Summary : Y/n, who recently taken an interest in the DC universe, finds themself in that very universe after a little roadkill accident.

Prologue, Chapter # 1 (you are here), Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Never feel guilty for starting again. - Rupi Kaur

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

It had been a few hours since Y/n had awoken, she felt like she was in shock. She could remember walking back to her dorm from the public library. She had picked a random comic from the comic section, deciding to venture from her usual picks.

She could remember the bright headlights barreling towards her, the pain, her breath slowly slipping from her...

Y/n doesn't know is she can look at a truck the same way again.

"What do you think could've caused this Lois? She was completely fine yesterday." A man with inky black hair and deep blue eyes paced around the kitchen, his brows furrowed in frustration.

The woman next to him, Louis, placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort her husband. "I don't know Clark, it's strange."

Y/n sucks in a breath, she was in the DC universe.

──●◎●──

'...I didn't even get to finish playing through Fnaf.' Y/n thought as she watched her 'parents' talk. Sighing, Y/n recounted her situation, she could remember her past life perfectly, but she drew a blank when she tried to remember anything from this life.

In all honesty Y/n was on the verge of a panic attack, still coming to grips with the fact she died. Not only that, but out of all the universes to be reincarnated in, Y/n was reborn into one of the most dangerous universes out there. Why couldn't she just be reincarnated in a chick flick?

Louis had her arm around Y/n, holding her close and trying to comfort her. She was saying something to Y/n, though nothing really registered.

Justifiably, Y/n didn't feel like talking to anyone.

Clark sat down in front of you, gently taking your hands in his hands. "Y/n, can you tell us what could have happened? Anything at all?" Y/n shakes her head no. She chose not to mention her past life, something in her gut told her to keep it to herself.

Clark sighed disappointedly, "I guess I'll have to call Bruce." He seemed grimace when he mentioned Bruce's name.

That's never a good sign.

──●◎●──

"What do you mean 'No' Bruce!?" Clark yelled at the billionaire, who was trying to calm down and reason with the hero.

"Clark, I just think you're going a little overboard, let me take her back to Gotham. I can use my computers and resources that are stored in the bat cave to figure out what's wrong." Bruce explained. "We don't need to summon the Justice League for this." Bruce's brow furrowed at the stubbornness of the alien.

Off to the side Y/n watched the interaction with morbid curiosity. Though you agreed that calling up the Justice League was a bit... over the top. It was still strange how Bruce seems reluctant to interact with the Justice League in general.

Wonder why that is.

Clark runs a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated. "Why would I let my daughter go to Gotham, for all I know, this is some excuse to experiment on her kryptonian side. Find out more weaknesses," he all but snarled, "or get her killed, just like Jason!"

Clark pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't trust her with you, not after..." He shakes his head, turning away from Bruce.

Louis had left your side to talk with Clark, allowing Jon to take her place.

There's some silence, before Jon decides to speak. "...I think you should go." He says. Y/n tilts her head towards him, brow raised. "I gave a friend there, Damien." Jon begins, "he's told me all about Bruce, I think they can help you."

Jon blushes a bit, "Plus, Damien is the most trustworthy guy I know, if you ever need help, he'll be there."

Footsteps approach you both from behind, turning to look, you both see an irritated Clark approaching you. "Well, she doesn't have a choice. She isn't going." He huffed.

"..."

"Clark, do you want her to get the best treatment or not?" Surprisingly, Lois spoke up this time. Sighing, she took Clark's hand.

"Bruce won't betray our trust, plus she'll be in one of the most protected places in Gotham, getting the best treatment she could ever get. I think we should let Bruce take her until we figure out what, or... who caused this."

──●◎●──

Y/n and Bruce sit in silence.

──●◎●──

Chapter 2

[woundedoves]

Male School President Bully!Yandere x GN!Reader (NSFW)

a/n: i wrote this in a very horny whim omfg

CW: Bullying, thoughts of cutting the reader, a single sentence of a thought about fucking the readers guts, sadistic thoughts, jerks off with his hands stained with your blood, not proofread. you have been warned!

School president who is the sweetest, the most understanding, the most perfect and helpful guy you’ll ever meet in your life! Everyone loves him, from the students to the faculty, he’s always been diligent, hardworking and impossibly handsome. Always so good willed, never goes out of line, always attends church on time, helps clean after school hours; always with a kind smile on his lips and a comforting gaze in his eyes. Yet, when he’s with you, it’s like he turns into a different person.

You’d never crossed paths before when you accidentally bumped into him as you were hurrying through the halls to get to your waiting friend so you could walk home with him as you always do, you apologise profusely and then you feel him tugging on your wrist; slamming your face into the classroom door made of wood.

You groan in pain as you feel a burning pain blossom from your nose, coughing as he presses your face further into the door. He slams his knee between your legs, making you wince as you feel him speak impossibly close to your ear, “are you that much of a fucking dumbass that you can’t even see someone in front of you?” you try to wriggle your body out of his grip to no avail, you scream as he kicks your knees; curling up on the ground in pain as you feel tears streaming down your face. You hear him chuckle, so sadistically, “look at you, you’ve always come across as pathetic to me, seriously look at your face!” you wince and groan in pain as he takes your chin with his hand, his grip unrelentingly strong as he makes you look at him.

You finally manage to open your eyes, your sight is blurry through your tears but you swear you saw his eyes half lidded, his hands unusually hot as he shoots a final disgusted glance at your wounded face, shoving you into the ground once more before you faintly heard the click of a phone camera as he walked away.

Thankfully not long after your friend found you half conscious, hurriedly taking you to the school nurse as he asks you who would’ve done such a thing, you two are like ghosts in this school who would even take an issue with you? You felt your consciousness slip from exhaustion and the harsh beating you got before you could give him an answer.

Back at his house, he could barely greet his mother before he rushed to his room, he’s never been so fucking horny like this before. He did a lot to keep his persona, his grades and his social life, and yet one drop of water in his already full glass tipped him over the edge. You looked so fucking ethereal though, fuck. The blood, the way you screamed and groaned in pain, he never felt his dick throb so much in his life; the sight of you in pain was so fucking orgasmic.

He has always had a more morbid side to him, he used to cut up bugs and roadkills just to see what’s inside, he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to slice open your stomach and fuck his dick into your guts as the blood gushed out of you; the mental image now cemented in his mind, never to leave.

He didn’t even wash his hands, he fucking hates filth, he’s always clean and put together but… he really wanted to jerk his cock off with your blood still on his hands. He has urges, disgusting ones, ones he can never act on unless he wants his life he worked so hard for to be ruined. Though, you were different. Practically a ghost, no one knows who you are, no one would believe you whatever you told them, you wouldn’t dare to; he has too many admirers that would make your life hell for even touching him.

That was it, he could finally make someone bleed, make them scream and cry as he cut them open so beautifully.

His hand went to his phone and opened the picture of you, his other hand undoing the zipper as his hard on sprung out, throbbing and already dripping with pre-cum. What if he actually cut your legs and thighs with his favourite knife? Would you cry? Would you scream? Would you like it? He hissed as he took his cock in his hand, stroking himself in a harsh pace that’s way too painful to be pleasurable for a normal person, but it’s the only way he can feel anything. He moans as his dick twitches in his palm at the memory of you crying and groaning in pain on the floor below him, you looked so fucking good it was pornographic, he wouldn’t let anyone else see it.

He always did have his eyes on you, you were pretty attractive to him, yet you were just an unfortunate victim that was the last straw to his sanity that day. What if he didn’t leave? What if he just shoved you into that class, cut your school uniform open, mouthed your sex through your underwear as he dug his nails up from your thighs to your knees as he left bloody nail marks all along them? He buckled into his hand as he felt himself getting closer, biting his lip as his hand sped up.

He couldn’t help it, he never acted on these sadistic urges like this before, fuck you looked so so good, he can never forget that, he’s going to have you screaming on his bed with pain just to shove his cock raw into your hole. Doesn’t really matter how much you cry, how much it hurts, the more you scream, the more you wail, the faster he’ll cum anyways. He thrusts into his fist a few more times until he stills and cums all over his screen, to the photo of you, with a hiss, his cock raw and already overstimulated.

His sheets are dirty with his cum, his cock stained with your blood… He wondered how your hole would look, covered in blood and his cum gushing out of it.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Hackin'

King: i can't believe elon's grok is pretending i'm friends with him King: i need to stop that AI before everyone believes it! King: i've got to hire a hacker King: franz, you've got to help me Franz Kafka: what? me? Barker: steve, no

Kafka: i'm not a hacker King: oh i thought franz was a hacker Barker: what gave you THAT impression? King: you know, with the cat ear headphones and the striped thigh socks Barker: no steve that's something ENTIRELY different Kafka: n-no it isn't, on second thought yes I'm totally a hacker

Kafka: it means i'm a hacker, nothing else Barker: sure franz Kafka: it does! it totally means i'm a hacker! Barker: franz, go play with your blahaj plush, the adults are talking here

Barker: you know who you need? you need william gibson Barker: the best hacker money can buy King: william gibson? how do i contact him? Barker: you don't Barker: he'll contact you

King: can you really hack grok, william? William Gibson: [wearing black duster and fingerless black gloves] my hacker name is shadow gigabyte King: oh sorry Gibson: can i hack grok? listen kid i was cyberbyting the megabyte mainframe when you were just rebooting your motherboard mouse data bandwidth modem email King: wow!

Gibson: my CPU is a neural net processer, a learning computer King: wow he really sounds like he knows what he's talking about! King: that definitely sounds like hacker talk to me Gibson: CD Rom Gibson: internet Joe Hill: dad can i talk to you for a second King: not now joe daddy's hiring a hacker

Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] i'll re-index the mega bit blaster cyber codex Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] now we'll cybersecurity the lock box data center King: hey what happens if you push that button? Gibson: what the-- no!! [klaxons sound] King: what's that mean? Gibson: shit Gibson: we've got company

Gibson: sentient cyber virus electronic guard cyberbots Gibson: real high tech Gibson: state of the art in bio-tech wetware neural-data scrapers Gibson: [putting on sunglasses with red laser scope] and they ain't friendly

King: what are we going to do?! Gibson: kid, you keep your hands to yourself unless you wanna become roadkill on the information super highway!!! Gibson: hold on to your CPU (central processing unit)!!!

Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] gotta reconfigure the darkweb logistics for ethernet wavetech Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] upload the memory downloader for dumpware backup Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] uncodify the cyberpatch modifer aaaaand Gibson: i'm in

King: wow, you hacked twitter?? how did you do it? Gibson: the greatest hackers never reveal their secrets [earlier] Gibson: [wearing fake mustache] hey elon its me catturd Gibson: could you give me your password? Elon Musk: sure it's "picklerick420"!

[snzhrchy]

Oh my god, I thought about this at school, okok so can I request a fanfic about Ajax having a crush on the reader (She/her if u can!) and his little snakes constantly trying to be affectionate with her and sneaking outside his little hat to try and touch you???? Thank you!

— ☆ THE SNAKES !

ajax petropolus x fem!reader

synopsis; Gorgons are usually told to keep their distance from the rest of the outcasts but Ajax and his snakes are a little too fond of you. notes; THIS WAS SOO FUN TO WRITE AND THE CONCEPT WAS CUTE TOO OMG taglist; lmk if u wanna be on it !!

The first time you encountered Ajax's snakes acting oddly around you was when the both of you were studying for your upcoming exam. When this happened, neither of you were aware of each other's feelings towards one another and didn't think too much of it:

Usually, Nevermore's library is rather quiet with no signs of life but not today. Today, the library had been filled with dozens of students trying to cram the entire biology syllabus in less than an hour.

Exam season was upon the students of Nevermore and they were all rest-less, including you and Ajax.

You both were near the end of the library, sitting across from one another as you both were helping each other revise for your upcoming exam. Yet, none of you could get anything done since there were far too many distractions for the both of you.

'Right so, what are the adaptations of a Dionaea muscipula plant?' you asked Ajax looking up from your deck of flashcards that were strewn all over your textbook.

Ajax remained quiet as he tried to think of his answer to your question while you began to scan your textbook again, re-reading all the material in it.

After a while, you turned to Ajax, again, wanting to ask him the question again but were immediately stopped by Ajax, who cursed and shouted: 'Y/N, close your eyes!'

You quickly shut your eyes tight and for good measure, covered them both with your hands. You really didn't want to turn into stone merely hours before your final exam.

Once the gorgon informed you that it was safe to open to your eyes, you slowly obliged. You saw that he looked rather embarrassed as he had his face covered with both of his hands. 'Sorry. I'm really sorry about that, I don't know what's happening to my snakes right now. Usually, they behave quite well,' he apologised.

You shook your head and reassured him that it wasn't his fault that his snakes attempted to stone you. You didn't think too much of this interaction but little did you know that the reason for this was due to the gorgon's major crush on you.

The second time Ajax's snakes attempted to touch you was during Outreach Day at Uriah's Heep. You both had gotten that shop for volunteering and you were very glad to have been there with a friend:

Outreach Day was probably one of your least favourite days of the school year. Yes, you were going out to Jericho and finally having a change of scenery but the entire concept of volunteering was tedious to you — why were you working at a place when you weren't going to be paid?

However, it wasn't all doom and gloom since your best friend Ajax was volunteering there too!

Most of your time spent at that creepy shack involved you both just quizzically staring at the rows of shelves that were filled with the ( nicely dressed ) roadkill or with cleaning out all the dusty old shelves.

Every now and then, you both would crack jokes but would get immediately shushed by the only clerk present in the store.

While you cleaned out a shelf that was right at the back of the store, you were interrupted Ajax standing a little too close to you as he watched you clean out the shelf.

‘Want some help here? I’m done with my side so—‘ Ajax stopped talking when he noticed that a few of snakes were roaming near your small figure.

All your movements stopped when you felt the weird feeling of scales on your head and neck. Your breath hitched. You were unsure of how to proceed; any wrong movement and you’d be a stone.

‘Ajax?’ You called out. 'Yeah? Sorry, give me a minute...' he said as he began to shove the snakes back into his beanie.

The rest of your day spent with him involved you countlessly reassuring him that the snakes were no big deal while he apologised to you endlessly.

Ajax was terrified of the idea of his snakes ever turning you to stone.

The third ( and last ) time his snakes escaped his beanie to affectionately touch you was during the Rave'N - it was a night you both won't ever forget:

The Rave'N was a rather lively and remarkable evening. It started out rather wonderful as well.

Ajax had come to pick you up at your dorm at around 7. He was already dressed in a white suit - he even had a beanie to match. You'd be lying if you said he didn't look attractive.

The entirety of your evening was spent with the both of you dancing to all the songs, drinking and eating.

As it started to near midnight, the songs started to get slower - perfect for ballroom dancing.

Even though your legs were sore and you felt like you could hardly stand but when Ajax asked you to dance with him one last time, how could you say no?

You both spent the last hours of the night in each other's arms. The entire world around you both was a blur and the only thing you could focus on was Ajax's arms around your body.

When the night ended and everyone was leaving; there were barely any people present except for a few other students and you both.

Ajax and you sat at one of the round tables, doing absolutely nothing - just sitting with one another, enjoying each other's company. It was a comfortable silence, to say the least.

The raspy yet comforting voice of Ajax calling out your name, snapped you out of your thoughts as you turned all your attention to him. You hummed in response, urging him to speak - you were too tired to say a single word.

'I...' he began, 'I had a great time here, with you.' You smiled upon hearing his words, 'me too.'

You both sat in silence again until Ajax began another conversation: 'hey, listen... I don't know how to properly say this but...' he trailed off, it was as if he was trying to form the right words in his mind. 'I really like you - I like you a lot, in fact,' he bluntly said.

Your eyes widened in shock; you couldn't believe your ears - your best friend and crush, Ajax had confessed to you. It was too surreal.

You were unaware of how to properly tell him that you harbored feelings for him as well. So, on impulse, you crashed your lips onto his.

Ajax was taken a back by your action but he kissed you back nonetheless. He'd been wanting to do that for so long.

His hands cupped one of your cheeks while the other travelled down to your waist whereas both of your arms were wrapped around his neck.

Unfortunately, you both pulled apart once Ajax realised that his snakes had escaped, again. He frantically apologised to you on behalf of his snakes while you chuckled.

Atleast now the snakes would attempt to escape a little less.

[dearsnow]

OUT OF TIME (2)

- you’re smacked in the face with a hint of the past and a group of aviators that can’t seem to leave you alone. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader, part of the series “out of touch”)

OUT OF TOUCH: It’s been twenty years since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw, and, suddenly, you realize he’s finally grown up.

word count: 2,002

a/n - i’m on my phoenix wlw bullshit btw, i love her sm 🫶 enjoy this slightly longer chapter, and heed my warnings: something big is coming soon

When they step through the doorway of the quaint cafe, the entire dagger squad sighs. The smell of coffee and baked goods is almost sweet enough to touch, with slightly floral notes from the abundance of small plants and tabletop flowers. The floor beneath them is wood-paneled, with green accents hidden throughout the building. In Rooster’s opinion, it’s straight out of a storybook. And, evidently, so are you.

He would be lying if he said you weren’t anything short of completely gorgeous. The sunlight from your many windows filters over your face and through the gaps between your fingers, casting you in a golden San Diego glow. Your smile reaches your eyes and, though he would love to see you in any outfit, the apron is really working for you. You seem nice— and man, do the daggers really take advantage of “nice”. 

Hangman, from behind him, whispers, “Holy shit.”

You’re standing behind the cash register, thumbing through a decoration catalog when the rowdy group appears in front of you. You direct your warm smile to the daggers as you put the catalog down, and suddenly, Rooster vaguely recognizes you.

Bradley wracks his brain, trying desperately to remember who you are.

You don’t seem like anyone he met at college or recently, and definitely not on base, so you must’ve been from his childhood. The girl who slapped him during his senior year? No, you couldn’t be her. The girl who worked at the corner shop by his house, the girl he made out with in his mom’s car, the girl who found out she was a lesbian after dating him, none of them looked like you. But god, do you look good.

Then it hits him. You. The girl who bought his mom flowers. Who baked him cookies. Who tearfully admitted that you didn’t think he liked you as much as he liked himself, and who he agreed with. You’re here, and he sorely regrets breaking your heart twenty years ago. The worst (or perhaps best) part is that you don’t even seem to recognize him. He’s a little afraid of what would happen if you did.

“Welcome in!” You call, and he can see his friends swooning. He himself feels a little weak in the knees. 

Hangman, ever the flirt, takes his opportunity. “Hey, darlin’. I’m Jake. Come here often?”

Rooster can feel his eyes rolling themselves. It’s like he’s been conditioned to groan at Hangman’s attempts. They’re never good, if he’s being honest. “Gorgeous” this and “darlin’” that. Despite his reservations, though, it usually works. That or his sharp jawline, toned abs, and movie star scruff.

“If you mean here, as in where I work, then yes.” You quip. Jake reaches to shake your hand, and you comply, looking at him like a motorist looks at a poor piece of roadkill; just a little pitying. Rooster has never been more impressed by a woman before.

“Fanboy here has been raving about your croissants, gorgeous.” There it is. Rooster knows Jake’s lines like the back of his hand. “I bet you make the best ones in the city. I wouldn’t mind getting a sample myself.” He drawls. He pulls out his wallet like it’s on fire and quickly drops some cash in your tip jar before offering the rest directly to you.

You hand him a wrapped croissant before gesturing to Fanboy. “Fanboy? Is that a call sign?”

He takes a step forward, a sparkle in his eye. “Yes ma’am.” His cheeks are dusted with a light red, and not even the soft lighting of the cafe can hide it.

Phoenix is standing near the back with Bob, arms crossed, taking in the scene in front of her. Rooster moves to join her as Fanboy takes pride in letting you know everyone’s call sign. “Not joining in on the action?” Rooster says, nudging her with his elbow.

Phoenix shrugs. “She’s a looker for sure, but all I can see is that photo of her and her boyfriend on the wall behind her. I’ll quit while I’m ahead.” She grins. Rooster laughs, and for a split second, your eyes shift to him. They widen a bit, then before he can even process it, you’re helping Payback pick out a cupcake. Damn, your eyes are beautiful.

When he and Phoenix eventually peel the others off of your cafe’s very nice wooden floors, Bradley can’t stop the flutter in his chest.

Bradley comes back the next day. He just can’t help himself. The night of the initial visit, he tossed and turned in his bed, desperately trying not to think of you and how he royally fucked up. He needs closure. He needs to stand in front of you, face-to-face, and confess that he regrets ever hurting you. He knows he’s out of time, and he’s been out of time for years, but he feels that if he can’t speak to you, he might explode. That is, if you even remember who he is.

That’s why he finds himself staring at your pastry shelf as you list off your favorites. “…sometimes the cherry tarts are good, but I mostly like the raspberry scones. They’re way too underrated.” You hover above the glass display, pointing to each one.

“Then I’ll have one raspberry scone, please.” He smiles. As you wrap his choice for him, he hesitates. “Do… do you remember me?”

“From yesterday? I find your group a bit hard to forget, Rooster.” You say. You’re purposely avoiding his question, something that you yourself can see very clearly. You hope it isn’t obvious to him.

Of course you remember him. You remember the smell clinging to his jacket and his stupidly loud boombox. You also remember his gangly limbs and prominent awkwardness. And, as much as you try to forget, you remember how in love you were.

Whenever you saw him, your heart would swell. He was just so good. Everything about him just seemed like a teenage dream.

His hair was scruffy, like he hadn’t learned to take care of it yet. He was tall still, as he always had been. And he was kind.

He offered to walk you to school every morning after your mom told his mom that the dog two houses down from yours would chase you, and you were head over heels. Every word he spoke seemed to draw you closer. During those walks, the world itself seemed to rest in your open palms.

“Hey, wait- don’t go too far, I can’t see you!”

“You’re real smart, did you know that? You’re not like a lot of the other girls.”

“That’s so cool. You should come over and show me sometime.”

You had gotten so caught up in him that you completely forgot he wasn’t the type to settle down, even in high school.

“I just don’t know.” He said, on your second-to-last date. “I like that you’re into me, but I’m young, y’know? I mean, we’re not even legal adults yet. I don’t want to tie myself down too soon. It’s not you, it’s me.” 

You nodded along, but your heart was breaking with every word that came out of his mouth. You wanted him so badly it made your throat ache. You had written poems about this guy, and he was feeding you cliche break up lines to get away from you. “I get it.” You murmured. You did, in some sense. High school relationships aren’t built to last. At the time, you wished they were. “You just want ‘casual’. And I know I’m not casual.”

This conversation kicked you right in the insecurities. For a long, long time, you believed you weren’t loveable because of it. You were too much, loved too much, gave too much. You felt too much. You scared everyone away with your tears and worries, latching on so tightly anyone in your grip felt like they were suffocating. It closed you off for a good, long while. In truth, Derick was the only reason you ever came out of that self-loathing way of thinking.

Bradley smiled like he didn’t just kick you in the feelings. “Right. Thanks for understanding,” and he spoke your name without a hint of longing. “You’ll find a nice guy someday. I just don’t think it’ll ever be me.”

Then, things exploded when you caught him flirting with Rebecca right before your last date, and you never looked back.

You hand him the scone with a tight smile. 

“No,” he says, “do you remember me from high school? Bradley Bradshaw, at your service.” 

You pause, as if you’re just taking him in for the first time. He supposes that he does look really different, with the mustache and hair and filled-out body. He wouldn’t blame you if you just didn’t want to recognize him, though.

“Oh.” Is all you say. An awkward pause fills the air, stifling the rest of the words in your throat. If you’re being honest, you would’ve rather he just stayed away instead of infiltrating one of the places you feel safest. You suppose you can’t actually be that mad at him, though, considering it’s been two decades since he hurt you. Bradley quickly fills the silence.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was a dick back then. I regret it deeply, if that’s any consolation.” 

You hand him his scone. “You were a dick. But I lived.” Your tone still has a touch of humor. Bradley can feel his heart doing loop-de-loops. He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, not now, not when you have a boyfriend and have so clearly moved on from him, but the feelings that drew him to you in the first place are sprinting back at full force.

He did like you. He liked your jokes, how you always put your full effort in, and your kindness, even when he didn’t deserve it. He just wasn’t ready for anything so undoubtedly good at the time. He needed to get smacked in the face with the lessons that life taught him. If he hadn’t gotten those lessons, if he had taken your hand and your offer of a real relationship, he would be happier. But you wouldn’t be. That’s what he had learned after all these years, and now, he’s desperate to prove that life changed him. You were never too much for him, he just wasn’t enough for you.

“Yeah, clearly. I’m happy you’re doing well now.” He gestures to the scone as a show of proof, quirking his eyebrow. You smile.

“I’m happy you seem to be doing well too. Come back anytime, Bradley.”

Seeing him still hurts. You don’t have the right to be sad, you think, but finding out that you moved miles and miles away just to end up in front of him makes you feel like your life has been one big unhappy circle. Despite everything, you’re glad he’s made a life for himself. He definitely seems more mature now, which the San Diego ladies must love.

He pays you, then slides a twenty and a piece of paper in your tip jar with sparkling eyes. He licks his lips quickly, like his mouth has suddenly gone dry. His stance is just a little less confident than it was a few seconds ago. “I put my number in there. Call me if you need a friend, yeah? No funny business, but it’s tough being in a new place, so I’ll be here if you feel up for it.”

Looking around at your sparsely furnished and no-employee cafe, you don’t wonder how he knew you just moved here. You just thank him with a tight smile and pretend not to notice how nice he looks from the back.

You unfold the piece of paper, fully intending to throw it away, before sighing and tucking it into your apron pocket. You doubt you’ll ever need a friend in Bradley Bradshaw, but things tend to change in the blink of an eye.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

Taglist: @m1dnightsnackz @itsarabellebabes @shanimallina87 @sadgirlgiselle

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

HELLO HELLO

Would you by any chance be willing to write some small headcannons for the Sawyers (TCM), Stu Macher, and Billy Loomis?

Specifically, how they would comfort their S/O who has just been dropped by their lifelong best friends. (This same thing happened to me and I need help coping 😔)

ANYWAYS

Remember to take care of yourself!! Get lots of rest, eat, drink water, and relax ❤️

I would love to!! Also fuck them they’re missing out

Comfort! S/o with Shitty Friends x The Sawyer Family + Scream 1 Killers!

Nubbins Sawyer

-“Well y-ya want me to k-kill em y/n?”

-“Nubbins NO!”

-lil disappointed but accepts

-he isn’t great with feelings

-brings you roadkill to make you feel better

-“Y-y/n look! I g-gots you a d-dead bird!”

-lmao

-he’s like a cat with that shit man

-super clingy and cuddles with you if you feel like it

Chop Top Sawyer

-goes on a rant about how they don’t deserve you

-also volunteers to murder them

-tbh not super great at comforting or sympathetic

-“Why are you hurt y/n? You don’t even need em’! You got me!”

Drayton Sawyer

-“Well, I can tell you this much. Those kids are damn fools if they dropped you.”

-he gives you a short hug then shoos you away to do your chores

-smiles, he’s surprisingly sweet about it

-Uncle Dray has a rare soft spot for ya

-makes your favorite dinner that night

-to cheer you up

Bubba Sawyer

-best comforter

-squeals and grunts in reactions when you tell him

-big bear hugs

-will hug you for hours

-he makes some flowers for you in a pretty bow

-he does things with you that your friends normally did, like gaming, painting nails, any activity like that

Nancy Slaughter

-she rolls her eyes at them

-“You’re a perfectly fine kid. Thems’ mommas ain’t raise em right.”

-gives you a grandma hug and you choke on her perfume

Sissy Slaughter

-she thinks it’s stupid

-she tells you they are stupid for giving up a wonderful person like you

-lists all your great qualities

-she cheers you up verbally the best I think

-secretly kills one

-she’d lean up and give you a hug

-and have a hangout that night

Johnny Slaughter

-“Y/n, them kids just stupid bastards.”

-he’d also give you a quick hug

-he would give you some heavy whiskey if you wanted it

-he would also kill then even if you told him not to

-he would talk about how annoying they were to kill 💀

Stu Macher

-also secretly kills them

-talks about how dumb they were anyway and how great you are

-they don’t deserve you anyway and they are going to regret dropping you

-cuddles you

-similar to chop top tbh

Billy Loomis

-he would ask where they live 💀

-kills them in secret as ghost face too

-he would give you lots of kisses

-cuddles, attention

-would make sure you’re just as happy without them

-smirks a bit when the tv announcement comes on that they’ve died under “mysterious circumstances”

[cera-writes]

"Ma chère, you are mine." 🃏

Part Two

Pairing: Remy "Gambit" LeBeau x F!Reader Tags: slow burn, angst, jealousy Remy never thought there'd be someone else besides Rogue who'd just waltz into his life, but there you were. A/N: This fic is based on episode 5 of X-Men 97. There may be future nsfw themes in later chapters. I'm thinking of making this into three parts at least. Tagged: @lokislittlemouse @give-jack-a-lightsaber

That night, the sky was lit in a cacophony of bursts and particles of light exploding in an array of beautiful colors cascading over Genosha. The fireworks were a sight to see, but so were you.

You had just finished getting ready. You stood in front of a grand mirror in the room you were sharing with Rogue while on your trip in Genosha. A grand window with a balcony overlooked the city below, illuminated by the chasms of light pouring down from the fireworks overhead.

Your dress was a shade of midnight, sparkling with diamonds like stars enmeshed into the fabric. Spaghetti straps adorned your bare shoulders as a plunging neckline accentuated your breasts. The dress fit you like a glove. There was a split up the dress that stretched all the way up the length of your right leg to your mid thigh, daring to show a little skin. It screamed Eclipse, much like your name.

You let your hair fall loosely around your face and wore a tad bit more makeup than usual, to which Rogue helped you with. You were in a state of a much more glamorized version of yourself. Lastly, you slipped your matching black heels on before Rogue walked up behind you.

"Goodness me, if I were a guy I'd be all over you faster than a buzzard on roadkill. You are gorgeous, sugah!" Rogue gandered at you, fanning herself.

You smiled, not helping but to blush at her open-handed compliment. "Thanks girl, but honestly you did most of the work. I was just your canvas."

Rogue scoffed. "Puh-lease. Don't be so hard on yourself. Those men will be all over you tonight. I'm gonna have to practically fight em' off of you." She meant to strike up light-hearted banter with you but you could tell there was something deeper going on that she wasn't opening up about. You could always tell when your best friend had something eating away at her.

"Hey...is something the matter? I can't help but notice that something is off with you tonight, Rogue." You placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Rogue sighed but shook her head. "Don't worry about me sugah. Now, you should get down there. I'll be right behind ya," she tried reassuring you.

You frowned but decided not to pry further, even though you wished she'd open up to you.

You could practically hear the music blaring downstairs in the ballroom even as you sat at your vanity ten floors up.

There was only one man's attention you wanted tonight, but that thought just seemed like wishful thinking.

You checked yourself out in the mirror once more, admiring the shade of rouge that Rogue had adorned your lips with. She really was a treasure and you would never dream of getting in the way of her and Remy if that's what caused her mood to be so sullen.

You also noticed she hadn't slipped into her dress yet. "So...why haven't you gotten ready yet? You know the celebration starts in an hour." You asked Rogue with curiosity lacing your voice.

"There's uh, somethin' I need to talk to Gambit about first." She sighed. You knew it. Your heart sunk. I mean, what'd you expect? Gambit was only here because of Rogue and you were just here because she wanted you to come. But shouldn't she be happy? Maybe something had happened that you had no business interfering with.

You sighed with a breath of indignation. You should be happy that they'd finally get this moment, but you still couldn't help but feel bitter about it all. Rogue was...well, Rogue. She could get anyone she wanted. Even if she weren't able to be physical with Gambit, you knew deep down Gambit didn't care about that even if that was important to Rogue. He was in love with her.

Even so, there were ways of bypassing that kind of situation, even if it was frowned upon by your kind. Honestly, if the two of them were going to be together finally, you would at least make an attempt to drown yourself in liquor with Kurt at the bar. At least you'd forget about it if you drank well enough into the night with your other best friend.

Before you could even glance back at the southern belle, she was already gone. A gust of wind blew through the open window she must have slipped out of while you weren't looking. The curtains bellowed softly in unison as you did a once over in the mirror before heading out of your room.

"It's okay Eclipse...just be happy for them." You told yourself as your heart broke with every step toward the elevator down to the gala.

You reached the bottom floor, making your way toward the grand staircase leading to the open bar and dance floor. The room was grand with numerous glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. You could even spot a few guests hanging around on top of them, idling away in conversations with champagne flutes in hand. There was lively music flooding the open space as you watched people dancing and just overall having the time of their lives.

Despite the fun atmosphere happening around you, you could've waltzed right back to your room and played hermit and pretended that this night hadn't even happened. You felt the complete opposite akin to the atmosphere displayed before you.

And you would have thrown that dress off and undone the pins holding your hair in place if Rogue hadn't already spent an hour on your makeup. You cursed Morph in the back of your mind, knowing they were probably worry free watching crappy horror movies right about now. Gosh how you wished you were back home at the mansion.

You made up your mind that were going to find Kurt and spend the rest of your night dancing and drinking your feelings away. The faster you could forget, the better. Your eyes started scanning for any sign of the blue furball amidst the crowds of people there.

"Who is that? She's gorgeous!" You heard whispers as you descended the staircase. You felt everyone's eyes on you. Were they really talking about you? You weren't used to the attention at all like this. You couldn't help but smirk at the gawking but quickly shook your head. It didn't matter what they thought.

You weren't there tonight to find someone lucky enough to take back up to your room. No one else mattered to you. The only man that held your heart in his hands was breaking it anyway. You could live with yourself if that meant Remy was happy no matter how bad it hurt.

You had to suck it up. There was no point wallowing in this self pity bullshit anymore tonight. At least you'd convinced yourself of that much.

Your heels finally collided with the smooth tiles of the bottom floor. You nearly sighed in relief upon seeing a mop of black hair and blue skin cutting it up on the dance floor. "There he is," you smiled, making a beeline straight for Nightcrawler. At least he seemed to be having a blast. You needed some of that energy he was exuding.

"Eclipse! Oh Mein Gott! You look...breathtaking!" He immediately found you, eyes wide at your alluring appearance before teleporting right in front of you as you joined him over on the dance floor alongside a few others who were moving to the beat of the music.

"No, really! You are stunning tonight!" He grinned, taking your hand a placing a kiss on top of it. You face couldn't deny or hide the sudden heat from his sweet comment about you. "Thanks, Kurt."

"Gern geschehen," he bowed, offering a kind smile in return. "I thought you'd be here with Gambit, no?" He looked puzzled as he glanced behind you for any sign of the cajun man.

"Guess he's still getting ready," you shrugged indignantly, but you knew the truth anyway even if that was a half lie. You wanted to change the subject but you saw the concern in Kurt's expression as he watched your face.

"Look, meine Freundin, I know things with Gambit can be-"

But he didn't get to finish that sentence before you pulled him back into the crowd of people dancing, much to his surprise.

Nope, you did not want to have that conversation tonight.

"Let's just dance, okay?" you changed the subject as you started swaying to the beat of the music. Nightcrawler merely nodded, not wanting to pry but nonetheless twirled you around on the dance floor in compliance as you simply just let loose and tried forgetting about everything even if just for a moment.

The two of you danced for a while, just having fun. You were actually having so much fun in the moment with Kurt that you almost didn't notice that familiar reddish brown hair slicked back so handsomely, or the way his white suit clung to him in all the right ways. He was sitting at the bar having a drink just as Madelyne Pryor had made her way over to stand next to him.

Nightcrawler noticed you, too distracted to continue your dance with him and smiled. "You should go to him. I'll be right here if you need me." He cocked his furry head towards where Gambit was at the bar.

You sighed and swallowed the damn near painful lump in your throat as you started taking that first step towards Remy. But as soon as you did, you immediately paused to look up.

There, flying gracefully in as a grand gesture, was Rogue.

Her hair was done up around her face with a few loose strands hanging down and her dress was a scarlet shade accentuated with off shoulder straps of baby pinks that hung loosely down her arms.

But what you really noticed was that she wasn't wearing her usual gloves for some reason. It didn't matter because she was absolutely stunning.

You were sure she was going to find Remy and meet up with him below, but nothing could have prepared you for what she did next.

You watched as she flew directly towards Magneto, meeting him skin to skin as their hands touched, electricity igniting at their intimacy. Your jaw slightly slackened at the scene above as if they were dancing like two star crossed lovers for everyone to see. It was if it was a deliberate display of affection between them.

You dared to look at Remy, who was still standing over by the bar. And boy, did he look pissed. He was watching them with nothing but pure hurt and anguish behind his eyes. Even Madelyne had turned to cast him a look of pity.

You were just as confused.

Your eyes glanced back towards the two lovers trapped in what seemed like an intense tango of sorts. Then it happened. Their lips were locked in a passionate kiss.

You placed a hand over your mouth in disbelief at what you were witnessing, surely having thought Rogue had spoken to Gambit earlier to confess her feelings.

Apparently you were way the hell off about your assumptions.

When you looked back in Remy's direction, he was already gone.

You had to find him.

Your feet quickly shuffled through crowds of onlookers as 'Happy Nation' continued playing loudly through the expansive room. You never were really a fan of Ace of Base anyway.

You needed to find Remy and fast.

The air inside was becoming too hot and stifling. 'If I were Remy, where would I run off to?'

The gardens.

You knew he'd have gone outside to get some air and clear his head so that's exactly where you were headed.

You ran out into the open cool air towards the giant fountain settled in the middle of a courtyard of square hedges and roses.

The fountain was lit up in blue lights, just enough to make out the man sitting alone with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he sat perched on the side.

Remy.

"Hey stranger," you timidly spoke up, easing your way towards him.

He blew out a puff of smoke and glanced in your direction.

"Hey chere," he couldn't help but smile softly upon seeing you, even if he felt like absolute shit in that moment.

"Mind if I pop a squat next to you?" You inquired, approaching the matter with as much gentleness as you could knowing what just transpired.

"I ain't stopping you," Remy simply remarked.

You delicately sat next to him, feeling the heat radiating off of him as your shoulders touched slightly.

You were about to bring up how he was feeling but he was the one who initiated first.

"Can you believe it?" He scoffed, taking another drag of his cigarette as the ashes singed.

"Honestly, no." You replied, shaking your head incredulously as you gazed up at the night sky as trails of smoke drifted upwards into the balmy night air.

"I'm so so sorry, Remy."

You laid your head on his shoulder. You knew the pain was still fresh and still stung so you didn't want to talk about anything unless he wanted to initiate that conversation first. You just wanted to be there for him like you always did in the past. He was your best friend and you never wanted that to change.

He shook his head once more before tossing the cigarette on the ground and stomping it out with his shoe.

"That flame has long since died I think...but there's somethin' else too. It made ol' Gambit realize that he's been runnin' from his past too long. He was chasin' somethin' that wasn't ever meant to be his in the first place. They always say you find peace in the most unsightliness of places."

You didn't know what he was getting at but your heart was beating ninety to zero right now. You couldn't dare look at him in fear that you might say something you'll regret. Your head stayed rested against his shoulder as you played with your hands on your lap.

"I think I've had peace this whole time. It was always there, offering a shoulder to cry on or just a hand to hold," He laughed softly in disbelief as if finally coming to a revelation.

"Ma chere, you are mine."

Your eyes widened, heart hammering in your chest, and your relaxed posture had gone rigid as he confessed those words. Those words that held so much meaning. Your eyes pricked with tears as you slowly leaned away to finally face him.

He was smiling at you so tenderly that you could've melted from his gaze right there.

But no sooner did you have time to react to his meaningful words before the sound of ear piercing screams filled the air and everything came crashing down in a literal cloud of smoke and dust.

All you could see was darkness as chaos ensued.

Sentinels.

A/N: I hope ya'll enjoyed part two! I'll be working on part three tomorrow! Leave me comments <3

[dianawinchester03]

Season 2, Episode 16 - Roadkill

Series Masterlist

Authors Note: So the song inspirations for the first part of this chapter are Whatta Man by Salt-N-Pepa and Meddle About by Chase Atlantic. I’d suggest listening to them in that order :)

____________________________________________

Third Person POV

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

The four hunters stumbled out of the bar, the crisp air hitting them like a brick to the forehead. The girls stumbled next to their respective men, leaning against them for support on the journey to the Impala.

The brothers both had to hold their friend’s up by their waists, one arm looped around them to keep them from falling over. The girls could barely stand up straight, still giggling to themselves about how drunk they were.

“Jesus Jo, how much did Y/N make you drink?” Sam grunted before picking Jo up bridal style. “Lost count hours ago,” she slurred with a lopsided smirk. Y/N didn’t even try to hold herself up at this point, her body weight completely leaning on Dean as she stumbled against him as they continued to walk through the parking lot.

Dean chuckled as she tripped over her own feet again, pulling her closer to him, her side flush against his. He had an arm wrapped around her waist, letting her rest all her weight against him as they walked.

Meanwhile, Jo was giggling from Sam’s hold, her head buried into his chest, her arms looped around his neck.

“Son of a…fuck this” Dean muttered tiredly before hauling Y/N up, wrapping his arms around her thighs to toss her over his shoulder. Y/N let out a surprised gasp at the unexpected action, her arms scrambling to find support on the solid back in front of her.

She was now hanging off of Dean like a limp ragdoll. This position gave her a perfect view of his ass, and she took full advantage of it, her hands gripping his hips as she laughed to herself.

“Quit it!” Dean grumbled at y/n who was tapping on both his ass cheeks like a pair of bongos. Both female hunters were laughing in the arms of the boys, who were currently carrying them like sacks of potatoes.

Once they reached the impala, Sam opened the back door to place Jo inside the car gently. Dean leaned over to open the other side back seat door, placing Y/N on the leather seat, mirroring Sam’s actions.

Both brothers slammed the doors shut once the girls were inside. “Yo, stay in the back with them,” Dean instructed his younger brother. Sam looked at him with a confused expression. “What? Why?” He asked with a frown. Dean rolled his eyes like it was the dumbest question in the world.

“Because y/n might stick her head out the window again during the drive over to Bobby’s and she’ll convince Jo to do it too,” he explained, his gaze flickering over to the girls in the backseat. Y/N has done it on more than one occasion when drunk in the backseat of Baby.

Sam’s eyes widened, before nodding in understandment, having witnessed a very intoxicated y/n, she could be persuasive and rangle Jo into doing it with her. “Good call” he chuckled before hopping into the back seat, taking Jo out before settling between the girls.

Dean rolled his eyes again, shaking his head at his brother's agreement, but he knew he was right. The girls would definitely convince each other to do something stupid. Dean got into the driver's seat, starting the engine. The Impala roared to life, the rumbling of the engine filling the car which was also rumbling with laughter.

Y/N and Jo were still laughing hysterically at nothing in particular in the back seat, both clearly completely wasted. Sam rubbed his temples from the sudden sound, bracing himself for the car journey back to Bobby’s, which thankfully, wasn’t too long.

As the Impala pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the road, the girls continued to cackle to themselves from in the back, making Sam roll his eyes and shake his head.

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror of the car to look at the girls in the backseat. He had to bite his tongue to hold back the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. Then Y/N did exactly as Dean anticipated and attempted to stick her head out the window.

Sam immediately caught sight of it, before quickly grabbing Y/N’s arm, reeling her back inside the car. “Get back your ass to your seat” he grumbled, still holding onto her.

“You’re no fun, Sammy” she whined, pouting as she slumped back into her seat. Jo began snickering, leaning against the leather seats. She had the bright idea to do the exact same thing.

“Oh you’ve gotta be shitting me!” Sam exclaimed in frustration, grabbing ahold of Jo like he had done to Y/N. “Sit your ass down, right now” he commanded firmly, he mumbled before grabbing Jo by the waist and pulling her back into the seat, preventing her from sticking her head out like the y/n wanted to.

It was safe to assume Sam was probably regretting the decision of going out to drink with them. Their laughter filled the car, finding the entire situation hilarious.

Dean chuckled to himself, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror again to look at the girls. Y/N snickered as Sam tried to wrangle an excited Jo into submission.

Jo was giggling uncontrollably, trying to wriggle out of his grip around her waist as she attempted to stick her head out of the window. “Let me out Sammy! It’s fun!” She protested.

“And I’m telling you no!” Sam responded firmly, holding her firmly in place as the impala continued down the road. Y/N continued to snicker, watching the spectacle of Sam trying to keep Jo seated. It was amusing to say the least.

Sam was starting to lose his patience, his grip on Jo’s hips becoming firm. “I swear to God himself, if you don’t stop trying to stick your head out, I will make you sit on my lap” he warned in annoyance.

Y/N tucked her lips into her mouth, her brows shooting to the sky as she and Dean shared a sly look in the rearview mirror. Dean had to bite back a smirk upon hearing Sam’s threat, taking a short glance in the rearview, shooting Y/N a small wink.

“Like I’d mind being on your lap, Sam” Jo teased with drunken slur, leaning against his chest once again. Sam’s heart was practically on the floor boards but he rolled his eyes, releasing his grip on one side of her waist to rub his temples again.

“How much longer, man?” Sam grumbled at his brother, praying this’ll all be over soon and they can put these two in their beds. Dean glanced down at the watch on his wrist, doing some quick mental math in his head. “Should only be another ten minutes before we get to Bobby’s” he replied, keeping his focus on the road.

-

The Impala pulled off the main road, driving up the dirt road that led to Bobby’s junkyard. Within the short span of ten minutes, both women were asleep, the alcohol finally taking its toll on their bodies.

Dean carefully brought Baby to a stop outside the house, the engine ceasing its rumbling once Dean parked the car. Silence engulfed the vehicle for a few moments.

Dean killed the engine, the Impala falling quiet. Y/N and Jo heads were slumped against Sam’s shoulders. Sam chuckled softly to himself, looking at the two women, both completely zonked out on his arms.

Dean glanced back again to take in the view, shaking his head at them. The two brothers shared an amused glance before Dean hopped out and made his way around to Y/N’s side.

Once he got round to her side, Dean opened the door and carefully reached in to pull Y/N out of the back. He slid one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders, scooping her up bridal style.

Sam instead, slung Jo over his shoulder this time, both brothers making their way to Bobby’s porch. “Remind me again why we thought this was a good idea?” Sam muttered, pushing Jo further up his shoulder to stop her from slipping as he knocked on Bobby’s door.

“Good question” Dean mumbled tiredly, shifting Y/N against him carefully as he held her in his arms. She was completely passed out, her head resting against his collarbone, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

Bobby opened the door within a minute after the knocking, taking in the boys and the two drunken girls in their arms. “How much did you idjits let them drink?” Bobby grumbled, slightly amused, opening the door further to let them in.

“Not entirely sure, they stopped counting a while ago,” Sam replied sheepishly. Bobby shook his head at the answer, letting out a long sigh as they padded in. Bobby guided the boys through the halls of the house, into one of the spare rooms where they deposited the passed out gals on the bed.

Each of the guys gently placed the girls on opposite sides of the bed, making sure they were comfy and comfortable. Y/N was placed on her back, her head on one of the pillows, her knees bent slightly, limbs sprawled out on the bed. Jo’s placement was a mirror image of Y/N.

“Hey, Bobby. You got wipes?” Dean whispered. Bobby nodded in response, motioning to the bedside drawers. “Middle drawer” he replied in a low volume before waving them off and leaving the room. Dean nodded in acknowledgement, making his way over to the drawers.

He pulled open the middle drawer, finding packs of wet wipes neatly kept away inside. He grabbed a couple from the pack and walked back over to the bed, tossing the pack to Sam. He caught the pack with one hand, immediately going to work on cleaning the makeup off the girls’ faces.

Sam worked on Jo’s face while Dean worked on Y/N’s. The two remained passed out, totally undisturbed by the action, not even so much as stirring. Y/N’s arms remained limp by her sides, her chest rising and falling with each quiet breath she took as Dean wiped her stubborn mascara off, carefully taking her makeup off.

It was almost ironic how peaceful she looked at this moment, considering she was an absolute menace to be around once she was drunk. Sam was in the same boat, carefully removing the smudged makeup off of Jo as she slept.

After wiping away the makeup staining their faces, Dean and Sam moved down to remove the girls’ jackets and shoes. Dean gently peeled off Y/N’s leather jacket as Sam peeled off Jo’s jean jacket, making sure not to wake them in the process before folding them neatly before placing them on top of the drawers.

Dean then knelt down to remove Y/N’s combat boots one by one, before tossing them aside, while Sam pulled off Jo’s converse. With the jackets and shoes removed, both men checked to make sure Y/N and Jo had no other things on them that would be uncomfortable to sleep in.

Once they were satisfied, they both took a step back to admire the girls, completely passed out on the bed. Dean clapped Sam on his shoulder. “I’ll get the blankets,” he said before leaving the room to grab covers.

Sam stayed beside the bed, making sure the girls were comfy, taking a few moments to smooth the wrinkles on the sheets and comforter, adjusting them around the girls.

Dean returned a few moments later with a large blanket in his grip, dropping it on the foot of the bed. He made his way over to Y/N while Sam stood by Jo, the two silently opened out the blanket on either side before tossing it gently over the women, working together to tuck them in carefully without waking them.

With the girls covered up, both brothers stood over the bed, gazing down at the girls in a mixture of amusement and affection. They would be complaining like hell once they woke up with brutal hangovers tomorrow.

“Looks like our work here is done” Dean muttered, tucking a lock of y/n’s hair behind her ear. “Looks like it” Sam murmured in agreement, his eyes fixated on Jo, fixing her hair as well. Both boys took a few moments to observe the women under the blankets, admiring the serenity of their sleeping forms before making their way out of the room.

____________________________________________

The next morning, Y/N was abruptly woken up from her sleep from the ringtone of her cellphone loudly vibing against the bedside table. She let out a low groan, the loud blaring of Metallica making her hangover headache intensify.

She squinted her eyes open, glancing around the room for a moment, taking in her surroundings as she tried to remember where she was.

She blindly patted the side table on her side of the bed, trying to locate her phone to answer the call. Her hand felt around the wood surface until she came across the cold device, picking it up and answering the call without looking, her voice croaked with sleep. “Hello?”

“Hey, cupcake” the familiar voice of Ash chuckled through the speaker, his southern drawl dripping through the device. Y/N recognized the voice almost instantly, waking up a little more after hearing it. “What do you want, Billy Ray?” She groaned, squinting her eyes as she glanced down at Jo.

The blonde’s head was currently buried in Y/N’s chest, the hunter’s arm wrapped around her friend to stop Jo’s head from rolling off her chest.

“Can’t I call my favorite girl to see how she’s going?” Ash chuckled again, the smile in his voice clear. Y/N grumbled in annoyance, propping herself up on an elbow as her friend snuggled closer to her.

“Not in the mood for your jokes right now, Ash” she muttered, her voice rough with tiredness, still not fully awake. “Seriously, what do you want?” She sighed. “I’m just messin’ with you.” Ash’s voice came through the phone’s speakers again laced with amusement.

“But in all seriousness, Ellen’s callin’ for Jojo to get back to the Roadhouse, said she needed her for something.” Ash stated. “Alright, I’ll tell her once she’s awake” Y/N muttered, sighing deeply. She enjoyed the past week with having Jo by her side, she’d miss her but she knew they’d keep in contact. If not, Jo might threaten to kick her ass.

“Alright, I’ll let her know she’s on her way” he replied. “Later, cupcake” Ash mused. “Goodbye, Billy Ray” Y/N grumbled before hitting the end call button. Y/N placed the phone back on the side table after the call ended. She slowly looked down at Jo, still fast asleep against her chest, her head buried in the crook of her neck.

Y/N sighed once more, running her fingers through Jo’s hair. “Hey, sleepy head, gotta wake up” she murmured gently, lightly tapping her friend’s shoulder to try and coax her out of her sleep.

Jo barely stirred in her sleep, making y/n grow a bit impatient because she desperately needed to pee. “Wake your ass up. I gotta peee” Jo groaned in protest, burying her face further into Y/N’s chest, refusing to leave the warm comforters.

“Go without me” she mumbled into the girl’s chest, her voice thick with sleep. Y/N rolled her eyes in response, shoving her shoulder lightly. “Joanna Beth, get your white ass up and walk to the bathroom with me or I’m tipping your ass off this bed” she snapped.

Jo groaned again, reluctantly extracting herself from the warmth of Y/N’s chest. She slowly sat up on the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she glanced at Y/N.

“Fine, you bratty bitch, I’m up” she mumbled, the irritation clear in her voice, yet there was a hint of fondness in her voice.

-

After their visit to the bathroom, Y/N groaned in agony, leaning against her friend as the pair hobbled into the kitchen. The headache was bad enough, but the hangover made everything ten times worse.

Both girls had to blink several times to rid their vision of the slight blurriness from their drowsiness, letting their eyes adjust to the bright lights of the kitchen. Bobby was standing by the stove with a pot of coffee in one hand and a spatula in the other, while the brothers sat around the table.

The brothers glanced up as the girls staggered into the room. Dean chuckled at the sight before him, the girls in yesterday’s clothes and hair sticking in several directions, walking like they were half dead.

Sam simply smirked in amusement, hiding it behind a mug of coffee. Bobby just grunted in acknowledgment, a small amused smile tugging on his lips.

“Jesus, you two look absolutely awful” Dean commented, raising an eyebrow at the state the girls were in. They looked like they’d been hit by several trucks, and it was safe to say their hangovers were just getting started.

Y/N laughed sarcastically before dropping the act and snatching Dean’s mug of coffee away from him. “Wha- I-” Dean protested to Y/N stealing his coffee, watching as she downed the rest of it in a few large gulps. “You don’t know the half of it” Jo mumbled, slumping down on a chair next to Sam, resting her head on her arm.

Sam offered her his cup, which she gratefully accepted. “Rough night, huh?” Bobby chuckled from across the stove as the girls sat down, flipping a pancake. Y/N grunted in response, folding her arms on the table and resting her head on them.

“Fun while it lasted” Jo muttered before taking a sip from Sam’s mug. “Ash called by the way. Told me that your mom wanted you back at the Roadhouse” Y/N informed Jo as Bobby plated the two girls some bacon and pancakes while Dean refilled Y/N’s mug, making himself a new cup.

Jo groaned at the statement, lifting her head off the table. “Ugh, of course something comes up now,,” she grumbled. She glanced at Y/N in acknowledgment before turning her attention to her food, picking up a fork.

Sam frowned at her words. “Sucks you gotta go” he sighed. “I’ll be back sometime soon, promise” she offered the younger Winchester a smile, taking a bite of her pancakes before continuing. Sam’s heart fluttered at this but he quickly schooled it with a firm nod and a clearing of his throat.

-

Within the next couple of hours, Jo was already packed and ready to go. Bobby lent the young hunter an old car from his salvage yard in order for her to get home safely. She was zipping up her bag in the room she and y/n stayed in since getting back from Ohio.

She tossed the bag over her shoulder and head out to the living room where the trio was lounging along with Bobby. Y/N was first to get up from the couch. “Here’s to the next time we see each other” Y/N teased, holding out her fist for Jo to bump, a smile on her lips.

Jo rolled her eyes in response to the comment, though a smile tugged at her own lips as she bumped Y/N’s fist with hers. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, see ya, loser” she returned. They pouted at each other before quickly wrapping their around one another.

“I’ll see you soon, skank” Y/N chuckled into her neck. “Yeah, yeah, miss ya already, slut” Jo replied with a roll of her eyes, though her smile betrayed her. They held the embrace for a while, not willing to be the first to pull away.

“For God’s sake. She’s going to Nevada, not Narnia” Bobby quipped from the couch. A reluctant snort escaped Y/N as she pulled away from Jo. She knew he was right, but she’d miss Jo all the same. Jo shot a glare at Bobby, sticking her tongue out at him.

“As if you’re not gonna miss me, old man” she retorted, to which the older hunter rolled his eyes fondly. “You be safe kiddo” Bobby pushed himself up and hugged her. She nodded obediently before she turned to Dean.

“Later, man” He extended his fist for a bump. “Later, man” Jo returned the fist bump with a smirk. She turned to Sam, her expression softening when she saw him standing slightly off to the side.

Sam’s heart was practically on his sleeve, his fondness for her almost overwhelmingly strong as his eyes met hers. Jo’s heart fluttered again as she looked at him, her own emotions almost bursting out at the seams. “I’ll walk you out to your car” Sam offered softly, taking her bag from her shoulder.

Jo’s heart seemed to jump at the gentle yet smooth sound of his voice, a small smile curving on her lips. She was unable to verbally reply, her voice getting stuck in her throat, so she simply nodded.

Y/N smiled as she watched the two, silently admiring the obvious fondness between the two. Even Bobby and Dean were exchanging knowing looks from the couch.

“Thanks” Jo mustered up softly, letting Sam take her bag. She turned to Y/N, mouthing a “say nothing” in regards to the look on the other girl’s face. Y/N held up her hand in surrender, a playful smile on her lips, mouthing back a “calm down, relax” in response.

Jo shot a small glare at Y/N before her gaze settled on Sam once again, the glare disappearing and replaced with a warm smile. Sam returned the smile, his heart leaping at the sight of it, and wrapped a hand on the small of her back to guide her out towards the front door.

-

As the front door shut behind them, Sam took a moment to admire the way the sunlight casted over Jo’s skin, her blonde hair falling perfectly over her face. He placed her bag in the backseat of the car before turning to look at her, the sunlight framing her head in a way that made her look almost angelic.

The butterflies in her stomach returned again, full force. The way Sam was looking at her made her feel vulnerable yet warm, both sensations unfamiliar yet not uncomfortable. Their eyes met, and all the words she had wanted to say slipped away like sand through her fingers. Her brain was mush.

She tried to look away, her eyes darting to the car for a quick moment before returning her gaze back to him. The silence was killing her, she was screaming at herself to say something, anything, but no words came to mind. She was about to open her mouth to speak, but Sam beat her to it.

“You be careful, alright angel?” He murmured softly, his voice low and smooth. It sent a shiver down Jo’s spine, her heart rate rising once again at the sound. He stepped closer to her, his hand coming up to tuck some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

He was mere inches from her, the drastic height difference not going unnoticed by either of them. She had to tilt her head back a good bit in order to meet his gaze.

Despite the drastic difference in height, she felt nowhere close to unsafe. She actually felt protected, not that she needed to be, but the comfort the simple touch brought was impeccable. She swallowed hard, not trusting herself to speak, so she simply nodded in reply.

He smiled at her again, his hand remaining just behind her ear, his thumb caressing her cheekbone gently. The motion was so smooth and gentle that she had to fight back the urge to close her eyes and nuzzle into his hand like a cat craving attention and touch.

A moment of silence passed, they were both just enjoying the other’s presence. Her eyes flickered to his lips, noticing how smooth and pink they looked. Part of her longed to taste them, to let herself fall into him and feel him completely, but the logical part of her brain fought that urge and fought it hard.

But for Sam, he felt as if he was drowning. The proximity of her presence against him was intoxicating, and it took every single fiber of self control in his body to not give into the desire to pull her flush against him and kiss her with as much passion as he could.

She looked so small and sweet up against him, as if she could break at any moment, and he wanted to protect her from everything in the world, and yet at the same time, he wanted to break her, make her scream his name until her voice was gone.

Fuck it. Sam thought to himself.

He was tired of denying himself. He was not his brother, he’d rather take the risk than drown in his feelings. He wanted her. He needed her, the constant urge of wanting to hold her, kiss her, run his fingers through her hair, have her completely, and it was driving him insane.

So, he was going to take her.

Instead of holding back, he caved in, his hand gripped the back of her neck, yanking her to him in one quick, smooth move. Her body crashed into his, a strangled gasp leaving her lips, her hands instantly flying to his chest to keep herself from completely tripping over.

Just as their lips were about to touch, Y/N stepped outside, slamming the front door behind her without thinking, her gaze locked onto her phone in her hands.

“Hey, Jo, you forgot your ke- WOAH!” She exclaimed startled when she saw the scene before her. Jo and Sam were standing mere inches from each other, hands on each other, Jo’s head pulled back slightly by the hand on her neck, both of their faces flushed.

“Fuck- I’m-“ Y/N stammered, cursing herself for not giving it just a couple more minutes but Jo had forgotten her keys. She sheepishly held up the keys in her hands. She watched as both Sam and Jo sprung apart, their faces reddening even more if that was even possible.

Y/N had to bite her lip to hold back a laugh at their embarrassment and awkwardness, feeling bad for interrupting. “Uhhhh…” Jo fumbled, avoiding Y/N’s knowing gaze. Sam narrowed his eyes at the sky. What is this, karma for accidentally interrupting Dean and Y/N? “Get” He gritted his teeth, pointing at the front door firmly.

Y/N bit her lip even harder, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold back a burst of laughter. Part of her wanted to take a picture of the two and never let them live it down. But part of her also didn’t want to be shot by either of them.

“Okay, okay!” She bit back a smile, tossing Jo the keys before quickly running back into the house. Jo caught the keys with shaky hands as she watched Y/N run back into the house, giggling to herself. She slowly turned back to Sam, avoiding his gaze. Her ears felt like they were on fire.

“So…” Sam said gruffly, his voice rough and low when he spoke. “You better get going,” He said, gesturing towards the car. Jo scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be a pussy, Winchester” With that, she gripped Sam by the back of his neck, pulling him down to capture his lips with hers.

Sam’s brain malfunctioned as soon as her lips connected with his. It took him a moment to process what was happening until the shock wore off and he melted into her kiss, one hand cradling the back of her head and the other gripping her hip, pulling her flush against him.

-

Unbeknownst to them, Dean and Y/N were peering through Bobby’s louvers, intently watching the moment like it was a movie with anxious grins. When Sam and Jo finally kissed, both adults squealed like teenage girls, jumping up and down erratically.

“Oh my god!” Y/N squealed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I knew it. I knew it” Dean pumped his fist in the air, as he watched them, a wide grin on his face. The two high fived as they did happy dances before closing the curtain.

As Dean and Y/N turned away from the window, the atmosphere between them abruptly changed, so in order to completely avoid it. Y/N cleared her throat and sank back into the couch.

-

Back outside, Jo was having a hard time staying on her feet as Sam took control, his lips moving against hers hungrily and urgently, a low groan escaping his throat. One arm was snaked firmly around her waist, keeping her pressed against him, the other cupping the back of her neck. Her hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt, her knees on the verge of giving out.

Sam couldn’t get enough, wanting to have her just like this, pressed against him for the rest of his life. One of his hands slid from her waist down to her thigh and gently hitched her leg up, her knee bending and hitching over his hip.

Jo gasped into his mouth as she felt her leg being lifted off the ground and thrown around his hip, her body pushed back against the side of the car. A shiver of pleasure shot through her as his hand gripped her thigh, his fingers digging into her skin as he held her in place. But the feeling of her knee hitching over his hip was almost enough to do her in. Almost.

Joanna Beth Harvelle was ready to risk it all right there, ready to have him take her in Bobby’s salvage yard. She was certain of two things right now: She didn't give a damn about public decency, and Sam Winchester was an extremely good kisser. The latter made her head spin more than it should, but she was enjoying every second of it. He was kissing her like she was a damn treasure, as if he was afraid that she would disappear before he got enough of her.

Meanwhile Samuel William Winchester was surprised by his actions. He’s usually the “go at it slow” type of guy. But after the shit he’s been through, he wasn’t taking the chance of letting a gem like Jo slip from his fingers. And God…did he feel things about her.

The last thing he thought he’d be doing was manhandling her to a goddamn car and kissing her like his life depended on it. But something about her just made him want to throw all his self-control out the window.

He finally broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers, their lips barely touching as a deep, heavy pant left his lips. He hadn’t felt a connection like this with anyone since Jessica, and it fucking scared it. Because to him, everything good he touches turns to ash….literally.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Jo’s lips as Sam’s grip on her tightened, her leg hitched over his hip as he pressed her flush against his body, her heart racing and her head spinning. She couldn’t think properly, her thoughts consumed by him, by the way he held her, his lips feeling like fire against her skin.

“Can’t believe you said I was a pussy” He muttered gruffly, his low voice sending a shiver down her spine. His breath was hot against her skin, his lips just hovering over hers. With his forehead still against hers, his eyes were closed as if he was trying to maintain self-control.

“Well I take it back, that’s one helluva goodbye” She chuckled sheepishly. “Yeah, that was…” Sam was lost for words as he slowly let her leg fall from his hip, reluctantly letting her go. He didn’t want to, he wanted to hold her as closely as he possibly could, but now wasn’t the time, and they both knew it.

Although if it was up to him, he would’ve dragged her upstairs and- He shook his head and cleared his throat, trying to rid any of those images from his mind. He would have a hell of a time trying to forget that kiss, and he didn’t want to ruin the moment by thinking about things he wanted to do to her.

As he let go of her, every fiber of his being protested the action. He longed to just pull her back in and kiss her again and again until he’d had enough, which would probably be never, but he was already riding on a high from the first kiss. So, he took a step back, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stared at her.

“I’ll see you soon, Sammy” She smiled, tiptoeing to lay a quick peck on his lips again before hopping into her car. Her smile made his heart backflip, that simple act making him want to pull her back to him and refuse to let her go.

“See ya, angel” he replied, a smile spreading on his own lips as he closed the car door behind her. As her car drove away, he let out a deep breath, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets and walking back into the house.

The other two were waiting for him the second he stepped inside. Y/N was pretending to read a Playboy magazine, leaned into the couch while Dean’s feet was tossed up on her lap, his head laying on the arm of the cough. While toying with the remote to Bobby’s TV set, flickering through channels.

Y/N’s magazine was covering her smirk, and it was easy to tell that she was pretending to be disinterested. Sam groaned, having a feeling they saw the whole thing unfold from the window. “Not a goddamn word” He muttered, slumping on the couch next to Y/N.

Y/N erupted in laughter along with Dean, wrapping her arms around Sam to give him a tight squeeze. “I’m so proud of you!!” She cooed, earning an embarrassed groan from Sam. He tried to push Y/N and her tight hug off of him, but failed miserably. After a few attempts, he just gave up. He closed his eyes and just let it be.

“You’re so annoying,” He grumbled. Dean chuckled, leaning forward and slapping Sam on the back. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re proud of ya, Sammy. Took you long enough to grow a pair” He mused before pushing himself up to head to the kitchen.

____________________________________________

Nevada

•One Week Later

Molly and her David are driving down a dark deserted highway, it was 12:50 am and The Animal’s ‘House Of The Rising Sun’ is playing softly through their car deck. David is shining a torch on an old map, the couple appeared to be lost. “We’re lost” Molly voiced the obvious.

“No, this is a shortcut” David defended, “Babe, it’s just we’ve been on this road over an hour. We haven’t seen a single car” Molly sighed, “Molly, I know how to read a fucking map, okay?” David snapped, his eyes focused on the paper map as Molly sighed deeply again.

“We passed that gas station a while back. Let’s just go ask someone” She suggested, “That was 40 minutes ago. We’re not turning around” David retorted, “Oh, come on. Isn’t this argument a little archaic? Men can ask directions these days” Molly muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, no, no, no. We can’t. It’s against our genetic code.” David sassed sarcastically, earning an eyeroll from his wife. “Look, I know exactly where we are” David assured her. “Oh, yeah. Where?” Molly scoffed, leaning against the window, her other hand in the wheel. “Highway 99, okay? It cuts right through”

His face dropped as they passed a sign, indicating they were on Highway 41. “Highway 99, huh?” Molly pumped her brows, her tone dripping with sarcasm. David glanced back at his wife, noticing the very annoyed expression etched on her features. “Okay, so we’re taking the scenic route” He lamely defended, erupting in chuckles.

“David..” Molly sighed, not finding it amusing. “It’s our anniversary and we’re spending it stuck in the car” She said sadly, “I know, I’m sorry.” David apologized sincerely, resting a hand on her thigh. “Hey, let me make it up to you, okay? Come here” He smirked, leaning to press kisses on her neck.

An amused grin on his face as Molly playfully shoved him off, “Stop, I’m mad at you” She groaned, attempting to hide her amused smile as David chuckled. “Come on, Molly. Hey…you love me” He teased, leaning back in, playfully nipping at her neck.

“No, I don’t. You’re a jerk!” She laughed, trying to push him off. “David, I mean it!” She took her eyes off the road for just a split second, “Ha, ha- MOLLY!” David shouted fearfully, upon seeing a man standing in the middle of the road, looking just as shocked at them.

“Ahh!!” Molly screamed, swerving off the road and down a steep slope. The married couple screamed for their lives until their car was driven into a tree bark, glass shattering, the airbags detonated as they fell unconscious.

-

Molly began to come to, sometime later, her head was pressed against the steering wheel, groaning in pain from the impact. “David” She croaked, looking next to her from the smoking car, but the passenger seat was empty, her husband nowhere to be found.

Panic struck her as she held her head, the passenger side door was wide open. “David?” She grunted as she pushed herself from the driver's seat, stumbling out of the destroyed vehicle. She looked around the forest, her husband still nowhere in sight.

“Da-David???? DAVID?!” She shouted at the top of her lungs as she found her footing. She then made her way through the forest, still shouting for her husband. Molly stumbled upon a small house that still seemed to have its light on, she hoped someone was home as she made her way through the woods and to the porch.

“Hello?” Molly called out as she tapped her knuckles against the door to the wooden shack. “Is anyone here?!” She shouted, twisting the knob to see it was open. “Hello?” She called out again, this time softer. Molly’s eyes scanned the house to see it was practically deserted with weapons, knives and machetes hanging on the wall.

She gasped in shock when her eyes landed on a familiar figure, “it’s you” She muttered, seeing the man she almost hit on the road before the crash. “You’re okay. I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there” She apologized profusely but the man didn’t answer her. “Are you- are you hurt?” She asked, concerned, stepping closer to the man.

She put her hand on his back gently, “sir?” She called out again, then the elderly man with a cap on, turned towards her, blood dripping down the side of his face before it contorted into one of a decomposing corpse. Molly screamed with terror at the top of her lungs at what she was witnessing.

-

Molly was now panting as she ran out of the house and through the forest, she finally made it to the road she swerved off of. Her eyes wide with hope when she saw the headlights of a classic ‘67 Chevy Impala in the distance. Molly ran in the middle of the road, screaming “Stop! Stop!!” She cried.

Y/N, Sam and Dean were casually bobbing their heads along with Led Zeppelin’s ‘When The Levee Breaks’ as they drove down the highway until the blaring horn of an alarm broke through and they saw a woman standing in the middle of the road screaming. “Holy fuck-“ Dean exclaimed while Y/N jumped along with them, all of them startled as Dean quickly hit the brakes.

“You’ve gotta help me” Molly pleaded, rushing over to the passenger side where Y/N was seated. “Please, please!” Molly banged on the window as Y/N rolled it down reluctantly. “Alright, alright, hun. Calm down, calm down. Tell us what happened” She said gently, shooting a sideways look to the boys.

-

Molly was visibly panicked and upset. She wrung her hands as she began to speak a mile a minute. “I swerved and we crashed. And when I came….uh-uh, the car was wrecked. My husband was missing” Molly explained as they all were now standing outside of the Impala on the side of the highway, Y/N was leaning against the car next to Dean as the disheveled woman explained her story.

The three hunters shared a look as she continued, running a hand through her hair. “I went looking for him but that’s when the man from the road…he-he started chasing me. He’s- he’s-” Molly stuttered, “Did he look like he lost a fight with a lawnmower?” Dean chimed in, Sam and Y/N side eyed him at his statement, earning the elder Winchester a smack to the arm from Y/N.

Molly’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?” She questioned, her voice raising a few octaves higher as the fear settled in. Dean shrugged, “Lucky guess” He lied, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as Y/N glared at him, he looked down to the ground sheepishly, inwardly cursing to himself.

Sam looked around the surrounding area as he spoke, “Ma’am, what’s your name?” He requested, wanting to be certain before jumping to any conclusions. Molly looked between the trio but her eyes landed on Y/N, “Molly. Molly McNamara” She answered, still visibly shaking from her experience in the woods, she wrapped his arms around herself protectively.

The three shared a knowing look again as Y/N spoke up, “Molly, honey. Look, I think maybe you should come with us. We’ll take you back into town-“ Y/N suggested in a calm tone, attempting to reason with the woman but she shook her head. “I can’t. I have to find David. He might’ve gone back to the car” Molly insisted.

Sam’s eyes widened along with Y/N’s as Dean’s lips parted. “Well, we should get you somewhere safe. And then my brother, my sister and I will come back here. We’ll look for your husband-“ Sam chimed in but Molly shook her head again frantically.

“No. I'm not leaving here without him” Molly insisted, the terror and panic evident in her eyes as well as her voice. It sounded as if she was about to cry. Her eyes landed on y/n, gripping the hunter's arm. The touch made the familiar chills rise at the back of y/n’s neck. Dean attempted to step in but she put her hand up, indicating she was fine.

“Would you just take me back to my car, please?” Molly pleaded. Y/N looked down at the woman’s hand gripping her arm, she shared a look with the boys before sighing. Molly was obviously not going to back down. “Of course, sweetie. Come on..” She said gently, shooting the boys a look. Molly breathed out in relief as y/n pried her arm off of hers, all loading up into the Impala.

____________________________________________

Molly directed them back to the site of the crash, Dean pulled at the side of the highway, all hopping out of the car with flashlights. “It’s right over there” Molly directed them to a tree, her face contorted with confusion and shock when it turned out that there was no car there.

“I don’t understand. I’m sure this is where it was. We-we hit that tree right there” Molly muttered, turning to the trio who shone their lights on the empty tree. “This-this doesn’t make any sense” Molly rambles as she walked down the steep path to the tree. The hunters share a knowing look, the faint chill in y/n’s neck raising.

“Fellas, we gotta get outta here. Greeley could show up at any second. He’s already in the area. I’m telling you” Y/N whispered to the Winchesters. “What're you gonna tell her?” Dean muttered back. “The truth” Sam shot back, Dean rolled his eyes at his brother. “She’s gonna take off running in the other direction.” Dean quipped at the two, earning side eyes from them again.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I crashed into that tree” Molly tried to convince them, pointing to the tree. “I don’t know who could’ve taken it. It-it-it was totaled” She stammered as they scanned the area with their flashlights. She then walked back up to y/n, her eyes pleading and desperate as she gripped the female hunter's arm again.

“Please, you have to believe me” Molly pleaded, y/n let out a small surprised gasp again, the chills from her running through her body. It was heavy, but also pure and innocent. Molly needed help, she had good intentions, she shot the Winchesters a look before Sam spoke up. “Molly, listen, we do believe you, alright? That’s why we wanna get you out of here” Sam chimed in gently.

She shook her head again, snatching her hand away from y/n’s, “But want about David? Something must have happened. I have to get to the cops” Molly insisted. “Cops, you know what? That’s a great idea. We’ll take you down to the station ourselves” Dean piped up as y/n’s nodded in agreement, “Okay? So just, come with us. It’s the best way we can help you and your husband” Y/N added in a gentle tone.

Y/N extended her hand again for Molly to take, but the woman looked hesitant. She gave the empty crash site one last painful look before accepting y/n’s hand.

-

The Impala was driving down the deserted highway, y/n in the backseat with Molly while Sam sat shotgun and Dean drove. “We’re supposed to be in Lake Tahoe…” Molly muttered, her tone filled with sorrow. “You and David?” Sam asked softly. “It’s our five year anniversary,” Molly smiled sadly. “A hell of an anniversary” Dean muttered, earning a glare from his brother and a side eye from y/n.

“Right before, we were having the dumbest fight.” Molly scoffed before sighing heavily. “It’s the only time we ever really argue, when we’re stuck in the car” she shook her head with regret. Sam and Y/N chuckle at this, “Yeah, we know how that goes” Y/N snorted, her and Sam exchanging a knowing look, it was now Dean’s turn to side eye the duo.

“You know the last thing I said to him?” Molly’s eyes welled up with tears as Sam and Y/N listened intently. “I called him a jerk. Oh, god” She stiffled back a sob, y/n’s heart ached for the woman as she ran a hand through her hair. “What if that’s the last thing I said to him?” Molly sobbed as Sam and Dean share a remorseful look.

“Molly, we’re gonna figure out what happened to your husband, i promise” Y/N said gently, Molly nodded weakly as the chills returned to the back of y/n’s neck. She let out a soft groan, causing the Winchester’s eyes to dart back to her in concern. She gave them a weak thumbs up as the radio’s frequency on Baby’s deck started buzzing.

On its own, it changed to another station, The Animal’s ‘House Of The Rising Sun’ now blaring softly through the speaker. “Did you-?” Dean asked Sam quickly, “No” Sam shook his head, Dean’s eyes flickered to Y/N in the back seat, who was equally as shocked as the boys. She shook her head, indicating she did not use her ‘ESP Thing’ (as Dean puts it) to change the channel.

She shot them a look, indicating that Greeley was around, pointing to the back of her neck. “Great, i was afraid of that” Dean muttered as Molly leaned forward, looking at the radio with recognition. “This song…” She gasped, “What?” Y/N asked. “It was playing when we crashed” Molly informed them, the trio shared a wide eyed look as the radio static crackled again.

“She’s mine…She’s mine….She’s mine...” Greeley’s breathy voice sounded through the radio.

Y/N’s breath hitched as panic started to course through Molly, “What is that?” Molly asked fearfully. Y/N felt the chill intensify, the feeling of the dark spirit lurking in the shadows was practically screaming through her body. Her eyes landed on Greeley, who was standing in the middle of the highway, yards away. “Dean!” She shouted, pointing to the man.

Dean’s eyes moved from the radio to the road. All of their eyes widened as Dean abruptly said, “Hold on” before stepping in the gas. “What are you doing?!” Molly shouted fearfully as Sam and Y/N held on for dear life. Dean sent the Impala barreling through the spirit, it disapparated infront of all of them.

Leaving Molly stunned, gasping with fear, not knowing what she just witnessed. “What the-?! What the fuck just happened?!” She shouted, “Don’t worry, sweetie. Everything is gonna be alright” Y/N assured her. The Impala’s engine then started sputtering, making everyone in the car eyebrows furrow.

“I think you spoke a little too soon, princess,” Dean groaned ironically before pulling the car over at the side of the highway. He put the car in park, turning it off. He gave it a couple of seconds before attempting to restart it again. The ignition sputtered multiple times, the Impala refusing to start up again.

The car was dead silent as Dean looked over at Sam and Y/N, panicked, “I don’t think he’s gonna let her leave” He said in a hushed tone. Molly was stunned, her face stoic as she leaned back into the seat. The three hunters shared a look before hopping out of the impala simultaneously.

Dean speeded over to the trunk, opening it up as Molly stumbled out of the car. “This can’t be happening.” She said in disbelief, shutting the door. “Well, trust me. It’s happening” Dean assured her, he opened up the arsenal trunk, and y/n immediately went to work on loading up rounds of rock salt.

Molly’s heart dropped when she saw the load of weapons in the Winchester’s trunk, “Well, okay, thanks for helping, but I think I got it covered from here” She muttered fearfully, beginning to back away from them. They immediately realized that the weapons freaked her out, “Wait, Molly, wait a minute” Sam tried to reason but she kept backing away.

“Just leave me alone…” She said fearfully. Y/N chucked the shotgun in Dean’s hands, “No, no, no. Please. You have to listen to us” Y/N pleaded along with Sam. “Just stay away!” Molly shouted. “It wasn’t a coincidence that we found you, alright?” Sam blurted out, this caused Molly to stop in her tracks.

“What are you talking about?” Molly spat. “Well, we were just cruising for chicks when we ran into ya, sister. We were already out here. Hunting” Dean stated with a bit of sass. “Hunting for what?” Molly asked suspiciously. Sam and Y/N shared a look until Dean blurted out, “Ghosts” in a deadpan tone.

Sam stammered as y/n glared at Dean who began walking back to the car. “Well. Don’t sugarcoat it for her” She shot at the elder Winchester sarcastically, following behind him. “She had to hear it” Dean shot back, earning an eye roll from y/n. “You’re nuts!” Molly stammered, folding her arms across her chest.

“Really?” Dean scoffed, picking up a shotgun from the trunk. “About as nuts as a vanishing guy with his guts spilling out?” He sassed, pointed me to his stomach. Molly didn’t answer, stunned as Sam and Y/N shook their heads. “You know what you saw” He shot back before going into the trunk again.

Y/N reared her hand back and smacked Dean in the back of his head as Sam talked to a distraught Molly. Dean grunted heavily and whipped his head around. “Son of a-” He muttered as he rubbed the back of his head. “Be nice. And have some fucking compassion” She scolded him, pointing a firm finger at him like a mother scolding her child. “Compassion?” Dean huffed.

“Yes, charming. Compassion” Y/N snapped back with sarcasm. “She’s fragile, be patient!” She added. “Why are you yelling at me?” Dean retorted. She scoffed, her hands resting on her hips. “Because you’re being a dick” Y/N snapped. “I’m a dick?” He raised an eyebrow. “Yes. You are. A big one.” She shot at him before turning her attention back to Sam and Molly.

“We think his name is Jonah Greeley. He was a local farmer that died 15 years ago on this highway” Sam explained, walking closer to Molly. “Just stop,” She stubbornly muttered. “One night a year on the anniversary of his death…he haunts this road” Y/N chimed in, her eyes pleading with Molly to believe them.

Y/N stepped besides Sam as Molly stared at them with wide eyes, “That’s why we’re here, Molly…to try and stop him” Sam sighed, “Yeah, I supposed this ghost made my car disappear too” Molly scoffed, “Crazier things have happened, huh?” Dean snarked, stepping besides Y/N, patting the small of her back with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes as Molly said, “You know what? I’m all filled up on crazy. I’m gonna get the cops myself” Molly shook her head before turning to walk away again. Y/N shot Dean a pleading look, he narrowed his eyes at her before grumbling under his breath. “I don’t mean to be harsh but I don’t think you’re gonna get too far” Dean’s words stopped the woman in her tracks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Molly asked fearfully, “It means that plan A was trying to get you out of here” Y/N stated, “Now, obviously, that didn’t go over too well with, uh, Farmer Roadkill” Dean quipped back as y/n shook her head at him.

Be a little more harsh, why don’t ya? She thought to herself as she glared at him. Dean just shrugged as Sam stepped forward.

“Molly, we’re telling the truth.” Sam said calmly, “Greeley’s not gonna let you leave this highway” Y/N added in a low tone, “You’re- you’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Molly stuttered, inching closer to y/n. The chills once again rose at the back of her neck. “Deadly” Dean deadpanned.

Y/N’s eyes snapped over to him for the umpteeth time, shooting her friend a deadly glare along with Sam who was tired with Dean’s quips. They had all been arguing coming down the road for random bullshit so the tension was still in the air. “Every year, Greeley finds someone to punish for what happened to him. Tonight, that person is you” Sam twisted the truth, his tone filled with sorrow as he explained to Molly.

Her eyes were filled with tears, “Why me? I didn’t do anything?” She croaked tearfully, “It doesn’t matter, hun…Some spirits only see what they want” Y/N said apologetically. Molly swallowed harshly, “So you’re saying this Greeley, he took my husband?” Molly croaked again, Sam and Y/N shared a look at this and that confirmed it for Molly.

“Oh, God.” She gasped fearfully, “Molly, look, we’re gonna help, alright? But first, you gotta help us” Y/N said gently, extending her hand for Molly to take but Molly’s hands remained folded over her chest, sniffling as she tried to stop her tears. Dean offered Molly a sympathetic smile, his eyes tracing over y/n.

“Help you? How?” Molly stammered.

____________________________________________

“This is it, this is where I saw him” Molly told Dean and Y/N, who were shining their lights into the wide opened door way of the shack she stumbled upon earlier. “Must’ve been his hunting cabin” Dean thought out loud as they shone their lights through the deserted cabin.

Y/N’s light landed on the loads of saws, knifes, weapons, hanging on the wall. Along with dried blood on the working table. “Huh. Seemed like a real sweet guy.” She muttered sarcastically, earning a low chuckle from Dean. “No markers or headstones outside” Sam informed them, now walking into the cabin, shining his own light. The chills on her neck hadn’t let up since she spotted Greeley on the freeway, meaning he was somewhere close.

“You’re looking for Greeley’s grave?” Molly asked, “Yeah” Sam nodded, “Why?” Molly tilted her head in confusion. “So we can dig up the corpse and salt and burn it.” Dean stated, matter of factly. “Oh, sure. Naturally” Molly muttered, her expression speechless. “It’s a way to get rid of a spirit” Y/N explained, her eyes darting over to Molly. “And that’ll save David?” Molly asked hopefully.

Sam and Y/N shared a look, “Well, this is what’ll help both of you. Provided there’s a corpse to be found” Sam vaguely put it, “So, how do we find it?” Molly asked, “Uh….not sure, hun. After Greeley died, his wife claimed the body. And that’s the last anyone saw of her. So good guess, she brought him back here. But they had a thousand acres. He could be buried anywhere on them” Y/N fully explained.

“So, this is really what you guys do. You’re like Ghostbusters.” Molly’s brows furrowed. “Yeah, minus the jumpsuits.” Dean chimed in snarkily. “Look lady, this is a fascinating conversation and all, but uh this highway’s only haunted once a year. And we’ve got till sunup to wrap this thing up. So what do you say, we move it along. Okay? Great.” Dean dismissed harshly before moving between the three of them.

Sam shot Molly an apologetic look, before apologizing for his brother's harsh words as Y/N followed behind him and shoved him a bit harshly when they were out of earshot at the side of the cabin. “Didn't I tell you to stop being a dick!” Y/N scolded him. “What?” Dean defended himself, whipping around to face her. “Don’t ‘what’ me. You’re being a dick.” She argued back. “Oh, I’m a dick?” Dean retorted, crossing his arms.

“Yes, you are a dick” Y/N sassed back, jabbing a finger into his chest. She’d had enough of his attitude tonight and now he was starting to piss her off. “No. I’m being realistic” Dean defended himself, “Oh really?” Y/N shot back. “Yes really!” Dean sneered back. “You’re being blunt! and it’s gonna scare her!” Y/N exclaimed in a low tone. “Sorry if reality hurts, princess!” Dean snarked back.

Y/N sighed deeply, shaking her head as she pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to calm herself down and not let this escalate more than it should. “Let’s not do this right now, please.” She scoffed. “We’ve got two spirits on the loose and one of them is clueless” Y/N whispered, “All I’m asking is try to be more kind to Molly” Y/N pleaded, flashing him a pair of puppy dog eyes that always seemed to make Dean weak in his knees.

Dean felt his heart tug. It was practically impossible to tell her no when she looked at him like that. Dean grumbled and looked away before begrudgingly answering her, “God damnit” He muttered, knowing that once she made up her mind there would be no stopping her.

“Please?” She pleaded once more. Her begging worked, because his face slightly softened. He gave her a glare before sighing. “Fine, I’ll be nice” Dean gave in with no other option. “But only if you quit doing that…eye thing that you do” He scoffed. “What eye thing?” Y/N tilted her head, feigning innocence, not allowing the look to falter as she bit back a smirk.

Dean pointed a finger at her, “Don’t give me that face. Please” He almost whined as she continued to keep the innocent look on her face. “That face! That right there. Quit doing that!” Dean snapped. “Doing what? I’m not doing a thing” Y/N continued to play dumb, her lips pulling into another smile.

He clenched his jaw as he looked away once more, avoiding her gaze as her smile broadened. “You’re doing it! God damnit, woman! Stop it!” Dean muttered through his teeth. Y/N giggled, feeling satisfied with this response and the fact that she won this argument. “Okay, okay, pretty boy. I’m done, let’s look for Greeley’s house” She snorted, shoving him slightly as Sam and Molly exited the cabin.

“What do we have to do now?” Molly asked the trio, “We’ve gotta look for Greeley’s house” Sam stated. “Okay, you two take that side. Me and Y/N will take the other” Dean instructed, Sam and Y/N nodded obediently as Sam led Molly away and Y/N followed behind Dean. “ Maybe he’s buried there. Look for roads or paths or something. Stay close” Sam stated as he shined his light and walked deeper into the woods.

“Yeah, okay” Molly sighed. “Molly….” A dark whisper sounded, Molly’s ears perked up, spinning around in the direction of the voice. “Help me, Molly…” The voice whispered again, but Sam didn’t seem to hear.

-

Y/N was on the other side with Dean, her ears perking up also at the sound. “Help me, Molly…” She heard the voice whisper. “Hey, you hear that?” Y/N spoke aloud, stopping as her ears perked up. It had been an ominous and breathy voice. Dean stopped in his tracks as well, turning to her, “No, hear what?” He asked. Y/N’s head swiveled around, her eyes searching the area. Something wasn’t right.

Molly’s piercing scream sounded through the woods, Dean and Y/N instantly went running in the direction to see Greeley attacking Molly. Dean aimed his shotgun at Greeley, “Whoops” She snarked before shooting the spirit with rocksalt, Greeley instantly disapparated.

As soon as the spirit disappeared, Y/N rushed over to Molly, who was in hysterics as she desperately tried to compose herself. “Molly, you alright?” Y/N asked, pulling the distraught woman to her feet. “Hey! are you alright?!” Sam gasped, running over to them upon hearing the scream. “What has that son of a bitch down with my husband?!” Molly growled.

“Just take it easy, alright? You're gonna see David again. You will” Sam assured her as she panted with fear, clinging onto Y/N. “Hey!” Dean shouted, drawing their attention to a brick road with his light. “Follow the creepy brick road.” He panted, “Go ahead, hun” Y/N gestured for Molly to follow behind Dean.

Dean took the lead as Sam and Y/N scanned their surroundings, trudging down the road. “That thing shoots rock salt?” Molly asked, “Yep” Sam answered, “And plain salt keeps away spirits?” She asked, “Simple remedies are always the best” Y/N chuckled with a shrug. “Most cultures, salt’s a symbol of purity so it repels impure and unnatural things” She further explains.

“Same reason you throw it over your shoulder” Sam added as they continued to walk. Eventually, they came upon a creepy old house, y/n felt an instant weight practically crush her lungs, the heaviness of the area was beginning to become too much. “You know, just once, I’d like to round the corner and see a nice house” She huffed, breathing heavily.

“I’m with ya’,” Dean grumbled, he stopped to glance back at her, noticing that she was struggling. He slowed down a little, so he was walking in step with her. His hand was itching to be on her lower back again, but he refrained from it, not knowing how she'd react.

"You alright, princess?" He muttered in a low tone so Sam and Molly wouldn't hear. Y/N’s head jerked to glance at him and nodded as a response, trying to regulate her breathing and calm the weight of the spirits' presence. She didn’t want to admit how much strength she was putting into herself to just walk forward, her knees were threatening to give out and buckle at any moment.

“I’m alright” She muttered back, her words barely above a whisper as the weight continued to get heavier. She put on a strong face as they made their way up the porch, Sam took the lead and reached over, opening the creaky old door before pushing the screen door inwards. Molly followed behind along with Dean and Y/N, who stayed back to check for headstones.

The instant Y/N stepped foot in that house the overwhelming feeling became all too much. She had to dig her nails into the palm of her hand to stabilize herself and prevent her legs from giving out.

The house was the typical rundown farmer style. It was run down and creepy as hell. The floorboards creaked with each step, the paint on the walls was chipping and peeling from the outside elements. There was an ominous and tense ambience that lingered in the air.

“Any headstones outside?” Sam asked the duo, they both snorted. “Yeah, right. Is it ever that easy?” Dean scoffed, resting his bag on the old rotting table. “Yeah…I guess not” Sam sighed heavily as Dean and Y/N shined their light over the house, scanning their surroundings. Dean came upon an old stairs, instantly he decided to send Sam and Molly upstairs since Molly’s presence seemed to only make y/n weaker.

“You two check upstairs. See if you can find notes or records telling us where he’s buried. We’ll just check down here” He instructed Sam and Molly. “Alright” Sam nodded, shining his light up the old wooden stairs. He took the lead, Molly following behind him.

-

They were now checking the rooms, “Great” Sam muttered upon seeing the room trashed with papers, scattered across the floor as Molly made her way over to the window. Her eyes landed on a photo album that was sitting on the still. “Look at this” She called Sam over upon examining the album.

She then walked over to him, taking a seat on the bed, Sam then sat next to her. “It’s Greeley and his wife” Sam shone his light over the book to see tons of old pictures of the couple, old letters, old pictures of their house as he flipped through the book.

“It’s a love letter he wrote her.” Molly said out loud as she read it, “My God, it’s beautiful.” She cooed. “I don’t understand how a guy like this can turn into that monster” She shook her head in disbelief, Sam’s tongue got caught as he swallowed harshly. “Um..uh, well spirits like Greeley are, uh…like wounded animals” He explained.

“Lost…and in so much pain, that they lash out” He sighed heavily, “Why? Why are they here?” Molly asked, “Well, there’s some part of them that’s keeping them here…Like their remains, or, um….unfinished business” Sam nodded, pursing his lips as he tried to not say too much.

“Unfinished business?” Molly tilted her head in confusion, “Yeah, uh….it’s could be revenge. It could be love or hate. Whatever it is, they just hold on too tight…Can’t let go. So they’re trapped. Caught in the same loops. Replaying the same tragedy over and over” Sam's voice is low as he explained, his eyes scanning Molly, laced with sympathy.

“You sound almost sorry for them” Molly pointed out, noticing the way Sam spoke of them. “Well, they weren’t evil people. You know, the-…a lot of them were good. Just….Something happened to em. Something they couldn’t control” He sighed as footsteps made their way to them.

“Sammy and y/n/n are always getting a little J. Love Hewitt when it comes to things like this” Dean snorted, leaning on the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. Y/N glared harshly at him, his words stricking her as a bit offensive. “Me. I don't like ‘em, and I sure as hell ain't making apologies for them.” He added.

“Don’t mind the idiot, he’s always bitter about something” Y/N huffed, shoving Dean to the side as she leaned on the opposite side of the door frame than him. “Anyway, there’s nothing downstairs, you anything, Sammy?” Y/N asked, shining her light through the room.

“Uh, just about every piece of mail or receipt they ever had. Looked through a couple, but there ain’t nothing about a grave so far” Sam sighed. Y/N’s eyes landed on an older chest of drawers, she tilted her head slightly as she examined it from across the room. She felt herself being drawn to it. “What?” Sam and Dean asked in unison. “There’s something behind here” She muttered, tossing her flashlight to Dean.

Dean barely caught her flashlight, grumbling a curse as he watched her as she made her way across the room to look inside the drawers. “Watcha doinggg?” He asked, resting the light on his shoulder as she ran her eyes over it.

“Do you always have to question what I do?” She asked sarcastically, her eyes scanning the inside of the piece of furniture. “Yeah. Always” He replied in a matter-of-fact tone, biting back a smirk. Y/N scoffed as she ran her fingers along the back of the chest. She then harshly pulled the entire chest forward, revealing what looked like a small door.

Dean’s eyes widened in curiosity and surprise, “I’ll be damned…” He chuckled, shaking his head as Sam and Molly crossed the room to look over their shoulders, their eyes also landing on the door.

“How’d you know it was there?” Sam asked, in awe from her find. “Don’t know. I just….felt it, almost” Y/N replied, still baffled on how she had known it was there. “Must be-”

“Dean, if you say ESP thing, I will ACTUALLY kill you” She glared at him before crouching down towards the door. Dean snorted as she tried to open it with the tiny knob but it wouldn’t budge. “It’s locked from the inside” Y/N grumbled.

Her fingers slowly began to glow blue as she placed her palm flat on the wooden door, the light spreading through her vein and the almost electric static emitted from her hand and spread to the rest of the door. The muscles in her arm were tensed and tight, the veins of her arm became more prominent as she concentrated as hard as she could, her white balled over eyes focused directly on the door.

The door then came clean off its hinges with a loud thud. She stumbled back, her hand falling to her side and the blue light in her veins slowly faded like the last lingering embers of a dying fire as her eyes reverted back to its usual color. Dean caught her from falling back and pulling her back up onto her feet, his hand remaining on her arm. “You good?” He asked.

“Peachy” She snapped as she ripped her arm from his grasp, still pissed from his comments earlier. Dean felt his heart tug again painfully but he swallowed it down forcefully as Sam watched in awe from the display while Molly’s eyes bulged out of her sockets. “H-how- w-what are you?!” She stammered. “Uh, it’s complicated” Y/N chuckled, nervously rubbing the back of her neck.

Dean then crouched, shining his light into the now exposed passageway, filled with cobwebs. Using Y/N’s flashlight, he gathered them together to clear the way. Creeping inside of the passage, along with y/n and then Sam and Molly.

The dirt walls were a dull brown colour, the smell of old dirt filled their nostrils. “God this is more disgusting than your socks” Y/N muttered as she followed behind Dean, her nose scrunched in disgust. “Ha-Har” Dean chuckled sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “It smells like old lady in here,” Dean commented.

Y/N’s light landed on the corpse of what looked to be Greeley’s wife, her skeletal remains hanging on a noose from the ceiling. “And that would explain why” She gagged, covering her nose with her inner flannel. “Fuck” Sam cursed upon seeing the corpse, Molly’s eyes went wide.

“That’s….that’s her. That’s his wife” Molly’s voice wavered slightly as she spoke. Y/N’s heart stung at seeing the poor woman hanging from such a horrific death. Dean’s expression became more serious and dark. “Well, now we know why nobody ever saw her again.” Dean sighed. “She didn’t wanna live without him” Y/N voiced everyone’s thoughts.

Sam inched closer to the skeletal remains, “Guys, give me a hand” Sam told them, picking up a chair from the side of the room. Y/N immediately went over, “Really?” Dean’s brows furrowed together, “What are you gonna do?” Molly asked, confused. Sam and Y/N shot Dean a knowing look. “We can’t leave her like this,” Sam insisted.

“Why not?” Dean asked horrified, his voice going up and octave. “She deserves to be put to rest, Dean” Y/N snapped. Dean’s mouth fell open and he let out a huff, he knew that he wasn’t going to win this argument. “God fucking damn it…” He grumbled, walking over to them, Y/N stepped up onto the chair, pulling out her butterfly knife from her combat boots but she wasn’t tall enough to reach the noose.

“Great. Who’s gonna give me a lift?” She asked with a huff, crossing her arms. “You’re kidding, right?” Dean asked, already knowing that she wasn’t. She gestured for him to lift her, “Are you serious?” He asked again, “Yeah I am. Now help me” She snapped, already losing her patience. “Just let Sam climb up, he’s a giant” Dean retorted.

This earned him another sideeye from his little brother. “Yeah, Sam’s six foot four but he weighs as much as a baby gorilla, he’ll break the damn chair! Now help me!” Y/N snapped at him, her irritation was steadily increasing. “You know. I’m right here, guys!” Sam huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Dean sighed heavily before rolling his eyes begrudgingly, but he knew damn well he didn’t mind lifting her up.

Sam rolled his eyes at the two, walking over to Molly before running a hand through his hair as he crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes darting between the two of them, not bothering to get in the middle because Dean would’ve given her the boost either way, despite his protest.

Molly watched the bickering duo with curiosity, her brows furrowing at them. “Should we-” Molly started, putting up a finger, wondering if they should intervene. “Nah, give it a minute. They’ll figure it out.” Sam chuckled.

“God dammit” Dean muttered, his face twisting into a scowl as he positioned himself behind Y/N. In one swift movement, he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up with ease as if she weighed nothing.

her hands instantly clutched onto his shoulders for balance. He lifted her up with ease, “Hurry up and cut the damn thing” He grumbled.

She swallowed harshly as she felt his hands on her waist, almost completely forgetting what she was doing. It was as if time stood still, as if the only two people in the world were her and him.

Quickly snapping herself out of the daze, she raised the knife as a response and sliced through the rope, instantly, the remains came crumbling down as the skeleton crumpled to the ground. “Great. There. Happy now?” Dean muttered as he placed Y/N back onto the ground, his hands still lingering at her waist.

____________________________________________

Dean grunted heavily as he shoveled dirt onto Greeley’s wife’s corpse into the hole Sam and Y/N dug. “So if you manage to put Greeley to rest too…what happens to him?” Molly asked curiously, “Lady, that answer is way above our pay grade” Dean snorted as Y/N chuckled. “You hunt these things but you don’t know what happens to them?” Molly raised her brows.

“Well, they never come back, that’s all that matters” Dean shrugged, Molly’s frown deepened, “After they let go of whatever is keeping them here…they just go” Y/N answered sadly as Sam and Dean continued to shovel dirt into the hole. “We hope someplace better but we don’t know…no one does” Sam added with a sigh.

“What happens when you burn their bones?” Molly asked, the three shared a look at this before y/n cleared her throat, “Um…well, my dad used to say that it was like death for ghosts, you know? But…truth is, we still don’t know, not for sure” Y/N responded honestly, a frown on both her and Sam’s faces.

“I guess that’s why we all hold onto life so hard…even the dead. We’re all just scared of the unknown” Sam muttered as he and Dean shoveled dirt into the hole. “The only thing I’m scared of is losing David. I have to see him again” Molly stated sorrowfully, the trip paused at this, y/n’s heart sinking. Sam and Dean resumed back to shoveling, now almost done with filling up the hole.

“I have to,” Molly sobbed.

____________________________________________

They were now inside the house again, Molly was flipping through the photo album as Dean and Y/N sat by one of the old windows. Y/N and Sam’s eyes were trained on Molly, the guilt of not telling her the truth was eating them alive as Y/N took a drag from her cigarette.

“I think we should tell her about her husband,” Sam whispered to them after walking over. “We can’t” Dean stated firmly, “Dean, it’s cruel letting her pine for him like this” Y/N’s voice wavered as she handed Dean the cigarette. “We don’t like keeping her in the dark” Sam added.

“It’s for her own good” Dean grumbled before taking a drag, Y/N let out a heavy sigh as she ran her fingers through her hair with Sam mimicking her action. “Look, guys, I know you feel guilty, but let’s just stick to the plan. Lets get her out of here, then we’ll tell her” Dean stated firmly, streams of smoke leaving his nose as he spoke before crushing the burnt out bud on the dirty still.

“Tell me what?” Molly’s voice sounded behind them. Their heads snapped over to the direction of the doorway, both Dean and Y/N shooting up from their seats. “What aren’t you telling me?” None of them answered as tears welled up in Sam’s eyes. “It’s about David. You know what happened to him!” Molly gasped. “Molly-” Y/N started, “Y/N/N, don’t” Dean cut her off.

“Don’t what?!” Molly snapped as Sam and Y/N glared at Dean. “Don’t tell me because I’ll mess up your hunt?! You don’t care about me or my husband!” Molly growled at them all, stepping closer to them. The anger radiating off her was like a slap to the face to y/n, Sam and her shared a tearful look. “That’s not sure” Sam croaked.

“Really?” She scoffed, “Then whatever it is, tell me, please” Molly pleaded, her voice wavering. Before they could answer, the old radio in the living room began crackling, The Animals’ ‘House Of The Rising Sun’ began broadcasting on it, “He’s coming” Molly said fearfully as Sam shone his light in the direction.

“Stay with her” Dean instructed Sam and Y/N, walking towards the sound. “I’m coming with you” Y/N protested to which he shook his head. “Stay. with. her” He stated, Y/N shot daggers at him, “Don’t tell me what to do,” She snapped at him, standing her ground, pulling him by his hand towards the sound.

Y/N and Dean walked into the other room, their eyes scanning the area for any signs of a ghost,” Stay close” Dean muttered to her as he followed the sound of the music. They moved silently through the house, their steps light as they inched closer to the kitchen.

They stumbled upon the radio it was coming from, crouching down and then peeling back the old cloth to see the radio was not only not operating, but the plug was chewed up, most likely by rats. The two shared a terrified look as the chills rose again behind y/n’s neck, only the feeling of dread filled her body as the wind outside began escalating.

She gasped lowly, almost falling on her ass from the pressure on her chest as the glass door nearby began frosting over. “She’s mine” a dark voice whispered, as the words appeared on the glass. The sound of Molly screaming and glass shattering caused two to immediately snap out of their terrified daze.

“Guys! He’s got Molly!” Sam shouted, “Jesus Chri-“ Y/N growled, her heart leaping in her chest from the sound of Molly’s screaming, grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him in the direction of the screaming. They made a beeline out of the house. All frantically searching for any sign of Molly or Greeley but they came up short.

-

“This guy’s persistent” Dean growled as they searched the house, “We gotta find Molly” Sam said urgently, “We gotta find Greeley’s bones” Dean shot back, Y/N then snatched Dean’s hand, checking the time on his watch, “And uh, no pressure or anything fellas, but we got less than two hours before sunrise” Y/N stated.

Dean let out an exasperated curse in response to her statement, his hands on his hips. “Great. Just what we need” He grumbled, his eyes scanning the area. “We need to split up, we’ll cover more ground that way” He said firmly, “Fuck no, Fred Jones, that’s a recipe for disaster” Y/N protested.

“What else are we supposed to do?!” Dean snapped at her, his tone frustrated. “We got less than two hours to find both of them and burn his bones-” Dean defended but Y/N cut him off. “Yeah, I get it but splitting up is a horrible idea” Y/N retorted, raising her voice. “Shut up, both of you, for once!!!!” Sam bellowed, holding up the photo album, absolutely fed up with their persistent bickering.

Dean and Y/N quickly shut up, both looking in Sam’s direction with wide eyes, taken back by his outburst. “I think I know where Greeley might be” He said, “Where? What do you got?” Dean questioned, walking over towards him as Y/N did the same. “Uh…February 6, 1992. That was like two weeks before the accident, wasn’t it?” Dean muttered, reading off of what was written below the picture Sam was showing them.

“Yeah, I mean. It looks like the hunting cabin, but I- I’m sure there’s a tree right there, where they’re standing” Sam stated, y/n’s eyes snapped up to his, the two sharing a look of recognition. “Fuck, we should’ve thought of it” They scoffed in unison, shaking their heads at the fact that they didn’t realize it sooner,

“What?” Dean's brows furrowed in confusion. “It’s an old country custom, Dean. Planting a tree as a grave marker” Sam explained. Dean tilted his head a bit, “You two are like walking encyclopedias of weirdness” Dean scoffed, walking away.

“Can it, smart ass” Y/N retorted, following behind Dean. “Yeah, I know I’m weird” Sam sassed, closing the book roughly before following behind Y/N.

____________________________________________

Sam and Y/N were now hauling shovels and lighter fluid, the sounds of Molly screaming filled their ears as they made their way to the tree. They peered their heads to the side of the shed that was situated near the tree to see Molly, hanging from her wrists as Greeley tortured her.

“Go get Molly” Y/N instructed Dean, he nodded obediently, “Hey” Y/N stopped him. He halted, looking back at her with a weary expression. “Be safe” She said softly. He gave her a nod, a reassuring smile appearing. “Ditto” He replied, his voice just as soft before running into the shack as she and Sam went to work immediately on the grave near the tree.

-

Dean shot Greeley straight in his head, causing Molly to yelp and Greeley to disapparate. “Oh, thank God” Molly breathed out with relief. “Yeah, call me Dean” He chuckled, offering her a cheeky smile. He didn’t realize that Greeley was now behind him again, a sickening smile on his face. Unfortunately, he couldn’t feel his spirit like y/n. The only thing helping him realize was Molly’s whimpers of fear.

Dean quickly turnt around, eyes wide as Greeley chuckled darkly. He flicked his fingers at Dean, causing a small lesion to appear on his jaw. Dean grunted in pain as Molly shook with fear, “This guys really pushing me off.” He growled, spinning around to shoot Greely again but with a wave of his hand, Greeley sent Dean flying into the wall.

His back hitting the wooden wall with a hard thud, the gun slipping from his grasp. Dean grunted in with pain as Molly gasped, his head spinning from the harsh hit.

-

Meanwhile, Sam and Y/N were still both profusely digging up the dirt to Greeley’s grave. Y/N’s eyes widened and snapped over to Dean after hearing the loud thud and Molly’s gasp. her mind instantly jumped to the worst case scenario as panic rose in her chest.

"Dean!" She cried out with worry, holding back the urge of throwing the shovel to the side. She and Sam now focused on digging faster, they were so close to digging the bones up. “HURRY UP SAM AND Y/N!!” They heard Dean bellow from the house. Y/N’s heart dropped, hearing the pain in his voice.

It urged her to keep digging faster, finally getting to Greeley’s body. Sam quickly salted it as Y/N doused it with lighter fluid. She then struck a match, lighting the corpse aflame. From outside, they could hear Greeley’s spirit scream, the light of him being burnt and Molly’s screams echoed as they ran towards the shack.

The place was now lighter as they entered, the feeling of dread from Greeley’s spirit gone. As they entered, the two breathed a sigh of relief, their heart rate beginning to slow. Molly was shaking with fear but relieved that it was now over as Dean was leaning against one of the walls, holding his throbbing head.

Despite the fact that they were all in one piece and safe, Y/N’s heart still thumped hard in her chest, instantly running over to Dean as Sam helped Molly down. “Are you okay, sweetie?” Y/N asked as she reached him, instantly standing in front of him and grabbing his face to inspect the gash on his jaw.

His eyes met hers with a nod, “Yeah, I’m okay” He mumbled, wincing as her fingers grazed over his bruise. “You’re an awful liar” Y/N snorted, her fingers were gentle as she ran them along his face, tracing his jaw carefully. She had a soft expression on her face, her eyes examining his face with concern.

Dean’s eyes wandered over her face, her fingers brushing over his wound carefully, sending pleasant tingles through his body as he tried to push down the fact that her touch actually affected him.

“I’ll live” He grumbled, letting out a low grunt from the pressure of her fingers, his eyes still locked on her face. Her gaze flicked up to his, her eyes showing concern, a frown on her face. He was suddenly very painfully aware of how close they were to each other, her fingers still softly tracing his jaw slowly.

____________________________________________

They were all now trudging towards the Impala, Dean had his hand hooked around Y/N’s waist, limping to his car. Not that he needed the help, he just enjoyed having her cling to him after almost getting hurt despite a whole day of bickering. “Oh, baby, it’s been a long night” He muttered to the Impala as y/n unhooked her arm from his shoulder and he retracted his hand from her waist.

As soon as Y/N’s arm unhooked from his shoulder she missed the feeling of his body against hers, “You talking to me or the car?” She quipped jokingly, opening the back door to toss Dean’s duffel in as Sam and Molly approached behind them.

“Both” He quipped in response with a wink as Sam and Molly approached them, an amused snort came from Y/N’s snort in response, watching them approach. “Alright, let’s get you out of here” Sam told Molly in a solemn tone, opening the back door for her.

Sam and Y/N shared a sad look as Molly said, “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened to my husband” She said firmly, “Molly..” Y/N’s voice dropped. “All this time…I’ve been looking for him and you guys knew that. You knew that Greeley killed him, didn’t you?” Molly’s voice wavered with grief.

Sam and Y/N sighed heavily, “He’s dead” Molly croaked, “No, Molly…David’s alive” Sam assured her, y/n’s heart sank, knowing what they’re gonna show Molly is either gonna break her or give her peace. “What?” Molly gasped in disbelief. “You’re sure?” She asked hopefully, Sam and Y/N’s lips pressed into a tight sad smile, both nodding. “We’re sure, hun” Y/N assured her.

Molly smiled hopefully, and this made their hearts sink even more. “We’ll take you to him, come on” Sam ushered her into the car. Molly smiled before climbing in, Sam and Y/N shared a tearful look before Sam hopped in shotgun and y/n climbed in the back with Molly as Dean started the ignition.

-

They finally made it to David’s house, “He’s in that house. Right there” Y/N pointed to the dimly lit, modern style house. “I don’t understand,” Molly's brows furrowed in confusion. “You will,” Sam croaked, looking down at his hands. They all then piled out of the Impala and made their way to the house. Molly smiled upon seeing her husband, well and alive through the window.

He was dressed in a robe, in the kitchen, but he was 15 years old, her smile dropped, “That’s not….it can’t be” She whispered in disbelief. A woman then approached David from behind, wrapping her hands around him before laying a kiss on his lips. Molly could feel her heart being ripped out. “What’s happening?” She muttered, turning to the trio.

“Who is that?!” She demanded, “That’s David’s wife” Y/N said sadly, tears welling up in her and Sam’s eyes as Dean sighed heavily. “”We’re sorry, Molly” Sam said sympathetically. “Fifteen years ago, you and your husband hit Jonah Greeley with your car. David survived…” Sam began explaining, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“What are you saying?” Molly sobbed, stepping closer to Y/N, grabbing her arm. Y/N gasped, the feeling of Molly’s grief, anger, sadness, everything. It filled her body, “We’re saying that there isn’t just one spirit haunting Highway 41. There are two. Jonah Greeley, and you” Dean added, biting his lip. “For the past 15 years, one night a year, you’ve been appearing on that highway.” Y/N stated but Molly cut her off.

“No, that’s not possible” Molly gritted her teeth, her grasp on Y/N’s arms tightening. Y/N groaned, “It was our anniversary, February 22nd-” Molly said, “1992” Sam finished for her, “Yes” Molly nodded, “Molly, sweetie…. It’s 2007” Y/N said apologetically.

Molly’s heart dropped even more, it was a look Y/N had never seen on anyone's face before. She’d felt grief many times, but this was heartbreak in its purest form. “Oh God…” She gasped, tears now falling from her eyes. Y/N nodded, “I’m so sorry. I can sense your anger, grief, and sadness. It’s strong, Molly.” She said sadly, her heart breaking as she saw Molly’s realization.

Tears streamed down Molly’s face as she began to sob. Y/N couldn’t help but feel awful. She tried her best to block out the rush of emotions coming from her but it was nearly impossible.

•Flashback earlier that night

“Alright, tell me about Highway 41” Dean said to Sam as they drove down Highway 41, “Twelve accidents over 15 years. Five of them fatal, all happening on the same night” Sam piped up from the backseat as Y/N fiddled with the radio deck. “So, what are we looking at? Interstate dead zone? Phantom hitchhiker? What?” Dean asked.

“Not quite, year after year, witnesses said the same thing made them crash. A woman appearing in the middle of the road, being chased by a man covered in blood” Y/N explained, Led Zeppelin’s ‘When The Levee Breaks’ coming on over the radio, they all begin bobbing their heads to the music. “Two spooks?” Dean questioned with a raise of his eyebrow.

Y/N shrugged as Sam did a quick ‘I don’t know’ frown.

•Flashback a couple days

The trio was at a library, Sam was behind a computer as Dean and Y/N stood behind him, both munching on candy bars as he scanned the article of ‘Tragic Accident Kills 2 on Highway 41’ with Molly and Greeley’s pictures.

•Flashback to that same day at the library

“Now, where is Molly buried?” Y/N asked David, they were at his house, finding out about the case. “She-she wasn’t buried anywhere. She was cremated” David informed them tearfully.

-

Now walking out the house, the trip was stumped. “Well, so much for burning her,” Dean scoffed. “Yeah, but then what’s keeping her here?” Sam thought out loud.

-

“Some spirits only see what they want” Y/N said.

-

Back to when they stumbled upon Molly on the highway, they were all bobbing their heads to the music when Y/N felt the chills raise at the back of her neck. Her heartbeat quickened when she saw the figure of a woman running out of the woods telling. “Stop! Stop!”

“CHARMING STOP!!” She screamed, Dean immediately hit the brakes as Sam jumped back into his seat. “You’ve gotta help me!!” Molly’s flickering spirit pleaded with them, but she was in full form to y/n. “Dean, I don’t think she knows she’s dead” Sam gasped, his heart pounding out of his chest as Molly rushed over to the window.

“Please, please!” Molly banged on the window as Y/N rolled it down reluctantly. “Alright, alright, hun. Calm down, calm down. Tell us what happened” She said gently, shooting a sideways look to the boys.

-

“Fellas, we gotta get outta here. Greeley could show up at any second. He’s already in the area. I’m telling you” Y/N whispered to the Winchesters. “What're you gonna tell her?” Dean muttered back. “The truth” Sam shot back, Dean rolled his eyes at his brother. “She’s gonna take off running in the other direction.” Dean quipped at the two, earning side eyes from them again.

-

“Some spirits hold on too tight. Can’t let go” Sam said to Molly.

-

•Present Time

All of the hints Sam and Y/N dropped came rushing back to Molly’s memory, “And Greeley?” She croaked as they stared at her, their eyes filled with sympathy. “Each year he punishes somebody for his death. Uh…chasing them…torturing them…” Sam trailed off, his eyes darting to Y/N because he was beginning to get overwhelmed.

“And each year….that somebody is you” Y/N finished. “But I don’t remember any of it” Molly sobbed, “Because you couldn’t see the truth, Molly” Sam’s voice wavered, “So that’s why he won’t….let me off the highway…because I-….I killed him” Molly finally said it out loud, “I killed us both” She sobbed.

-

Sun was beginning to rise and Molly was sitting on the steps to David’s porch, “Why didn’t you tell me when you first saw me? Why wait until now?” She asked them as they stood in front of her. “You wouldn’t have believed us” Dean sighed, “And you needed me for bait?” Her voice cracked as she turned to y/n, betrayal swimming in her eyes.

“Well, we needed you” Y/N’s voice was filled with shame. “David..” Molly gasped, “Molly, we brought you here so you can move on” Sam stated, “No, I have to tell him…” Molly insisted. “Tell him what? That you love him? That you’re sorry?” Y/N’s eyes pierced Molly’s tear filled ones.

“Honey, he already knows that” Y/N chuckled softly, offering Molly a small smile. “Look, if you wanna go in there, we’re not gonna stop you.” Sam sighed, “Yeah, but you are gonna freak him right out…for life” Dean muttered, Molly’s weak sobs increased, all their hearts yearned for hearts.

“David’s already said his goodbyes, Molly. Now it’s your turn” Y/N frowned, “This is your unfinished business” Sam added, his frown deepening. “What am I supposed to do?” Molly cried, “Just….let go…of David, of everything. You do that…we think you’ll move on.” Y/N explained in a low tone.

“But you don’t know where” Molly sniffled. “No” Sam sighed, his head dropping. “But Molly, you don’t belong here. Haven’t you suffered long enough? It’s time” He added, encouraging her gently. “It’s time to go” Y/N offered Molly her hand for one last time.

They watched with tears in their eyes as Molly stood up, taking a deep breath. “Okay…” She said shakily, taking Y/N’s hand. “Are you ready?” Y/N asked gently, “Yeah” Molly nodded, her voice cracking. Sam and Dean exchanged a sad look.

Y/N guided her to the street, the sun was beginning to fully rise. Molly’s spirit began to a glow bright ball of yellow before she tired to Y/N. Y/N wrapped her arms around Molly, she felt like she was hugging the sun. “Go on, it’ll be okay” She muttered as she felt the burning sensation of light.

Y/N’s eyes widened with slight shock as she suddenly felt a rush of peace and happiness, she pulled away from Molly. “It’s okay…” She said softly, a tiny smile on her face. Molly gave her hand one last tight squeeze before her spirit disapparated into a yellow ball of light again.

Y/N watched as the beautiful ball of yellow floated into the sunrise, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, wow..” She muttered under her breath, turning to look at Sam and Dean, tears swimming in the younger Winchesters eyes. It took everything in y/n not to break down there and then, being a psychic had its pros but one of the con’s definitely had to be the intense empathy they felt.

“I guess she wasn’t so bad for a ghost” Dean sighed as Sam and Y/N swallowed hard. Y/N wrapped an arm around her best friends waist comfortingly, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You think she’s going to a better place?” Dean questioned, a frown on his face as he wondered where spirits really go after death.

Sam hummed, wrapping his long arm around her shoulder, resting his own head on hers. “I hope so,” He croaked, his eyes trained on the sunrise. “I guess we’ll never know, not until we take the plunge ourselves, huh?” Dean muttered, attempting to ease the situation with a bit of humor. “It doesn’t really matter, charming. Hope is kind of the whole point” Y/N sighed, turning to him.

She then wrapped her arm around his shoulder, a ghost of a smile on Dean’s lips. “Alright, Haley Joel and J. Love Heweitt. Let's hit the road” He chuckled, wrapping his arm around Y/N’s waist and then patting Sam on his back after.

They all piled into the Impala, Sam into the passenger seat and Y/N in the backseat. Y/N leaned against the window as Dean turned up the radio again, Led Zeppelin once more sounding the car. Dean’s eyes landed on Y/N through the rear view mirror, her eyes trained out the window, her fingers tapping to the beat of the music.

____________________________________________

San Francisco, California

The trio were now at Y/N’s San Francisco safehouse, Y/N and Dean were downstairs watching ‘The Princess Bride’ after she forced Dean to watch it with him, not that it took a lot of convincing because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Dean Winchester was a sucker for ‘chick flicks’, especially classics like this.

Sam was upstairs in his own room, his finger, once again, hovering over Jo’s contact. After the hunt, all he wanted to do was hear her voice. But he didn’t know if she was busy, he didn't want to push, he didn’t want to make it seem like just after one kiss that he’s hogging her for affection. It had only been a little over a week since they kissed.

He then let out a huge sigh and dialed her number. His heart was hammering against his chest as it rang, She’s prob-. His thoughts were cut off once he heard a sleepy voice on the other end. “Hello?” She yawned. “Hey angel, I’m sorry…did I wake you?” His heart fluttered as his hand gripped the phone a bit tighter, feeling terrible for disrupting her sleep.

“It’s okay” She giggled, causing even more butterflies to erupt in his stomach, “What are you doing up so late, Mr. Winchester?” She teased. “I don’t really know. I just sorta wanted to hear your voice” He said sheepishly, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “And...Y/N is making Dean watch ‘The Princess Bride’ with her…again” He said, a smile on his face when he heard her soft laugh.

“Are you sitting with them, or are you hiding in your room?” She asked, stifling a giggle. “Don’t make fun of me, Ms. Harvelle” He smirked, rolling his eyes at her. “But, yes, I am currently sitting in my room” He chuckled, flopping down on his bed.

“Is everything okay, Sammy?” Jo’s concerned voice echoed through the phone. “Yeah, we just closed a case” He sighed, “It just…” He paused, taking a deep breath, “It was a hard one” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Her voice was soft like silk on his heart.

“That’d be nice, but I just wanna talk to you right now” Sam smiled, her ability to calm him was incredible. And they did just that, the duo talked for hours, about the most random things. Anything that came to mind, they chatted and chatted until Sam finally let out a tired yawn.

“You should get some sleep, handsome” Jo teased, smiling to herself when she heard his light yawn. He chuckled, shifting his body slightly under the covers. “I don’t wanna stop talking to you though” He pouted like a little kid. She huffed a laugh, her heart fluttering a bit at the thought of the tall, broad shouldered hunter pouting.

“We’ll talk soon, Sammy. Just get your rest, okay?” She said softly. “I miss you” He whispered in a low, gruff tone, his heart yearning for her to be right next to him. He heard her soft breath hitch for a second before she let out a shaky sigh, “I miss you too, Sam.” She whispered back.

“When can I see you again?” He questioned, his heart fluttering at the fact that he wasn’t the only one feeling the way he did. He’d much rather ask her, ‘Can I be your boyfriend?’ but truth be told, he didn’t have the balls to ask it. Not knowing if she’d be open to a relationship with anyone right now, he had no idea where they stood and neither did she.

“Soon, hopefully” Jo sighed softly before her tone seemed to light up a bit “Maybe you guys could drive by the bar and stop for a few days?” Sam’s face erupted into a wide smile at her suggestion. “That’d be so great” He mumbled, biting his lower lip as he looked up at the ceiling in his bedroom.

“You sound excited, Winchester,” She chuckled. “You’re not just excited for the beer, are you?” She teased. “That’s more like Dean and Y/N than me,” Sam joked. She hummed, a smile on her lips, “Goodnight, Sammy” She said softly. “Goodnight, angel” He breathed, feeling slightly breathless like someone was sitting on his chest, a good kind of breathless.

He heard her giggle before she hung up, leaving him with a huge smile on his face. He felt his eyes getting heavy as he set his cell phone on the nightstand, his eyelids slowly shutting, drifting off into a peaceful sleep as he thought of her.

______________________________________________

Author's Note: HI BEAUTIES! I hope everyone enjoyed this one🥰It was more Sam and Jo centric because they’ve been living in my mind RENT FREE😩

I love Dean and Y/N so much but JESUS CHRIST I WANNA PUMMEL THEM!!

Anyways😭hope everyone enjoyed once again, don’t be shy to tell me what you loved and what you hated! Till the next one😘

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2

Xoxo

[onebighappyaftonfamily]

FNAF Dashboard Simulator

🐊 not-coughin Follow

guys I hate living in hurricane utah. you will not believe what i just saw.

#cryptid sightings

🐰 springbonnie-and-friends

Well? You cant just say that and tag it #cryptid sightings and not elaborate!

🕶️ cryptid_hunter Follow

Dont you know that Utah is full of cryptids man. They probably saw the Wire Monster

🐰 springbonnie-and-friends

The what.

📸 Wire-Monster-Heritage-Posts Follow

Official Wire Monster Heritage Post

🐰 springbonnie-and-friends

WHAT?

535 notes

🛼 he-was-a-rollersk8er-boi Follow

GUYS IM ACTUALLY ILL. I WENT TO THE SKATEBOARD PARK AFTER HOURS AND A GIANT METALLIC MONSTER GIRL ON WHEELS JUST INSULTED ME. AND THEN SHE DID THE TRICK I HAD BEEN PRACTICING BUT SHE DID IT BETTER

🛹 tony-fawk Follow

tfw you're so bad at rollerskating that your sleep paralysis demon shows up to outdo you

🛼 he-was-a-rollersk8er-boi Follow

PLEAAAAASE NO

89 notes

🎩 f-bears-family-diner Follow

We know what you did.

🌻 farmgurl1 Follow

This whole blog is giving ARG guys. But I googled the restaurant and it used to be a real place??? Someone pls explain

4 notes

⬜️ middle-of-nowhere-deactivated-02132022

GUYS I'm so scared for my life right now! bumped into his weird guy on the street and his hat fell off and his whole head was BALD AND PURPLE. like his skin was purple. And he smelled like roadkill. Did I just encounter a zombie?!

🎇 slaymechanic Follow

omg youre so rude! why are you demonizing that poor homeless man?! blocked

💌 cutsie_side_blog Follow

OP makes me sick

🖼️ simple-artist Follow

K

💽 foundfootagelvr3

U

🛤️ i-like-trains Follow

N

🏙️ king-sh1t Follow

G

🎼 classicalmusic1 Follow

P

🐰 springbonnie-and-friends

O

87 notes

🔎 henry-emily-sightings Follow

Oh my god guys normally I just post about whenever this guy ends up on the news but I literally saw him IRL today! He's moved back to Hurricane Utah?! Oh my god!

🐻 fr3dbear_fan Follow

SAY SIKE RN HE SAID HED NEVER RETURN

🕵️ problem-sleuther Follow

you mean that guy who was arrested for killing a bunch of kids including his own daughter??? should we be worried

🔎 henry-emily-sightings Follow

Clearly you haven't done your research. It wasn't him. They're still not sure who the murderer was but a lot of online fans believe that the murderer might have been Henry Emily's co-owner and friend William Afton. Naturally the guy disappeared shortly after Emily's arrest. Right, @william-afton-sightings ?

🔍 william-afton-sightings Follow

The guy's a ghost. I've literally turned this blog into a search for the Vintage Spring Bonnie suit, seeing as it was what the murderer wore to kill the missing kids. It's also missing, btw. It was also the only suit William Afton would wear, and some reports say he didn't like it when employees wore his suit. I'm hoping if I look for the Vintage Bonnie suit, then Afton might be too.

🐇 bonnie_lvr Follow

I've seen a spring bonnie suit but it was probably a crappy cosplay or smth. horror attraction by my place is trying to make it freddys pizzeria themed (disgraceful)

🔍 william-afton-sightings Follow

I have literally never seen a cosplay of Spring Bonnie. DM me PLEASE

💽 foundfootagelvr3

WAIT BONNIE_LVR ARE YOU IN HURRICANE BECAUSE I SAW THAT PLACE TOO. OMG IS THIS WHY MR EMILY IS BACK?!

134 notes

🎬 vintage-show-polls Follow

🐊 not-coughin Follow

Ugh this is such a niche tv show all of you are just voting based on what you know of the animatronics, not the show. gtfo posers

💽 foundfootagelvr3

OMG PLEASE VOTE FOXY HES SUCH A FASCINATING VILLAIN PLS PLS PLS PLS FOXY SWEEP

459 notes

reminder this is unreality. go ahead and vote in the poll and click the link of that tagged blog tho

[karvroom]

10 Things I Hate About Katsuki Bakugo

◤━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◥

⇦ 003. French is the Language of Love

004. An Idiot with Money

"Did I or did I not tell you it was pointless?" Sero sassed as he moved the scalpel down the frog's stomach, careful to not slice any deeper than the skin. "No one will go out with her."

During lunch, Kirishima recruited Sero to help him find someone to go out with you for the better chance of him and Mina going on a date. Sero managed to snag some guys, setting them up for the question they never thought they would hear: "Will you go out with (Y/N) Ashido?"

"You're joking, right?"

"Maybe if we were the last people on Earth."

"How much you gonna pay me?"

The range of responses were pretty harsh to say the least. It was hopeless trying to find someone willing to take you on a date. If only no one at the school was intimidated by your wicked attitude and vulgar vocabulary.

Why did the girl Kirishima like have to have the most difficult sister of the century? In addition, a strict father. He was devastated by the results of his scouting, starting to feel a headache from the amount of stress he endured. Kirishima knew giving up wasn't ideal but they had tried just about every possible candidate.

A lump formed in his throat, watching Sero poke and prod at the insides of the dead frog on the tray. They were in anatomy, which wasn't Kirishima's first choice for a science class. He felt queasy just looking at roadkill. His eyes averted from the sight, finding it impossible how Sero could play with the insides of a deceased creature so senselessly.

The red-head squinted his eyes, seeing a blonde boy whip out a pocket knife from his own pocket. He was pretty sure that was illegal but gawked at the stranger, intrigued by the sight. The blonde flicked his wrist, the blade flying out of its protective frame. With a BANG the boy drove the blade down the frog's body, revealing its intestines. Kirishima quirked a brow, coming up with a brilliant idea.

"Hey, hey, what about him?" Kirishima tapped Sero's arm, snapping the ravenette out of his own world. He pointed at the intimidating blonde behind Sero.

Sero curiously turned around, only to swing his body back to face Kirishima. Sero looked almost offended by his friend's suggestion. When he pictured you and Bakugo in the same room, all he could see was the walls painted red. "Him? No, don't—don't look at him, okay? He's a criminal. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just did a year in Shimane Asahi."

"Well, at least he's horny." Kirishima joked, eyes lingering on the mysterious male behind Sero.

"I'm serious, man. He's whacked." Sero whispered, careful not to alert any one of who he was talking about. "He sold his own liver on the black market for a new set of speakers."

Bakugo flipped the gas switch on in the lab. A large flame shot out from the pipe, causing his science partner to jump back in fear. The blonde placed a Marlboro red in his mouth, leaning just enough over the counter for the cigarette to light. Sero was repulsed by the sight.

Meanwhile, Kirishima was intrigued by the specimen; observing as Bakugo's partner took the cancer stick out of his mouth, pushing the tip against a trey to burn out the tobacco. "He's our guy."

Later in mechanics class, Bakugo had been creating a masterpiece from his hard work.

"Hi, how you doin'." Kirishima confidently spoke to the brute through the steam produced by Bakugo's project. "Listen, I—"

A drill interrupted the boy's sentence, he looked down at the French book he carried in his two hands. A hole was being drilled by Bakugo, right in the center of the Eiffel Tower.

Kirishima couldn't lie, he was somewhat intimidated by the guy, afraid how much Bakugo would sell his liver for. "Okay. Later, then."

"How do we get him to date (Y/N)?"

"I don't know." Kirishima sighed, shaking his head side to side as his friend observed the giant hole in the book. "I mean, uh, we could pay him, but we don't have any money."

"Yeah, well, what we need is a backer." Sero spoke, slamming the book on the table while turning to Kirishima, who looked utterly confused by his words. The raven haired boy sighed, "Someone with money who's stupid."

────୨ৎ────

Sero had the bright idea of roping in Denki Kaminari somehow. Kirishima patted Sero on the back for luck, staying back to allow a better chance of Kaminari coming in clutch.

Sero inhaled deeply before marching over to Kaminari's lunch table in the cafeteria. Confidently, he took a seat right next to the blonde boy, who was drawing a rack of boobs on a yellow lunch tray. The table went silent as Sero settled into his spot.

"Is that a peach Fruit Roll-Up?" Sero asked, staring at the homemade lunch Ojito brought to school. The nervous boy reached his hand out for the sweet treat. "Because you don't see many—"

Sero was abruptly cut short by Ojiro grabbing his wrist. His heart stopped, he felt his head was about to explode with anxious thoughts swirling in his mind. The sweet boy pulled his hand away, rubbing at the skin that would later be bruised.

"Are you lost?" Kaminari asked in a "concerning" tone. The blonde's face twisted into one of a sour grimace, surprised by the boldness this kid had to sit at his table, to talk to his friends, but most of all, talk to him.

"No. Actually, I just came by to chat."

"We don't chat."

"Well, actually, I thought that I'd run an idea by you, just to see if you're interested." Sero proposed, using his hands as he talked. Before Kaminari could speak, Sero cut him off, trying to at least pitch his thoughts. "Well, hear me out. Now, you want Mina, right?"

Kaminari grabbed Sero's face, but Sero didn't stop talking, he continued the conversation as casual as one could. He held the heat emitting from Kaminari's hands as they wrapped under his chin. He twisted the ravenette's head to the side. Using the same marker as he did on the tray, Kaminari started drawing on Sero's cheek.

"But she can't go out with you because her sister is this insane head case, and no one will go out with her, right?"

"Does this conversation have a purpose?" Kaminari asked in a bored tone, touching up the penis he drew on Sero's face. He added hair and veins, even debated on adding more detail to the balls.

"What I think you need to do is you need to hire a guy who'll go out with her. Someone who doesn't scare so easily." Sero pointed at a table in the distance where Bakugo and another guy sat. Kaminari's hands released from Sero's chin. He leaned back to admire his beautiful artwork.

"That guy?" Kaminari asked, brows furrowed. He observed as Bakugo ate his food, hungrily munching on the chicken served by the cafeteria. "I heard he ate a live squirrel once."

"Everything but the tail and the head. Clearly, he's a solid investment." Sero nodded his head, adding a smile to really add to the charming charisma.

"What's in it for you?"

"Hey, I'm walking down the hall and I say hello to you, you say hello to me." Sero chirped.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You're cool by association." Kaminari cleared his throat, nodding his head in clear understanding. "I'll think about it."

"Alright, cool." Sero said, he stood up from his spot, attempting to shake hands with Kaminari as a close out. When the blonde refused to touch his hand, Sero backed away, scurrying back to Kirishima.

"What are you doing getting him involved?" Kirishima stressed, walking with Sero towards the cafeteria exit.

"Relax, now. Relax. We let him pretend he's calling the shots. While he's busy setting things up, you have time with Mina." Sero calmly explained, over exaggerating his hand movements.

"That is a good idea." Kirishima admitted, a sly smile spreading across his face.

◣━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◢

⇨ 005. The Beginning of the End

taglist🫐 @katsukota @wheezdostuff @honeydwitch @chuugarettes

[boldlyvoid]

I Know Places: Roadkill

18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader | Masterlist | AO3 link

Summary: Once again, Aaron puts himself in harm's way. Once again, reader scolds him for it. Bickering like an old married couple in front of the whole team, it becomes glaringly obvious that they're more than just coworkers now.

Warnings: background Moreid, Canon Typical Violence (mentions of possible rape, car accidents, hit and runs, murder) angst with a happy ending, arguing, worrying, makeup sex (first time together) teasing, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampies.

Word count: 14.9k

Not much changes between them at work. They’re still acting as professionally as possible, only now with longing stares all across the country and only one bed during their hotel stays.

In the last few weeks, they’ve had 4 cases. Each has gone by as smoothly as possible, without accidents or escapes or injuries. And Aaron’s stopped obsessing over Foyet, for the most part. He still reads the files when he has free time and he asks Penelope to add new perimeters to her searches, but other than that, he’s taken a bit of the weight off his shoulders to share with the rest of the team when the time comes. 

Everyone knows they’ve just not filed the paperwork because it’s a hassle and Strauss, their section Chief would find some way to make it a problem. She’ll find out eventually, but until then, they’re just going with the flow, experiencing life together as a happy couple as long as they can. 

He hasn’t told Haley yet, either. Seeing as she doesn’t want to admit that Conrad— her “friend” who’s always over during pick up and drop offs with Jack— is actually her boyfriend, they don’t have to tell her that they’re anything more than friends either. Jack likes Y/N, he holds her hand at the park and always asks if she can stay for a sleepover when he’s spending the night at his dad's. It’s the sweetest thing. 

Every morning that they’re in Quantico, they meet at the round table at 10 am to prep new cases. They come in to work together at 8:30, holding hands while carrying coffee in their other. When they get up to Aaron’s office, JJ is in there with a file and an awkward, press-lipped smile on her face. 

“What’s up?” He asks, letting go of her hand and walking over to his desk. 

“Police in Bend, Oregon have asked for our help… this unsub is running people over with his car, there’s been two victims in the last 12 days,” she explains. 

“Okay, I’ll look over the file and we’ll meet in the briefing room early today, tell the others 9:30 at the latest,” Hotch orders. 

“Got it,” she picks up her things and starts to leave. She pats Y/N on the arm with a knowing smile, “See you out there.” 

“You certainly will,” she smiles back at her. “Actually, I’m going to go help her photocopy everything and get ready, I’ll see you in there?” 

“Okay,” Aaron nods. “Save me a seat.” 

“Beside me as always,” she teases him one last time before heading out. 

She’s so cute, he just shakes his head, watching from the window as she skips down a couple of steps and heads over to her desk. She says hi to Anderson and waves at a few people before following JJ up to the briefing room to make photocopies. He is so in love with her it makes him feel a little crazy. He has work to do, but his mind is stuck on her. He’s happy. At his desk. He's... happy? 

For the first time in his life, he’s happy while at work.

And everyone knows it too. He’s staying at work less, still keeping up with his paperwork somehow, coming in a little later in the mornings, and he’s smiling more often. He’s heard the rumours and the mumblings, he knows people think he’s like this cause he’s getting laid again… but the truth is they haven’t. 

He sleeps at her house, she sleeps at his, they sleep in the same bed on cases and they’ve come close to it before, but they haven’t had sex yet. Neither one of them has brought it up yet. 

The first week they were together, they were busy on a case. The second week they had a pretty gross case and neither one of them was in the mood after it and then he had Jack all weekend. Then last week, she was on her period and he was happy to dote on her and give her a massage and cover her in kisses before sleeping beside her and holding her close but not too tight. He loves her so much, this relationship is so much more than just physical… he’s only had sex with 1 woman in his whole life, and even then, it took them over a year to do it because they were in high school. 

This is just what he’s used to. He’ll be ready whenever she asks, he doesn’t need it�� does he crave it? A little. She’s beautiful. He has to see her in action with her shirt rolled up and her bulletproof vest on. He sees her manhandle creeps and cuff them, sometimes even fight them a little. He listens to her give orders and put people in their place. Of course, he wants her. But he knows how to wait. He’s a patient man. 

He has to shake all the thoughts out of his mind before he cracks open the case file. He takes another sip of his coffee and starts to read over the police report. He looks at the photos, the coroner's report, the witness statements and everything else JJ thought was important to include. 

This is a weird one. He’s never seen a serial killer who favours vehicular homicide. Most of them want to do the killing themselves, they want to use their hands and feel the glory. This guy might not even be a guy. It could be a woman, using a vehicle might give her the power she lacks. The way they’ve been hit, backed over and hit again… that’s anger that comes from planning and a desire to kill. It’s unlikely that these are just victims of happenstance, this killer is calculated and these women that died were chosen for a reason. 

He gathers all his things and meets the others in the briefing room, Derek, Spencer and Dave have yet to show up but they’ll be in soon. Right now, it’s just the girls. 

“And then— oh, sorry, sir,” Penelope stops whatever she was saying as she sees him. 

“On, no, it’s okay. You can keep talking… unless you don’t want me to know?” He hesitates to sit down, he’d leave if they needed him to. 

“No, it’s fine,” she sighs. “Kevin is interviewing with the NSA for a new job and he can’t even tell me where he’s going if he gets it.” 

“I’m sorry,” he feels terrible for her. Long distance sucks. But he sits down, ready to listen, wanting to be there for her and offer some wisdom if she wants it. 

“I hate this. I hate not knowing what’s going to happen. What if he never comes home? What if I can’t talk to him? What if he breaks up with me right before he goes and then I never hear from him again? I’m not ready to just lose someone in my life permanently.” 

“You’re Penelope Garcia,” he reminds her. “You can easily find out where he’s going… and you can easily stop transfers from going through, remember you held mine up so I could stay here?” 

She nods, “I still feel sorry about that, sir, I didn’t mean to start things with you at home.” 

“It’s okay, I’m much happier now,” he smiles over to Y/N. “I wouldn’t have my beautiful girlfriend if I still had a wife.” 

“Very funny,” Y/N can’t believe he said that. She laughs and shakes her head, she licks her lips and laughs again. “You really just said that?” 

“And I mean it,” he teases, reaching over for her hand. He brings it up to his lips and kisses her hand, making the other two women swoon a bit. 

“Hotch, I had no idea you were a romantic,” JJ teases him. “Were you always like this?” 

He shrugs, “I was a teenager the last time I was in love like this.” 

“In love?” They hear Derek's voice as he and Reid come through the door. “What did I miss?” 

“Nothing,” Y/N waves it off, trying desperately not to be the centre of attention. “We’re just talking about our relationships, anything you two want to share?” 

“no—“ Derek starts but Spencer sits beside her and smiles. 

“Derek’s never not been the sharing type and then he started dating me and now he’s like Fort Knox about it all,” Spencer teases. 

“Hey,” Derek sits beside him and swats his arm. “It’s because I love you, you’re not some rando who came home with me once.” 

“And what an honour that is,” Spencer teases again. 

Derek’s just about to say something when they hear the whistling. Dave comes in with his coffee and the remnants of a lipstick stain on his cheek and sits down in the only empty spot left. “What’ve we got today?” 

Everyone shares a few looks and knowing smiles, but Aaron answers. “A weird one in Bend, Oregon.” 

“An unsub who kills with his car,” Y/N adds. 

“They’ve had two victims in the last 12 days,” Hotch explains while they all open their files and have a look.

JJ stands, holding the remote for the projector, She starts to show them their victims. 23-year-old Maria Delgado was stuck while out on a jog and the second, a stranded motorist, Shannon Makely, 43. 

“What makes the locals think that they were connected?” Derek asks. 

“For one thing, they were both backed over after the initial impact,” JJ explains, showing them the photos again which makes Penelope shield her eyes. 

“No accident there,” Dave grumbles, cheerful mood already gone. 

“Plus, the treads found at both scenes match. Large vehicle, all-terrain,” Aaron adds but doesn’t cover all of it. 

JJ moves to more photos on the screen, the ME report as well, “Wounds also indicate a raised bumper, so they’re thinking a large SUV or a truck.” 

“Do they know the model or make?” Spencer asks. 

She shakes her head, “Tyres aren’t factory issues. They could be on a number of different vehicles.” 

“And no witness at either incident?” Y/N asks, flipping through the file, not finding anything. 

“No, just the unlucky people who came across the bodies after it had already happened,” JJ sighs.

“A hit-and-run is loud, usually they draw attention. Somebody usually sees something,” Rossi says, posing the question they’re all thinking. How did no one see it happen?

“Both victims were attacked in secluded areas,” JJ explains further. 

“Two tones of metal make a hell of a weapon,” Derek says with a shake of his head, disgusted by the lengths these killers go through.

“Serial killers have been known to become rather attached to their vehicles,” Spencer throws in. “Bittaker and Norris even gave theirs a nickname—

“murder Mack,” Rossi finishes for him. 

“Bittaker and Norris were sexual sadists. There’s no sign of torture here,” Hotch reminds them.

“Sounds like a thrill kill?” Y/N proposes. “Opportunistic.” 

“Easy targets, randomly selected,” Dave agrees. 

“With this type of impact, vehicles shouldn’t be hard to pick out from a lineup,” Derek concludes. 

“Yeah, there should be significant front-end damage,” Spencer backs him up. 

“Somehow I don’t think this is gonna be that easy,” Dave says, closing his file. 

“I contacted the pilot already, the jet is ready whenever we are,” JJ informs them, closing down the screen as they all get ready to go. 

“Wheels up in 20.” 

—

“I think it's safe to assume this unsub is a male,” Y/N says as soon as the conversation picks back up on the plane. 

“I agree with you, given what we know,” Hotch nods, reading over the file again. “At first I thought maybe it could be a woman, using a car to feel powerful but with the amount of road rage and aggression we see in men, it’s less likely it would be a woman doing this.” 

“It’s also just too messy,” Spencer adds for good measure. 

“Exactly.” 

“And men have an unnatural bond with their cars,” Y/N jokingly reminds everyone. 

“That is true,” JJ gets it. 

“Wait a minute, I don't know about unnatural?” Derek feels offended. 

“I once dated a guy who washed his car more than he washed his hair,” JJ stares him down until he gives in. 

“A nice car needs love,” Rossi pipes up. Derek points at him cause he gets it. 

“And a woman doesn’t?” JJ just blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. 

“I’m not qualified to answer that,” Rossi teases, making them all laugh. 

“I’m just saying, big car… that’s phallic?” Y/N shrugs, looking at Aaron. 

“So he’s compensating?” Aaron poses. 

“Or overcompensating,” Spencer corrects. 

“Impotent?” Derek suggests. 

“Possibly, i-if the unsub sees himself as physically defective the car not only gives him the power and control he otherwise lacks, but it also serves as a shield,” Spencer further explains. 

“A way to avoid physical contact?” Hotch asks. 

“Power and control,” Y/N starts to put the pieces together out loud. “Female victims… that almost reads like a rape profile.” 

“Vehicular rape,” Rossi says, taken aback by the mere thought. 

“Rape and thrill kill are two very different profiles,” Derek reminds them. 

“What does victimology tell us?” Hotch asks. 

“Nothing yet,” JJ shrugs, filling through the pages in her file but coming up short. “Shannon Makely was a white, married, 43-year-old commodities trader and Maria Delgado was a 23-year-old Hispanic graduate student and competitive triathlete.” 

“So far gender is our only link,” Hotch agrees. “Hopefully the crime scenes will tell us more… when we get there, Morgan and Rossi you can go to the Makely crime scene. Y/N and I will go to Delgados and then Reid, you and JJ can hit up the ME and then head to the station to set up the boards.” 

“Why do you two get to do everything together?” Spencer whines. 

“Because you’re the doctor, you need to go and pick out shit the coroner missed and Derek is the best at retracing steps, no offence Rossi,” Y/N answers on Aaron’s behalf. 

“None taken. Out of all of you, Derek reminds me the most of what me and Gideon were like in the beginning,” Dave gives him a small smile. 

“He was a great teacher,” Derek says. “But it’s fine, we’re still partnered up in the hotels, right?” 

“Yep,” JJ tries not to smile. “I’ve got you guys in a room with just one queen, down the hall from the rest of us, too.” 

The rest of them smirk too, while Y/N and Aaron haven’t even bothered to get sexual yet, those two weren’t hiding anything. Between strange noises in the middle of the night and the rhythmic knocking of a bed frame on shared walls… it was pretty obvious that the good doctor and Derek Morgan were having a lot of fun together. 

—

When they touch down, they separate into 3 SUVs on the tarmac and make their way from the small local airport 3 towns over all the way to Bend. Aaron and Y/N get a call from one of the local cops, Detective Feder, who is going to meet them at the jogging trail and walk them through everything. The main detective, Quinn, is with Rossi and Morgan at the most recent crime scene. 

It’ll take them about 45 minutes to get there, though the winding country roads on this side of the country are nice, so it’s no big deal. The trees make for nice shade and the shade brings a cool breeze too, when just one state south they’d be in the disgusting heat of California. They have the windows down, the music on low, Aaron holds her hand as he drives and she looks out the window at the scenery. It’s a nice break from the horrors of their job. 

When they arrive, the cop is leaning against his car, arms crossed, waiting. He gives them a tight-lipped smile when they pull up, parking right behind him, they get out at the same time. 

“Hey,” the cop waves. “Detective Feder, nice to meet you.” 

He shakes Aarons hand first, “Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Y/L/N.” 

“Hi,” she smiles while shaking his hand. “Hope you weren’t waiting long?” 

“Nah, I just pulled up not 5 minutes ago,” he waves it off. “Follow me,” he says, leading them behind his squad car and towards the trail. “It’s not a very popular jogging area. There aren’t too many people who can take that hill coming up here.” 

“Well, she was a triathlete,” Y/N reminds him. 

“We figured she jogged in off the main road, headed for the trail up here,” he points to the side. When he gets to the bloody spot on the concrete he stops. “The assailant drove in behind her, and ran her down right here.” 

“Uh… a woman jogging alone, no… she would’ve known if someone was tailing her,” Y/N states, speaking from a woman’s point of view, she knows what it's like to be on high alert at all times. 

“So maybe he was already here?” Aaron proposes. Looking around, there’s a big red garbage bin that’s been dropped off and what looks to be construction equipment set up behind a fence. “What’s the story with all this equipment?” 

“Construction stalled out months ago, no reason for anyone to be up here,” Feder explains. 

Aaron keeps walking, behind the garbage bin, “it’s nice and quiet. It's the ideal spot to wait to run somebody down without being seen.” 

“A little convenient,” Y/N rolls her eyes. 

“Too convenient,” Aaron agrees. “What if it was her? What if she were the reason he was up here?” 

“You don’t think this was a random attack?” Y/N’s almost shocked to hear him say that. 

He shakes his head and kneels down to look at the dirt, “oil,” he points, pressing his finger into the darkened wet patch and showing them. “He was lying in wait.”

“Shit,” Feder sighs, he can’t believe they missed these signs. “Okay. We should regroup at the station.” 

“We’ll call our guys,” Y/N says, going to take out her phone. “On second thought… there’s no service.” 

“Yeah most of the county has terrible service,” Feder shrugs. “I’ll radio it in for you, Quinn should get it.” 

“Thanks," Aaron gives him a small smile and then motions with his head towards their car to get Y/N to follow. 

—

“He may have specifically targeted these women,” Hotch proposes to the others as soon as he sits down at the table. 

Y/N and JJ were off talking to family, Derek was on a coffee run, leaving him with the lead detective, Spencer and Dave. 

“That takes thrill-kill off the table,” Rossi sits back, wanting to hear everything hotch learned at the first crime scene. Cause that’s how they worked best, going backwards. 

“Because the murders were planned in advance?” Quinn asked. 

“Yeah,” Spencer hesitates, looking at his board with everything he’s mapped out so far. “This type of stalking behaviour indicates a personal motive. There’s a reason he chose these victims.” 

“So you think he knows them?” Quinn follows up, wanting to get a look inside the genius' brain. That’s exactly why he called them in for this with only two murders and not the typical 3 killings that would garner their attention. 

“Well, he knew their work schedules, jogging routes, drive patterns,” Hotch points out. 

“That would explain how he knew where to strike,” Spencer adds. 

“Explains the Delgado girl, she was on a run, but he could’ve known Shannon Makely’s car was gonna break down out there?” Quinn says, having a hard time thinking outside the box, unlike the rest of them. 

“Did you look at her car?” Rossi asks. 

“Guys at impound said that it was a water pump that blew, said it’s a common enough problem,” Quinn explains. 

“Maybe we should take a closer look?” Rossi suggests.

“Why don’t you head over there?” Aaron agrees, sending the best man for that job. Dave was a car guy, he had fixed up countless classics, and he’d know how to talk shop better than the rest of them. “Let me know what you find.” 

Right as Dave starts to stand up, Y/N comes rushing over to the table, “Shannon Makely’s husband is here.” 

Hotch had requested to talk to him when he arrived, he had questions to ask and hearing them from another man might make it go by easier. Whereas the mother of Maria Delgado would’ve done better with the girls, that’s why he had them speak to her first. 

“Okay, thanks,” he starts to stand, “you want to join us?” He asks Detective Quinn. 

He nods, standing with him. They all head into an office, Mr. Makely is already in there waiting for them, his eyes puffy and red, he’s been crying. Probably a lot. That was a given. Aaron’s not sure how he’d react if his wife— ex-wife died. Even after everything they’ve been through, he’d probably be devastated too. 

“I just want it to make sense,” Mr. Makely cries. “But this…” he doesn’t know what to say. 

“We may be able to make some sense of this with your help,” Y/N offers, her kindest voice on display. She hands him a photo of Maria Delgado. “Do you recognize that woman?” 

He stares for a mere second and shakes his head. Gripping his water bottle like his life depended on it, “No. Should I?” 

“She was the first victim,” Y/N explains. “We’re trying to determine if she was connected to your wife in some way.” 

“Connected?” He asks, having a hard time processing everything. 

“We think he may have been following them. Gathering information,” Aaron adds. “Did Shannon ever mention or notice anyone?”

“No…” his brows furrow as he thinks back as far as he can but his mind is clearly shadowed by grief. 

“Did you ever notice anyone out of the ordinary in your neighbourhood?” She asks, watching him shake his head. “Maybe someone who was walking or driving by the house repeatedly?” 

He keeps shaking his head, he really doesn’t think so. 

“What about a truck? Or a large SUV?” Hotch asks. 

His brows narrow then, his eyes wander back and forth as he puts some pieces together, “Thursday, I was expecting a package, I kept checking the street and there was a truck parked a couple of houses down. I didn’t recognize it.” 

“Could you see anyone inside?” Aaron asks. 

He shakes his head again, kicking himself, “I couldn’t tell, the windows were blacked out.”

“Tinted?” Aaron repeats in a different phrasing, looking to Y/N and then back to him. 

“Yeah, only all the way around, like you see with limousines,” he explains better. He rubs his mouth then, trying his hardest to think back, he visibly hates himself for not remembering more. 

Aaron gives him a moment and then asks one last question. “Do you think that you would recognize the truck if you saw it again?” 

He sniffles and then clears his throat, pulling himself together, he nods, “Mhm, maybe?” 

And so they get him pictures of trucks, makes and models, they print off so many pictures they have to bring in more paper. This is the most this department's printer has ever gone off, as it would seem. 

Dave was back from the mechanic pretty soon thereafter, they were behind on things and asked him to come back in a few hours, meaning Aaron could go with him this time. 

The mechanic working on the little red car pops the hood and brings them around to look, “we figured it was the water pump because it was pretty much melted but what we didn’t figure out on this—“ he pulls forward a piece of rubber tubing with a slit cut through it. 

“This car's pretty new, that wouldn’t be normal wear and tear, would it?” Aaron asks. 

“No, the rest of the lines in good condition,” he explains. “Someone punctured it. You can tell from the smooth edge.”

Aaron leans in to get a better look, “How did they do it?” 

“Probably reached the blade right through the grill. Penknife, something like that,” he hypothesizes. 

“Wouldn’t’ve even had to pop the hood,” Rossi tisks, shaking his head. Theres nothing he hasn’t seen. “And then she drove away without water in the radiator, it explains the overheating.” 

“It explains the pump, too,” The mechanic adds. 

“Could someone possibly gauge how far she could’ve travelled with a car in this condition?” Hotch asks one last question to chase his theory. 

He presses his lips together and shrugs, “Someone who knows cars could make an educated guess, I suppose.” 

“Thank you,” Aaron reaches over to shake his hand, that’s everything he needed. 

Dave does the same thing, shaking the man's hand before the two of them head off back towards their own car. “Sabotage. This guys more focused than we thought. Well organized, highly motivated.” 

“By what though?” Aaron asks, still stuck on that part. “What do these women have in common?” 

“Different ages, appearance, social status. He’s not hunting a specific type,” Dave recounts. 

“Their only connection is the unsub. There has to have been contact before the attacks,” Hotch says, going back on what they’ve profiled before. 

Rossi picks that us, “but we profiled a guy who would be afraid of contact? The trucks a shield.” 

“Maybe the contacts are incidental. There’s something he perceives in their exchange. Something about his perception triggers his fixation,” Hotch explains. “Could be the way she looks at him, something she says, or even something as trivial as what she’s wearing… whatever it is, the victims have no idea what they’ve set in motion.” 

—

Visiting the crime scenes, and talking with loved ones and the mechanic was really all they could do that day. The team goes out for dinner together around 6 and by 8 they’re all in their hotel rooms with nothing to do for 12 hours— or when another kill comes in. 

Y/N and Aaron have a room with two beds, like always, one to sleep in together and one for all their bags to sit on. They change, they get into bed together and by 9pm they’re cuddled into each other and absolutely exhausted. It’s midnight back home, they’d normally still be up at this time but still, all the travel and the emotional toll of talking to victim's families has them pretty wiped out. 

He loves this time of night, the way they cuddle and how she fits next to him like she’s the other half of his puzzle. They talk a little, about the case and also about nothing serious at all. He loves this part of the night, when they’re tucked away in some random bed in a random town in America… he never thought he’d have this. 

He never imagined one day he wouldn’t be with Haley, and even if he did, he never thought he’d be happy without her. So much of his marriage with her was good, he loved coming home to a cuddle and a good night's sleep. But on the other end, he spent a lot of nights completely alone. He would cuddle his pillow and have terrible sleep only to wake up grumpy and keep searching for another psychopath. 

Now, he gets to sleep beside his girlfriend whom he loves so much every single night, no matter where he is. Dating someone on his team was not something he thought would ever happen. He had no idea the joy that dating someone at work could bring him. 

“I love you,” he whispers before kissing the back of her neck. 

“I love you,” she replies, he can hear the smile on her face. 

He holds her a bit tighter, snuggling in against her more, “This is so nice to get to sleep beside you on nights like this.” 

“Oh, Aaron,” she has her hand over his, and she squeezes him lovingly. 

“I mean it… after talking to Shannon Makely’s husband today, I’m just, I’m really glad I have you.” 

She wiggles out of his grip and for a moment he fears that she doesn’t feel the same, instead, she turns to face him. Even in the dark, he can make out her features. He holds her close once more, chest to chest this time, and she smiles. She cups his face and leans in for a quick kiss. 

“I feel the same… but I have a question?” 

“Okay?” 

“If something happened to you, would you want me to talk to Haley?” She asks. “And I’m not talking if you die, I mean, if you’re stabbed or shot or taken hostage, do you want me to talk to her or should that conversation come from Rossi or Strauss?” 

“Oh,” he’s never thought about that. “I’d want you to tell her. I mean, she knows we're close so she probably expects it to be you… but if I ever do die on the job, I definitely want it to be you who talks to her. I want you to be the one to give them access to my apartment and make sure Jack gets all my things and that my funeral goes smoothly.” 

She doesn’t say anything, but her breathing picks up and he can tell she’s trying hard not to cry. “Okay.” 

He simply pulls her in closer and rests his cheek off the top of her head, “but that’s not going to happen.” 

“I know.” 

“And if it’s ever the other way around if it’s Haley who dies before me, I want you to be with me if I have to go through that. If Jack is still young enough to need to move in with me full-time, I’d want you to be around for that too. I know I’d be a mess if I lost her, and if Jack lost his mom, and that’s not because I’m still in love with her… I mean, I do love her. But I’m not in love with her. If I lost her it would be hard on us, but I’d want you to be there with me when things get hard.” 

“Of course, I’d be there for you,” she assures him. “The same way I’d want you to come home with me if my parents passed away. She’s family. I know that. I’m never going to be jealous of her. I’d want to be there for Jack too. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your mom as a kid, and I hope he never has to go through that. I’m praying that his mom is in his life for as long as possible and that maybe one day me and haley could even become friends. I want us to be a family, as unconventional as that may be, I love you enough to love everyone in your family, too.” 

He wants to cry now too. When he got divorced he never ever, ever thought that he’d find someone who loves him and his family this way. He never thought his girlfriend would want to be close to his ex-wife. He never imagined a world where his son would have two strong and wonderful women to look up to but that’s what he found.

“I love you,” Aaron says before kissing the top of her head. “I love you so much.” 

She kisses his neck where her head is tucked in, holding him as close as possible. “Sometimes I can’t believe this happened. Like, I thought you were cute when I started working with you and I knew you were married and I thought all Jack's photos on your desk were so sweet. I really just wanted to be your friend after the divorce. I never had a lot of girlfriends, I’m not super close to JJ or Penelope, so getting to know you was the first time I had a good friend in a long time.” 

“Finding friends as an adult is hard,” he sympathizes. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without our phone calls… I spent the first few months completely silent in my apartment all alone and then you filled my nights with laughter and smiles and I woke up the next morning excited to go to work. I didn’t even realize I was in love with you until it was almost too late.” 

She smiles, “I only figured it out cause I got jealous in New York.” 

“God, this last year has been absolutely insane,” he shakes his head. He got divorced, he fell in love and the only other woman he’s ever slept with in his life died. In his arms, too. It’s been such a traumatic year but Y/N made it liveable. She made it okay. 

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t have wanted to do it with anyone else.” 

—

They’re up and ready by 7, unable to sleep in that long when their body clock was off. 

They all leave at different times, JJ left with Rossi just before Y/N and Aaron were done getting ready and texted that they left. Derek and Spencer were running a little late but that was usual. They had just enough time to get coffee at a local family-owned diner and they even get some breakfast sandwiches too, which were on the house as the owners were thankful the FBI was in town to help. It put an extra pep in their step that morning. 

When they arrived at the station, Mr. Makely was already there, still looking through photos of vehicles from the day before but in a new outfit. He went home, didn’t sleep but came back changed to give the illusion that he did. He smelled like booze and the bags under his eyes were the same purple as the tie Aaron had on yesterday. So Arron heads over to the coffee maker, pours the man a cup and sets it down beside him with a smile. 

This was going to be a long day. 

By the time Derek and Spencer get in, Y/N and JJ have already gone through a box of information gathered on the first two victims. Where they grew up, who they went to school with, their family members, hospital records, speeding tickets, you name it and they’ve seen it. Nothing has added up yet. 

Derek takes a seat by Mr. Makely, asking him how he’s doing and questioning him on what he’s able to remember thus far and Marley takes a couple images and lays them out. “These ones stick out.” 

“All Ford models, similar grills like you described yesterday,” Derek nods along. 

“I guess, they just didn’t have that emblem,” he points. “There was no hood ornament, nothing like that.” 

“I understand how hard this must be, but it’ll really help us to know what the truck looks like,” Derek sympathizes. “Our tech girl can put in all these specifications into the system and narrow down who drives this model, she can even go further and track down who’s bought grills and had them shipped to Bend recently.” 

“I’ll keep looking,” he assures Derek with a smile. 

Derek pats his shoulder and then joins the team at the round table. “How’s it going?” Aaron asks. 

“Well, we're down to an older model, black, American-made. Sounds like he de-badged the trucks so nobody could ID him,” Derek explains. 

“I can start a list from the DMV matching what we know?” Quinn offers. 

“That’s gonna kill a lot of trees up in these parts,” Derek makes a joke, even in times like these he still found a way. 

“The trucks only gonna get us so far,” Hotch agrees. “What we need to do is build on the profile.” 

“Well he’s mechanically inclined,” Reid throws in. “He certainly knows his way around an engine block.” 

“And he can pull a dent too,” Y/N suggests. “If he’s fixing the body damage to his truck himself.” 

“Both victims were killed during prime office hours which means he has a flexible work schedule,” Aaron adds. 

“Or he might not be working at all? Uh, stalking someone, getting to know their schedule that’s some pretty serious time commitment,” Reid reminds them all. 

“8% of the states out of work,” Quinn shares. 

“Job loss is a classic stressor,” Derek says for good measure. 

“It’s a start,” Hotch sighs. “Look for men who are employed as mechanics, body shops, and look for those with criminal records. Reckless driving, assault…”

“Two murders in 2 weeks, that’s not much of a cooling-off period,” Y/N says. 

“He’s not going to wait for another opportunity to present itself,” Hotch agrees. 

“No, he’ll create one,” Reid adds, knowing the odds. 

—

The call comes in just after 5 p.m., in the middle of shift change. There was another murder, in the parking garage of the local hospital this time. Aaron heads out with Y/N  Rossi and Reid, leaving Derek with Mr. Makely and JJ to contact the family once they know more. 

When they get there it's a gruesome sight. He was hit in front of the elevator, almost pancaked between the grill of the truck and the metal doors. 

“Impact nearly cut him in two,” Quinn says, closing back up the body bag that the coroner had placed the victim in. “His name is Victor Costella. Pediatrist. He works in the building.” 

“A male victim?” Y/N can’t believe it. 

“There goes the vehicular rape theory,” Rossi says with a sigh, this case was starting to piss him off. 

“He ran down from the level above trying to get away,” Quinn explains. 

“So the initial collision was up there?” Rossi points. Quinn nods, “Let's go see it.” 

They leave the victim where he is and walk up the roundabout ramp towards where he was originally parked. A few cars got caught in the scuffle, and crime scene detectives are already up there taking photos and documenting everything. 

“That’s the victims car?” Reid points at the red coop. 

“Yeah, why?” Quinn asks, not seeing why it’s important. 

“Hold on just a moment,” Reid says, taking his phone from his pocket. “Garcia, I need you to look into something.” 

They all knew what that meant. They were about to have a crack in this case and hopefully one big enough to blow it wide open. 

“It’s a reserved spot,” Aaron points at the wall, the sign is screwed into the concrete wall with Dr. Costella written on it. Rusty and faded, he’s been at this practice a long time. 

“The unsub knew where he was going to park, must’ve gotten here early and picked a spot right across from him,” Rossi explains, turning to look at the other parking spots. 

“Somebody might’ve seen him waiting,” Y/N says, hopeful to talk to an eyewitness. 

“Somebody did,” Detective Feder says, showing up from the lower level and surprising them with his presence. “I talked to an X-ray tech on the third floor, she noticed the truck when she arrived. 

“And he was inside it?” Y/N asks. 

“Yeah but she couldn’t see him because of the tint,” he explains. 

“So how did she know he was inside the truck?” Aaron asks. 

“She said the window was cracked, the occupant was smoking,” he explains further. 

Rossi perks right up, “I don’t suppose your people found any cigarette butts?” 

Feder looks as though he didn’t even think to look, causing Rossi to head over to the vacant spot across from Costella’s and start to look. “What time did the tech get in?” Rossi asks. 

“10 am,” Feder answers. 

“7 hours… a proper addict could kill a while pack in that time,” Rossi mutters to himself, squatting down with his pen in hand, he pushes around a couple balled up, yellow, pieces of paper. “Did you ever smoke?” He asks the group. 

“I used to do a lot of things,” Y/N answers, honestly. 

“I bet you never did this,” he taps the ground. 

“He field stripped it,” Aaron notices. 

“What is that?” Y/N asks, having not heard the term before, or at least not remembering what it meant. 

“Something they teach soldiers to avoid leaving traces in the field,” Quinn explains. 

“They squeeze out the filter and then ball up the surrounding paper,” Rossi gives a more detailed explanation. 

“Okay so our guy could be ex-military?” Y/N proposes. 

Feder takes out some tweezers and an evidence bag, “I’ll get some DNA on this. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’s in our system.” 

“If he’s military, why would he choose a truck as his weapon?” Quinn asks. 

“Maybe he drove a tank?” Feder shrugs. 

“That’s a good question,” Rossi assures Quinn, ignoring Feder. “Using a vehicle on the open road is one thing, but this is close quarters.”

“Yeah, the truck is loud and draws attention. Plus he risked rendering in inoperable,” Y/N adds. 

“That doesn’t make any sense?” Quinn is a ball of confusion now. Shaking his head, he just wants this to be over with. He wants answers now. He’s not used to the chase in a small town like this. 

“It makes sense to him. He needs to kill this way,” Aaron says and then takes a deep breath, dropping his shoulders, he places his hand on Quinn's arm. “We’ll figure out why.” 

Reid comes running up the ramp then. Rounding the corner, he’s out of breath already but he has news. “Guys!” They all turn to him. “I think I figured out what connects these victims.” 

He explains it once on their walk back to the SUV and then again at the station, filling in JJ and Derek this time as well. “All the victims drove red, two-door coupes.”

“Don’t you think that could be a coincidence?” Quinn asked, not fully sold. 

“It’s statistically significant,” Spencer says, sassy as ever in his own Spencer way. 

“We haven’t been able to find any other common denominators,” JJ adds. 

“if the unsub is targeting people because of their cars, then his initial contact with them would’ve been on the road,” Hotch explains in a way Quinn would better understand. 

“Exactly,” Spencer nods, giving him a small smile to say thank you. 

“I spoke to the families about the victim's daily car travel— how they got to work, the gym,” JJ points to the board, showing the different coloured pins for the different victims and the routes they took. 

“There’s one road all the victims had in common,” Spencer points out. 

Three pins are along one highway. The same highway Shannon Makely was murdered on. 

“Route seven.” Quinn knows all too well what that road is like and they can tell by the look on his face. 

“That means something to you?” Hotch asks, staring him down, he’s talked to the man enough to know whatever he was about to say wasn’t good news. 

“Maybe we should take a drive.” 

—

It doesn’t take long to drive out there, maybe 20 minutes? Quinn pulls over onto the side of the road and puts his safety blinkers on. They get out together and he walks them over to the side of the cliff. There’s about a 200-meter drop from where they are standing down to a clearing of trees.

Spencer gets close to the edge, looking down while Aaron stays back further. He’s not terrified of heights but he knew what was good for him. 

“Anyone living outside bend who commutes toward Eugene, uses Route 7. It’s the most dangerous stretch of highway in the state,” Quinn explains. “They call it suicide seven.” 

Along the roadside there are white crosses, the kind you see on the side of the road in the middle of no where to mark where an accident took place. Either drunk driving or mechanical trouble, swerving into the wrong lane after not enough sleep or black ice in the middle of winter that sends you spinning out… there’s way too many in this little section of highway for them not to find it suspicious. 

“These crosses represent accidents?” Spencer asks, filling in the blanks in his building theory. 

“Fatalities. The fire chief put them up to remind drivers to be careful,” Quinn explains, monotoned and expressionless. 

Aaron could tell he hated this part of the job. He would too. 

“Two lanes, no dividers, I’m assuming there’s a lot of head-on collisions?” 

“Either that or they go off the side,” Quinn says, letting out a deep breath and walking away from the edge. 

“Reid you mentioned the possibility of a physical limitation, something that kept the unsub from attacking in a traditional way?” Aaron asks him. 

“I was talking about impotence but we ruled out sexual motivation,” he reminds him. 

“What if he’d been involved in a crash?” 

“On this road…” Spencer starts to nod, putting more pieces together, Aaron could tell it was starting to make sense to not just himself now. “If the unsub is disabled it explains why he uses a truck— it gives him power, mobility…” 

“But what?” Aaron asks, wanting him to explain everything going on inside his genius mind. 

“The idea that he’s avenging his own physical suffering speaks to a victim mentality that’s inconsistent with the profile,” Spencer explains, puzzled by this piece. 

He thinks back to the conversation he had last night with Y/N. How he’d want her by his side if someone important to him died. He didn’t bring it up then, but if he ever lost her. If Y/N ever died… he’d never be okay again. He never once understood why these men were able to kill so easily and then he fell in love again. Harder than ever before. He would kill for her if he had to. 

“Then maybe it’s not just about his own suffering,” Aaron hypothesizes. “What if he got hurt in an accident that took a loved one? His wife or child, or both?” 

“We’ve had a few cases like that on this highway,” Quinn nods, “I can get the guys back at the station to start pulling files of men who survived while their family didn’t.” 

“Broaden that to women and children who died with husbands who weren’t in the car,” Spencer asks. “He could also have been disabled in combat and come home to his family dead, I doubt it but it's still good to add to the search.” 

“Good idea,” Aaron agrees. 

When they get in the car this time, he feels a little less easy. Turning around, doing a U-turn on this scary patch of road, it made his stomach uneasy. He was never good at being in the car when someone else was driving. He’s old enough now to know a life of having his licence longer than being without it. He hated giving that control away, unless it was with Y/N or Dave and even Derek.

—

When they get back they have just an hour to prep the final profile and before they get in front of the station and local reporters, Aaron pulls Y/N aside. He steals a hug and a kiss from her.

“What was that for?” 

“Cause I can,” he says, just holding her closer. He rubs his hand up and down her back. “I love you.” 

“You can love me all you want once we catch this guy,” she teases as she pulls away. “Come on, we’ve got a profile to give.” 

He knows she’s right, he shouldn’t be doing this here, in a random back corner of the office where no one can see them. He should be prepping with the others, but he couldn’t help it. 

He follows her back towards the others, his smile fades and he puts his stern and serious look back on. It was hard being happy and in love while around such horrible things all the time, but he found a way to make it work. When they get back to the table, the whole station has gathered and a few reporters from the next town over are there too, waiting and ready for the team to start talking. 

“As we speak, this profile and a description of the unsubs truck are being released to state and national media,” Aaron explains, standing with the others in front of the crowd. 

“In addition to what we already know, we believe the unsub is ex-military, most likely army or marines,” Spencer speaks next. 

Y/N takes a half step forward, “We also believe he’s physically handicapped.” 

“Form combat?” One of the officers asks. 

Aaron shakes his head, “most likely from an automobile accident.” 

“An accident that may have occurred along route 7, where the unsub finds his victims,” Y/N adds. 

“And that has something to do with why he’s going after red coupes,” Quinn says, sitting with the rest of his station but still in the loop more than the others. 

“We believe that he holds the driver of a comparable vehicle responsible for his accident,” Spencer explains further. 

“And this person is the object of his rage, but unable to confront them, he’s taking revenge against a surrogate,” Aaron makes it absolutely clear that these victims didn’t hurt the unsub first, they just remind him of the person who did. 

“These boxes contain accident reports uh, from a strip of route 7 between Bend and Eugene. There’s about 5 years worth, we’re going to need everyone you can spare to comb through them,” Y/N says, taking the lid off of one of the boxes. 

“We’ve also compiled a list of local rehabilitation facilities where the unsub may have gone to recover. Use the profile as you canvas these places,” Spencer adds. 

“Remember we’re looking for a white male in his early 40s, former military who may have sustained serious injury in a car accident,” Aaron makes the final summary and then disburse. 

He reaches for the TV remote and then, turns it up to hear JJ on the local news giving the same report. 

“Though only owners of red coupes have been targeted, at this point, we’re asking all the driving public to be vigilant on the road. If you know anyone who fits this description please contact the Bend Police Department immediately. Thank you.” 

While JJ is on the news, Derek and Dave have split off two canvases a few different facilities and ask questions. Y/N is about to leave to hit up a few more with Agent Feder, which leaves Aaron with Spencer to go over everything else and wait for calls. So far nothing serious has come from the lines, mainly people saying they’ve seen reckless red coupes on that road or saying their neighbour has that kind of car, but nothing substantial. 

When JJ comes back she weeds through the emails from the news station, some people have contacted the news instead of the police because they want their 5 seconds of fame if they got the suspect right. So far almost everyone just knows someone with a black truck, nothing about a disabled man or even licence plate numbers to back their theories up. 

And then they get a walk-in. 

“Hotch,” JJ comes over to hear him. “This guy walked in, his name is Gil Bonner.” 

“What’s his story?” He asks. 

“It’s about the unsubs accident he says it’s his fault,” she says, scratching the back of her head and looking as though she doesn’t know if she can believe him or not. 

Aaron stands right up and follows her over to the man with Spencer in tow, he shakes his hand and introduces himself as the head of the investigation, making him follow them into another room to talk privately. “Tell us the story from the beginning.” 

He sits down and stares at the wall for a moment. “It was late and I had spent all day in Eugene with my mom, she’d been sick… I should’ve been driving, but I just wanted to get home to see my little girl. And it was darker than usual. I remember the moon, it was just a sliver. Right outside the Cascades, my phone started vibrating. When I went to reach for it, I knocked it off the far side of the seat and it fell down by the door and I thought I could reach.” 

He gets teary-eyed explaining it all, he can’t meet their eyes for worry they’d look at him like a monster. He’s so filled with shame, he’s been holding this story in for such a long time that recalls it like a folktale. 

“You took your eyes off the road,” JJ says in the most sympathetic tone, talking to him like a teacher or a friend. Trying to make sure he can trust them. 

“It could’ve been for more than a few seconds, but when I looked back up there were lights and this horn was blaring and I swerved at the last second and I just… kept on going,” he explains. “Without a scratch?” 

“You’d gone into the oncoming lane?” Hotch asks, trying to better understand. 

The man just nods. 

“What happened to the other vehicle?” Spencer asks. 

“That’s the thing,” he whispers, brows furrowed, he’s trying his hardest to think back to the exact things that happened that night but the sleep deprivation from that night and the time that’s passed make it hard. “It was in my rearview mirror and then it was gone. Vanished!” 

“Why didn’t you stop?” Aaron asks, there is no way he wouldn’t stop if this was him. 

“It didn’t seem real,” he explains, still not able to look at him. 

“You’re saying you just pretended it didn’t happen?” JJ asks. 

“I guess if you tell yourself something for long enough… You can make anything true,” he says, trying his best not to break down. The guilt is eating him alive. 

“Well you’re here now,” Aaron assures him that it’ll be okay. “Tell us about the other vehicle.” 

“It was the truck you’re looking for.” 

“How do you know that?” Aaron needs him to be as sure as possible. 

“When I saw the news… it all made sense,” he explains. “It’s come back for revenge.” 

They all look at each other, concerned for this man. He’s speaking as if the truck is a ghost and it’s looking for him not that there's a killer out there using this accident as a reason to kill. 

“When did the accident happen?” JJ asks, bringing him back to the real issue. 

“December ’07,” he spits right back, knowing it exactly. “The second Saturday.” 

Spencer quickly reads over the report in his hand, “There were no accidents reported in December of 2007.” 

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Thats— no??”

“Maybe you have your dates wrong?” Aaron sympathizes, it was a long time ago and he was under stress. Dates blur in times like these. 

“Could’ve been November?”

“Uh, memories are kinda like puzzle pieces,” Spencer explains. “And it’s-it’s quite possible that in suppressing these for so long, you’ve sort of rearranged things?” 

He breaks down then, shaking his head. 

“How long was your mother sick?” Aaron asks, maybe this will get them closer to the real date. 

“5 months,” he knows that for a fact. When it comes to sick relatives, to losing a loved one, you don’t forget that. “She… she died in January. That much I know.” 

They let him stay in the room to calm down as long as he needs to but Aaron and Spencer leave. They head back to the table silently and then they both sigh as they take their seats. 

“I feel bad for the guy,” Spencer shares. 

Aaron nods, “I remember when my mother died, she was sick for a few years before. I remember it like it was yesterday… hopefully JJ and Garcia can pull some hospital records and we can pinpoint when the moon was like that in the later months of 2007.” 

“Maybe the others will come back with something from the rehab facilities that we can cross references with him,” Spencer agrees. 

“I hope they come back soon,” Aaron says with his small voice. 

“It’s strange you know? We’ve been a team for years and I’ve been beside Derek almost every day since the start and now when he’s partnered off doing something without me, it feels like I haven’t seen him in ages,” Spencer sympathizes with him. 

“It is weird,” Aaron agrees. “But it’s also nice loving someone so much that a few minutes apart makes you miss them.” 

He nods, trying not to smile too big, “I’m glad she finally told you, I’ve been waiting for you guys to get together for a year.” 

“I’ve been expecting you and Morgan to get together since 2005,” he teases back. 

“Why?” 

“Because he’s always been into you, from the moment you started he was fascinated in you and you just never picked up on it because his flirting comes off as teasing,” Aaron explains. “Y/N was telling me that when we went to Chicago to help him after he was arrested, you were at his mother's house and she said he always talked about you to them. He’s been in love with you a lot longer than you think.” 

“Oh,” Spencer softens. “I had no idea.” 

He laughs, “we know.” 

“I knew Y/N was into you when we were at the cemetery, right after New York,” he explains. “I have never seen someone yell at you like that.” 

“I know,” he just shakes his head with a smile. “It was a shock for me too.” 

JJ comes rushing from the room then, “Hey, I called Y/N and told her about the crash happening between September ’07 and January ’08, she’s with Derek right now at one of the facilities. Feder got called to another issue somewhere else, but they think they found someone who fits the profile. They’re on their way back now.” 

“Sounds good.”

—

When Y/N and Derek get back they take a seat at the table beside their partners and get Penelope on the line. She’s able to send them over details on this guy from the rehab centre, Ian Coakley and Reid pulls the information about said crash from one of the boxes Y/N brought out earlier that day. 

“Ian and Sheila Coakley crashed while driving home from Napa Valley, going eastbound on Route 7 around midnight. It appeared their car was run off the road, and flipped numerous times. No witnesses,” Spencer recounts before laying the file on the table for the others to see. 

“His wife was riding in the passenger seat, she died at the scene,” Y/N adds, heartbroken for them. 

“Coakley survived,” Aaron read from the file. “Paramedics indicated spinal cord injury.” 

“He fractured his T6 and T7 vertebrae,” Morgan says with a sigh, crossing his arms and sitting back in his seat. 

“Paraplegic,” Aaron nods along. 

“That’s not all, he’s a former light-wheel mechanic in the Army National Guard,” Spencer adds. 

“Did it say anything about a red car?” Quinn asks. 

“No. It says Coakley suffered memory loss after the accident,” Aaron reads from the file. 

“Short-term retrograde amnesia is common after a serious accident,” Spencer confirms. 

“I think it’s safe to say he remembers now,” Rossi shakes his head. 

“Do we have an address?” Aaron asks, wanting to go forward with an arrest. 

“I’m working on it,” Penelope says from the office phone which has been on speaker the whole time. “Okay, the house Coakley and his wife bought was foreclosed on 10 months after the accident.” 

“Well, there’s gotta be a paper trail then?” Spencer jumps the gun. 

“Yeah and that trail leads to a land called nowhere,” Penelope spits back. Typing away. “He cashed some insurance cheques during his stay at Adelman's house but after he left... Zilch." 

“Any relatives he could be staying with?” Aaron asks. 

“No, I tried that,” Garcia explains. “There’s no family in the area. My exquisitely educated guess is he’s either squatting or subletting with cash.” 

“What about his truck?” Rossi asks. 

“He owns a ’79 Dodge D100, he bought it used 10 years ago,” she explains. 

“he’s had to rebuild it several times now, parts can’t be easy to find for a truck that old,” Rossi reminds her. She’s found more people with less before. 

“I smell what you’re cooking agent… Checking auto suppliers in Bend… yeah! Rossi gets a fruit cup with lunch. He’s having the parts drop-shipped through Sid’s Auto and sent directly to an address in southwest Bend,” Penelope explains in her ever-Penelope way. 

“Send us the exact address, let’s gear up,” Hotch says as he starts to stand up. “We’ve got two options, either he’s there or he’s out stalking his next victim, I want the crime scene to be there to search the house regardless of if he’s there and if he isn’t I need unmarked cars canvassed in the surrounding areas so he doesn’t get spooked if he comes back and sees sirens and officers. We’re getting this guy. Today.” 

“I’ve sent it to your phones and the fax machine there at the station,” Penelope explains. “I’ve also emailed the information to the local judge, we should have a warrant ready in the next half hour.” 

“You’re a godsend, Penelope,” Derek reminds her. 

“I know. Be safe, come home to me!” 

“We always do!” Y/N smiles before hitting the end call button and joining the others in getting ready. 

—

Derek is the first one inside, like always, he’s followed by Rossi, then Hotch, Quinn and finally Y/N and a few cops. They clear each room, his garage and his backyard, he’s not there. Just like Aaron suspected. 

“His truck is gone,” Derek says as he comes back in from the garage. 

“Get all the vehicles off the street and start a perimeter,” Rossi orders to the other officers. “If he comes back this way we’ll want to be ready for him.” 

“On it,” they all scatter like flies, leaving the house just as the crime scene unit comes in with Reid and JJ. 

“Rossi,” Derek gets his attention, “you’re gonna want to see this.” 

Rossi follows him out into the garage leaving Y/N and Aaron in Coakley’s kitchen. “I want you guys to search everything, find me any clues as to who he’s going to be getting next, Quinn and I are going to be driving around Route 7 and the reservoir looking for him. Radios work better than phones up here,” he hands Y/N a walkie and then another to JJ and Reid. “Give this one to Dave and Morgan, Call me if you hear anything.” 

“You bet,” JJ gives him a smile and starts getting to work. 

“Hey,” Y/N stops him before he heads out. “Be careful.” 

“I always am.” 

They head out then, Hotch drives this time with Quinn in the driver's seat. He’s a quiet man, he doesn’t speak unless spoken to and he could do without small talk. Aaron liked that about him. So far they’ve only talked about the case and similar ones like it, he’s asked questions about if they’ve seen anything like this before and about the other team members but that’s about it. 

So needless to say, he’s shocked when he brings up Y/N. 

“You two been together long?” He asks. 

“Hm? Oh, me and Agent Y/L/N? A while now, yeah,” he tries not to smile. 

“She’s nice, smart too,” he compliments. 

Aaron just nods, “She’s amazing.” 

They’re quiet again for a while, the radio on low and Quinn hums along. He looks out the window and points out every black truck they see but none of them have the License plate they’re looking for, but they know he’s out there. 

They get a radio in from Morgan about 15 minutes into the drive, Coakley had photos of previous vics and one man they haven’t seen before. Garcia traced his licence plate and Derek took Y/N over to the guy's house to ask where he is. He’s on a bike ride, headed towards the reservoir. They have this man's bike path mapped out and are chasing him.

“Hotch, we’re on Route 26 heading towards the reservoir, I think we’re about halfway around the loop. So far, no sign of him,” Y/N radios through. 

“Copy that. We’re headed southbound on 20. Hopefully, we can hit route 26 before they fly by,” Aaron radios back. 

He speeds up, zooming along the old country roads, dust flying behind his tires. He’s careful around the edges, hyper-vigilant that this is a scary road and he’s not the only one on it. 

The next radio in is from JJ. “Hotch, you know how Coakley was driving his wife’s car on the night of the accident?” 

“I remember.” 

“It was a red coupe,” she explains. 

“Are you sure?” He can’t believe it. 

“We have pictures,” she says, completely positive. 

Hotch looks at Quinn carefully and then back to the road, Quinn holds his own radio to his mouth, “What does it mean?” He asks. 

“Maybe there was no other car on the road?” JJ hypothesizes. 

“Think about it, the make and model of his target car keeps changing,” Y/N chirps in from her end. 

“Like he knows they aren’t right,” Hotch adds. 

“And his doctor at the rehab facility called it fluid memory but what if it was more than that?” 

“So if it’s a single car accident—

“It was Coakley's fault,” Y/N cuts off Quinn. “He was driving back from Napa Valley that night. That’s a long drive.” 

“Fell asleep at the wheel,” Quinn can fill in the blanks himself. He’s heard it all before. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

“The guilt of that would be overwhelming. The truth, almost impossible to take,” Y/N adds. 

“So he’s projecting blame?” Aaron asks, corroborating his theory. 

“A red coupe did cause the accident, and he was driving it,” Y/N assures him he’s right. 

They reach route 26 then, tyres squeal as he takes a turn and then he gets right back up to speed. Aaron follows the winding path and from his elevation, he can see the truck chasing a group of bikers as they come up the hill. There’s an intersection coming up, the bikers are already heading through it as Aaron goes even faster, hitting 120mph now, he’s going to meet Coakley at the intersection. 

“HANG ON!” 

Aaron smacks right into the front end of Coakley’s truck as the bikers get away without a scratch. The airbags deployed, they get ditched and the ringing in his ears comes back. He can’t move from his seat, he can barely open both eyes, and he knows he’ll be diagnosed with a concussion as soon as he’s seen by someone but he doesn’t care. 

By the time he’s able to get out of the vehicle, it’s too late. The truck has backed up and he’s about to head off after the bikers once more. But Quinn draws his weapon and starts to talk to him anyway. 

“You can’t blame other people for what you’ve done Coakley!” 

That’s not going to work. 

“Detective!” Aaron yells from his seat. 

“You know the truth! No one else needs to die,” he continues. 

“It’s not going to help!” Aaron tries to get him to stop. 

“There was no other red car, was there?” He finally says, making Coakley snap back into reality. 

These cases end in 1 of two ways. Either kill themselves or get the cops to do it for them. 

Aaron unclips his seatbelt and starts trying to get out but there’s too much damage to the front end of the SUV. His door won’t budge. Coakley is starting his truck back up and he’s about to get away so he pushes harder on the door. It pops open just as Coakely speeds off. 

Y/N, riding with Derek, sees Aaron leaning against the SUV and the blood on his face. She jumps out of the car before it even comes to a halt while Aaron shouts, “Go! Go!!” Making Derek keep chasing him. 

“Aaron Hotchner!” She scolds him, “What the fuck was that?” 

“Oh, don’t start with me,” he waves her off, heading back to the crashed SUV to talk to Detective Quinn.

“You do this all the time!” She yells at him, following him over. “You put yourself in harm's way and you get hurt and then you get pissy that you can’t go back to work right away. Maybe if you stopped putting yourself in the middle of shit—

He turns back to her in the middle of her rant, “I get it! I’m an idiot! But at least those bikers are still alive!” 

“Thank god for that!” She yells right back. “It's not like we need you to stay alive too.” 

“What is your problem? I’m clearly alive right now?!”

“This time.” That’s all she says. She turns around and starts walking away, up the hill and towards where Derek and all the cops drove. 

She makes him feel bad, but at the same time, he’d do it again. His job isn’t to protect and serve, it’s to profile and track down killers. That’s it. He should know that by now… but it doesn’t stick. He’s never been just a normal cop, Derek has, so his instincts aren’t always questioned. It’s ingrained in him. The team brushes it off and sometimes Aaron has to give him a talk. 

No one ever gives Aaron the talk. Except Strauss, sometimes she gets on his ass but it’s never got a good reason. 

Having someone he loves so much, who loves Him so much, yell at him… that’s new. And he doesn’t like it. 

—

Y/N has her own room key, she leaves the precinct before the others and heads to their room so that she doesn’t have to talk to Aaron or see him anymore. She’s still so mad at him. He knows it too. 

He arrives at the hotel later on, slowly but surely, he shows up after she’s already changed and sitting in the middle of her own bed. Making it clear to him that he can have the other. She’s in the one furthest from the door, on what is usually his side so that she’s extra far away from him when he gets in. 

“Hey,” he says with his safest voice, watching as she simply raises her brows to acknowledge him and then goes back to her book. She sighs, a huff of air leaves her nose and she’s biting her tongue, She clearly wants to say something but doesn’t. 

He drops his bags on the floor, kicks off his shoes, tosses his suit jacket onto the free bed and slowly makes his way over to her bed, sitting on the edge with his ankle locked under his other knee. He cocks his head to the side and stares softly. “I’m sorry.” 

“Okay.” 

“I mean it. I just get so caught up with these guys that I forget that you’re right behind me and you’re watching and everything I do has consequences that you have to deal with, too,” he explains, trying to be as genuine as humanly possible. He wants her to believe him. 

“Did you at least get it checked out?” She asks, softening a bit. 

He nods and points to the bandage on his forehead, “No concussion and my ear is okay. My chest might bruise up from the seatbelt and this little cut will heal in a day or two, but other than that, I’m okay.” 

She nods then too, getting a little choked up. “I can’t lose you. I just got you. I never thought it would happen, Aaron. I thought you loved your ex-wife still and my little crush would end up suffocating me until I moved units. I didn’t think you’d ever love me back and to see you get hurt again after everything we’ve gone through just triggered me a little.” 

“It’s okay,” he quickly gets up and sits closer to her, pulling her in for a hug. He rubs her back and kisses the top of her head. “I love you so much I’m never going anywhere. I’m not saying I won’t get hurt again, I can’t see the future, but I’m going to try and stop putting myself in the middle of things.” 

“You promise?” She whispers, tossing the blanket away so she can crawl into his lap. She cups his face as she sits down on him. “Please?” 

He nods, “I promise, sweetheart. I’m not going to put myself in the middle of this shit anymore.” 

“So we won’t have screaming matches in the middle of the woods anymore?” She teases. 

He smirks, “Not unless you want to.” 

She manages to laugh, dragging her hands down to his tie, she starts to undo it. “I mean… it was pretty hot. I like when you’re angry, every time I’ve seen you put someone in their place I get a little hot and bothered, so it was strange having you yell at me for a change.” 

“When you yelled at me that first time, in the cemetery,” he whispers, staring at her lips. “I had to go back to the car because being a little high and in pain… and then getting yelled at like that…” 

“Seriously?” Her jaw drops and she looks at him like she’s starving.

He nods again, “You’re hot when you’re in charge.” 

She just smirks, pulling his tie off, and she keeps unbuttoning his shirt. She pulls it out of his suit pants, finishes off the buttons, and then runs her hands over his chest. Through the sprinkling of chest hair, she feels him up, “I thought our first time would be more slow and sweet and cute… but now I want to get all bossy and make you fuck the shit out of me.” 

“Make me?” He chuckles, “Really?” 

“Yeah,” she teases. She leans in and kisses his cheek, “I think,” and then his jaw, “You should,” and down his neck,  “fuck me,” her kisses go lower, “‘n show me how sorry you are.” 

Her hands now roaming around to his back, over his hips and over his bulge. He basks in it, already getting hard underneath her from just the memory of her wrath. She keeps kissing down his chest until he cups her face and brings her in to kiss her on the lips. He’s kissed her a million times by now but it’s still so exciting. The way she melts against him, the feeling of her tongue against his, the way she slightly whines when his hand starts to move down to her neck and his thumb caress her jaw.

“Mm,” she mumbles as she pulls away. “Can we—“ he steals another few kisses. “Too many—“ more kisses. “Clothes. Need you.” 

He lets her pull back enough just to look at him, both catching their breaths, “You have me.” 

She reaches for the hem of her shirt and he stops her, taking it in his grip instead he begins to lift it over her head. Arms in the air, he gets it up as much as he can from this sitting position and they laugh when she gets trapped inside her shirt and has to help him pull it all the way off. She tosses it to the side and then rests her hands back on his chest, gently running her fingertips down to his belly button, she starts to unbuckle his belt and pull it through the loops. 

He kisses her again and again and again until she starts to grind against him, wanting more. He cradles her body and carefully starts to sit up on his knees, laying her back down against the mattress. He hovers over her and kisses her jaw and down her neck, trailing his hands down her sides until he reaches her shorts and he pulls back just so he can get them off her. 

She helps him get them off and sits up on her own knees to kiss him while she pushes his shirt off his shoulders. He blindly flings it to the floor and she reaches down to unbutton his suit pants and reach her hand in there. Between his pants and his boxers, she cups his length and starts to rub. His hands land on her shoulders, smoothing down the warm skin of her back he pulls her in flush against him and slightly moans into her mouth. Her free hand comes up to grip the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him as close as possible. 

She smiles into the kiss, he simply bites her lip as he pulls away. He takes a peak between their bodies to see her boobs pressed against his chest, “you gonna let me go so I can take these pants off?” 

She leans in and steals another kiss, “Mmm, maybe,” she kisses him again and again. “Just hurry up about it.” 

He’s quick to get off the bed and push both his pants and his underwear off, he even pulls off his socks and leaves them all behind in the pile of discarded things. She’s sat there, leaning back with her hands flat on the mattress, she looks him up and down and then her eyes stay fixed on his cock. 

“Like what you see?” He teases her, he grips her ankles and tugs her to the edge of the bed. 

She’s a bit shocked, laughing it off, she grips his sides and stares up at him, “As a matter of fact, I do.”

He hauls her to her feet, cups her cheeks and he smiles. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” she smiles back. “Are you nervous?” 

He nods, “Just a little. It’s been almost 2 years since I’ve had sex…” 

“We’ll its been a lot longer than that for me and I’m almost positive that sex hasn’t changed that much in that time,” she teases. “I love you and I trust you, so I know it’ll be good.” 

He kisses her once quickly, “just good?” He kisses her again, the side of her mouth this time. He starts to kiss down her neck, over her collarbones and he cups her boobs so he can smother them in kisses too. Eventually starts to kneel, taking his kisses lower, he starts to take her panties off, kissing her lower stomach and then he looks up at her. “Sit down, let me show you how good I can be.” 

She sits on the edge of the bed, he spreads her legs and kisses from her left knee all the way down her thigh and then her lower lips. He spreads them with his fingers and licks a stripe over her cunt, making her gasp as she reaches out to grip his hair at the root.

She holds back her pretty little noises, and as much as he wants to tell her to go wild, he knows JJ is just past that wall in her own room. From all the teasing Derek and Spencer get, she wasn’t going to be loud enough to be added to the relentless jokes her coworkers make. 

He teases her hole with his middle finger, feeling how wet she already is, he circles around the opening a few times before plunging his finger inside. 

“Fuck,” he groans against her, flicking his tongue back and forth, sucking at her skin and fingering her cunt all at the same time. “You taste like heaven.”

She grinds against his face, barely sitting on the edge of the bed anymore as he wraps his arm around her legs and holds her impossibly close to his mouth. The sound of him eating her out is disgustingly euphoric, he’s so deep it’s like he’s eating her out in search of her soul.

She’s trembling as she gets closer and closer when he stops fingering her, sucking the wetness from her and bringing it back up with his tongue before he sucks on her clit again. That does it, she cums instantly with a shout, covering her mouth and hoping he doesn’t let her hit the floor as she grinds and thrashes through her orgasm. And he doesn’t stop, tongue fucking her to taste the best part. 

Her feet touch the floor, and her back is the only part of her still on the bed as she rides his face through it. He pulls back and lets her drop down to the floor and sit in his lap but his "old man" knees are starting to hurt like this, she goes to kiss him and he lets her get a few kisses in before he holds her closer and starts to stand with her. He pulls away just enough to turn her around and push her against the mattress, he kisses her spine and folds himself over her. He moves her hair off her back and kisses her neck. Again, right under her ear, “Are you ready?” 

“Please, please,” she begs. “I need you.” 

“I might have a condom in my—

“Don’t need it, I’m on birth control, it’s okay,” she assures him. 

“Are you—

“Aaron, fuck me, please,” she begs, sticking her ass out even more, taunting him. 

He stands up straighter and grips his leaking cock, tapping it on her ass a few times before guiding it between her folds. Teasing her, he grinds the head against her clit a few times before aligning with her hole and starting to push in, inch by inch, she gasps at the feeling and sucks in a sharp breath the deeper he gets. 

He folds over her as soon as he bottoms out, kissing her shoulder gently as he reaches out for her hand on the mattress. He interlocks their fingers, holding her hand above her head, he’s as close to her as humanly possible and yet he wants to be closer. He wants to live in her, settle in right beside her soul and never leave. 

When he starts to thrust, he goes slowly at first, she reaches back behind herself and rests her hand on his side. Her nails dig into his skin and she whines, “Oh my god, Aaron.” 

He kisses her neck and right under her ear, “Can you feel how sorry I am now?” He slightly pulls out and snaps his hips against her then, fucking her quick and dirty.

“Yes, yes! Oh my god, we should get mad at each other more often,” she all but screams, slightly muffled by her face against the mattress. 

He pulls away, letting go of her hand so he can rest his on her lower back as he fucks her harder. She brings her one leg up onto the mattress, opening herself up so he can get a little deeper. He grips her leg under the knee and keeps going, harder and more frequent thrusts, making her gasp and moan into the mattress to try and stay quiet but she can’t. It feels too good for her. 

For him, it’s even better. The way she sucks him in, how warm she is, how wet she is… she’s even better than he ever imagined and he never wants it to end. But he misses her face. He wants to embrace her and hold her close and make love to her, not just fuck her. So he pulls out. 

“wha—

“Roll over. Move up,” he instructs her, kneeling on the bed, he watches her do just that and gets between her legs. He hovers over her, leaning in for a kiss as she reaches between them and guides him back inside. 

Kissing her as he trusts, their lips move together and their tongues clash through breathy moans and whispers of “I love you.” Her legs wrapped around him, her arms around his middle, her nails dug into his back as she kneaded at his skin. 

He reaches between them, his hand on her pelvis and his thumb starts to circle around her clit. He wants her to be as close as he is, he wants them to cum together. He wants her to enjoy this as much as he was, and from the way she clenches around him and the cute little noises she makes, he knows she is. 

“Oh, Aaron,” she whines, tossing her head back. 

He kisses her cheek and buries his head in the crease of her neck as he drives into her over and over. He starts to smile to himself, thinking about how she said sex hasn’t changed that much since the last time he had it… But he’s never had sex as good as this. It was never this passionate, never this needy, never this euphoric. 

He bites her gently, grazing his teeth along her skin, making her gasp. He wants to suck at her neck, cover her in marks, and let everyone in the world know he’s been there and she belongs to him. He feels so possessive. He knows he can’t. They have to sit on the jet in front of their friends for most of their morning and well into the afternoon tomorrow and if they’re unlucky, start another case right after. He can’t mark her the way he wants. But he can make her his in another way… 

“You close?” He asks, prepared to hold back if she isn’t. 

But she nods enthusiastically, “god, yeah.”

Through bated breath he asks, just to make sure, “Are you still okay with me finish—

“Yes, yes, please, cum in me?” She begs. “I need it, Aar, please?” 

“I got you,” he assures her. “Let go, sweet girl, whenever you’re ready.” 

His trusts stay steady and even, his thumb circles her clit, and he kisses just under her ear. She grips him so tight, wrapped around him like her life depended on it and her breathing changes. He knows she’s right there and he’s going to be right after. He wants to feel the way her orgasm sucks him in deeper, the way she pulsates around him, the way her body goes limp and quakes and the beautiful sounds she’ll make before he gives in. He already got a taste of that earlier, but now he wants to memorize it with his cock deep inside of her. 

She starts to quake then, her thighs rumble against him. Her back starts to arch, pushing her core closer to him instinctually like this is what she was made for. Her orgasm is right there, bubbling to the top and about to spill. He gives her one last piece of motivation. 

“Come on, cum for me,” he whispers. “Be a good girl and— oh, there it is!” He teases as she releases. 

He was right. She clenches around him, pulling him in even deeper. He moves his hand away from her clit, wraps them around her back and starts to fuck her even harder, making her cry out over and over, completely disregarding the fact that her coworker is in the next room. He’s so close, right there, he moves to kiss her on the mouth again and she cups his face as he does so. Breathing while kissing her, his hot breath on her face as their lips and tongues meet once more. 

His body heats up, his stomach starts to feel like a swarm of butterflies and then it erupts through his bloodstream. He cums with a deep groan, dropping his forehead against hers, he fucks into her once more and stays there as rope after rope of cum releases inside of her. 

“I love you,” he pants, collapsing on top of her, holding her back just as close as she’s holding him. “I love you so much.” 

—

On the jet in the morning, everyone sat down with their coffee and quiet. Dave has a manuscript for his new book to proofread. Derek has his music. Spencer has some medical journals he finds interesting and JJ has a big smile on her face. “You guys will never guess how long the couple in the room beside me was fucking last night.” 

He watches as Y/N’s eyes widen and the colour leaves her face. He just bites his tongue, pressing his lips together he flips through a file, pretending not to hear her. 

“How long?” Derek asks. 

Just as she goes to answer Spencer speaks up, “Weren’t you beside Y/N and Hotch…” 

“I hate you guys, I hate you so much,” Y/N finally bursts out. She shook her head, mortified. “I can’t believe you. I can’t. Seriously?” 

They all laugh, Spencer and Derek are relieved that they’re not the only ones to get embarrassed now and JJ is just happy she’s the one to get to start the teasing this time after a year and a bit of being teased about Will. 

“I can write you all up, remember?” Aaron reminds them, trying so hard not to smirk but he fails. He knows he’s blushing, but he doesn’t care. He had the best sex of his life last night, he’s allowed to glow a bit. 

They shut up after that but Spencer does reach his hand over, palm facing Y/N, and she gives him a reluctant high five. 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @babybisexual @marsmunson86 @buckleyhans 

IKP

@southernraven @alluringshawn @lambsheepsheeping @lmg-stilinski24 @louderfortheback @deludedfruitcake @kleff03 @mrs-ssa-hotch @maxinehufflepuffprincess @lokifanfic2021 @art-and-thoughts @forkswabutnoforks4me @no-1martinipolice @panhoeofmanyfandoms

[holylulusworld]

Roar & Giggle (6) - Back of his bike

Summary: He’s just the worst. Right?

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Bookstoreowner!Reader

Warnings: love-struck Bucky, fluff

Roar & Giggle masterlist

Roar & Giggle (5)

You and Bucky want to take things slow. Little kisses here and soft touches there - and lots of cuddling. He tries to be a gentleman, while his cat is less subtle.

Alpine demands your full attention whenever you are around. He’s a cocky little furball. Just like his owner. 

“Alpine, don’t,” Bucky warns. The white furball jumped onto your lap the moment you sat down on the sofa at Bucky’s small office in the back of his shop. “That’s not your girlfriend!”

Your heart flutters at Bucky’s words. He called you his girlfriend, without realizing how much this means to you. “It’s fine,” you say, instead of jumping at Bucky to pepper kisses all over his face. “He just likes me, is all.”

“Oh,” Bucky steps closer to look his cat in your lap. “I like you too. Can I sleep in your lap too?” He grins when you giggle.

“If you play your cards right, Mr. Barnes,” you wink at Bucky. He chuckles and turns his attention back toward his paperwork, “You can always rest your head in my lap.”

“I’ll bribe you,” he grins. “How about I invite you for homemade dinner, ice cream, and a movie night.”

“This sounds great,” you say while watching Alpine get comfortable in your lap. He meows and rubs his face in your tummy. “Aw, you sweet boy. Look at you.” You coo, earning a grunt from Bucky.

“Punk, that’s my girl,” Bucky points to Alpine in your lap. “If you try to kiss her, we are no longer friends. Know your place.”

You pat the cat’s head. “Alpine, don’t listen to Bucky. Your daddy loves you too much. He’d never give up on you. Do you remember when he was searching for you? He was out of his mind and so worried.”

Alpine meows, as if the cat understood your words. 

“Not cool, doll,” Bucky huffs. “Do you love the cat more than me?” His eyes widen, and he gasps audibly. “I-I mean…”

You look at Bucky, smiling softly because he’s nervous as hell. The usually cocky and a little grumpy biker suddenly looks like a scared child.

“I like you a lot,” you hastily say to calm him. “Maybe even more. I haven’t decided yet.” You grin. “Your cat is a plus. Maybe I’ll stick around for the cute furball.”

Bucky cocks a brow. He searches your face, hums, and crosses his arms over his chest. “How about I lay it on thick and take you for a ride.”

“A ride on your bike?” you gasp. So far you weren’t brave enough to drive on Bucky’s bike. “I never rode a bike before.”

“You wouldn’t ride it, doll,” he grins. “You’d be my sweet passenger, and I’d take you for a ride.”

“Hmm…” you nod slowly. “Are you a careful driver? I don’t like people ignoring the speed limit. I don’t wanna end up as a roadkill.”

“I’ll be careful. Promised, Y/N.”

Smiling you look at Bucky. He expectantly looks at you, waiting for an answer. “I trust you Bucky. I’d be happy being your passenger.”

It feels like flying. 

Bucky keeps his promise and drives carefully, but your heart beats so fast you might pass out. Not because he drives too fast, but because being on the back of his bike, your arms wrapped tightly around him feels so intimate.

He drove out of town with you, only stopping when the wind got colder, and it started to rain. Now you are hiding in an old barn, rubbing your cold arms while you wait for the rain to stop.

“This was so cool,” your teeth chatter, but you excitedly look at his bike. “If only the weather was better. We could’ve driven to the end of the world.”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm. “We will drive for longer next time. Promised.” Bucky strips off his leather jacket to give it to you. “Here, it will keep you warm.”

You already feel warm when he helps you put his jacket on. It smells like him, and his warmth still clings to it. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, doll,” he runs his hands up and down your arms. “After the rain, we will drive back home and I’ll make you dinner.”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?” He murmurs. “What is it?”

“I love you,” you say before you can chicken out. “For a while…”

Bucky drops his hands from your arms to cup your face. “I love you too, Y/N.”

The End...

[comradekarin]

too many pretending that diss track was hard so let’s just make a few things clear. nicki, you don’t even own your own masters you ain’t buying no one’s catalogue. nicki, your flow was ass on this track so I know we not talking about megs. meg has openly talked about her alcoholism, so that henny line not what you think it is. nicki, you got your ass beat by meek mill and talked about it in a documentary, you really got the audacity to talk about that leprechaun nigga tory shooting meg (and secretly making #freetory posts before deleting them on twitter) as if you weren’t a victim either. nicki, your HUSBAND can’t be fifty feet within a school zone and you got clocked for giving a thirteen year old boy a lap dance, tf you mean meg humping on a minor (no receipts whatsoever). nicki, the amount of grammies you have is N/A, bringing up meg having three is just pure jealously. talking about meg lying about lipo? as if you didn’t lie about getting work done for years before you had to fess up bc them implants in yo shit popped like a ballon. nicki, talking about the men megan has allegedly slept with and poking fun at her promiscuity aint shit when your man a whole ass rapist and you’re entire fucking M.O is pussy this, sex this, ass this. and not even just your man, your pedo brother too. nicki, you cannot possibly talk about megs mom as if your father isn’t still fresh roadkill. nicki, you went to megs producer/friend asking for a beat and he told yo ass NO, do not say anything about beats. nicki, I know you ain’t talking cash when you been using a.i art the entire gag city era because you can’t afford music videos rn. nicki, your little snide comments about roc nation on twitter is funny as fuck. implying that megan got ghost riders yet you, the so called queen of originality, the so call queen of innovation, is on twitter using/stealing jay z lyrics to diss meg who’s under his management. even bey don’t fuck with you.

these the same bitches that got on remy ma saying shether had bars “but wasn’t true” so it didn’t count. nicki spews a whole bunch of bullshit that counts more as a self read than a diss, and it’s hot shit? a hit dog gon holler, and this dog been wailing at the moon for four days now 😒

[akingdomscrypt]

Make a Mercy Out of Me

Part Four

Pairing; König x male!reader (slow burn)

Word Count; 11.7k (I almost died editing this)

Warnings; dehumanization (of reader), drowning (nightmare?), slight panic, mentions of past torture (of reader), implied human trafficking (of reader)

A/n; Was going to have both chapters out on Halloween buuuuut this one ended up far longer than originally anticipated.

--- "trojan horse" ---

Lights out was over several hours ago. And yet here König was. Watching. Straining his ears to catch every small hitch in your breath, every twitch of your exposed fingers.

Making sure you didn't suddenly die off, really.

That would be inconvenient.

Going through all this trouble catching you just to have you die under his supervision? That would be all of the team's–all of his–time washed down the drain. And he couldn't have that, now could he?

Which is why he had dealt with your antics this morning. You had refused to eat, refused to even drink in front of him. He had assumed it to be the mask–a gross, filthy thing you still haven't removed–that kept you from putting valuable nutrients in your body. König could understand that, he wasn't the most enthusiastic about barring his deformities to strangers either.

Would it aid in the healing of your various wounds right now and probably lessen the time he had to spend categorizing every out-of-place movement you made? An obvious yes. But he wasn't your friend here, he wasn't in charge of making sure you were 'comfortable'. König was here to make sure you didn't kill anyone, yourself, or escape.

Besides–though probably sped up with how much of a beating your body had sustained–you could most likely go for another day or two without it before starvation kicked in. So he dropped the subject and let you sleep some more.

He was regretting that decision now. Somewhere after 1400, you had succumbed to one of the worst fevers he'd seen in his time. Panting like a dog and sweating buckets despite the cool air of the compound. Eyes glazed over and unfocused, you didn't even respond to your name. Not unless he shouted it in your face and snapped his fingers.

Even that was shoddy at best.

It was now somewhere between 0000 and 0100. König had decided to wait until morning to see if your fever lessened, or at the very least improved. Sure, you were a subject of interest, high interest even, but he wasn't about to rouse Colonel Vargas's medical staff for something that ended up not being an emergency.

His hesitation definitely had nothing to do with how terrified you'd looked yesterday when he had first mentioned it.

The sun had risen and you hadn't. Fever broken? Not yet. Though you were.. semi-conscious. You had been switching between mumbling words under your breath that he didn't understand–and was pretty sure was a language he didn't know–to looking like fresh roadkill; cold, limp, and staring blankly at the ceiling.

He thought you had died a handful of times. You'd even halted breathing once or twice. Then, like magic, as soon as he'd go to page Price about your near comatose state, you'd go back to drawing in deep, exaggerated breaths–if a little wheezy on the exhale.

König had decided to give you until noon before he finally called someone in to check on you.

It would be pointless, he reminds himself, if he brought someone in just for you to snap out of it when they arrived.

So he took to treating your wounds every other hour. The source of your fever, he determined, was likely infection. Surprised? Not at all. König had gotten a front-row seat to how downright filthy your injuries were when he stitched them up.

Each fresh bandage would come away just as soiled as the last when he switched them out. Coated in specks of blood here and there, yes, but an overwhelming majority was yellowish-green goo. After he'd gotten that to be somewhat manageable, König had started to apply an antiseptic over the sloppy sutures after each cleaning.

So far, under his own wishes, no one else had come into the room. He's pretty sure at some point one of the team had come by with breakfast.

König hadn't opened the door.

He, himself, wouldn't be too fond of enemies visiting him while he was so vulnerable, so why should he subject you to that? Because you are the enemy here. Because your comfort shouldn't matter.

König had only left the room a handful of times since they brought you in. Mostly to fetch a quick snack or just stretch his limbs–to get away from the stagnant, suffocating air of the room. It was, technically, his job at the moment, and wasn't at all surprising no one had come to drag him away. Which meant less time spent around crowds of soldiers he was unfamiliar with, so he wasn't complaining.

It's not until just before dusk, on the third day, that your fever finally breaks. König notes how you've stopped shivering so excessively, how the bandages he just disposed of were considerably less full of gunk. Still an angry reddish color, still a little swollen, but much less than it had been.

Another hour passes before you regain consciousness. Your words are still a bit slurred and there's a certain haze of confusion consuming your eyes, but it's much better than you've looked since they found you.

He doesn't rush to your side, doesn't make any move to assist you in figuring out where you are, or help you orientate yourself. No. He sits in the chair he's been stuck in for a little over three days and waits for you to notice him.

He doesn't coddle you when panic flashes through your irises or try to explain who he is. He doesn't even speak.

König simply stands up and makes his way to the small, en-suite bathroom and fills up the same paper cup he's offered you multiple times over. By the time he is at your side and offering the cup, he picks up on the recognition now replacing that fear.

And a hint of apprehension, but that's not his problem.

"Drink." When you give that firm shake of your head once again, he's not exactly overflowing with shock. Not even a little miffed. König just urges the flimsy cup closer and repeats himself, though a little more firm this time, "drink."

You–finally, for fuck's sake–take the cup, shaky hands and all. Then proceed to do that weird squint of your eyes at him that he's come to associate as something you do before spouting your typical bullshit. It had happened when he'd interrogated you. Then again when you pulled that little stunt in front of Price–König had still yet to deal with all of that.

Some would call it avoidance, König preferred to call it self-preservation.

And that is why this time König cuts you off before you even open your mouth.

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Maus. Drink." Too friendly. "You're of no use to me if you are delirious from dehydration. Drink."

This would all be much easier to deal with if you would just stop looking at him like that.

"What. What is it?" König grits out, letting the irritation that's been welling up inside him since day one finally seep into his tone. He hasn't even gotten more than maybe a few hours of sleep because of you! He's tired, and, yes, maybe he's a little more on edge than usual. But if you could just- stop looking at him like that.

"My bag." It takes König a little longer than he'd like to admit to realize you were even speaking. A little more to decipher what you just said. It sounded more like 'ma bach' to him.

"And? What about it?" König vaguely remembers you dropping an overstuffed duffle when he'd restrained you in that rundown complex.

"Need it." Again, it sounded more like 'ned ehh' to his ears.

"For what?" What could you possibly do with that? The team had not left it behind. Had brought it with them in case there was some decent evidence in there. Something to incriminate you with so they could keep you longer. There wasn't. "To drink?"

A nod. Alright. That's progress. He can do that.

"Wait here." Ha.

It's funny.

Because you can't leave.

König thinks he's hilarious.

It takes very little convincing on König's part to get Soap to hand it over to him. After all, they had not found anything to convict you with inside the bag. All that was required was the removal of many, many sharp objects, both hidden and not–seriously, how did that even fit there?–, before Price gave the okay and Soap handed it over.

Not before their charming Scotsman made a snide comment of, "what, he think ye poisoned it or somethin'?" But that was irrelevant.

With nothing more than a shrug, König was on his way back to you.

You sit up when the door opens then clicks shut again, lightly panting behind your mask. The little cup of water had been abandoned on the floor beside the cot. Useless to you at the moment.

You don't look up at the other man until the heavy bag is placed at the foot of the bed and, subsequently, your legs. You send him a brief glare before reaching down to pull the duffle into your lap.

While you rummage around through the mess they had made of your bag–praying to a god you don't believe in that they didn't take it out, that would be extremely inconvenient right now–König retrieves the water.

"You know," he says at the same time that white paper cup enters your peripheral. "Would be a lot easier if you just took that off. It's filthy."

You look up with your eyes only, narrowing them as your fingers finally wrap around the cool piece of metal you'd been searching for–not even close to the little pocket you'd left it in.

You don't take your eyes off of him as you pull it out–a thin, reusable straw–other hand reaching up to take the cup. Placing the metal straw inside, adjusting the height of it so it doesn't fit inside too awkwardly.

You would take the damn thing off if you could.

One hand holding the cup, the other deftly keeps the straw in place as you bring it to your face. Slipping it under the small slit in your mask, just below your mouth.

There was only one problem.

You can't.

The cloth was filthy; coated in mud and plant matter, bodily fluids and the sort. You'd give anything to have it removed.

Removed.

Because you couldn't simply take the damn thing off. Couldn't replace the ratty old thing. Not unless you paid a visit to your home base, and you'd rather fucking die than do anything of the sort.

You could tell him. König would probably remove it, or have someone else take it off for you. Not because he was interested in your comfort, no, but because it would be beneficial to his cause.

Something inside you, some mental blockade, keeps you from uttering those words. Keeps that freeing phrase lodged in your throat.

Besides, it wasn't always this dirty. You cleaned it.. sometimes. Whenever you could. It was awkward and involved a lot of water being sprayed at your face–and after nearly waterboarding yourself the last time, you weren't too eager to do it again.

"Thanks." You mumble when you finish off the small cup. You mean it; the cool water was refreshing after being deprived of it for so long. Soothing your sore throat and filling your empty stomach.

"More?" König asks, reaching out a gloved hand–bloodied, worn glove. Your blood.

All you can do is nod and pass it back to him; you are parched. It would take a lot more than a tiny cup to make up for days without proper hydration.

You end up having König refill the cup a few more times before you finally just place it on the ground again. Then you fold up the straw into a smaller stick, tuck it into your pocket, and lean back against the wall.

You're hit with a wave of exhaustion as you do so, muscles still sore and injuries aching. Distantly so, your shoulder burning, thigh throbbing, but infinitely better. You made sure to make a conscious effort to keep your previously relocated shoulder in place; still feeling a dull pain where the bones interlocked.

Being pretty experienced in the realm of having your body manipulated and pushed to its limits, you knew keeping the joint as immobile as possible was your best bet for a speedy recovery.

You just wanted to get some fucking sleep.

Having been surviving off an hour or two of sleep every other day, your body was fully prepared to take advantage of the lack of action. To finally catch up on all the rest you'd been missing out on.

Sleep deprivation was nothing new to you, you were built and molded to withstand far worse–you just didn't want to. Not if you could finally take a moment to yourself; even if that meant spending it in enemy territory.

König would probably let you sleep; more about keeping you in a decent enough shape. A part of you resisted the idea still–even if another insisted you should take advantage of healing as much as you could before torture was inevitably introduced. Your mind is just barely present enough to keep you from letting your guard down anymore than you already had.

Vaguely, you recall the other man hovering over you once in a while while you were delirious from the fever. The memories drift in and out of your half-conscious mind, just barely out of reach, but you get the impression König was tending to your wounds as you slept. Keeping you alive and in just barely good enough shape for whatever he and his crew of misfits wanted from you.

Hell, you couldn't care about that right now. Couldn't muster any part of you to give a single fuck about what they wanted you for; when you'd offered yourself up it had been out of anger. Desperation. Wanting to get some petty revenge on your handler. Now you were.. not necessarily regretting it, but you weren't fond of it anymore either.

"Should get some sleep." König's voice breaks your quickly spiraling thoughts. Looking up, you notice the man is still standing. If you didn't know any better, you'd almost said the behemoth of a man appeared nervous. Standing there, hovering by the door, bright blue eyes locked on you, bloody, gloved fingers twitching now and again.

You only give a soft hum of acknowledgment, keeping your own gaze pinned on his. You notice how the literal giant mass of muscle and cloth shifts his weight now and again. Anxious, you'd say, awkward.

"It's late, and you need to heal." König continues when you don't say anything. You'd find it funny–seeing the intimidating pillar of a man acting so skittish–if you weren't so fucking tired. "I'll leave you to it then."

And with that, König leaves. You had half a mind to call out to him, to ask him to stay. That, for once in your life, you didn't really want to be alone.

That this room too closely resembled the one that haunted you still, even after all these years. Too cold, too dull, too sterile.

But that would ruin whatever picture of you he held in his mind. Would look too much like cowardice. Because you should be able to handle it, you shouldn't be so damn terrified when confined within four walls. Should be better than this.

So you don't raise your voice, don't ask him to stay. Can't force the vibration into your vocal cords, can't help but feel that doing so would make you look weak. Instead, you watch as König turns on his heel and opens the door, shutting and locking it firmly behind him with a dull click.

At least König had left the light on. You're almost certain you would've spiraled if he hadn't.

Silence ate at you when alone. Only indoors, though. When you were outside and could smell the fresh air through your mask, the wind against your exposed skin, and hear the crunch of leaves and foliage under your boots; that was a whole other story.

Tolerable. Comforting, even. Not this. Never this.

It is better, when you take a look at the bigger picture. Better than that smaller, dark room. Pitch black, unable to even see your own hands in front of you. Can reach out an arm but only extend it halfway on either side before your fingers brush cold metal.

Better than the water.

Frigid liquid starts in a slow trickle from the four corners of the box–The Box–and gradually fills it up. Until you're drowning. Until you're forced to take that final breath, bitter, freezing water–was it even water??–leaking into your mouth. Staining your tongue; having to choose between risking spitting it out, taking the chance of more replacing what is dispelled, or holding it in your mouth until you're free again. But not swallow, never swallow.

You can hear her. Hear all of them. Talking, whispering, laughing. Not the other Predators, not them, not the ones like you.

Her. You've never seen her. It's her and a few of her associates, then your handler. Your handler doesn't laugh. She's silent. But you know she's watching, know she's counting down each second until your release.

Your chest is seizing, trying desperately to force you to take a breath, to draw in air. You have to ignore it, ignore the impulse, even as your chest screams, your lungs burn, as your brain begins to grow fuzzy from lack of oxygen.

You can hear every vile word spoken, every taunt and joke made at your expense. The implants permanently placed into your skull allowing you to hear every rustle of clothing, every dehumanizing spat. No matter how badly you'd like to tune it all out.

They know you can hear them. Can hear the whisper of her adding more time, the surprise that you haven't fainted yet, the mutterings calling you it, the scribbling of pen on paper.

They know you can hear. And that's exactly why they do it. Why they call you it, a thing, nothing more than a tool. An object. A product made to be contracted, be rented out to greedy generals, but not a person. Never a person.

Only a thing.

Made to be used. To be trained. To take orders without question. Like a dog–like a mutt.

You're failing. You can feel it. The lack of oxygen to your brain is starting to affect you, exhaustion weighing heavily on your submerged body. Your limbs have long since lost feeling, numb where they lay somewhere in The Box.

You can't hear them anymore. Only your own hazy mind, your own pounding heart. You're failing, falling, giving out.. can't last,

Slow heartbeat, dull, harsh thuds in your ribcage,

Numb, tingling limbs,

Soaked body, soaked mind, soaked and heavy clothes,

Weighing you down,

down,

down,

down.

You wake with a start, sucking in a sharp lungful of air, eyelids snapping open. Adjusting to a bright, bright room.

You're not in The Box. You're here. Where exactly here is, you have no idea.

You don't even remember falling asleep.

The first thing König does when he leaves you is take a shower. He's absolutely filthy. Or at least that's how he feels after not having the chance to wash away the sweat and blood from the day of your capture. For almost a week.

He feels gross and sticky in his own body, and König finds himself even more relieved than usual that he hadn't had to interact with many people. Didn't quite feel like burning their sense of smell out for good.

Sure, he was a soldier. Sure, there were times when he had to go a few days without a proper shower. That didn't make it any better.

His mother had taught him good hygiene, amongst other important things, and he'd be damned if he didn't listen to her. Even from across the globe.

The water–though lukewarm and lacking pressure–feels good on his unwashed skin. König had to duck down a bit to clean his shaggy, russet hair and upper torso, but that wasn't anything new. Majority if not all showers and other everyday things were often too small for him.

With the exception of the one in his mother's home. The two of them had broken down and reconstructed his small, personal bathroom in ninth year, when he hit a sudden growth spurt and it was clear he wasn't stopping anytime soon.

König had always been a tall, lanky child. This fact had been the source of his insecurity since he started school–the other kids latching onto this fact and using it against him. He stood out, and that, coupled with his chronic social anxiety, only made him an easy target.

He had been ashamed of his height then–often hunching in on himself in a vain attempt to seem smaller than he was–, but that was not the case now. König's height was an advantage in his line of work, something he had grown to be proud of over the years. Especially now that he put so much time and effort into turning his body into the perfect fighting machine through bulky muscle and healthy fat.

König still didn't particularly enjoy standing out, but it was better when what was once an insecurity for him was met with a healthy dose of fear and awe.

Thankfully, no one was there but him. The majority of the other people on the base are most likely having dinner around this time.

So he secures a towel around his waist and, feeling thoroughly refreshed and almost like a new man after his shower, he steps out of the tiny, curtained-off room and into the main part of the communal locker room.

Having no one else around gave König the opportunity to pull out a clean, sharp knife and delicately carve away the scruffy stubble along his jaw and upper lip–the hairs always poked through the layers of fabric on his face and it bothered him.

König's work was quick and efficient, much like most of the things he did. Running the smooth blade over and between the rises and dips of his skin. Scar tissue didn't grow hair, obviously, but the annoying spaces in between marred flesh did, so that's what König was shaving off.

Seeing his own face didn't bother him, despite what most would probably think. König sometimes thought the scars were cool; it really added to his scare factor. Then again, so did the hood he wore.

He didn't wear the fabric draped over his face because he was insecure or ashamed of his scarring–König actually considered himself a pretty average-looking man, minus the scars. It was more for anonymity and he really, really didn't feel like dealing with all the stares it would garner everywhere he went. It also helped König with his social anxiety to have that thin cloth separating him from everyone else. And he'd be damned if he was going to let his scars become the new target instead of his height.

It's still too early to return to you or go to bed himself when König finishes. He ends up throwing on the fresh clothes he'd brought with him, tugging on a more everyday mask in place of the hood, and pulling his still-damp hair into a loose low ponytail. Keeping the wild, wavy strands out of his face–the ends of it just barely brushing his shoulders.

Then König gathers up his filthy clothes and gear and makes his way into the hall. This facility isn't exactly new to him, had been here a few times with the rest of the team, but that didn't make it any less confusing to be in. Still a bit foreign to him.

Even so, he manages to find his way back to the room he'd left you in, drop off his clothes–and hide his gear somewhere he knew you couldn't reach–, then to where his teammates sat chatting in the common room.

Ghost sat on one side of the room, the furthest end of the couch, with Soap squeezed in right next to him. The two communicating in low rumbles and small chuckles. Rudy sat on the other end of that same couch; talking in soft mutterings to the man sitting in the chair to his left.

Gaz was, surprisingly, not currently present, but Price was. Sitting tense and deep in thought in one corner of the sofa opposite the other, scrolling through something on his phone.

Shit. Price. He doubted the captain would bring up that little stunt you pulled a few days ago in front of Alejandro and Rudy, but König couldn't be too certain.

He's about to back out of the room when Soap calls out his name–damn him. Not really, but König was hoping to leave undetected. A little difficult for a man of his size, but still.

"König! There ye are, haven't seen ye in ages."

König freezes in his tracks, sending the Scot a small, professional smile from behind his mask.

"You saw me this afternoon, Soap."

"Righ', righ'." Soap waves off, giving König a more playful grin than the taller man had put on. "S' wha' the lad need with the damn thin' anyhow? He pull out somethin' 'tae test it or..?"

König, resigning himself to his fate, walks over to take a seat on the same couch as Price. On the furthest end from their captain.

"A straw."

This gets Ghost's attention. "'M guessin' he didn't take the mask off for ya then?"

"Didn't expect him to." Price looks up from his phone then, all three of the other men giving him a deadpan stare.

"Do not look at me like that." König grumbles, attention tuning in to the approaching footsteps.

"Don't look at who like what?" Gaz says as he enters the room, several random snacks in hand, giving them all a curious look. When his gaze lands on König, Gaz gives a small, half-grin and chucks one of the snacks at him. "What are you guys on about?"

König fumbles a bit, but catches what looks to be some type of protein bar? He gives Gaz an appreciative nod and replies,

"Nothing important."

At the same time, Soap says,

"König's wee fixation."

König sends Soap a glare, tearing open the package. Gaz shrugs, walking over to seat himself between König and Price. Nonchalant, as if none of this is new to him. He throws a few snacks at the other men as well as he sits.

"It is not a fixation." König grumbles, sounding more like a petulant child than the grown-ass man he is. He spares a glance towards Rudy, who seems amused by the whole thing, then Alejandro, who is now tapping away on his phone. Neither of them seem to be paying any special attention to him specifically, so König decides to tug the mask down.

He's hungry, dammit, and, out of all people, this little group right here were the last ones König would expect to make jabs at his scars.

"Oh, it's not?" Price. The man looks a little amused. König is not. "Then what would ya call him, hm?"

"A subject of interest." The first bite of the protein bar unlocks a ravenous hunger in König that the man hadn't been anticipating. Made sense, really, considering he hadn't been taking the greatest care of himself while watching over you these past few days–had a habit of forgetting when he got involved in something. Food included.

As König had expected, no one even bats an eye at his revealed face, and König feels as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

Much like Ghost, the others had all seen him before–Price especially, the man had his file after all–and still didn't look at König differently. Which had also been a great relief, knowing he didn't have to hide his disfigured skin from what had become his, fairly close, teammates.

"Riiight." Soap drawls, opening the small bag Gaz had thrown at him. "Tha's what we're callin' this then?"

"There is no this, Soap." König says after he swallows his last bite, crumbling up the wrapper and shoving it into his pocket to throw out later. He was still practically starving, but he figured he could find something else later. He pulls the mask back up.

"He is needed to further our investigation."

"An' tha's why ye stayed with 'im fur several days?"

"Without once leavin', I might add." Ghost tacks on, a slight crinkling in the corners of his eyes that tells König the man also finds his suffering humorous.

It's not entirely true. König had left. Once and a while when you seemed mostly stable. Not that the others would know this considering he never crossed paths with them.

"Had to make sure he didn't die."

"Speaking of the him in question," Alejandro–the fucking saint that he is–interrupts, flicking his eyes around the room and pocketing his phone. "Just who exactly did you guys bring onto my base?"

"Yeah," Rudy tacks on. "Into our country, no less."

König, a little more than surprised Price hadn't informed the two men who were currently housing them and their prisoner, sends Price a look that says just as much.

"I was going to have this discussion a lot sooner," Price rumbles, "but I was waiting for you to join us, König."

König frowns at this, a slight pull on his eyebrows as he observes his Captain.

"Waiting for me?"

"Ye did kinda ignore us fur the past few days."

"Too occupied with his, mm, subject of interest, 't join us." Ghost adds, still not out of his playful mood, it seemed.

Gaz sends König a brief, amused glance before turning away again.

König ignores the two bastards on the other side of the room and keeps his own gaze on Price instead.

"Why did you need me, Captain?" König really was a little confused.. he had only been with the bunch for almost a year. During the tail end of the team's hunt for literal missiles and so on. He wasn't exactly a.. to put it bluntly, a vital part of the team.

"You shared a few words with him before we came here." Oh no. This now felt more like an intervention than anything. "I need to know what those were."

Alejandro looks between the two with a puzzled expression of his own. "Were you not with them, Captain?"

"I was," Price doesn't take his eyes off König. König suddenly finds a spot on the floor very interesting. "They weren't speakin' in a language I could understand."

This only confuses the two men further, both of whom share a quick glance. A silent conversation between them. Then König feels both of their eyes on him.

His skin crawls, he feels exposed, he shouldn't have come out here, he should've worn the hood.

König's words suddenly feel stuck in his throat, and he clears it subtly.

"It wasn't relevant to the mission, sir." He mumbles, still refusing to tear his gaze away and look over at his captain.

"So you say." Price replies easily. "And yet you still won't tell me."

"He.." König hesitates, starting up a nervous bounce of his knee. "He asked me if I had considered his- his.. offer."

"His offer?" Price asks at the same time Gaz says, "Did you?"

"He is here, isn't he?"

"Is there anything you all know about the stranger you've brought into my home?" Alejandro says, drawing the conversation back onto its track.

There's a small, tense pause before anyone speaks up.

"We, uh.. we know he was abandoned..?" Gaz says, turning to Price. "..right?"

"As far as we know, yes."

König takes that moment to glance up, catching the slight widening of Rudy's eyes.

"Is that all you know?"

Another silence.

"I'd ask if he's dangerous, but I feel that much is obvious." Alejandro deadpans, sighing before continuing, "How long have you been on his tail? Do you have a file?"

"Yes."

"..is there much in it?"

"..no."

Another sigh, Rudy this time, before the same man asks,

"What exactly did you all expect to gain by keeping him?"

Soap lands a very pointed stare on König.

"Don't you dare, Soap." König mutters quickly. "It is not a.. fixation, it's a-"

"A subject of interest, right." Ghost huffs, mood dimmed a little more back to his usual self to König's great relief.

"He said he could help-"

"Yes, an' help with what exactly-"

"-d'ye think he'd-"

"-pretty sure he'd be able to if we asked him-"

"Ay!" Rudy barks out, snapping the other men's focus towards him. "Does this guy even have a name?"

Oh. Right.

"Mouse." They all say in unison, sans Price, before returning to their conversation.

"Mouse?" Alejandro muses. Then he turns and mutters a few quick words to Rudy in Spanish, the other man snickering in turn.

König couldn't blame him, they'd all been pretty amused by it when they first heard it, too. Made only more entertaining once one noticed how small you were. Not just when compared to König, but all of them.

König was pretty certain he'd seen literal children much taller than you.

"Strange name and what-ifs aside," Price sighs, then looks over at König. "Is he stable?"

"Yes."

"Alive, stable, or able to do a quick run with us, stable?"

".. I would give him a few days more," König answers, taking a second to think it over first. "Then he should be able to walk straight."

Pride nods. A tad confused, König asks,

"Did we get a hit, sir, is that what this is about?"

"We do have.. something."

"And?" Ghost this time, their tiny conversation having drawn the attention of all the other men in the room.

"And." Price emphasizes. "Laswell and her fiends of informants have given us an approximate 't the bomber's possible location."

"Here?" Alejandro says at the same time Soap says, "where?"

"It is nearby..ish," Price says. "A border city. I don't have any of the specifics right now, but we will know more within the week."

He then gives König a pointed look, "A few days from now. That should be plenty 'a time for Mouse to recover, yes?"

"Ja," König agrees, not knowing if it was true but, well, they just needed you to not pass out every other minute and be able to walk on your own. "Can I ask what we need him for?"

"You said it yourself he wanted to help." There were two types of Price smiles; warm and welcoming or deceivingly threatening. This time was one of the latter. "I say we bring him along as a sort of.. test. See if his story holds up under pressure."

"Not to overstep, Captain, but couldn't you use.. other tactics to get the truth from him?" Alejandro asks. "If you want, I'm sure I could get some of my men to-"

"No." König cuts in before Price can respond, the former giving the Colonel what could only be described as a death stare.

"Why not? Certainly, it would help speed things along-"

"I appreciate the offer, Colonel, but there is a sort of.." Price narrows his gaze at König, silently conveying a clear command for the other man to shut his mouth. König huffs, looking away. "An unspoken agreement against using the more traditional methods of gathering information."

"Cannae be harmin' König's wee fixation, now ken we?" Soap's light jab dissolves the slight tension that had been building in the room.

And, for once, König finds himself grateful for the tease. Though he still gives a bemoaned,

"It is not a fixation!"

You're tense, König can tell. He also gets the feel it has more to do with something other than the fact you were.. well, not in a cell. But a confined room. Definitely not the same thing.

König visited you less often now that you weren't at risk of bleeding out or dying of infection in your sleep. The man had assumed you'd be, maybe not ecstatic, but relieved that he wasn't around as often. It appeared that his absence had caused the opposite effect.

You ate.. some, and when he wasn't around. Drank, too, whenever you felt like it. Your injuries were healing spectacularly as well; no longer open, leaking wounds, but instead slightly irritated, closed lines. Would definitely scar, but König knew that was probably the least of your worries.

It frustrated him to no end that he couldn't figure out what was wrong with you–it wasn't physical, that much was obvious. You were a puzzle he couldn't decipher, and that left an unpleasant taste in König's mouth.

He was about ready to burst after two days of dealing with your attitude–not at all playful like it usually was–and bitter mood. Mentally preparing himself to just ask you straight out–even though it wasn't at all guaranteed he'd get an answer–when it all came to a head on day three.

You are about ready to combust when the door clicks open; breathing quick, heavy gulps of air while you pace the length of the small room. Having pulled on your gloves–finding an extra pair in your bag–for the first time in over a week, you were now using the familiar feel of rough fabric to ground yourself. Rubbing it over the skin of your forearms in quick, aborted motions.

Why did she leave? She abandoned you. The full weight of your situation was just now hitting you– she abandoned you.

Were you really that much of a fucking problem? You tried, you really did, tried not to be too much of a drag on her–but you had a habit of racking up stacks of paperwork like they were trophies.

You had always been her most problematic subject; having the blood of one of your own squad mates on your hands didn't help either. But you tried, you tried so hard to make up for it–that's one of the main reasons you had gone on this years-long solo operation.

To take a bit of the weight, the workload that was simply you, off your handlers' shoulders.

When did you become too much? When had she decided she didn't want you anymore?

Was it the murder? The attempted escape–a foolish thing really, you'd never felt so stupid–, the snarky attitude? The way you pushed and pushed and pushed and never let up?

What were you even supposed to do now? You'd never been without that voice in your ear, telling you what to do and when to do it–you didn't know what to do with yourself without it.

"Maus?" Shit. Right. You'd forgotten König was there.

"What." You grit, not even bothering to look up as you continue to pace. Back and forth, back and forth- Repetition, now that was something you knew.

"Sit down. All this pacing is.. stressing me out."

You pause, feet anchoring to the ground as you lock onto the other man.

"Oh?" You huff, feeling the panic begin to morph into the more familiar, welcomed burn of anger. "You are stressed?"

"Ja," he deadpans, giving you that familiar blank stare you'd come to associate with the other man. Irritation, arrogance, boredom– or all three. "I am. Because of you."

"Well my sincerest apologies for the inconvenience." You say, plastering on a fake smile beneath your mask; sarcasm oozing through every word. "But you're not the one who got fucking abandoned, are you? Zasraný bastard!" (Fucking bastard!)

You spat the last part, seething as you turn the rest of your body to face König head on. Slowly, you stalk closer until you're within touching distance. So close you have to nearly snap your neck in half to look up at the giant.

"You do not understand, do you? You arrogant fuck." Your tone is considerably low considering the harsh words spilling from your mouth. All the emotions that had been building up inside you since that day everything went to shit finally breaking free. Manifesting as misdirected anger–or maybe justifiable, according to you. "You and your rag-tag group of fuckin' misfits do not know the first thing of me. Know only what you are told."

This is probably the most you've spoken since your capture. When you were loopy from blood loss.

"So do not come in here, come to me and tell me that I am the problem. That it is me causing the stress." You're too wound up to care about reading whatever fucking emotions flashes through König's eyes. Too pissed off to worry about deciphering his unnecessarily complicated feelings. "You are not the one who was left. Left by the person who has been with you for your entire life. I am not weak, I am not your pet, so do not talk to me like I am- kurva, a damn idiot." (Fuck.)

"Maus."

"What."

His tone is a lot calmer than you had been expecting. You have half a mind to curse him out about not listening to a damn word you have to say–then you remember who you're talking to and quickly bite your tongue.

In lieu of saying anything, König simply reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. A piece of paper. Then he holds it out to you, you recognize the worn parchment and stains.

Oh.

The paper.

You don't take it, flicking your eyes between the folded note and the other's gaze. Anger quickly melts away into confusion.

"Why are you giving me this?"

"Scheiß. Und er nennt mich den Idioten." König mutters under his breath. The words spoken too fast for you to pick up on much more than the familiar curse.

"Take it." König brings the paper closer, pressing it to your chest and giving a light shove. "And read it again."

With an annoyed huff and a glare, you take a step back, distancing yourself, and snatch the folded note from his hand.

Carefully–not wanting to accidentally tear the poor thing that had already lost the majority of its structural integrity–you unfold it.

Holding the fragile thing between gloved, delicate fingers, you squint. Trying to see past the mud stains and water marks. After more than a little staring, you finally catch the vague, washed-out red.

At first, you assume it's blood–your blood, more specifically. Then, upon closer inspection, you realize that the color is just slightly off. Even watered-down blood would retain some of its darker undertones–would turn a brownish color instead of pink.

The words are too blurred to make sense of- but you know that red. None of that hot, burning anger flows through you now. Molten lava converting into frigid, paralyzing recognition.

König seems to take your silence as a good thing and murmurs a triumphant, "I will go inform Captain Price that you are ready, see you later, Maus."

And just like that, König leaves you with another little fact that shatters your entire worldview.

Only it's not the clue he probably thinks it is.

An hour. That is how long you are given before one of the only two men whose name you didn't know comes to collect you–short hair, dark brown skin.

You are given a set of less dirty clothes to slip into–not a shower though, irritatingly enough–then you're being corralled down multiple twists and turns until you are forced into a meeting room of some sort.

There are several men and women you don't recognize seated around and standing near a long, rectangular table. The man who had brought you here urges you into a seat near the center of a row of chairs, Ghost–you had heard the name in passing when König was rambling to your semi-conscious body–and the other man whose name you did not know stood directly behind you.

The man who'd brought you here sits on your right.

All eyes are on you, you can feel it, burning holes into your mask. You chose to ignore them, keeping your gaze locked firmly on the metal table in front of you. Analyzing and taking note of every flaw and imperfection; man-made and not. Natural wear from years of use and manufacturer error.

Much to your relief, it's not too long before König and the captain enter the room; followed by two men who, surprise surprise, you also don't know.

One taller than the other, tanned skin and dark hair. One with scruffy facial hair and the other clean-shaven.

The shorter one instantly locks onto you, doing a quick once over of your hunched form before trapping your gaze with his own.

After what feels like an eternity, the man's eyes flick from you, over to König, then back to you. He frowns, then turns away.

Only a few seconds have passed and now Price and the two new ones are seated at the head of the table. König takes his place on your left.

Then the meeting begins.

A loyalty test. That's what the captain calls it. Gaze locked on yours when the others, apart from the little crew surrounding you, leave the meeting room.

And now you're here, unarmed and on the outskirts of a strange city you didn't even know existed until now.

The buildings are tall and tightly clustered together. Streets empty and windows–at least the ones not shattered–boarded or blackened out. Not a single ounce of movement or sound besides the rustle of wind now and then; blowing around loose papers and other trash.

The whole thing is eerie; every nerve in your body is alert, muscles tense and ready to spring into action at any notion of a threat.

Movement flashes in your peripheral somewhere to your immediate right and your hand instinctively reaches for the knife you keep stashed on your hip. Only your fingers curl around nothing, hand coming up empty when you bring it back up. You frown slightly at the lack of weapon in your gloved palm.

"Relax, Mouse." Gaz–you had finally been properly introduced to everyone, learning new names and confirming the ones you'd already known–, having been the source of the disturbance, says. "It's just me."

A small grunt of acknowledgment is your only response, returning your attention to the city looming ahead. Gaz's words weren't exactly comforting–and likely weren't meant to be. You were still their prisoner. They were your enemy just as much as whoever lay within the limits of this city was.

Which is why your nerves are not only shot to high hell for whatever the fuck was going on in the city, but also keenly analyzing and tracking every minuscule twitch of the team around you.

"Alright, boys," Price speaks up, coming into view on your right, standing beside Gaz. "Just like we discussed. Soap and Ghost on me, Gaz, you're with König. We'll split, clearing out each side, and regroup in the middle."

He completely disregards you. As if you were nothing but an accessory.

"Keep your eyes peeled for anythin' out of place. Intel says target should be in center building, sixth floor, but we shouldn't rule out possible interference. Living or not. Expect resistance, 'specially as we get further in."

Being a passive object in an operation was nothing new to you.

Ghost and Soap come to stand off to your left and König is an unmistakable presence behind you.

"RV 'round back, Nik'll be waiting for us. And, Gaz?"

"Yes, Cap'?"

Price's eyes flick to you, then behind you to König. The captain gives a small, pointed tilt of his head to Gaz.

"Keep an eye on the cargo, will ya?"

"'Course, sir. I'll make sure 't keep the," now it's Gaz's turn to spare a glance to the man looming behind you, a small pull at the corner of his mouth. Gone in an instant. "Subject of interest in clear view."

You bristle slightly at the choice words, it felt like you were missing out on something. An inside joke, perhaps? About you?

"Alright then, let's get on with it."

There's a chorus of 'yes sirs' around the group, sans you, and then a nod from Price. Ghost, Soap, and the captain split off to head off to the right, using the blanket of night as their only cover.

You turn away as soon as they're out of sight, redirecting your attention to the other two men now on either side of you.

"You heard the captain," Gaz says. "On with it."

You find yourself wishing you doned the original gear given to you when you became a Predator. The hooded cowl, full black outfit, and, of course, all your weapons and tools, would be extremely useful right now. Perfect for this little mission you lot were on; would let you blend into the dark of night much more seamlessly than the oversized clothing you'd been given.

There was that, and then there was the only piece of equipment you were handed. A throat mic; a snug piece of elastic that was always on, listening to every breath you took and every word you didn't say. You wouldn't be surprised if there were a tracker inside it as well.

A collar, ironic, really, but fitting. Adorning you just like the dog object you had always been. It was nothing new to you.

As a Hatchling, when on any operation, solo or not, you had been made to wear something similar. Only it had more of a.. bite to it. Sewn into the nape of your neck and would emit a stinging shock if whoever was overseeing your progress deemed you uncooperative.

This was an upgrade in comparison.

The clothes, however, were not, and you were glad you'd been able to keep the boots you'd been captured in.

König, the giant bastard–you had no clue why he had given you that note, was there a more malicious intent behind the act?–, was surprisingly good at keeping a low profile. Moving through the shadows with a kind of efficiency some second-year Hatchlings couldn't even manage–they'd have to do better if they wanted to survive.

Then again, the only lighting was the waning gibbous of a moon in the sky, an array of stars, and the dim, flickering street lights.

So, really, not that difficult of a feat.

It also wasn't hard to be silent with one's strides when only sand was underfoot, so you couldn't give props to König for that either.

Oh, now look at that, your little trio had finally made it to the first building. It's about damn time.

Slow, the two of them. Like sloths.

That was an insult to sloths around the globe.

The side door is jammed shut, not budging under either of the two's weight, and the idea of kicking it in was quickly abandoned; that wouldn't help at all with keeping a low profile.

Instead, you all have to resort to slowly yet efficiently peeling the piece of cloth nailed into the window frame to get in. Only after that are you three able to climb through the window and into the first building. König radios in your all's progress and is met with a similar update from Soap.

There is a quick sweep of the ground floor before Gaz splits off to investigate the room on the left, König dragging you to one that veers off to the right.

You three regroup at the base of the stairway and slowly work up to the next floor, Gaz leading and König keeping up the back, squishing you between the two.

It doesn't take long to clear out the first building–three floors total and a roof–, having been met with zero resistance, and soon enough your group is infiltrating building two.

The city is so closely knit, each alley only about a meter apart, that the transition time from one building to another may as well be non-existent. The amount of floors on each varies, but the layouts of each are pretty much the same. This makes for an even faster clearing time.

The three of you continue the same method of sweeping each floor and building–Gaz going solo on one side of a hallway, you and König working through the other–for the next few buildings and soon enough you all are halfway through.

"Bravo Six 't Gaz, how's it on your end?"

You're on a transition between another grouping of buildings, working on breaching the next. Gaz doesn't look away from where you and König are meticulously picking at another window covering when he radios back.

"Dead silent, sir."

There's a brief moment of static before the captain's voice cuts through again.

"Keep pushing, there's gotta be something here. Out."

"It has been very quiet." König speaks up as the last shreds of cloth are peeled back.

"Too quiet." Gaz agrees.

Then you three are climbing through the vacant window frame, rubber soles landing soundlessly against another tiled floor.

The immediate atmosphere is.. different from the other buildings you all had combed through. Stagnant and full of dust? Yes. Though it was the underlying energy of the structure that sent your nerves alight, a sense of foreboding crawling up your spine.

You can tell the others had registered the change in ambiance just as you had; a tension in König's broad shoulders and a deep frown settling on Gaz's lips.

The search of the first floor comes up empty; the small half bath, living space, kitchenette, and tiny closet not hiding anything spectacular within their walls.

The second floor yields the same results, this time with two minimalist bedrooms and another half bath.

Gaz sends König a look, having a silent conversation with the taller man, then the two of them turn to you. Gaz steps away from the stairway, eyes flicking over to you now.

"Maus," König says, voice low as he breaks the heavy silence. "How 'bout you take point?"

You know it's not a question but an order, a test to see if you'll follow any command given; even with the unsettling undercurrent of the atmosphere. If you'll take it in stride or cower behind like the mutt you are.

You briefly analyze the two with a look of your own before nodding and quietly stepping to the front.

It's not until you're halfway up the stairs that you hear the ticking. A faint, almost unintelligible sound you probably wouldn't be able to catch if not for your enhanced hearing.

You pause, holding up a hand for the others behind you.

"What's wrong?" Gaz whispers.

You bring that same hand down to tap your forefinger against your ear instead, still not taking your eyes off the entrance of the third floor that looms ahead. You hear König mutter something to Gaz, likely transmitting your actions to the other man.

A passive thought passes through you; that the others most likely didn't have the same enhancements you did. Couldn't see in the dark or hear the chitters of mice from a mile away like you could.

This, though, this wasn't mice.

You knew deep down, really, what it was. You still found yourself hoping you were wrong.

When you don't move Gaz speaks again.

"I don't hear anything." Well I do, you think bitterly.

Still, you push yourself to move again, forcing each foot in front of the other as you climb up the remaining half of the steps.

You don't even have to look in the other rooms to see it.

"Scheiß." König breathes out from behind you.

The two now standing beside you could probably only see the vague outline of it, the flashing of red bulbs on top, but you.. you can see the whole thing.

You don't follow Gaz as the man steps forward, bringing his flashlight over the literal ticking time bomb. A mess of wires and tubes, crisscrossing over the faded shades of grey of what is clearly some type of explosive.

Many explosives, wrapped up tightly together into one mega bomb by duct tape and wires.

"Told you I heard something." You grumble.

"Yeah, but how-" Gaz shakes his head, sighing. "Nevermind."

Then Gaz brings his hand up to the radio strapped to his vest, holding down the small button.

"Captain," he says, voice stiff. "We have a problem."

There's a brief opening and closing of the other line, a short wave of static, and Gaz takes this as a sign to keep going.

"Explosives. Sixth building, third floor."

It only takes a few seconds before a response comes through. "Say again?"

"They've got fuckin' bombs, sir."

There's another pause, brief chatter, then Soap speaks over the radio waves next.

"Seems we've both got tha' problem."

Your own feet stay rooted to the ground as the two others investigate the bomb, trading clipped words with the other half of their team. Trying to figure out how to defuse it–if it can even be defused. Soap says it's possible, but there's an edge to his tone and you can hear exactly as to why.

The ticking, the underlying buzz of energy snaking through the wires, is steadily speeding up.

You don't have time.

In a split second, you make a decision, turning on your heel and charging out of the room. Down to the bottom floor, through the side door, and ramming into the next building. It doesn't matter if you make noise now, whoever set these explosives up obviously knew someone was coming.

Heavy footfalls behind you–reminiscent of your days' capture–, you know you're being followed. You don't care, you have to be sure.

The ticking is louder this time, you barely make it halfway to the second floor before that rhythmic beat is making itself known.

Identical to the one before, in the center of the building, the center of the room.

"Mouse, what the hell- oh."

You turn again, rushing out of the room and down the stairs once more. Passing a startled König halfway down who hurries to turn and catch up with you.

"Captain, we've got another-" Gaz is still upstairs, now making his way down, and you hear him as clearly as you would if you were standing right beside him.

By the fourth confirmed bomb, only a singular building out from where all six of you were supposed to meet up, everything is starting to add up.

Why the building you all had swept through had been completely empty, abandoned even by its invasive occupants. You wouldn't be surprised if the target wasn't here at all–only their lackeys to set up the charges.

Whoever had informed Price had received either incorrect or intentionally deceiving intel.

A trap, and now all six of you were stuck in it.

"König, Gaz, forget the damn explosives an' get the hell out of there-!" Price shouts over the comms and you hear it before you feel it.

A low hum, faint ticking, a final, louder click before the noise stops altogether.

The three of you are at the bottom of the last building you'd investigated, the ground rumbles beneath you, accompanied by an ear-splitting crash and boom of the bomb going off.

The first only sets off a chain reaction, beginning from the one above you and working backward from where you came–leaving no option but to continue on forward.

Shouts and panicked voices continue to crackle over the radios attached to König and Gaz, that is the least of your concerns when the walls around you are starting to crack and crumble beneath their own weight.

Running purely on instinct, on nothing but the need to get out and survive, you don't look back. Leaving the two nobodies behind as you leap and crash through the nearest window. Charging through empty streets and weaving between the debris that rains from above.

You think you hear someone calling your name but it's drowned out by the overwhelming sounds of falling buildings, brick against cement. Shattering glass in the few windows that still had them, metal support beams narrowly missing you by a hair's width.

A yelp, a sound foreign to you, rips from your throat as something snags on your pant leg, tripping you over your own feet and sending you tumbling.

You're up again and rolling for cover just in time before a large chunk of concrete slams into the ground in the exact spot you had been mere seconds ago.

There's no time to catch your breath, no time to check behind you or look for your captors–you have to go.

And go you do, until you're unsure which way is left and right, up and down; lost in a maze of broken streets and the remnants of fallen structures.

Dust and other particle debris have created a dense fog over the wreckage, clouding even your enhanced vision and you once again find yourself grateful for the cloth that tethers you–protecting you, even if just temporarily, from the polluted air.

Methodically, you find the wherewithal to analyze and catalog every inch of your person. A small bit of relief soothes your frantic mind as you find no new injuries–only a burning in the older ones from the strain of being on your feet for so long.

You find an odd comfort in those, the ache in your thigh, the throb of your arm, they remind you that you're still here. That you're alive.

You let your weight drop heavy against the broken half wall behind you, tipping your head up towards the blocked-out sky and panting.

They're probably wondering where you are, if you're even alive- then it hits you,

What if you just.. didn't go back?

They wouldn't know if you were alive or dead, if you had run away or gotten trapped under the fallen scraps of cement.

This was the perfect opportunity. The perfect time to get up and shamble away. Find a way out of what remains of this city, out of this damn country–whichever one it was–and..

And what? Where would you go?

Viktória–your handler–had made it clear you weren't welcomed back when she left you to rot in enemy hands. She likely assumed you were dead anyway.

Even if you resented her, even if she'd been the cause of your suffering over the expanse of your life–twenty-two years and counting–; you still couldn't find it in yourself to.. hate her.

She was the one to tend to your wounds after a particularly bad session, to be the one to call off ones that went too far. The ones that pushed you to the point of blacking out.

The blare of a phone cuts off your internal monologue, causing you to flinch against the sudden spike in the beginnings of a budding migraine.

A phone? You didn't.. you don't have a phone. Have nothing more than the strap around your throat–the tracker around your throat.

It takes your overstimulated ears a prolonged moment to pinpoint the source, and when you find it your confusion only grows.

Slowly, you push yourself up to a half crawl, half walk, making your way for the incessant ring of a payphone.

Dirt-encrusted gloves grapple for the handset of the worn phone, other hand stabilizing yourself on the plastic lip of the box.

Not really expecting a response, and clueless on how the damned thing even survived the explosion, you hold the receiver to your ear, muttering a scratchy, "hello?"

"Myš." Comes the voice in the other line, sounding almost.. relieved?

Your muscles immediately tense up at the sound of your handlers' voice, fingers gripping the phone tightly.

"Vik." You force out, words stilted. "What do y'want?"

"You're still alive." She states the obvious and you know better than to read the surprise in her voice as anything more than it is. "Good."

You consider revisiting that shouting match from the day you'd been captured, feeling that warm anger bubbling just beneath your skin.

You don't.

"I see you've gotten well acquainted with your targets. They trust you, yes?"

"Not quite." Where the fuck is this going? She abandoned you, so why is she acting as if nothing happened?

"I trust you can rectify that."

"What do you want, Vik?"

"Predator-107, that is what you are," She starts, a familiar resolve in her tone. "And I am here to properly debrief your current ongoing assignment."

"So.. you meant for me to get caught?"

"That we did. Had to make it believable, make those men think they had the upper hand. Any injuries you sustained were a necessary sacrifice, to cement the idea that you were helpless."

The clinical, logic-based words sunk their claws deep into you–a certain calm drowning out your previously panicked thoughts. This was something you knew, could latch onto, this you could handle.

An assignment. You hadn't been abandoned after all.

"What do you need from me?"

"Intel. Gather it. We need every scrap of information you can dig up on these soldiers. I want every word they speak, every action they make, transcribed and sent to me."

"May I ask why?"

"You may not." Is her immediate response. "But I will tell you."

"These men who call themselves heroes, who claim to be the ones to make the enemy scared of the dark, have been.. causing problems." And problems required immediate pruning, that was lesson number one. "Tailing us. Getting far too close for comfort, one could say. She wants them gone, but we need to know them from the inside out first. All previous attempts have only encouraged them."

"And that's where I come in?"

"Yes, 107, that is where you come in.."

Looks like you wouldn't be making a run for it after all.

"We need you to collect data, do anything you can to gain their trust. Infiltrate and collect, that is your assignment."

"Got it." A pause, then you ask, "how did you know I'd be here anyway?"

"We didn't." Ah, so it was purely luck-based. Lovely. "We always have your location on hand, it wasn't difficult to devise a method of contact after that."

They were still tracking you? After all these years, you really shouldn't be surprised.

The note König had given back to weights heavily in your pocket, burning a hole into your thigh. You neglect to mention it.

"Received." You mutter. "I better get back before they think of me dead."

Or, worse, that you left.

"On the other side, 107." Then the line goes dead, not even static or a dial tone. Completely severed now that it had served its purpose.

Just like you'd be one day.

The trek to find the others is long and exhausting and you're a bit surprised to see them there, waiting for you. König pacing about while Price talks in a hushed voice to a man you'd never seen before.

You suppose this must be the fabled Nikolai you'd heard so much about. Namely by Gaz.

Soap is the first to spot you, perking up and elbowing Ghost who stands beside him.

The two of them turn to look at you in a synchronized flick of their eyes, Ghost muttering something that sounds like a call for attention under his breath.

"Mouse." Price says when you get within, what the other man probably assumes is, hearing distance.

"Ay." You breathe, regarding each of them with a tired glance and tilting your head in greeting towards the presumed Nikolai.

"Thought you'd bailed on us." Price continues.

You can do nothing but give a small shrug of your shoulders, grunting. "Not like I got anywhere else to go."

You catch König's eyes doing a quick once over of your worn body, searching for any new injuries. When he comes up empty he gives you a brief nod.

"This is the new one, then?" Nikolai asks. The familiar, distinct Russian accent that tinged his words freezes you where you stand.

You drag your gaze back up to him, forcing the rigidness out of your body one muscle at a time.

"Mouse." You say in lieu of a formal introduction.

"Nikolai." He parrots back. There's a tense moment where you two regard one another and you briefly consider him a possible spy to make sure you stay on task. Doing a mental catalog of all the people you've met before and coming up blank, to which you immediately drop the idea.

He looks at you like there's something recognizable in your voice–no matter how much effort you put in to keep it as neutral as possible.

You turn away first, walking over to take your place beside Gaz and your assigned babysitter, König. Price and Nikolai exchange a few more words before the captain waves a hand and turns, the man's words drowned out by your turbulent thoughts.

The flight is quick and uninterrupted, the subsequent landing much the same. When addressed you merely respond in clipped words and hums of acknowledgment, strangely enough, wanting nothing more than to return to your unofficial cell.

The debrief is postponed in favor of treating the few injuries sustained by the others and soon enough König is escorting you back to said room.

On direct orders himself to get checked out after securing you in your cell, König leaves. Locking the door behind him.

His absence isn't the drag it usually is and you immediately beeline for the tiny desk pushed up against the far right of the room, nestled into the corner of the same wall shared by the door.

Sitting down in the creaky chair you shove a hand into your pocket, gloved fingers curling around the flimsy paper you've looked over many times before.

You unfold it, reading the same unintelligible red once again. Just to be sure.

Viktória hadn't mentioned the note, so neither had you. Now that you thought about it, the paper was likely intentionally left blank. To make you assume the worst; make you think you'd been left behind–which you had.

The washed-out red, nearly pink now, is familiar. A color you've come to associate with your handlers' usual messages.

The handwriting, however, doesn't belong to her–far too jagged compared to the neat, curved lines you were used to.

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