#a rare bottom sam moment from me

[jayjay-thejet-plane]

He’s wearing the ‘psychic booty’ shorts i doodled yesterday😎

Pst, the full image is in chap 15 of my ao3 art archive linked in my pinned or you can check the replies🤫

[beholdthebangs]

Perseverance

Sebastian x F!Reader

~ 18+ ~

Synopsis: Smut - You spend far too much time thinking about Sebastian only for him to keep you at arms length for months. Conversations always turn to arguments but one night, arguments turn into something entirely new.

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: dirty talk, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, semi-rough sex, praise, lowkey brat!reader, jealousy, arguing, smoking, drinking

A/n: I don’t have a good summary for this, I just wanted to write about Sebastian so I did ☺️

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Waking up with the rise of the sun every day is certainly not a lifestyle everyone can get behind, but it’s the one you chose the day you left your corporate work life behind to take over your late grandfather’s farm. The days are often long, but you love the occasional short ones where your list of tasks is short enough to crawl into bed by sunset, body aching nonetheless, hoping that maybe the extra time spent resting will heal you this time. Because of your somewhat unique schedule, you frequently run into the same residents of Pelican Town. Alex often crosses paths with you on his morning run. Sometimes his grandmother, Evelyn, is in the town’s centre watering the flowerbeds as you hurry to Pierre’s to pick up seeds. Shane is often on his way to work and you greet him cheerfully in exchange for a tired grunt.

In turn, there are many people you hardly get the chance to see. You can never seem to track down Marnie for one reason or another. Sam is often so wrapped up in practicing his skateboarding tricks or rehearsals for his band that it’s difficult to get a sentence out of him. Gus is a rare sight, almost always locked away in his saloon which you sometimes pass longingly on busy days, wishing you could afford to slow things down for a moment but never having the luxury.

There’s also the night owl of the town: Sebastian. Tucked away in the mountains, typing away at the computer in the basement room he so frequently occupies, and you’d wondered if he ever left the confines of it. A short while into your time in Pelican Town, you finally get your answer.

The night had slipped away from you as you descended into the mines. You eventually throw in the towel and hurry out into the cool summer night breeze as the clock hits midnight, hoping to get just enough sleep to regain your energy tomorrow. As you hustle across the wooden bridge near the mine entrance, you notice a small glow from across the lake. Curiosity getting the better of you, you approach it slowly. Only a few feet away now, a shuffle is heard and a figure moves out from behind the thick trunk of a pine tree, a small yelp pulling from your throat. It twitches, moving quickly to look at you.

“Y/n?” it says. You recognize the raspy voice as Sebastian’s, the moon’s light finally helping you fill in the dark image before you.

“Sebastian, what are you doing out here?”

He holds up his cigarette between his two fingers before bringing it back to his lips, the cherry at the end lighting up orange and red, resembling that subtle glow that had pulled you in.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Yep,” he replies, taking his eyes off you and looking back out over the lake that sits before him.

“Do you get lectured a lot?” you wonder. He looks back, tilting his head in confusion. “You seem a little defensive.”

Sebastian shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. My mom isn’t particularly happy about it but she’s always telling me to get out of my room.” He gestures vaguely to the nature surrounding him. You let out a small laugh.

“I’ll let you get back to it.” He doesn’t answer, just nodding as he turns himself back to the lake, leaning against the trunk of the tree behind him. With that, you head back home, barely making it into bed before 2 am and getting your bare-minimum 4 hours of sleep for the night.

Since then, you’ve felt an urge to go back to the mines in the afternoons. While you’re nearing the bottom levels, you know that your motivation doesn’t lie with the desire of reaching whatever awaits you underground. Once the time passes 7 pm, you want to quit and head back home. You want to leave the mines and look across the lake for that glowing cherry of Sebastian’s cigarette. To have a conversation so barebones that it’s a stretch to consider it a conversation. For some reason, you spend far too much time going over all the things you could say to him only to have a surface-level chat each time you manage to catch him before scurrying off as soon as the silence is too thick to break through.

This goes on for months, until the end of winter. It’s the last time you’ll be able to go to the mines for a while as you anticipate a busy spring. Your finances are in a good position with the gems you’d found in the mines over the cold season, and you have the gold to invest in a few hundred seeds this time around. The time and energy it’ll take to tend to your crops means you’ll likely only be able to go to the mines on rainy days, in which you’d noticed Sebastian wouldn’t be hanging around at night like he usually was.

When you call it quits in the mines tonight, it’s just past 11 pm. You can’t help but smile seeing the smoke blowing over the lake as you leave the cave, restraining yourself just enough to not skip over. “Hey,” you say, drawing his attention and he glances over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he replies quickly.

You stand to his side, just out of sight as he’s turned away from you. With a hesitant look over his shoulder once again, you make eye contact. He shuffles awkwardly, turning his body toward you as if confused to why you’re still standing there, staring at him.

“Do you mind if I have some of that?” you ask, gesturing toward his cigarette when he doesn’t move.

“You want to slut off it?” he asks. Your eyes widen, lips pursed at his words. He rushes out, “It’s a saying—“ and clears his throat as if to cut himself off. “Sorry. Here.”

Sebastian holds out his hand, cigarette between his index and middle finger for you to grab. You take it carefully, praying to Yoba that you don’t look as dumb as you feel fumbling with it. You grip it between your thumb and index finger, holding it up to your mouth and taking a quick puff, eyes flickering from the tip up to his eyes. He stares at you instead of breaking any eye contact like he usually does, studying you. While the taste of overwhelmingly bitter smoke is obvious, the paper of the cigarette holds the slightest bit of mint and you wonder if this is what Sebastian’s mouth would taste like. You hold the smoke in for a moment then breathe it out, his face fuzzy for a moment as the smoke spreads between you before being carried away with the wind. It takes everything in you not to choke with the feeling in your lungs, but you manage. Sebastian’s eyes still on you, you hand the stick back.

“How was your Feast of the Winter Star?” you ask as he brings it back to his mouth. You can’t help but wonder, watching him, if he’s thinking about your lips lingering there just moments ago just as you had.

“Good.” He hesitates. “How was yours?”

“Good! Who was your secret gift giver?”

“Clint. He gave me obsidian. You?”

“Cool,” you nod, making a mental note at the lack of disdain in his voice and jumping to the conclusion that it was a good gift for him. “Alex was mine. He got me a gold bar.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, looking back over at the lake and shutting a part of himself off from you once again. ���You don’t have enough of those yet? You’re in the mines every day.”

“Every bit helps,” you shrug.

“Where’d he get the money for that?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You must be close if he’s shelling out that much money on a gift for you.”

“Close is an overstatement.” He doesn’t seem to believe you, only taking a long drag in response. “You seem to really care about this,” you comment.

He scoffs. “Yep, it’s all I care about.”

“It’s just strange how you can hardly keep a conversation going, and now you’re asking me all these questions about Alex.”

“Maybe I don’t have an interest in holding up conversations,” he retorts. The way he says it cuts you deeper than you’d like to admit. You had subconsciously changed your routine to run into him, mind constantly running over your previous chats and future ones. To hear that he can’t relate to that at all, and in fact may even dread seeing you stroll over in the dark of the night, hurts.

“I thought you may take some enjoyment from it,” you mutter, looking to your shoes.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. He takes one last hit from his cigarette, then throws it in the patch of dirt at his feet, smothering it with his foot. “I’ll stop with the mixed signals, then. Goodnight, Y/n.” With that, he retreats back to his house, the remnants of smoke drifting off behind him as he exhales, leaving you with the smell of it as you watch him walk away in your peripheral.

Three weeks have gone by since that last conversation. If you’d thought Sebastian occupied too many of your thoughts before, it had gotten increasingly bad since. While you hadn’t seen him after that night, you would think of him when you saw Alex, Clint, or even gold. In fact, there wasn’t much that didn’t draw your attention to the darkened demeanor of the mysterious boy in the mountains. The switch in him hadn’t left you, and it continued to confuse and wound you no matter how long you thought about it.

The day of the flower dance finally arrives and as you shower, you think about what you might say to Sebastian. While it’s not his scene, you can be almost sure that he’ll be present regardless—if Abigail is forced to go, she’ll force Sebastian along with her. Part of you wonders if he would accept a request to dance with you, and you can’t help but laugh as you picture it. A man who couldn’t care less about talking to you certainly wouldn’t want to stare at you in a frilly dress and claim you as his partner, even if only for a minute.

After drying your hair and pulling on the formal dress all the girls wear for the occasion, you head south of your farm, through the shortcut into the woods. As you approach, classical music grows louder and you finally cross the bridge over to Pierre’s stand.

You begin greeting your neighbors, making rounds. You head the opposite direction of Sebastian, making eye contact over the back of Sam’s shoulder who seems to be going on about something that Sebastian is uninterested in. You take your time chatting with the others until, inevitably, you complete the loop with Sam, Abigail, and Sebastian.

“Hey guys!” you muster up your most energetic voice, waving as you approach their circle.

“Y/n! You look so good!” Abigail exclaims.

“You do too!”

Sam clears his throat obnoxiously, the others’ eyes drawn to him. “You look great too, Sam,” you add, throwing an over-exaggerated wink his way.

“At least someone noticed,” he grins.

You finally turn your attention to Sebastian. “How are you?” you offer, in large part because you miss the frivolous pleasantries you used to exchange, but also because Sam and Abigail would be rather suspicious if you said nothing in his direction.

“Good,” he responds rather roughly.

You look at him for a few seconds as he refuses to meet your gaze. You take full opportunity to scan over him in his blue suit. Though he wears an outfit identical to Sam’s, his tall stature and dark tattoos peaking from his neckline and sleeves give it a much different vibe. You force yourself away, taking a quick breath in and turning to the other two. “Well, I should get going. Enjoy the dance!” Abigail and Sam mutter their goodbyes as they glance between you and their friend, and you don’t bother looking back at Sebastian as you walk away.

You’d originally planned to sit this dance out like you had last year, but the way Sebastian refused to acknowledge you has caused something within you to break. You had toiled over your last conversation for cumulative hours each day and for him to not even bother asking you how you are? Even just for appearances’ sake?

Your gaze is set on Alex and your feet are carrying you toward him before you can register the decision. He smiles at you as you get closer, pulling his attention from Haley who circles the field as if stretching her body for the dance. “Hey Y/n, looking good.”

“Hey Alex,” you sigh as you stop a foot in front of him. “Will you dance with me?”

His eyes widen, flickering between you and Haley. She doesn’t seem to notice what’s going on, and Alex chews on his bottom lip as he debates his options. After a few seconds, he gives in. “Yeah, sure. That would be fun, thanks Y/n.”

You smile, nodding as if to confirm to yourself his answer before leaving to give Lewis the go-ahead.

The young men line up in the middle of the field, their counterparts facing them a few feet apart as music begins to play. It’s your second flower dance, but your first time participating. Being so new to the valley last year made it difficult to find a partner and you’d decided to sit it out and watch in hopes you could participate in the future. Now, you’re racking your brain to recall the steps.

Though you fall slightly out of sync with the girls who have done this dance for years, you manage to keep up, letting out quiet giggles with Alex whose expression is filled with amusement as he watches you. Sam stands next to him, Sebastian at the end, and you can’t help but steal a couple glances during the course of the song. He looks substantially less happy than the two boys closer to you, and you can’t help but wonder if the reason is more complex than his distaste for the festival.

As the music ends, Alex closes the gap and holds your arm for a moment. “You did great!”

“Thanks for being my partner,” you respond, smiling graciously.

“Any time.” He lowers his voice, leaning closer to your ear. “Haley’s great, but she takes this stuff really seriously. It was nice to just have some fun with it.”

The crowd disperses shortly after with the main event concluding. Sebastian, with Abigail and Sam on his heels, leads the charge as he practically storms away from the open field and back toward the town. You spend a few minutes mingling before heading back to your farm for the night.

Two days later, you find yourself nearing the end of a long week and in desperate need of food and alcohol. You sit at the bartop of the saloon, having finished a plate of crab cakes and your second beer of the night when Sam enters. He greets you as he passes, heading toward the pool table in the other room.

Your eyes are trained on his back, weighing your options for the rest of the night. You could either head back home and toss and turn in bed, or you could take this opportunity to bond and have some fun. You pause for just a moment before rising to your feet, hurrying after Sam. He’s already setting up a game when you enter. “When does your partner arrive?” you ask.

“Seb?” Sam checks his watch. “Hopefully within the next half hour. He’s not the most punctual.”

“Want to play a round?” you ask, gesturing to the table.

He seems taken aback, but quickly agrees. “That sounds fun. You want to break?” Sam offers up a cue and you take it, crossing the distance to the other side of the table. It had been a while since you’d played, so you had no strategy, but having seen Sam play against Sebastian for the past year, it seemed like it could be a fair fight.

You lean over, positioning the pool cue over your fingers and hit the cue ball hard. As it strikes the others, they fly across the table. You pocket a couple solids in the motion and you grin as you watch them roll in, happy to have had some luck. Sam groans as he leans against the wall behind him, cue vertical in his hands, resting on the floor between his feet.

You manage to sink another ball before missing the pocket, and Sam takes over. He pockets one as you’d accidentally left the perfect setup, but he fails to get anything more. As you work to line up your next shot, you hear him yell out a greeting. Glancing up, Sebastian has just entered. He quirks his head up curtly at Sam in response but his movements stutter as his eyes scan over to you. Before you can muster up any words, he looks away and takes a spot on the couch, eyes trained on his phone screen.

“Y/n and I are just playing a quick round,” Sam explains. “You don’t mind, right?” Sebastian grunts in response as if to dismiss him. Sam chuckles to himself.

You attempt to focus back on your shot, feeling an extra pressure with Sebastian here. Not only is he good at pool, but you have a desire to impress him. You take a deep breath while leaned over the table before pulling back and sinking your fourth solid.

“Killing me,” Sam mutters and you laugh. Sneaking a peak to the couch on your right, Sebastian has his gaze trained on the table. You locate your next shot on the left side and lean down facing the moody man, biting your lip as you try to position the pool cue perfectly. The shot is good, but your next one isn’t hard enough to sink the ball, though it’s in the perfect position only a few inches from the corner pocket.

Sam manages to hit a couple, celebrating loudly after each. When your turn comes back around, you have to circle the table to face the corner, your back to Sebastian. It gives you some comfort to know his view is blocked and if you miss the softball of a shot you’re about to take, he won’t be able to see it as clearly. You lean over, trying to ignore the weird expressions shooting across Sam’s face directed behind you, and pocket it.

One more lucky hit later, you call your shot for the 8-ball and, likely much to Sebastian’s relief as he’s stuck spectating, win the game. You cheer, waving the pool cue in the air as you jump excitedly. Sam congratulates you begrudgingly, crossing his arms.

“All yours, Seb,” you announce, laying the stick down on the table with a look of pride still clear on your face. You turn to look at the man on the couch as he fidgets.

Rising to his feet, he stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “I’m going to have a smoke, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’ll go with,” you say. Unsurprisingly, your self invite doesn’t excite him l but you don’t let it stop you.

You follow his lead through the crowded saloon and out the door. The sun has set and you realize just how warm it was inside, feeling your skin tighten in response to the chill in the air despite being just around the corner from summer.

Sebastian pulls a cigarette out, putting one end in his mouth and flicking the lighter, holding it to the other end. He shields the flame from the wind, the motion reflecting the light of the flame to his face moreso than before. Once it ignites, he stuffs the lighter back in his jeans pocket and buries his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, seemingly feeling the effects of the cold air as well.

You pull the thin fabric of your long sleeve shirt further over your hands, crossing your arms around the bottom of your ribcage in an attempt to combat the cold. Sebastian blows out a puff of smoke, finally looking over at you. His eyes flicker down, almost as if to look at your chest, but they meet your eye before the motion can register. “You seem cold.” You realize the indents of your now-hardened nipples are prevalent in your top and you move your arms further up, trying to brush it off as a natural response.

“I’m fine,” you reply. “We don’t need to talk, since you hate it so much.”

“Then why follow me out here?” he interrogates.

“Crowded in there,” you answer with a shrug. He clearly doesn’t believe you, but you add nothing else in your defense. Silence stretches on, and you fight back all the things you’d been dying to say to him since the end of winter. To your surprise, his voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Looked good with Alex the other day.” You don’t reply. “Make it official yet?”

“Make what official?”

“You two,” he says, pointing between you and the Mullner household just around the corner from the saloon.

“There’s nothing to make official.”

“Got rejected?”

“No,” you snap. “Nothing to reject, either.” He says nothing. “What is it with him?”

“You tell me.”

“Really, Sebastian. You get so weird about Alex. Are you jealous of him or something?” He scoffs, taking another deep drag from his cigarette.

You study him from the corner of your eye. He’s shutting down, not about to give you any real answer and there’s nothing you can do about it but go about the next few days or weeks until your paths cross and you corner him into a conversation. Before you can think too much about it, you reach over and grab the cigarette from his mouth, putting it between your own lips and sucking in dark smoke.

After exhaling, you hold it between you to offer it back. When Sebastian doesn’t take it, you finally look over and his mouth is hanging open slightly, eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn’t necessarily look pissed. A moment of silence passes and you groan, taking the initiative to place the cig back between his lips. He closes around it, taking a small puff before pulling it back out and holding it between his index and middle finger, still waiting for some sort of explanation.

“I don’t know what your deal is with Alex.”

“You want to know what my deal is?” he challenges.

“Yes! Dear Yoba, yes!” you exclaim.

He turns to look at you, his torso still pressed against the exterior wall. “I hate the things Alex has. I hate that he has them, and that I don’t.”

“What does he have? Muscles?”

“I have muscles,” Sebastian retorts. You raise an eyebrow skeptically, lips twisted in a half-smile. “But no. He has money to buy you fancy gifts and people that really care about him. He has the boldness to talk to you whenever he wants, however he wants, and he has the charisma to make you like it.”

“I’d argue that you do that, too.” Sebastian rolls his eyes. “You give me the silent treatment for days at a time. I have to grovel with you to have a conversation, and I have to adjust my schedule to catch you outside your room, away from your work. You bitch at me for whatever’s got you in a mood that day and I take it and I sit with it until the next time I get to talk to you. You tell me you have no interest in talking to me and I spend so much time wondering how to change that. So yeah, I think you get away with a lot more than he does.”

“That’s because you’re annoyingly outgoing, not because you care any more about me than you do anyone else.”

“That’s not true,” you snap. “You’d know that if you’d bother to ask, or even just think critically for a few seconds.”

“You’d know that I don’t hate talking to you most of the time if you did the same.”

“You told me you don’t care to talk to me. You want me to ask clarifying questions after that?”

“What more do you need from me? I’m not going to get on my knees and beg you for your time,” Sebastian sneers.

“Do you think that’s what I’m asking for?”

He shrugs. “I let you hit my cigarettes, I don’t actively avoid you… what more is there?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you fein confusion. “Telling me how you feel instead of —apparently— lying to me? Even just talking to me like a normal person once in a while? ‘Hey Y/n.’ ‘How are you, Y/n?’ ‘You look good today, Y/n.’”

“You do look good today,” Sebastian mumbles begrudgingly, taking another puff of his cigarette.

“And you look good every fucking day! But I never get the chance to tell you because you ignore me or you bring up Alex and talk about how annoyed you are that he pays me even a shred of attention.”

“Because it’s annoying that he does that.”

“So you want me to do what exactly? Rely on you to give me any and all conversation? I’ll go stir crazy if I only speak to someone twice a month while twisting their arm to do so.”

“I’d be happy to talk to you more if you stop bringing him up,” Sebastian snips at you. “Until you get over him, I don’t see that happening.”

You glare at the tall, brooding man. “I’m not under him.”

“As much as you wish you were,” he says under his breath. It’s not quiet enough, the valley’s silence after sunset too encapsulating for him to get away with his dig.

“If I wanted to be, I would.”

Sebastian hums around his cigarette. “So what’s stopping you?”

“I don’t think about Alex the same way I think about you. Alex is a friend and that’s all I want him to be.”

His fidgeting come to a halt for a moment, turning to face you. “Then how do you think about me?” His voice is low, speaking barely above a whisper.

You match him, your body pointed in his direction. “I think about you all the time. When I wake up, when I’m in the mines, when I go home. When I get into bed…”

Sebastian steps closer, only a few inches from you now. “Mhmm… and what do you do when you think about me?”

You look up at him through your eyelashes. The way he phrases his words implores you to open up to him and bare it all. Maybe it’s liquid courage or the adrenaline of raising your voice or finally speaking your mind. “It depends.”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes I scream into a pillow at how frustrating you are.” Sebastian cracks a smile. “Sometimes I scream into a pillow at the thought of how good you could make me feel.”

“You think about it too, hmm?” he says, free hand moving up to place his fingers under your chin, keeping your gaze locked on him. Despite the cool spring breeze, your cheeks are red with heat.

“Yeah,” you breathe. Your fingers grab at the front of his hoodie, lacing with the fabric to bring him closer to you. The scent of cigarette smoke grows stronger, but so does the remnants of his spearmint gum. The two work together to create something that feels intoxicating to you, and all you want is to finally taste it.

Sebastian must notice how your eyes are trained on his soft lips. He puts his hands on either side of your face, cigarette still barely tucked between his left fingers, and pulls you to him, ducking down to close the gap your heights leave. Your lips touch, and you let out a small breath of relief, of desire. It spurs him on, right hand moving to the small of your back and pressing you to him as if no space between your bodies is still too much space. Your arms wrap around his neck, keeping him at your level. When his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, you don’t hesitate to allow him entrance, basking in his taste as your tongues meet.

“Think we should leave,” he mumbles between kisses, not making any move to let you go.

You nod against him.

“Gotta tell Sam.”

“Tell him what?” you whine, breathless.

“So much,” Sebastian groans. “But,” he finally pulls away, keeping you in his arms but standing straight so he falls just out of reach, your arms shifting down around his waist. “I gotta tell him I’m leaving.”

Before you can object, he slips out of your grasp, stomping on his cigarette butt and heading inside, leaving you to catch your breath as you lean against the brick siding of the saloon. Maybe thirty seconds later, he’s back out with Sam at his heels who watches you two in disbelief.

“Have fun, you crazy kids!” the blonde calls out as Sebastian wraps his arm around your waist and steers you toward your farm.

You walk in silence, the side of your body pressed to his. You can’t think of anything to interrupt the noise of chirping crickets around you, and certainly nothing to build the tension between you that doesn’t feel embarrassing to say out loud even in the darkness of the dirt walk home. “Second thoughts?” you finally ask as minutes elapse with nothing exchanged between the two of you.

“Fuck no,” Sebastian snarls. “Trying not to look at you or think about you… I want to last long enough to at least make it inside.”

You giggle, pulling him closer and slipping your fingers under his hoodie, nails pressed into his side.

After unlocking your farmhouse, he steps in and immediately spins you against the barely-closed front door. His lips are on yours for a moment before moving down your jaw to your neck, nimble fingers scrambling to tug your shirt past your stomach. He takes a moment to feel your delicate skin, running along your ribcage and the bottoms of your breasts before parting to pull your shirt over your head. “Bold move skipping a bra in this weather.” He stands back, admiring your exposed chest, nipples still hard from the cool air and the arousal he’s provided you in the last few minutes.

“Your turn,” you prompt, moving closer to tug at his hoodie. He pulls it off in one swift motion, and you help take off his t-shirt. He hadn’t lied when he said he had muscles—Robin must put him to work once in a while. His torso is lean, stomach harder to the touch than you’d imagined. The black-inked tattoos that lie hidden on his chest accentuate the divots formed by labor. His arms are understated, but as he reaches forward to grab you, the motion brings out a defined strain below his skin. Sebastian pulls you to him with ease, connecting your lips as your warmed skin meets. The way he writhes against you, uses his whole torso to break your kisses, creates friction that electrifies you, stemming from your sensitive nipples. You moan against his mouth, and his hands quickly wander to your ass, feeling it while he pulls you closer, finally achieving the perfect angle to thrust his clothed length against your core.

“Seb,” you cry, fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head.

“C’mere, princess,” he mumbles, hands fastening tightly under your ass as he pushes you up against the door, pulling your thighs around his waist and settling you around him. Once he secures you, he moves you to your bed, setting you on your back with his thighs holding your legs up around him. He grinds into you as his tongue slips back between your lips, meeting your own.

Your hands feel down his chest, down his stomach, using the dark hair forming a line from his belly button down to his jeans to find the button before fumbling with it. “So greedy,” Sebastian comments, slowing his movements to allow you easier work.

“I want you so bad,” you groan. Even if he was inside of you in the next second, it would still be far too long of a wait.

Seb steps onto the cold wooden floor of your bedroom to finish pulling off his black skinny jeans, kicking them away as they pool around his ankles. He uses the opportunity to tug off your own jeans, smiling as he eyes your black panties with a tiny bow placed in the middle of the waistband just below your belly button. “Were you expecting me, baby?”

“Just hoping,” you admit, happy to find him content with your underwear choice.

He pats your hip. “Turn around, let me see the back.”

You follow his instructions, flipping over with your elbows rested on your pillows, arching your back as you allow him to see your ass in your black panties, pulled tight to the curves of it. Seb groans, placing a hand tightly on the flesh before slapping it harshly, making you jump. “So cute,” he purrs.

His hand slides down, thumb pressing against your core to feel the dampness gathering between your legs through the thin fabric. “Do you get this wet every time you think about me at night?”

You shake your head. “Reality is much better than my imagination.”

“I’m glad, princess, but I haven’t even gotten started with you.” Pulling his hand back, he prompts you to sit up, legs on either side of him as he stands next to your bed. He carefully slides his fingers under your panties, pulling them off as you hold your hips up to help him, arms stretched out behind you. “So beautiful,” he sighs to himself as he takes in your naked body stretched out before him, legs still parted and allowing him full view of your pussy.

“I wanna see you too,” you tell him, reaching forward to his black boxers. The bulge in the fabric of them is apparent, stretching down a decent portion of his thigh.

“Take ‘em off then,” Seb grins, giving you permission to strip him of the last of his clothing. You take your time, slowly revealing his length until all that’s left is the tip. With one final pull, his cock springs out, hot pink tip extended toward you. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth as you take it all in, the knot in your stomach tightening. The lack of friction between your legs is growing increasingly irritating, and your thighs close together in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the ache. “What do you think?” If you hadn’t been looking at one of the most appealing dicks you’d ever seen before, you might think he sounded nervous.

“So fucking hot.”

Sebastian smirks. “All big for you.”

He sits at the head of the bed, propped up by pillows. Patting his chest, he motions for you to lay between his legs. You do so slowly, feeling him press into the small of your back and a groan escapes his throat, bucking his hips involuntarily as you settle against him. Seb pulls your hair behind your back, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck and soothing it over with his tongue. His left hand sneaks around to play with your nipple while his right slowly travels down your stomach, stroking your inner thighs as he sucks bruises into your delicate skin. You arch your back against him, reaching a hand into his hair and tugging at it as he toys with your breasts.

“Sebbb,” you cry, pressing your thighs together as if trying to slide his hand up to your heat.

He lets out a guttural chuckle, loud against your ear. The sound shoots directly down to your core. “Use your words, baby.”

“Touch me, please.”

“Where?”

“Here!” you whimper, removing your hand from his hair and reaching to your dripping cunt.

“Mm-mmm,” he scolds, shaking his head. “Words, princess.” His hand releases your nipple, gripping your wrist tightly to stop you from touching yourself.

“You’re just as exasperating in bed as you are outside of it.”

“I know. You’re surprised?” he asks, feigning shock.

You wiggle, trying to get your hand free from his tight grasp. Giving up, you reach down with your other hand, but he uses the one on your thigh to block you. “Words,” he barks, low in your ear, nipping at the tender spot he just sucked into your neck and refraining from taking away the sting with his mouth. “Do you think I’m joking? Do you think I won’t leave right now to get rope to tie you up with?” You lean into him, giving up the fight. “All you have to do is tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Not that hard, princess.”

“Touch my pussy,” you finally plead. And Sebastian is true to his word; he releases your wrists and snakes his fingers down, dipping his middle finger into your cunt knuckle-deep, collecting your wetness and spreading it up to your clit. Even that motion after all the teasing is enough to elicit a moan, and this spurs on the man to slide his finger easily inside you, thumb rubbing tight circles on your sensitive bud as he thrusts.

“Ready for another?” he asks, to which you squeak out a confirmation. He tucks his ring finger inside, joining his middle, fucking in and out of you as you clench around him. “So wet,” Seb mumbles, leaning to latch onto the other side of your neck with his lips. His other hand returns to your breasts, pinching at your nipples as you lean into him. “Can you take one more?”

“Yes,” you answer, moving your hips in time with his fingers. He adds his index into you, stretching out your hole in preparation for his thick cock. The tips tilt upward, rubbing against the spongy spot inside you. You buck your hips involuntarily, feeling him so deep inside you. While Sebastian’s fingers are long, his cock is nearly twice the length and you quiver at the thought of it inside you. His length twitches, poking against your back as if to remind you of what’s to come.

“Think you’re ready, baby?” he asks. “Wanna be inside you so bad. You feel so tight on my fingers.”

“I’m ready, Seb.”

He pulls out, leaving your cunt feeling incredibly empty. “On your knees, sweetheart. Wanna watch you fuck yourself on my cock right now.”

You bring your legs into your body, tucking your knees below you and spreading them to stabilize yourself on either side of Sebastian. You watch him stroke himself beneath your pussy, hovering over and waiting for him to position his length. He drags his tip from your clit to your hole, spreading his precum mixed with your slick along his length. Once his strokes sound wet and dirty below you, he pokes his tip at your entrance and you tighten at the anticipation. Sebastian reaches around your hip with his other hand to rub your clit as you begin to sit, taking him in slowly.

While he’s making you feel so good, you can tell that he’s distracted now, eyes trained at his groin as he watches himself disappear inside you. When his tip is fully tucked inside, he groans, letting go of his cock and squeezing the fat of your ass, spreading it aside to better see his cock entering you. “So fucking sexy,” he praises. “Such a good girl.”

With his thick tip inside, the rest of his cock is easier to manage though the length building inside you is intense as the backs of your thighs finally meet his hips. You let out the breath you’d been holding, finally feeling his entirety buried inside your cunt. Seb grabs at your hips, holding you down on him as he grinds into you, his tip poking your insides in such a way that you have to grip onto the sheets in front of you for dear life.

He breaks the silence, finally letting out his own deep breath. “Y/n, holy fucking shit.”

“Mm-hmm,” you agree, unable to manage any real words yet.

“Dear Yoba, please,” he whines, “please.”

“Please what?” you inquire, smirking to yourself.

His palm meets your ass with a swift smack. “Don’t be a brat.”

“Use your words,” you tease mockingly.

Sebastian easily lifts your hips, nearly pulling you all the way off his cock before pulling them back down abruptly and you fight off a yelp, coming out instead as a pornographic moan. “Don’t be a brat,” he repeats, emphasizing each word with quick shallow thrusts. You take over, moving yourself up and down his length as he watches, clingy fingers digging into your ass and prodding at your hole sliding along his cock, wetness dripping out as he fills up all the space in your cunt with each thrust.

You roll your hips as you bounce on top of Sebastian, positioning him to hit your g-spot each time you sink down. You squeeze your breasts and rub at your clit as you fuck yourself, head rolling back. Seb reaches up, gripping onto your hair cascading down your body to keep you in place, back arched as his hips meet yours. They roam you with abandon, taking the opportunity to grope you in all the ways the man can think of. As your moans get louder, he attempts to take more control until he finally pulls you off him.

He presses a firm hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you down to your elbows. As he kneels behind you, his cock begs entrance to your soaked pussy and he pushes in with ease. Though you’d gotten used to his girth, even a few seconds of emptiness had nearly reset you and you have to readjust to him. He barely gives you enough time before picking up the pace and burying your face into the blankets below you. You tilt your head to the side, cheek pressed harshly onto the bed as you admire Seb fucking you from behind.

His dark hair is pushed back, revealing most of his face for a change. The studs in his ears reflect the moonlight filtering in through the window near the bed, muscles glistening similarly in sweat. His face is twisted in concentration and pleasure, focused on keeping up the rapid thrusting of his hips and pleasuring you while holding back his own orgasm. You suck in a breath, biting on your lip as you take in the beautiful man bringing you closer and closer to the edge, his fingers leaving bruises on your hips.

Seb notices you staring and he can’t fight back the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. “Hi baby,” he purrs, giving your lower back a soft stroke. “Feel good?”

“Yeah-h,” you manage.

“Me too, so fucking good. Fucking tight and wet, all for me, yeah?”

You nod fervently. “All for you. Y’r cock s’fucking big.”

“Taking it so good.” Sebastian’s thrusts have slowed into harsh, deep ones that fill you entirely. You grip the blankets in your fists, knuckles turning white. “Getting close?” You nod again, pathetically, starting to melt into him. All you can think of is the pleasure he’s giving you and you’ll do anything to feel it and ride out your orgasm with it.

“G’nna cum f’r me?” he asks again, leaning down to rub harshly at your clit. “Cum all over mm’ cock?”

“Yes, Seb!” you cry.

“Wanna feel you soak me, princess,” he commands, lips sprinkling wet kisses along your spine. “Pussy g’nna be so filled with our cum soon, yeah? ‘M gonna watch it drip out, kay?”

The knot growing in your stomach since the moment he kissed you reaches its height and you feel it snap all at once, a moment of serenity before your orgasm floods over you. You arch your back and let out strangled cries, letting all the words in your brain come tumbling out from your lips in a slurred mess. “Sebbyyy!” you groan as his fingers press into your hips tighter. “Y’make me feel s’fucking good, fuck! Please fill me Sebby.”

He groans, leaning further down against your back as he releases, whimpering mixes of your name and sweet pet names as he unloads into your cunt. His grunts turn to moans and whimpers in your ear as he finishes, hips gradually coming to a stop as you both come down from your highs. “Holy fuck,” he finally sighs, his body weight fully on you now.

“Fuck,” you sniffle, breathing labored.

You two lie on the bed for a minute, only focused on catching your breath as your sweaty bodies stick to one another. You can feel Sebastian’s dick slowly shrink inside you, blood flow directing back to his brain. Finally, he carefully peels himself away, pulling himself out of you. Seb ushers you back up on your knees, earning a groan but reluctant compliance. He sits back and admires the mess left on his cock, admires it dripping out of your used pussy. He uses two fingers to swipe the wet, then reaches around and rests it against your bottom lip. “Have a taste, hmm?”

You open your mouth and he wastes no time resting his fingers against your tongue. Your lips close around him, sucking the mix of your cum from him and humming at the sweet and saltiness. It tastes like pure desire and dirtiness, a final reminder of your time together as his half-hard length rests against your ass before he pulls away.

Your legs shaky, you finally roll over and collapse on your back, Seb following your lead and lying next to you. “Second thoughts?” he asks, looking over at you.

“Fuck no,” you grin. “You?”

“Fuck no.” He wraps a lazy arm around you. “If I could, I’d do it again right now.”

You nod, turning to nuzzle your face against the side of his neck as your eyelids flutter closed. “Staying?” you mumble.

“Have to go home,” Seb groans. “You need your sleep and I don’t think I can accommodate that for very long.” You wrap your arms around him in protest, but he easily breaks through as he sits up, looking down at your spent, naked body. “I think I’ll see you tomorrow though, yeah?”

You smile, gathering the willpower to gaze up at him. One side of his face is covered in the shadows, but the other is illuminated by the moonlight sneaking through the window and you wish you could stay in this moment a little longer and just look at him. The sharp bones over his eyes and along his jaw, toned arms holding himself up, scattered hairs along his torso pointing to the object of your desire as it drapes over his inner thigh.

“Yeah,” you belatedly agree.

“Call me in the morning. Let me know if you need any help covering this up.” Seb reaches down and gently strokes a tender spot on your neck, realizing it must be bruising from the force of his teeth and lips earlier. “I can probably ask Abi for some advice.”

Sebastian begins picking up piles of clothing from the floor, pulling on his boxers, jeans, and hoodie before sliding his sneakers back on. Holding a dark black t-shirt in his hand, he offers it to you. “Put this on so you don’t freeze tonight.” You take it gingerly. Leaning down to pepper your lips with soft kisses, Seb finally makes his exit with a quiet goodbye and you drift to sleep, surrounded by his scent.

[houdinicarpenter]

NSFW Alphabet | Sam Carpenter x Reader

a/n: i've seen so many people do this. @michiganstray did it for tara, so i promised i'd do it for sam 🫡 (you really need to share yours, nylah... please. don't make me look bad in front of my friends 😬)

──────── GIF is not mine

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sam’s very attentive to your well-being. She’ll always ask if you’re okay and double-check it with a “are you sure?” if/when you say yes. If you ask for something, she’ll get it for you. Otherwise, she stays caught up in the intimacy, wanting to stay close to you. She likes to cuddle, her vulnerability already cut loose long enough to keep her guard down, so cut-and-runs (or quickies) are rare. p.s. depending on how messy things get, she may prefer to take a shower after sex.

b = body part (favorite body part of theirs and of their partner’s)

Sam’s favorite body part(s) of her own are her arms, because she likes the way it feels when you run your hands up and down them, especially her upper arms. Their toned definition gives you direct contact to her muscles, which relaxes her when they’re caressed. On you, Sam’s favorite body part(s) are your eyes. The first thing she notices about someone is their eyes. They say the eyes are windows into the soul, and she takes that to heart. She loved to get lost in your eyes, as if she were meeting you for the first time and falling in love all over again.

c = cum (anything to do with cum basically)

Sam has a full understanding of what cum is and why it happens. Because of this, she doesn’t believe in the “ask for permission” trope that’s often interlaced in sex. If it happens, it happens. It can always be cleaned up.

d = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Sam used to agree to have sex with random guys she met on the street, at bars, etc. just to distract herself from reality. These times hit its peak after she left her home at 18 and when she, Tara, and the Meeks-Martin twins first moved to New York. It was a coping mechanism, but she isn’t proud of it and actually has visible damage down there because of the severity some of those reckless sessions were.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Sam is very experienced and knows exactly what she’s doing. She has experienced sex in many different ways, both enjoyable and not enjoyable. However, this isn’t to say that she doesn’t get lost in the moment when she’s with you, someone who she truly loves and trusts. If this is the case, she runs on autopilot, not fully aware of what she does, how she moves, and how it's perceived.

f = favorite position

The standard position of top & bottom (or dominant & submissive) is what she’s most familiar with and most comfortable with; however, given the right place and time, she may take to other positions.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

For the most part, Sam is a serious, in-the-moment kind of person during sex. She doesn’t see sex as a daily routine thing or a mindless act of desire. It’s a mutual act of trust and romanticism. She became this way after she broke her toxic cycle of doing it as a distraction, and shortly after, she met Danny. And Danny showed her how it should be done and why. But she does have her playful moments, especially before things intensify, when she’s much more outgoing and likely to say and do some careless shit.

h = hair (how groomed are they?)

Mostly, if not fully, clean-shaven all the time.

i = intimacy (how romantic are they in the moment?)

Very. Like stated previously, Sam takes intimacy to heart. She gets lost in you, like she’ll never love you again.

j = jack off (masturbation)

Sam never masturbates, she never has. The idea of it has crossed her mind, but it never felt right to actually try it, even if it was just to experiment. However, it’s easy to tell if/when she’s struggling with her sex drive. She becomes restless and—if you look closely—you can see how she gets shaky.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

Sam has no known kinks.

l = location (favorite places to do it)

Sam isn’t big on publicizing her intimate relationship with you. Because of this, she prefers making out in a private, non-open-to-the-public area. Places like your apartment/house, the bedroom, on the sofa (when it’s just you two alone in the apartment/house) are all preferable to her. Public bathrooms, showers (even though it’s private), and in the car, don’t make her feel secure and private enough to let her guard down.

m = motivation (what turns them on?)

Kissing her neck and/or collar bone is a good instigator, but touch really stirs her sex drive. Squeezing her hips and/or thighs drives her crazy, and so much as grazing her pelvis—specifically the sensitive skin in between her hips—makes her go feral, though she’ll do her best to fight it.

n = no (something they won’t do; a turn off)

Anything with bondage, blindfolding, or of the captive/captee dynamics. Knife Play also makes her uncomfortable, given she’s still on edge with being so in-sync with her father aside from her survival instincts and bloodlust.

o = oral (preference in giving, receiving, skill, etc.)

Sam’s not a fan of oral sex. If you have a desire to do it, she’ll give it a shot for you, likely being the one to receive it rather than give it, but it might take some convincing.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual is more of Sam’s taste, considering she’s had many fast and rough sessions in her rebellious—dare I say, feral—years (pre-movie Scream V). Like said previously, she doesn’t see sex as a careless activity to do whenever. When she was with Richie, they did fast and rough often, so it reminds her a lot of him. Now it was rumored via Sam that it was difficult for him to get aroused—or “hard”—however, when he was stimulated enough, he wrecked Sam. She hates remembering those nights and how much of herself she gave him, so much so that she’s scared of even trying it hard and rough again. 

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies; how often, etc.)

Again, Sam doesn’t like quickies, even though she used to participate in them. Knowing what she knows now, they seem immature, like doing them are abusing the purpose of what sex is supposed to be.  (I know this is controversial, so if you have a problem with this, just skip over it please 🙏. This is my interpretation on Sam’s character.)

r = risk (are they down to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Sam is definitely a risk-taker, but she never tries anything new without your permission first. Consent and respect is something Sam values the most in the sexual experience of a relationship. She is open to experimenting, so long as you both are on the same page.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go? how long can they last?)

As one would expect, Sam’s got a high level of stamina. She’s willing to go as many rounds as you want, regardless of how tired she is. But you’re always able to tell when she’s wearing out because of how sloppy she’ll get. She won’t even realize it, but you do and if/when it gets that far, that’s when you’ll usually call it a night.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? If so, on their partners or themselves?)

Sam only owns one toy that she had been given from a bad influence a long time ago. She’s never used it on anyone, but she’s had other “partners” (that weren’t officially/legitimately hers) use it on her. She hasn’t “used” it since she met Richie, but she still keeps it as a reminder to what she never wants to go back to.

u = unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

As much as Sam appreciates the intimacy and traditional make-up of sex, she is up to date with how it has spiced up, and having said that, she can be a fox at times. She’s not afraid to tease you into getting aroused or wanting her to speed up the process, especially when leading/holding the upper hand (dominant position). She knows when enough’s enough though and will respect your boundaries however you make them.

v = volume (how loud are they? what sounds do they make? etc.)

Sam’s somewhere in between quiet and loud. She’ll start off quiet and will try to fight herself when it’s getting overwhelming and she wants to get louder, but she never gets so loud, to the point where she needs to be warned to keep it down.  Sam’s a big moaner—it is what it is. But she also sighs a lot and has a tendency to growl, especially when the ecstasy kicks in and she’s trying to bite back a loud, desperate moan when you hit a sweet spot, inside or out.

w = wild card (a random headcanon of them)

Forehead touching makes Sam soft, she loves it.

x = x-ray (what’s going on under their clothes?)

Sam’s pretty toned, as anyone could see by looking at her arms in a tank top. She’s not sharply cut so that every angle has her abs popping or thighs as tough as diamonds, but there’s no questioning her defined toning when you run your hands over her clothed or unclothed figure.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

On a scale of 1-100%, Sam’s sex drive is about 70%. For someone as private and hard-of-trusting as she is, she’s up for getting down. This isn’t to mistake her for being careless as to who she does it with or how quick her drive is to kick in. That 30% is on strict default, until you come into the picture. 

z = zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

Sam needs to calm down from the thrill before she’s able to fall asleep. What calms her the most after sex is holding you or you holding her and listening to your breathing or heartbeat. Knowing the moment of trust, security, and love hidden between the two of you is important and reassuring to her. Give or take, she’ll be asleep in 20-30 minutes after a session.

all my best!

- parker (HOUDINICARPENTER / BWS) 🖤

[ducksido]

Ace's Valentine

Valentine's Day had arrived at Night Raven College, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Heart-shaped decorations were strung up in the halls, chocolates were exchanged, and students whispered about confessions that would either make or break the day.

Y/N had been content enjoying the festivities from the sidelines, happily munching on a piece of chocolate they had bought for themselves. That was until a familiar voice called out to them.

"Oi, Y/N!" Ace Trappola jogged up to them, a smug grin stretched across his face. "Got a minute?"

They raised an eyebrow, sensing mischief. "Should I be worried?"

Ace dramatically placed a hand over his chest. "Wow, where’s the trust? Can’t a guy just want to talk to his best friend?"

Y/N rolled their eyes. "When that guy is you? No."

He chuckled before suddenly shoving a small red envelope toward them. "Here. For you."

Blinking, they took it and opened it, revealing a simple yet cute Valentine’s card with Ace’s slightly messy handwriting: Be my Valentine? A tiny doodle of a heart and a smirking Ace was drawn at the bottom.

They looked back up at him, surprised. "You’re actually asking me out? On Valentine’s Day?"

Ace rubbed the back of his neck, feigning nonchalance. "Well, duh. It’s not every day I put in this much effort, you know. So, what do you say?"

Y/N hummed, pretending to think. "Hmm... I don’t know. What’s in it for me?"

He groaned. "Come on, Y/N! Just say yes already!"

They laughed. "Alright, alright. I’ll be your Valentine, Ace."

His face lit up with triumph. "Sweet! Now, let’s go before all the good stuff at Sam’s shop gets sold out."

Their "date"—if it could be called that—was a mix of chaos and fun, just like Ace himself. He dragged them around the campus, buying heart-shaped snacks, competing to see who could win the most prizes at a makeshift game booth, and sneaking chocolates from unsuspecting first-years who had left theirs unattended.

At some point, they ended up at the courtyard, sitting on a bench, watching the sky shift into warm hues of pink and orange.

Ace stretched his arms behind his head, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Not a bad way to spend the day, huh?"

Y/N took a bite of a chocolate-covered strawberry he had bought them. "I’ll admit, it was fun. Even if you almost got us caught stealing Ruggie’s donuts."

"Key word: almost," Ace corrected, grinning. "Besides, I promised you a good time, didn’t I?"

They shook their head fondly. "That you did."

Silence settled between them, but it was comfortable. The cool evening breeze ruffled their hair, and for once, Ace wasn’t running his mouth.

Then, after a moment, he muttered, almost too quietly, "Thanks for saying yes, Y/N."

They glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Smiling softly, they nudged his shoulder. "Anytime, Ace."

He huffed and looked away, cheeks slightly pink. "Geez, don’t get all mushy on me now."

Y/N just laughed, enjoying the rare moment of Ace being flustered. Maybe Valentine’s Day wasn’t so bad after all.

Just as they were about to tease him again, Ace suddenly leaned in, pressing a quick but warm kiss against their lips. It was fleeting—like a spark—but enough to leave them momentarily speechless. When he pulled away, his usual smug grin was back, though the tips of his ears were red.

"Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N," he said, standing up. "Now, let’s go find some more sweets before the night’s over."

Still recovering from the surprise, Y/N blinked before breaking into a smile. "You’re unbelievable."

He laughed. "You love it!"

Shaking their head, they followed after him, the taste of chocolate and the memory of his kiss lingering as the perfect end to the day.

[gilverrwrites]

Castiel NSFW Headcanons

Pairing: Castiel / GN!Reader

Rating: M/18+

Please remember: to give yourself time to rest.

Warning: Very brief mention of non/dub-con. Cas is kinda pervy and I love that for him.

Wants to and will deliver the most excellent and diligent aftercare, but you have to be vocal and specific about it. Communication is good, tell him what you need, and he will do it, everytime.

Actually prefers receiving oral over giving. Don’t get it twisted, he thoroughly enjoys the effect it has on you, and will do it over and over for you, but it’s a sensory thing. There’s just so many particles, and molecules on his tongue, it can be overwhelming.

Incidentally like A++ when it comes to dirty talk. He doesn’t really have a filter so he will have no problem telling you what he likes, how he’s feeling. Will check on you aften.

Does that feel good? Do you enjoy when I touch you like this? You look so beautiful when you cum for me. I love the way you feel around me.

However, until/unless you teach him the slang terms and how to use them, he will refer to most body parts by their anatomical names.

Is a top, but is very open to experimentation. Is happy to and enjoys bottoming/being pegged.

A switch, with predominately dom tendances.

Taking charge comes easily to him, and he can be very impatient/intolerant of having his orders disobeyed. Bratty behavior can be fun for him, if you’re into that sort of thing, but prefers service subs who will do as told and do it well. But does not like to be the boss all the time. He likes it when you top him, especially for slow, sensual sex.  If you’re more experienced than him and can show him new positions or foreplay.

On the subject of positions, top 3: Face-off, cowgirl, and seashell.

Art by Emily Schiff-Slater

Will ask/scold you to keep your eyes open and look at him frequently. Really enjoys watching your expressions/reactions, particularly your eyes.

Doesn’t like to restrain you with ropes and the likes, but does like using his body and/or his grace to pin you down and have his way with you.

Let him hold you down, get nice and deep inside, then look up at him with glazed eyes and let out a whimper; he may just cum on the spot.

Can and will go for hours if you let him, stamina is not an issue for him.

Especially for cock-warming. On the rare occasion he has downtime, he will happily spend all day with you on his lap, cock inside you just idly chatting, examining and teasing you as you gradually get more wound up and needy for him.

His wings and the space around their base (in between the shoulder blades) are highly sensitive. Just the brush of your finger is enough to get him riled up.

You have to inform him that it’s found upon to discuss your sex life unprompted with other people. Unless that doesn’t bother you.

Dean: Where the hell were you man?!? We’ve been prayin’! Cas: I heard you. I was busy engaging in coitus with [name]. ____ Sam: Cas I’m trying to explain something here, what is so important on your phone? Cas: [name] has sent me a photograph of their [redacted], I am uncertain of the best way to respond.

Does not particularly like sexting, as he finds it hard to concisely convey his thoughts through text. BUT he does get a thrill out of seeing and having your nudes be so easily accessible and for his eyes only.

Seldom masturbates but does watch a lot of porn. It’s for “research” in “understanding humans”. Totally not for inspiration.

If you suggest making your own DIY porn, he will jump on it. There may be some technical teething issues, but he is determined not to let that stop you. Would film it from the nightstand of something, not POV as he still wants to get lost in the moment and not have to worry about filming you from just the right angle.

Secretly a voyeur. Prior to any sexual/romantic relationship he may have ‘accidentally’ popped up and caught a glimpse (or more) of you, or his other human acquaintances getting their rocks of (be they alone, or with other people). During any relationship he likes watching you touch yourself, sometimes he’ll ask you to let loose and do it however you like, sometimes he prefers a more guided approach. So, telling you, where to touch, how much pressure, if and when you can reach your climax.

And of course, frottage/thigh riding. Watching you grind on him, per instruction, until you cum makes him giddy.

Very much enjoys a good cream pie. Typically, he’s not really into (his own) cum, it’s sticky and messy. But he cannot deny the rush of pride he feels when he see’s his own cum seeping out of you.  

Is often commando, it just feels more freeing, and allows for easer access. Yes he could just use his angel mojo, but there’s something more fun and a little sordid about doing it himself, or better yet, having undress him.

Same goes for you. He prefers stripping you by hand. It allows him more time to touch you, to feel your soft skin under his, to tease all the points of you that he knows makes you squirm.

[wandagcre]

if ure comfy can u do a one shot or imagine of dom reader and intersex sam ; reader jerks sam off over her own abs (sams) and then licks it off

messy | sam carpenter 🔞

(Sub!Sam Carpenter x Dom! AFAB! Reader)

The party was set on the backyard but you decide to have your own with Sam.

WARNING: sam has a penis, dom afab reader, handjob, cum licking, tease of edging, ball stimulation +18 / men & minors dni. Words: 1.3k Note: first sub!sam entry yayy <3

Sam was an eye candy with her swimsuit bra and her dark shorts. You couldn't stop staring at her when she came out in this attire and you can't help but make an advance; applying the sunscreen on her exposed body and relishing how she got tense with your touch. Of course, you wouldn't have done it without being handsy – wanting her hard enough later on.

While everyone either had their stomach full of the various meals they just munched on or was starting to get drunk, you and Sam kept it light. She caught up with you after the sunscreen moment, how you keep on brushing your back to her front, any sort of skin against her. It didn't help that you looked ravishing to your own swimsuit attire that Sam's cock embarrassingly twitched upon first seeing you.

Now Sam's dealing with a problem that she can no longer hide. She held you by the wrist and whisked you away to the kitchen so she can confront you away from the spectating eyes and ears.

"What're you doing?" she questioned you.

You feign an innocent look. "I was about to grab a drink–"

"No, you're teasing me this whole day! And now it's starting to hurt."

"Okay." You laid your hand on her chest, finally taking pity on Sam. "Buckle up, baby."

"Are you–shit, (y/n) we could get caught!"

You ignore her whisper-yelling. Having sam trapped to the counter with your arms surrounded to either of her side - one of your hands already on a mission, snaked its way to cup Sam's length roughly through her shorts.

"If we get caught, it's going to be because of you, so tone it down." You sternly remind her, slowly resuming to your motions. Sam felt her knees grow weak and sharply inhaled, finding a small relief at your stroking. "What would you like to do first? Want my lips around your needy cock?"

Sam nodded deliberately, gauging of what your desired answer would be. She's afraid of exploding without your permission and your words weren't helping her case by the slightest.

It gave her an image of you trying to take all of her until your mouth was stuffed of her cock and served as a warming place. Your saliva lubricating her and maybe heightening the sensation with your teeth grazing at what your mouth can reach, up to the bottom of her protruding cock head.

She had a growing bulge by now, worse than an hour ago. But here you were, with a devious smile, having a field day with riling her up.

"You're not using your words. Maybe we'll do it later, if you're good." You tease her further, making Sam clench her fists on the side. "Maybe you won't even cum at all."

You kept rubbing her outline of her cock, feeling how it was pulsating and growing – wanting to be freed from its confinement. She was still wet from swimming earlier but that doesn't stop you. Your hands descend, still not underneath, instead you seized her balls and fondled them. The pair was becoming heavy upon your harsh touch, Sam grew hot and a particularly loud whine escaped her lips.

"What did I tell you?"

Sam squeaked and was getting harder by the second and your strokes were becoming firmer and aggressive, she was hooked and wrapped around your mercy.

"No, no, no." Sam weakly protests, head shaking in disagreement.

You raise an eyebrow. Was Sam close to acting bratty? It was rare that she does so. "No what?"

Your fingertips were getting heavily involved, determine to somewhat cup her girth and with the soft texture of Sam's shorts – it was gentle and a perfect contrast to your movements, providing a hell of a pleasure on her end.

It was like you're determined to make her blow without fully stroking her naked length. However, Sam was familiar with your tactics, she knew better that this was a test.

She arched her head back, releasing puffs of breath and tries not to make loud noises.

Gruffly, she clarified, "M-hmm 'kay, anything... what f-fits for me best, I'll t-take it!" Sam uttered with conviction that it inevitably brought a smile on your lips – you're so proud of her.

You coo her, almost caving in. "Shh. It's alright. We'll get there."

Sam looked to be in excruciating pain. A pleasurable one, but it doesn't stop her from the silent cries. She's intensely throbbing and aching for you and your teasing ways. She's hungry for you approval and you're hungry for her to lose her cool.

Admittedly, you also had enough. It was hard to pretend unaffected with Sam's wet look when she jumped on the pool, how drops of water that flowed delicately on her toned muscles only made her even more attractive to your eyes.

Without warning, you immediately freed her from its restraints, pulling the shorts down and reached for her cock – both of you trying to stifle a moan at the welcomed contact. Fucking finally, Sam thought. Warm and naked. This was definitely heaven for her.

Sam's cock sprung hard and was angry red. It didn't take long for her cock to fully become erect, given your relentless strokes – from the base and her shaft. Each pump of your hand was firm and rough, you really tried to cover the entire girth.

But Sam? She was really massive. The veins were becoming prominent as well, proving the thirst it was craving for. Her precum was oozing at the tip and with you meeting the head with a brush of your thumb per pump on her length, it was getting harder for sam to conceal her moans of appreciation.

You almost wanted Sam to ram you with her cock. It was undeniably a mouthwatering sight.

"(y/n)- oh god," Sam was getting sensitive. Her mouth parted and head now hung on your shoulder for support.

"Now be quiet, baby. I'm going to stop if you're loud."

Sam's eyebrows contorted, you see her fighting through it. She takes it upon her, hand covering her own mouth to muffle the erotic sounds brewing in the kitchen.

You feel her cock pulsate harder. It made you squirm, wetness surely ruining your own in panties and it motivated you to stroke better and faster than ever. You didn't hesitate to get on your knees now, wanting to get a better feel and angle of it. The tightening of your fist around her shaft, paired with twisting, made Sam quiver and roll her eyes.

"You can cum for me, Sammy."

It did the trick because soon enough, Sam had her jaw clenched, huffing beside you and with her twitching cock you settle some distance for her to release her load on her sculpted abdomen. Not only her cock veins were bulging, but along the expanse of her neck as well, all from the pressure steaming off her.

"Goodness... gonna c-cum now!"

Sam took her sweet time with catching her breath. Meanwhile, her cock continued twitching and she groaned as you milked all of her cum, directing the release to her stomach. It was a palpable sight; her glorious form softening as she succumbs to your whims.

"Fucking hell..." Sam muttered as the ropes of her release seemed to drag longer.

With her viscous thick spurts of cum vivid against her beautiful tanned skin, your motor senses were already on its way with tongue stuck out and laid flat to sweep away every drop of her load. Sam whimpered with your sight, tickled at the warm wet contact that her brown eyes barely evident as they dilated with lust. She's bittersweet on your tastebuds - one of your favorite flavors - and eagerly lapped as your tongue traced on her abdomen, going through the bumps and scars that heightened your carnal urge to do more.

With the last thread of will within you, you got up on your feet and affectionately pat Sam's cheek repeatedly.

"More treats later, pretty girl. Come on or else they'll start looking for us now."

The awestruck look on her face didn't leave. Sam happily followed you on your way back to your friends, completely satisfied, tailing behind you with hands entwined.

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[were-all-idjits-here]

Accidental "I Love You"

Pairing: Sam Winchester x gender neutral reader Summary: While enlisting Sam's help to prank Dean, you may or may not blurt something out in the moment that seems to strike an unexpected chord with Sam. Warnings: some cussing; teeny, tiny bit of angst in that Sam and reader are two idiots who don't realize the other is in love with them. A/N: dipping my toe back into writing after some time off with this one. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

*

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam growled as the three of you returned to the motel room. He gestured for you to enter in front of him before slamming the door behind him and holding his hands out in a what the fuck gesture.

“Yeah, seriously,” you grumbled, taking your backpack—now full of loose Skittles thanks to the elder Winchester—towards one of the two beds in the room. “I don’t even like Skittles.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Dean said, just as irritated. “Look, I thought it was Sam’s backpack. It’s not my fault you two have the same one!”

You set your backpack down on Dean’s bed. “Mine’s blue!”

“Navy blue!” Dean corrected. “Sam’s is black, it looks…almost…the same.”

“No, it doesn’t!” you and Sam cry in unison. Although you were no stranger to watching the brothers’ prank war, they’d never targeted you. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t really a big deal; it wasn’t as if it was hot enough to melt the candy and create a sticky mess. But after that particular hunt, you just weren’t in the mood and appreciated Sam’s rage on your behalf.

Dean sighed. “Well, Y/N—I’m sorry. I was aiming for Sam and promise I’ll be more careful next time.”

You flopped down on the bed you and Sam had claimed. “Least you could do is buy us some grub.”

“If I go to that sandwich shop in town and get you a five-cheese grilled cheese, am I forgiven?”

“Only if you get the artichoke dip with it.”

“You got it. Sammy, I’ll get you…something much more boring, don’t worry.” With that, he fled from the room.

You sighed as the Impala’s engine growled to life outside, exchanging annoyed, drained glances with Sam as he sat down at the small, round table in the corner.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said. “I can help you clean your bag out—”

“Nah.”  You stood and took the offending object from Dean’s bed. “Now that he’s gone, I’ve got a better idea.”  You ripped back the comforter (if it could be called that) off the bed before shoving back the top and fitted sheet, unzipping your backpack and upending it onto the mattress.

Sam laughed so hard, he scared you. You glanced over at him, smiling mischievously as you used your hands to spread the candy out more evenly.

“Well, here, at least get it across the whole bed in case he rolls.” Sam shot up out of his chair and tore the rest of the blankets and sheets off the mattress, helping you pour more Skittles until a fair amount covered the whole mattress.

You groaned as the two of you put the fitted sheet back on carefully over the minefield that was now Dean’s bed. “Oh god, the poor cleaning lady.”

Sam chuckled. “We’ve left behind worse messes, believe me—oh, actually…”

As you finished re-making the bed, Sam ran over to his backpack on the table and pulled out a whoopie cushion. He gave you a wicked grin as he grabbed the pillow off the side Dean usually slept on, stuffing it into the bottom of the case.

You cackled. “That’ll be right in his ear! He’s gonna go deaf!”

“Exactly.” Sam gave you a big, toothy grin and you couldn’t help but stare. He had such a nice smile that was so rarely on display, and you took pride in being one of the few to draw it out of him.

He stared back for a long moment before clearing his throat and putting his hands in his pockets. “You know this is gonna initiate you into the prank war now though, right? Dean won’t hold back.”

“Oh, I look forward to it.” You held out your hand across the bed. “We could be allies though and not tell Dean, really mess with his head. Truce?”

Sam smiled and shook your hand. “Truce.” He glanced back down at the bed. “You don’t happen to have any glue, do you?”

“Oh god, for what?”

He shrugged. “Could glue some Skittles to his stuff.” He joined you on your side of the bed to riffle through his duffle bag on the floor behind you. “Oh! I might have some superglue left from forever ago.”

“Do I even wanna know what you used that for?”

He pulled his bag up onto your shared bed and sat as he riffled through it. “We had a bit of a prank war a while back and I, uh…might’ve put super glue all over his beer bottle in a restaurant so he couldn’t put it back down.”

You threw your head back and laughed, giving Sam a playful shove to the shoulder. “Oh god, I love you.”

Sam’s head suddenly snapped up, the smile half-frozen on his face as he stared at you with a deer-in-the-headlights look. He gave you a breathy laugh before quickly returning his attention to his bag. “Uh…yeah, I—um…”

Your face fell. “Sam?”

“I’m okay,” he said a little too quickly before pulling a small tube out of one of his bag’s front pockets. “Ah, damn, it’s empty.”

Awkwardness still hung thick in the air, making you wonder if your joking I love you had revealed too much about how you actually felt. You suddenly felt a little dizzy at the thought of having just given yourself away only to have your and Sam’s friendship slowly start to crumble in the face of inevitable rejection. You two had always been close and even though the stares had been a little longer lately, if he felt the same about you, you would’ve known by now…right? And surely he wouldn’t have had that reaction just now.

You tried to hide the shakiness of your breath. “We’ll, uh…have to make sure we get more next time we’re at the store then.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at you nervously before giving you a quick smile that disappeared in a hurry.

You hovered by him awkwardly for a few moments, trying to glance at him without catching his eye while he was suddenly very interested in the depths of his bag, empty superglue tube in hand.

“I’ll just—” he started.

“I’m gonna—”  you tried, beginning to move out of the aisle between beds towards the bathroom just as he stood up, bumping straight into you. With his speed and bulk, however, he almost knocked you over and quickly grabbed your forearms to stop you from tumbling back into the nightstand.

“Sorry!” he cried, finally meeting your gaze.

You had grabbed some of his shirt in your fists on instinct and for a moment, you stood transfixed again. Up close, his eyes really were pretty—they were so versatile: some days, they were a deep, dark brown that reminded you of chocolate and looked so warm and inviting, you wanted to just sink into him. Others, like today, flecks of green popped out in just the right lighting, reminding you of a sunflower field. You didn’t realize he was staring back at you with just as much intensity until his thumbs began rubbing gentle circles into your forearms.

You shook your head slightly to clear it. “I’m, ahem, gonna use the bathroom while it’s free.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course! I—yeah!” He quickly let you go, stepping out of your way and gesturing for you to move first.

You quickly yanked a change of clothes out of your now clean bag before hurrying to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door and whatever had just happened away behind you.

Later that night, after you and Sam had already settled in bed, Dean finally emerged from the bathroom. Being on the side closest to his bed, you turned away to face Sam to hide your smile. You found him with his eyes open as well, biting his lip to avoid laughing.

Dean made a contented sigh as you heard the covers thrown back, followed by several cracking and popping noises, then the loud flbbbpppppttttt of the whoopie cushion. “Son of a bitch! Oh, god, ow—fuck—what the hell!”

You covered your mouth with your hand in a vain attempt to hide your laughs, seeing Sam do the same out of the corner of your eye.

“I know you two assholes are awake,” Dean grumbled before climbing back out of bed and checking under the fitted sheet. “Oh, this is war, Y/N.”

“Enjoy your Skittle bed, dickhead,” you said over your shoulder, pulling a loud guffaw from Sam.

“I’m sleeping on the damn couch,” Dean muttered before you heard him move across the room.

You closed your eyes, smiling to yourself, and tried to focus on evening out your breathing. After several minutes, right before you crossed the threshold of sleep, you could’ve sworn you felt warm fingers brushing your cheek.

[supernaturalfreewill]

Warnings: drunk adult of legal age lol "Okay, can you navigate the stairs?" Sam asked you, rushing to spot you as you charged forward toward your front porch.

"I'm not THAT drunk," you retorted, and quickly lost your balance on the second step.

"Whoa! Okay..." Sam caught you gently by the elbow and steadied you with another hand on the small of your back. "Let's just slow down a little, yeah?" he laughed, smiling down at you.

You were looking up at him with wide eyes. His were full of so many colors. You found it slightly dizzying. Or maybe that was the alcohol...

"You okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing down.

"Mmm," you nodded. "Sam. I have a secret..."

He laughed again and gently nudged you up the stairs and toward the front door. "You probably shouldn't tell me then," he replied.

You paused to dig around in your bag for your keys, biting your bottom lip. "Well—I mean, if you insist, I guess I could tell you." Your words were slightly slurred and Sam shook his head at you, cocking an eyebrow up.

"I didn't—but go on, I guess," he said, holding the door open when you finally managed to get the key in the lock and turn it. It was pretty clear that what he had to say mattered very little at the moment...

You waved him to come in but he only stood a little nervously on the mat as you dropped your purse and immediately began pulling off your shoes and your jacket. When you were done, you stepped close in front of him again and looked up at him. Sam's eyes flitted down to the soft pout of your lips. "You—you probably shouldn't tell me anything you consider a secret," he said quickly. "You're prettyyy drunk."

"But I want to tell you," you said, still staring up at him.

Sam gulped.

"Sammy—" A jolt of electricity zipped up his back when you said his name like that. You rarely called him 'Sammy'. "—you know, I've had a huge crush on you since the moment we met," you said. Your voice was breathy and low.

Sam gulped again. "Are you sure this isn't just the whiskey talking?"

You shook your head, looking slightly offended that he didn't believe you. "It's not the whiskey. It's true. And the longer I've known you—"

But Sam suddenly gently gripped your shoulders and interrupted you. "Y/N—I'm gonna stop you. You are drunk. And I don't want you to say something you might regret tomorrow."

You looked up at him and a perplexed expression muddled your face. "Why would I regret—"

"Just—trust me. Okay?" His heart was pounding. It took every bit of power he had to stop you from saying what it seemed like you'd been about to say. But he didn't want to hear it this way, with you foggy and fuzzy from a night at the bar and with him unable to feel right about grabbing you and kissing you, worried he'd be taking advantage... "But tomorrow, when you're sober, if you still want to tell me... I promise you I would be—beyond happy to hear it. But for now... goodnight. Drink some water, eat something, and get some sleep, okay? I'll check in with you tomorrow."

Prompt: "Mmmm I have a secret." / "You probably shouldn't tell me then." / "Oh geez, well... I mean... if you insist, I guess I could tell you." / "I didn't but go on, I guess..."

[arjwrites]

Close Behind- Sam Winchester x GN!Reader

Summary: You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Sam- and that scares the hell out of him. Based on the song “Close Behind” by Noah Kahan. 

Warnings: Very very angst heavy. A poor, poor, messed up Sammy. Very slight reference to suicide. No uses of Y/N, completely gn

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Got the idea for this fic, sat down to write it, and posted it all in one sitting. This idea hurt my soul so bad that I had to share it with you all. I'll make sure to get some happy Sammy fluff in the works very soon because I literally broke my own heart writing this :'( PLEASE PLEASE listen to the song before or while reading this. If you don't already know it, you're welcome. Such a beautiful song and so Winchester coded, in my humble opinion. I hope you enjoy <3

-

I think I found a fear of mine

That you might love for no reason

You know I worry only luck brought me to you

Sam’s favorite sound in the world was born out of a successful hunt. It was a quiet hum, comprised of the steady rumble of the Impala’s engine, the subtle rhythm of Dean’s more subdued playlist, and the soft breaths that escaped his love’s sleeping lips. Over the years, he had begun to associate this sound with momentary comfort and safety- threats eliminated, civilians saved, and his most important people alive and well. It was the sound of a job well done and the only thing that could pull his system out of fight-or-flight for a short while. On this particular night, Bobby had joined the team for the hunt, so Sam had conceded the passenger seat to him and happily slipped into the back to share space and warmth with you. It didn’t take the lonely highway long to lull you into a peaceful sleep, and for Sam’s mind to drag itself into a million directions. The rear seat was a rare vantage point for him, the unfamiliar setting disrupting the routine settlement of his thoughts and stirring them to the surface like sediment rising from the bottom of a lake. 

Most people would say that their beloved was their peace, the one who kept them grounded and made them feel like everything would be okay. For Sam, this was partially true. You were the tether that anchored him to reality, but reality was scary. Simply knowing the name Sam Winchester put you in the line of fire, and that ate away at his conscience every single day. He knew he was so lucky to have you, but sometimes he wondered about the nature of luck’s intentions. When, in the past, had luck been truly on his side? He feared that was all that tied your heart to him- a fleeting, miraculous moment of luck that would expire any moment and pluck you out of his clutches. Someone to heal his soul and repair his damaged pieces, only so it would hurt even more when life stole you away and broke him back apart. 

I'm half awake most of the time

It's just the timing of the seasons

So you know I worry that you're all I have to lose

These were the thoughts that Sam fought to keep at bay as best he could, but his mind was weary and his fears knew his every weakness. It was hard to ignore these worries when they were self created- his very demise was an inside job. You were the only easy thing in his life, a flickering candle in a dark, damp space- bright, and warm, and magnetically inviting. But Sam felt that when he got too close, when he reached out to touch you and his fingers lingered too long, he would burn himself and extinguish your flame in the process.

This didn’t stop him from loving you, and loving you well, but it made the act a burden. Caring for you was the hardest thing he had ever done. It was always his job to take care of those around him, but for everyone else he protected, he could breathe easy once the bodies hit the floor. For you, there was no safe. There was never an end to the threats that faced you, because there was never an end to the threats that faced him. And because of this, Sam Winchester never felt worthy of you. He could never truly protect you. The very act of loving him was a death sentence, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to free you from it. 

And I should change this way of thinking

That all my fears are facts of life

But I could die tomorrow, you'd be close behind

I hate that you think of yourself that way, you would tell him. Every day I think how lucky I am to love, and to be loved by, you. You couldn’t keep me away if you tried. I’ve never felt safer than I do with you. Sam recognized the arsenal of responses you had developed to address his concerns- no worry he threw your way was ever left unanswered. But Sam was stubborn. His fears were informed by everything he had ever known, every loss he had ever faced. His life had been an uphill battle, and try as you might, there was never rest in a soldier’s mind. And for Sam, there was no way to win the war. Because if he lost you, he would lose everything. And if he died to protect you, there would be no one left to keep you safe. So all he could do was fight as hard as he could around the clock, destroying himself for the sake of your preservation. 

I live my life in years to come

To prepare myself for sorrow

So I won't worry when I crumble at your feet

Losing you was always in the back of Sam’s mind. Sometimes when he let his mind wander too far, he would try to make plans for what he would do, how he would handle it, but he could never quite wrap his head around a desire to live even a minute longer than you. These were the thoughts that plagued his mind when he would roll over to hold you a little tighter at night. He would stir and you would wake, whispering reassurances that he would never accept. Still, it was nice to hold you close. It was a reminder that you were still here, that he could savor you for as many minutes as he was blessed with. 

It wasn’t uncommon for Sam to break down in front of you. It was a heavy load he carried, and you told him time and time again to let you into his heart and mind. You do so much to care for me, Sam. Let me care for you. So every so often, when things got so dark that he lost his way, you were the one to try to coax him back to the light. 

It's something sinister to love

Without regard for dear Tomorrow

To search for worry is to love without deceit

Dean would tell him he needed to stop worrying so much, that he was ruining the love he had right in front of him by not letting himself enjoy it. Live in the moment, he’d say. Enjoy what you have right now. But that was never an option for Sam. If he let his guard down, if he let himself become distracted, weak, he could lose you. It was because he truly loved you that he piled the world atop his shoulders. It was all he felt he could do to earn the right to be loved by you. Dean would shake his head, but he knew deep down that there was nothing he could do to change his brother’s line of thinking. As long as there were monsters to hunt, there would be danger. And as long as there was danger, Sam would throw himself in the line of fire to keep you safe- whether the enemy was a ghost, a demon, or his own mind. 

So I fill my days with thinking

Though, I'm years from my true time

I could die tomorrow, you'd be close behind

Close behind. 

Hey, hey. Sam. It’s okay, breathe with me. 

Sam, I know you still worry, but we haven’t hunted for years now. There’s no more danger. 

You and me? We’re safe and sound. You can breathe easy, you can relax. 

I’m not going anywhere. 

Sam would be lying if he said he didn’t still think about losing you every day. Though you had been out of the hunting game for years, though the world had found a new peace and many of the threats had been eliminated, the worry was too far engrained into his mind. He tried to hide it from you because there was nothing you could do to help. This was a burden Sam knew he would carry for the rest of his life. His eyes would always dart around a new room for escape routes. He would always carry holy water in case he got suspicious. He would skim through old lore books in secret to keep his knowledge sharp. He still slept with his gun in his nightstand, kept as far away from him as he could bear, out of fear that you would notice its presence and recognize his fear. But you already knew all of these things. You were so attuned to everything that weighed heavy on Sam’s heart- this had always been your own burden to carry. 

I can’t wait to grow old with you, you’d hum, running your fingers through his hair or tracing circles on his forearm. Sam would nod, he would smile, he would humor you as you chatted about marriage and kids and retirement and everything he knew you deserved. You two built a beautiful, normal life together- dinner dates and romantic vacations and even a big white wedding one day. But even as he stood at the altar and watched you walk down the aisle, there was a pistol tucked into his waistband of his tux. When you moved into your first home, he would sneak out of your room in the middle of the night to stencil warding symbols underneath the paint you’d picked out for the living room. And when you were setting up the nursery before bringing home your first child… 

Sam would grow old with you, but his heart would never grow any less weary. 

[rollingsins]

all hers, part xx

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue

summary: R's Dad gets wind of the plan. He's less than thrilled.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder. Mention of sex, mention of violence.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: sorry bbys, i know i've been MIA. just enjoying the summer, but I'm back for a new chapter! as always, thanks for all the love and let me know what you think!!

Several orgasms later - when you’re a sweaty, ruined mess underneath Tara’s body, you hear the murmur of voices and the front door slam closed.

Sam’s finally had enough, you think, a little sleepily. Her indignant request for the two of you to keep quiet had only made Tara fuck you harder. She’s annoying like that. And what had been Sam’s loss had been your gain.

Or so you had thought.

There’s a rumble against the floorboards downstairs. Boots, the owner heavy-footed. Sam’s voice - distant, a little apprehensive. And then you hear your Dad.

Deep, like thunder.

He sounds pissed.

“Tara, get off me,” You murmur, suddenly. She’s pressing you down into the mattress, lips on your neck, fingers wandering somewhere you definitely don’t need right now.

You sit up slightly, pulling her up with you.

“But I’m not done with you yet.” She says, eyes dancing as she pulls away from your neck.

She pushes you back into the bed, hard, taking your hands and pinning them over your head. You resist. Your Dad’s steps hit like lightning against the staircase.

“Babe,” You insist, “I’m serious, my Dad is home.”

She quells your fears with a kiss. Nips at your bottom lip.

“He’ll knock, babe, relax.” She assures.

She tilts your head to her lips, but you withdraw.

Panic surges through you.

You hear your Dad’s footsteps on the staircase. You wrench your hands out of her grip and reach for your t-shirt.

Your Dad doesn’t knock. You’ve known it for eighteen years and he certainly is going to stop it now. You pry your t-shirt over your head.

“Clothes, Tara. Now.” You hiss.

She rolls her eyes, but reaches for her own shirt.

But it’s too late. You hear the door click as the handle turns and then the bedroom door bursts wide open.

Your Dad stands, eyes wild, frightening as he looks over at you.

Tara gasps, and tugs the sheets over her body.

“Ever heard of knocking, dude?” She asks, cheeks red, in a rare moment of embarrassment.

Your Dad blinks.

The anger dissipates; he’s startled, like you in bed with Tara was the last thing he expected.

“What the hell is going on here?” He hisses, eyes wide with indignation. He flits between you trying to tug your shirt over your head and Tara pulling the sheets up to her neck. He looks outraged.

“Are you having sex?” He splutters. His eyes might bulge out of his head.

“No, we’re playing twister,” Tara says, voice dry, “Of course we’re having sex, what does it look like?”

She, as always, knows how to twist the knife.

You’d tell her to shut up, but your words - along with a piece of your soul - have died. Shock, embarrassment flood through you.

Rage explodes across your Dad’s face.

His chest heaves. He looks as though he might tackle her. You grip her hand, looking between them.

“Just give us one sec, Dad, we’ll be dressed in a minute.”

He takes a breath. Swallows hard.

Silence fills the room for a single, brutal second.

And then he’s blinking over at you, the rage simmering into a steady swell.

“Downstairs.” He tells you, his voice low, “One minute.”

He pauses, eyes flickering with disgust.

“And put some god damn clothes on.”

-

You briefly consider escaping out the window.

Taking Tara with you - with any luck you’d never have to look your Dad in the eye again. The thought of him tearing Woodsboro apart to find you again has you reluctantly pulling your jeans back on and helping Tara into hers.

“No talking back,” You say, lip between your teeth as you button her pants, “I mean it Tara. Say as little as possible, please. Let me do the talking.”

“Whatever you say, babe.” She grumbles. Her cheeks are still tinted pink. You kiss her cheek, rub her hip. She’s cute when she’s embarrassed, but you save that thought for later.

Right now you have bigger problems.

Your Dad is wildly pacing when the two of you come downstairs. Sam looks over at the two of you, offers Tara an appraising I told you so glare, but your focus isn’t on her. You chew your lip, settle into the sofa with Tara at your side.

“Sorry, daddy,” You say, voice small, “We thought you’d be at work a little longer.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, you know it the moment it leaves your lips.

Your Dad whirls around, eyebrows knit almost comically. Deep, angry frown lines mar his face.

“Where do I even begin?” He asks, eyes flashing, “The arrest? The murder? Setting up Ghostface? What the hell has been going on and why wasn’t I told?”

“Dad, please, calm down-“ You start but the look in his eyes quietens you.

“Not to mention the sex?” He thunders as if it’s even vaguely comparable to the others. He points a beefy finger at Tara, “You spent the morning in jail for multiple murders.”

The finger turns to you.

“You spent the morning committing manslaughter. And then the two of you decided to come home and what? Celebrate?”

His face turns red, “With underage fornication?”

Tara can’t help herself.

“It’s not underage sex, we’re both eighteen-“

“Quiet.” He snarls, “We’ll start with you - Sheriff Hicks arrested you this morning. For six murders.”

“That was a mistake,” Interjects Sam, “Sheriff Hicks got it wrong. The culprit was caught. He’s…. in custody.”

“In custody?” Your Dad says, “He’s dead. And the Sheriff tells me it was my daughter who did it.”

His fingers flex, menacingly. He’s scary like this. You’ve always been aware of his temper, walked on eggshells to please him, but this is something different.

Something terrifying.

“He attacked us at the school, I had no choice.” You say, voice small. Tara’s arm snakes around your waist. She squeezes your hip, gently.

“You had no choice?” Says your Dad, taking a step closer, “You arranged it. The Sheriff told me everything. The plan. The guns. You walked in there knowing you were going to take his life. It was calculated. And you didn’t tell me a fucking thing. How dare you.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Says Tara. Your Dad isn’t the only one with a temper, but Tara’s is much, much worse. If he invokes The Rage, there isn’t much you can do to stop it.

You grip her hand, trying to signal for her to back down.

“I’ll talk to my own child how I please,” Your Dad sneers, “And as for you? You want to tell me why the Sheriff suspected you so much she had you hauled off in handcuffs?”

“Because she got it wrong,” You say, “Dad, are you even listening?”

He’s quiet a moment. His eyes swell. He looks the way he did like the first time you had told him you didn’t need him to push you on the swings anymore. Or the time he’d found out you’d had your first kiss with Aaron, or when you’d bought Tara home for the first time.

He looks devastated. Betrayed.

“You never told me you were having sex,” He says, voice hoarse.

You swallow.

“Dad, that’s - a little too uncomfortable of a conversation to have, don’t you think?”

“I thought you were a good girl. I thought you had values.” He looks distraught. So much so, that you almost feel bad.

“Dad… I’m eighteen, it’s not like I’m a kid anymore,” you say, voice slow, “And Tara and I have been dating for two years. I figured you just… knew.”

Clearly, he didn’t.

If anything, the sex has wounded him more than the murder you’d just committed.

“You’re a Christian girl,” He says, voice insistent, “We raised you Christian. I thought that would mean something. I thought you were a virgin.”

Tara can’t help herself; she snorts.

You dig a sharp elbow into her side, but it’s too late. Your Dad’s eyes flash with fury and embarrassment and grief and before you can even blink he’s reaching over to grab Tara by the arm.

He yanks at her, hard, pulling her up like she’s a rag doll.

You scream out, trying to draw your body between his and hers but Sam gets there first.

She shoves him back, hard as she can and steps between them, her eyes flashing.

Looking wounded, Tara rubs at her arm, face flashing with aggravation. There’s an angry red handprint blooming on her. You pull her back, behind you, wrapping your arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t touch her, don’t you dare touch her.” Sam snarls.

Your Dad breathes out, chest heaving. He glares at Tara, and if you and Sam weren’t between them, you really think he might try and hit her.

It’s a sobering thought. And suddenly all you need is to get her out of here.

“We’re going to go.” You say, voice a little shaky, “Me, Sam and Tara are going, Dad. Until you calm down.”

His eyes flash.

You grip Tara a little harder.

“You’re not going anywhere,” He growls, “These two - they can go. They’re trouble. I want them out. But you?”

He points a finger at you.

“You’re grounded. You’re not leaving the house, as of now. Mom will home school you, you’re not seeing the rat-pack of delinquents you call friends again. And you’re breaking up with her, right now.”

Your heart thuds.

Your Dad’s face is brazen. Serious.

But so are you.

“No.” You say, drawing your shoulders back.

“No?”

“No. I’m eighteen, I can’t be grounded. You can’t tell me who my friends are and you certainly can’t stop me from seeing Tara.”

Your Dad slams his hand against the table. A cup shatters to the ground. You flinch.

“She’s been arrested for murder, YN.” He says, voice fraught. He blinks at you, desperate for you to understand, “And you might believe that she’s done nothing wrong but the Sheriff arrested her for a reason. Between that and the-”

He shudders.

“The fornicating. No. You’re not seeing her anymore. I won’t allow it.”

Sam stands up, hands raised. She looks furious, but there’s something in her voice. Like she’s trying to be the voice of reason.

“Sir - please. I know you’re upset but trying to stop them from seeing each other isn’t the right way-“

“You will not see her!” Screams your Dad, “The Sheriff thinks there’s something wrong with her. That she was in it with Richie. And I saw it, right from the start. There’s something wrong with her, YN. That girl is-“

“That girl is my sister, and I’d watch what you were saying if I were you.” Sam says, voice sharp.

“We’ll go,” Says Tara, rubbing your back. She stands a little straighter, “But YN is coming with us. I'm not leaving without her." 

“Dad, I’m going.” You say, voice stern, “And if you try to stop me I’ll call the police myself. I’m eighteen, you have no right to keep me here like a hostage.”

There’s a vein on your Father’s forehead that looks like it might burst. You’ve never seen him like this before: bubbling with fury and fear and desperation. He’s acting irrational.

Crazy.

And you don’t want to be here a minute longer.

“We’re going,” Sam repeats for you. She still has her hand raised, as if she’s afraid he might lunge at Tara at any given moment, “Okay?”

It’s not okay, clearly.

But your threat of calling the police seems to work.

He swallows. Face still red.

He swears at you.

Calls you ungrateful. Smashes another glass against the floor.

But then he leaves.

And before he can change his mind, you’re gripping onto Tara for dear life and leading her out the front door.

-

Sam drives.

You sit in the back seat, head against Tara’s shoulder, inspecting the red hand marks on her forearm.

Your Dad got angry sometimes, sure, but he’d never physically hurt anyone before. He could have killed her right there, you could tell by the look in his eyes, if you and Sam hadn’t been there to intervene.

You press your lips to the mark, heart aching at the thought your own Father had been the one to hurt her.

“You couldn’t have waited a couple more hours before you jumped each other?” Sam asks, voice wry.

She peers into the backseat just in time to catch the flash of indignation across Tara’s face.

“Way to victim-blame, Sam,” Tara says, crossing her arms, “We were just fucking. He was acting like we were dissecting live cats together or something.”

“I thought he knew we were having sex,” You say, absent-mindedly, “What kind of couple is together for two years without having sex?”

“Mormons,” Tara says, her nose wrinkled, “Or your parents, maybe.”

You roll your eyes.

“It doesn’t matter, now.” You say, a little nervous as Sam pulls into the driveway of hers and Tara’s house, “What matters is we get this place safe and secured before we go to bed tonight.”

Tara squeezes your thigh.

Sam gets to work immediately.

She gets her drill out, installing new locks on each of the doors. Tara hides the knives, holsters a small pistol around her waist.

They both look hot.

You keep that thought to yourself and watch Tara as she leans over and reaches for Sam’s drill. She bites her lip as she drills the hinge into place and then turns and catches your gaze.

“What?” She asks, small smile on her face.

“Nothing,” You say, voice coy as she moves over and snakes her arms around your waist, “You just look sexy doing that, that’s all.”

“I look sexy drilling a hinge into the door?” She teases. She presses a kiss to your lips.

You bite your lip and look over at Sam. She’s picking up the drill and then traipsing off into the next room.

“I want you to drill me into the door.” You say, voice low.

Tara’s eyes spark.

Then you hear Sam groan from the other room.

“Again?”

Your cheeks flush red. Tara laughs.

You smack her gently, then nuzzle your head into her neck.

Tara presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m going to finish up these doors,” She says, voice light, “And then I’ll drill you into anything you want, baby.”

You half consider dragging her up the stairs and taking her up on that promise. The adrenaline from the day is manifesting in some particularly horny ways. You don’t know if it’s the fear, or the shock but all you can think about is Tara and how much you want her.

But before you can so much as kiss her, the doorbell is ringing.

Sam peers back into the room, frown on her face.

“If that’s your Dad-” She begins, but you cut her off, miles ahead of her.

If it is your Dad, the last thing you need is Tara around.

You shake her off, worry overtaking your expression.

“I’ll get rid of him,” You say, hurriedly, “Baby, stay here.”

But when you make your way to the door, and swing it open, it isn’t your Dad standing there.

You frown. Clutch at the door a little tighter.

“Sheriff Hicks?” You ask, a little confused. She’s standing with her hat in her hands, looking nervous. More nervous than you’ve ever seen her.

And this is the third time you’ve seen her today, and in all honesty, you’d rather not see her again for a few weeks, at the very least. 

You’ve had your fill of her.

“YN,” She says, peering behind you. She wrings her hands, “Samantha Carpenter, is she here?”

You frown, a little confused.

You feel Tara come up behind you, press her hands to your hips. You don’t need to look at her to tell she’s less than pleased to see the woman who’d arrested her standing on her doorstep.

“Sheriff,” Tara drawls, shoulders tight, “Here to arrest anymore innocent people?”

The Sheriff ignores her. She looks to you.

“May I come in?” She asks.

“No.” Says Tara, arms crossed.

The Sheriff falls silent. Her eyes flit between yours and Tara’s. She looks grave. Like she’s seen a ghost.

“I’m not here to arrest anyone,” The Sheriff says. She sounds serious, “I just need to speak with Sam. It’s about Richie.”

“Richie?” His name draws Sam out from the kitchen.

The Sheriff nods.

“If I could just come inside-”

“You’re not coming inside my house,” Tara says, voice sharp, “Tell Sam whatever you want about Richie, and then leave. Please.”

The Sheriff looks like she wants to argue. But then her shoulders drop. She takes a deep breath and looks Sam right in the eye.

“He’s gone.”

Sam blinks.

“I know, Sheriff,” She says, voice slow, “I was there, remember?”

The Sheriff shakes her head.

“No, Sam. He’s gone. As in we can't find him anywhere.” 

[outlanderskin]

Tobias Menzies

I was reading on a card how much would fit in ten years and I saw that in 10 Years

fit 120 Months

521,714 Weeks

3652 Days

87648 Hours

5258880 Minutes

315532800 Seconds.

And even in all this, it doesn't fit what it meant for me to wait for him.

Within these 10 years, there are memories of being persecuted since the beginning when I said that he was my favorite.

All the times, I had to explain the difference between actors and characters for people who hated him because of Frank and BJR.

All the times I've had to say that I really like Sam, but that at the top of my list will always be Tobias, and this isn't a sin.

All the times I said there was no dispute between them.

All the times I was hurt when I saw people from my side of the fandom excluding him from photos or wishing he wouldn't go to some events because it would "take the focus" away from the main actors couple (yes, this stupid thing happened).

I've been in this fandom since the beginning, and anyone who knows me knows that for me, it's always been about him. I'm not someone who started using Tobias to justify hatred or to disguise an unhealthy love for Sam. It was natural from the first day I looked at him. And a thousand times, I've expressed my pride about how private, talented, different, down-to-earth he is.

I've been going to Cons of Outlander since 2015, but he rarely does Cons, I had already met the loves of my fandom friends' lives, but never mine. Until Saturday, April 13, 2024.

When I took the first photo (with him and Sam) and saw him for the first time, everything around me disappeared completely. There he was, finally. I was practically led by my friend, I gathered all the courage to say where I came from, then he blinked, and all my senses and rationality, and 🎶🎶🎶 all that was me, was gone🎶. I don't remember how I left the room, but my friends remember... I needed to be strong, I thought. There would still be three photos with him alone (one of them a gift from much-loved friends), a photo with him and Sophie, and an autograph. I would have to maintain my sanity until then.

For the first time, I understood the fact that Sam Heughan's fans left photo shoots shaking.

During the photo shoot, I spoke quietly, and so did he, and for me, it was like a dance because I said he decided the poses and I followed. I left the session and I want to thank from the bottom of my heart the girl on the team who asked me how I was and I could only say "he's my favorite" and she hugged me.

There was a rush at the autograph, but I gave him a book about theatre from my country, and I believe it was a gift he didn't expect. He thanked me with his hand on his chest, like the gentleman he is and at that moment I wanted to be royalty because I was going to give him all the honors of a noble English knight that I could find in the Buckingham Palace . Do I like British Monarchy? I like Tobias Menzies.

Ah....how I wish I could sit down with him and say he has a fan page that I manage, say that I admire him for being truly discreet in every way. Ask about his process of acting , speak about Stanislavski, Brecht, Ibsen, talk about my experiences in the classroom with The Theater of the Oppressed and say how good is for me to see someone like him acting. But conventions are collective experiences, and there would be no time.

In ten years, a lot can happen... all this time waiting for him. And I would do it all again. Someone like him was worth waiting for.

[catalyst-sys]

A Different Type of Combat Doll

“I think it’s a combat doll,”

The combat doll being talked about was sitting in front of them, unaware that it was being discussed as it sat behind the 3 inches of window glass, drawing something on blank pieces of paper with a wooden number 2 pencil. They were wearing a gray shirt with typical camo pants, every so often pushing a some of their black hair out of their face.

Sam stood in front of the window, their arms folded behind her back. She was tall for a Witch at six feet, made of pure muscle and will. Her auburn hair making way for her steely face. She was an awestruck creature of beauty. “What do you mean, you think it’s a combat doll?” Sam said, emphasizing ‘think’ as she observed the doll.

“We think its defective,” The other witch said, a tiny toy in comparison to Sam’s physique, trying to meet Sam’s gaze. Sam’s eyes were focused on the doll. When Sam didn’t respond, the other witch continued, “They passed half of their mech training classes, but seemed clueless on nearly everything else. Our memory specialist, Patricia, her best guess was mech pilot. The doll often talks about flying, and then moments later, crashing. If that’s not a mech pilot, what is?” The other witch’s tone kept on trying to poke for a response, but Sam didn’t take any of the bait.

Sam just kept on looking at the combat doll. It was drawing something with a lot of lines. Sam walked inside the alone time room through a door that was next to the observation window. The doll looked up, mid pencil stroke frozen on the page. “Are you here to get me into another mech?” The doll’s tone was flat, bored. Sam could hear weariness in it too.

“Do you not want to be in a mech?” Sam asked.

“I mean…” The doll talked in first person, a rare trait for combat dolls, “I like them, I like how they work. But driving one isn’t… enough,” The doll said, as if trying to recall the lyrics to an old song.

There was a moment between the doll and Sam where they held each other’s gaze. Sam was about to say something when the other witch walked into the room from behind Sam, and the doll immediately turned away, hiding behind her hair like a safety blanket. “Is it true that you don’t have a doll of your own?” The other witch asked, “Because you can’t find one?”

Sam turned to the other witch and said, “I think I can fix your problem,”

The doll winced when Sam said ‘problem’.

The other witch didn’t notice, but Sam did.

-

Sam ran through the normal diagnostics to see if there might be anything physically wrong with the doll. Its joins were well taken care of, its gears were tuned, and the key inside its soul was forever ticking.

Nothing was out of place.

It was during one of these moments of the Witch inspecting the doll that the doll asked, “Miss Sam, do you not have another doll?”

“Nope,” Sam responded.

“Why not?” The doll asked as its feet dangled and kicked off the ledge of the table.

“It would interfere with my work,” Sam said. Which was true, but Sam knew it was one of those lies that a doll could easily see through.

“Is your work important?” The doll pried. Sam wasn’t sure how to respond to this.

“I… help dolls find their Purpose. That is definitely important,” Sam slowly spoke.

“Is being a repair Witch fun?” The doll asked.

“Yes. I think so,” Sam said with a brief pause, then decided to continue further when the doll had no response, “It requires critical thinking. No two dolls are ever the same. Each one is special in their own right,”

Sam set her tools down and slipped a shirt back onto the doll. The doll wiggled into it, tucking its arms in to the sleeves, sitting up and looking at Sam who began to clean up. The doll then did something that Sam has noticed become a comforting stim for the doll. Its left hand grasped something invisible at the height as her chest, then the bottom of her right palm pushed something near her right leg, then shoved it over with the back of her right hand, then right palm forward. Afterwards, the doll’s hands would drop down to its side. This time however, it noticed Sam was staring, “Sorry sorry sorry…”

“Shhh shhh shhh, it’s okay Fidget,” Sam said, hushing the doll with a comforting patience but also a new found understanding. The other witch said her name was Fidget since they would always do some sort of stim motion with their hands. It was honestly quite a mean nick name that stuck home. Fidget hugged Sam close which she graciously accepted.

“Can you… fix this one?” Fidget whispered.

“I can definitely try little one,”

-

That motion that Fidget made with her hands is normal among combat dolls. It was an automatic response due to the trauma they held within. Usually it was a combat doll going through the motions of reloading their gun, pulling the trigger, or some other task they did frequently.

The was Sam’s clue that she was going to solve.

First, Sam pulled out some manuals and schematics to several of the most common type of mech cock pits. That motion she did with her right hand is exactly where the throttle was for some mechs, a lever that pushed forward or was pulled backwards to determine if the mech walked forward or backwards. But the left hand didn’t grab anything. It was simply floating in mid air in the cockpit.

Sam threw that manual away, then grabbed another one that was labeled ‘Athena Class, Godzilla,” Godzilla in this case was referencing a manufacturer, not the kaiju. This one had something that might have fit the left hand in the cock pit, but there was no device for her right.

Sam went through manual after manual. Schematic after schematic. Nothing lined up perfectly like how it did for any other pilot doll that did something similar.

It still struck Sam as odd. Why point out Fidget’s automatic motions? It was completely normal for a combat doll to do something like that. So why would the other witches point it out like it was something to make fun of? To tease a doll about their trauma.

Sam leaned back in her chair and began to massage her temples and rub her eyes. She took a glance at the clock, five hours have passed since she sat down. Her bowl of rice and some sort of substitute meat laid on the table, untouched and has now formed a gelatinous layer of oil and grease on top. It didn’t smell great in here, but it smelled like home.

She pushed the bowl away and grabbed another manual, this one saying “Toyota, Archimedes B-139”. Toyota was one of the first mech manufacturers on the market, but Sam remembered they also made a bunch of other things before. Before even flipping the manual open, in some sort of delirious haze, Sam decided to internally say, “Fuck it, what if Fidget somehow piloted a forklift?”

Sam pushed her chair over to her computer desk, although it took some effort as one of the wheels on her chair had the friction of sandpaper. She looked up Toyota and what came up first was a group of enthusiasts that grabbed old technology and restored them to their former beauty.

It was ten pm when she sat down at her computer, and as any wiki dive went, it was four am when Sam realized she fell into a pit of looking up different cars, parts, and engines.

Sam stretched her arms away from her body, making a soft moan as she did so. She completely forgot about helping Fidget and just fell into a hole of how cars worked and the mechanics that worked on them.

It was actually kind of exciting and cool. An outdated technology that was used for entertainment now, instead of war. Cars still existed, but not in this form of self expression. Now they were optimized for carrying capacity and fuel efficiency, which in its own right was interesting to compare and contrast.

“One more video, and then I’m off to bed,” Sam lied to herself, knowing that one more video would become ten before she was able to tear the screen away for enough time to collapse onto her bed.

She clicked on one that said, “DRIFTING A BRZ, 1000 HP, ON THE BACKROADS OF SAUDI ARABIA” Sam opened another tab to look up where Saudi Arabia was. Seemed to be a bustling metropolis in the middle east that had a specific type of car handling dirt roads and sand dunes. Sam was excited to see where this went.

The video however was on asphalt. The driver was on the right side, which struck Sam as odd because usually it was on the left. And the camera person was sitting in the passenger seat on the left where the car would be.

And what Sam saw next, she didn’t think she would ever forget.

The car rocketed towards a turn, way past the point Sam thought it would be too late to slam on the brakes to slow down, and then camera shifted to outside perspective and the car was driving sideways. It was a chaotic sense of control that seemed other worldly. The turn ended, and the car was going forwards again.

What on earth was that?

Sam did another web search and found out about drifting, a type of approach to a turn to keep your speed. It was obsolete as it destroyed the vehicle, putting insane stress on the tires, engine, and clutch, but it was still beautiful to look at.

“Maybe if being a repair witch ever goes south, I could be a car mechanic,” Sam said to herself, but then Fidget’s words yanked at her like a dog on a leash, “Is your work important?”

Fuck. Sam should really head to bed. But one more video. - Sam yawned. It was incredibly rude, but she didn’t care. Her bed seemed unnaturally inviting as she sat in her chair, business suit on but slightly wrinkled, staring at the computer screen in front of her. Fidget sat next to her, out of sight of the camera.

“So. Progress. We’re running low on combat dolls and we need Fidget back on the field as soon as possible,” A man on the screen said. They were wearing a military uniform, their right chest looking like a rainbow of stars and colors, their shoulders looking like flavored tootsie rolls. High ranking. Sam didn’t realize things were that dire that they needed someone this high up on the military food chain to take control of the situation.

“No progress so far-” Sam’s mind was muted as all she could think about was her bed and cuddling Fidget.

“Witch. It has been six months. I was told you were the best in the business,” The general sergeant major whatever said. Sam’s mind was elsewhere, and it probably showed on her face. Sam didn’t really care for talking with this man and his passive aggressive remarks.

“You’re asking a screwdriver to be a hammer,” Sam said frankly, which shut the general up, “I have done several different tests, all verified by the WDA, and the AWA standard. She is not a combat doll,”

“Then what is she then? Your organization has stated that she is a combat doll and we have held onto her neural link for no return on investment! You better turn her into a combat doll, or its your career in the drain!” The man threatened, but such threats held no power or sway over Sam. She didn’t have a career, she was an independent contractor that made a small fortune repairing dolls and instilling Purpose.

She could always just force instill the Purpose into Fidget. It would hurt. But it wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

So why didn’t she? She’s has done so before and didn’t feel a thing, but why was this different now?

A ball jointed hand reached out in front of her and pressed the ‘m’ key, muting their microphone. Sam blinked and looked to her side where Fidget sat. Her hands went back to doing that motion she always did, but she looked at Sam with those big comfortable eyes and said, “It can be a combat doll for you Miss Sam. If you really want it to be one,”

That was why. Sam loved this doll.

Wait.

Shit.

She took a deep breath in, and let a deep breath out. She unmuted the microphone and spoke while looking at the camera, “How much do you want for the doll?” - “Keep your eyes closed for a moment more,” Sam told Fidget.

“Miss! This one can’t see anything!” Fidget said, the gears underneath her chest stuttering in excitement.

Sam led Fidget into her new garage. The walls were lined with tools, the ground stained with black splotches, and the ceiling shined brilliantly as it filled the garage with light.

“Okay, you can open them,” Sam said.

Fidget opened them and wasn’t quite sure how to feel. “It’s… a car… Miss,” Fidget said.

“It sure is,” Sam said with a roll of her eyes and slight smile.

“Are we going on a trip?” Fidget asked.

“Yes,” Sam said.

“Where to?” Fidget asked.

Sam walked up to a door on the car and opened it, “Wherever you want to go,”

Fidget blinked, as if she was hearing gibberish come out of Sam’s mouth. Fidget, unsure of what to do next, walked up to the door opposite of Sam and opened it.

The interior of this car was fresh, new, and smelled of lemon. In front of Fidget was her seat which was behind a steering wheel. “Wait Miss, aren’t you…”

“A doll’s duty is to service its Witch,” Sam reminded it. Fidget made a noise which sounded like a gulp. The cute thing it did when Fidget was anxious about the situation it was in.

Fidget sighed and muttered a “… one two three…” before getting into the car. It felt comfortable, but a bit far away from the accelerator, brake, and clutch pedals. Fidget’s hands automatically went for the switch underneath her seat to scoot her chair forward. Fidget’s eyes widened but before it could even say anything, Sam’s voice said, “Keep going,”

Fidget placed both of its hands on the steering wheel. It felt sturdy, which in turn felt nice.

“Okay,” Fidget said, its breath a little shaky, she her right hand then rested on the gear stick that stuck out inbetween her and her Witch and Fidget’s eyes widened even more so, “This…”

“Are you okay my doll?” Sam said, a little teasingly.

Fidget didn’t answer. She pressed the button which started the ignition and the car whirred to life. Without a second thought, she shifted into first gear and slowly let the clutch go, the car shifting forward out of the garage.

They drove out into the open and the simple oval that Sam constructed out of asphalt and gravel. Fidget didn’t let go of the accelerator as they made out like a bullet towards the turn. Fidget’s hands worked like they were right at home.

She then pressed her left foot into the brake pedal and quickly shifted the wheel left, and they entered the turn sideways.

The car exited the turn and began to slow down. Fidget shifted the car back into neutral and yanked the hand brake up. She turned to her Witch who could only sit there, a dumb loopy smile on her face.

“That felt exhilarating,” Sam said, the happiness in her voice was unmistakable.

“Miss…”

“Yes, my doll?”

“Thank you,”

“Anything for you.”

[paranoidginger]

Respawn Malfunction- Destabilization-3

Characters: Spy (TF2), Medic (TF2), Engineer (TF2)

TW: Body Horror, Dark Themes, Needles

Nearly two months had passed since the initial incident, and Medic had managed to regain most of the Spy's trust again, getting his answers despite his silent wishes that he would be able to witness the Destabilization process first-hand.

It had been one of the rare times that their team won, and going into the weekend it was a wonderful way to raise everyone's spirits for the next week's battles, not to mention that it gave Medic time to mull over his data and theories as to what had gone wrong to cause such a severe malfunction in the team's Spy that handful of weeks ago.

What the Medic wasn't expecting, was for the Engineer to bust down his door after Saturday's breakfast, half-carrying the Spy; his current object of interest within his studies. Nor did he expect his silent wish to be answered.

"Doc! Something's wrong with Spy!" Engineer called sharply, helping his partner to sit down as the Medic set aside his reading and moved to meet the pair, tipping the Spy's chin up slightly to get a clearer look at his face once he arrived.

"Tell me vhat is going on, meine freund." Medic said quietly, letting go of the Spy's face and looking to Engineer as his patient remained silent, save for his raspy and unsteady breathing.

"W-We were in the workshop, an' I was goin' tah work on his gear a bit, and he just started tippin' over... I-I caught 'im but he's burnin' up, and he's got that scared look in 'is eyes, scared the livin' daylights outta me-" The Engineer explained as quickly as he could, his ramblings interrupted by the Medic as he pulled Spy to his feet once again.

A look of fear crossed the Spy's face as he folded in on himself, clasping a hand over his mouth as his labored breaths turned to hacking coughs, only standing by the will of the Medic, who diligently kept him on his feet.

"Ve will have to move quickly zhen! Engineer please help our dear spy undress, You can pull zhat curtain to make a little private room, I vill be right back." With that, Medic shifted the Spy's weight over to Engineer who hesitantly nodded, carefully helping Spy to the little area and pulling the curtain shut.

Medic arrived moments later with a large plastic bin, a barely contained grin on his face as he set it on the floor of the curtained space. Any real worry for the other man simply overridden by his curiosities. As long as he remembered not to put his hands through him, he wouldn't be hurting him, and he would respawn in one piece again anyway.

"Spy, in zhe bin please!" He spoke in a cheerful tone, gesturing to the plastic tote as he moved to help the man step into the container and sit down, his body still wracking with choking breaths and hot pain that spread throughout his chest and abdomen.

"What in sam-hill are you doin' all this for? First you ask me to undress the man now you're puttin' him in this?" Engineer gestured to the container, his heart aching as the man he loved stared fearfully towards him, the only part of him still covered being his head, thanks to the balaclava that Engineer knew he rarely removed. "You're treatin' him like some sorta lab rat, Doc, this doesn't seem much like helping him! I just don't understand-"

"Ah, zhe explanation vill show itself shortly, I'm certain of it! I'm sure our dear kamerad vill be greatful for your support, as vell!" Medic chimed, reaching down and grabbing the bottom edge of the Spy's balaclava. "I apologize, meine freund, can't have zhis getting in zhe vay again."

The Medic paused as the man's clumsy and quivering hands grabbed at his wrists to no avail as the medic peeled away his mask, the surface of his skin growing shiny and slick as he tried to speak, only to find his lips unable to part, and breaths impossible to take as he began to grab at his face, quiet gurgles the only sound he could make, his hands pulling away from his face with thick strands of viscous fluid.

The Engineer took a small step back, a look of horror and disgust across his face as he watched the Spy's face melt and contort, the other man's eyes rolling back slightly as the parts of his body that should have been solid and bone began to collapse in on themselves.

Spy wanted to scream... He wanted and he tried, but the only sounds he could manage were small bubbling gurgles as his body burned and liquefied, the sounds he could still make slowly fading as the small amount of air still trapped inside of him escaped, leaving him mute and defenseless.

All Engineer could do was stand and watch in absolute horror as the minutes dragged on, and his lover quite literally melted in front of him, a hand covering his mouth as he watched in silence.

Medic, on the other hand had been watching intently, taking careful notes as the process went on, ethics clouded by curiosity and morbid interest as he simply watched and waited.

Slowly, the Spy's entire being dissolved into itself as the others observed, leaving nothing but a thick, translucent fluid in the bottom of the container he had been made to sit in, and the man's eyes by the time the process was complete.

"Doc..." The Engineer finally broke the silence, his voice cracking and quivering ever so slightly as he spoke "W-what did I just watch..."

"A respawn malfunction at its peak! Zhis happened just a couple of veeks ago as well!"

"Spy ain't respawned since yesterday, sawbones, how can you think this is because of that machine?!" Engineer spoke quickly, hesitating for a moment before walking up to the bin and kneeling down beside it. "This just ain't right..."

"I zhink zhis one vas delayed for some reason, like an incubation period on a virus, except zhe result is Spy turning into zhis slime! By all means it should kill him, but as far as I know, He is still completely alive in zhat state!"

"He's still... Oh God..." He looked down at the contents of the bin, covering his mouth once again as he watched the thick substance slowly congeal into a round-ish sort of shape, the Spy's eyes moving to look up at him.

Hesitantly, the Engineer lowered his gloved hand into the large container and gently touched the side of the gelatinous mass that had once been the Spy, watching as his surface rippled in a small, neat pattern, inching closer and stretching slightly into the Engineer's gloved palm.

"Can you... Is there a way to fix this?" The Engineer asked quietly, sparing a desperate glance at the team's doctor before returning his gaze to the Spy.

"I have no idea! Zhe last time, I ran a few tests und zhen euthanized him via electric shock. Zhe method vas quite messy though, I vas cleaning bits of him out of zhe lab for days after he exploded." He shrugged "I could try a couple more zhings vith him, if you don't mind"

"If you're not gonna just fix this, it's better to just put him down... Watchin' that happen to him... It looked like it hurt... There's no way to tell if he's still hurtin' either." There was a pained look on his face, tears stinging at his eyes beneath his goggles as he carefully traced his gloved hand over the rippling surface of what had once been the Spy... That still was the Spy.

"I could see if zhe medigun has any effect. I can also see vhat injectable painkillers could do." He wrote something else in his notes before leaving the small curtained area, returning with his medigun and a box full of syringes and various injectables. "Up to you vich ones ve try first, meine hard-hatted freund!"

The Spy's gelatinous form inched closer to the Engineer, his surface rippling harder than before as his eyes turned to look up at the doctor, The Engineer watching carefully as the blob that was Spy moved and pulsed.

"Just try the medigun, Doc... He looks scared..." The Engineer responded in a careful tone, still cupping his hand around the Spy's side.

The Medic shrugged slightly, turning on the medigun and aiming it at the Spy, watching carefully as the Spy seemed to relax, the pulsing of his rippling surface slowing and eventually stopping and his rounded form flattening slightly.

"Oh! Zhat's an interesting reaction!" The Medic chirped leaning in a bit closer to the bin and propping the medigun on his knee as he reached out to lightly poke at the Spy with his gloved hand.

Engineer watched worriedly as the blob in the large container pulled quickly away from the medic, a pair of nubs forming and wrapping around his hand.

"Ohoh! Look at zhat! Zhe medigun must have stabilized him in a vay zhat he can move... He's even got little hand nubs!"

"I... I don't think we should keep goin' like this, Doc..." The Engineer's brows furrowed as he looked to the Medic, a frown crossing his lips.

"He should be fine like zhis for just a little longer, I have so many more tests to run!"

It took some time, but the Engineer was able to talk sense into Medic, protective over the translucent mush that had become of his Spy as the pair decided on how to make him respawn again.

Eventually, Medic decided on acid, testing it on one of the samples he had taken the first time and watching as it destroyed and dissolved the sample swiftly and with no remains.

Once the short test was finished, the Engineer stood and gathered the Spy's things, leaving the defenceless blob alone with the doctor as he departed for the respawn chamber.

The Medic knelt down beside the plastic tub, a grim expression on his face and a large syringe filled with the eroding chemical, making eye contact as the Spy's amorphous form pulsed and rippled.

"I apologize, zhis vill hurt, it is simply zhe most efficient method I can zhink of. At least it vill be over quickly." The Medic gently patted the Spy, taking a small breath before inserting the needle into his gel-like body.

The needle stung as it made its way into him, pressure building up and sending splitting pain through him before the burning began, the acid eating a gaping hole through him as it slowly made it to his eyes, his world going black before the agony finally disappeared along with his consciousness.

Engineer was there, already waiting as the respawn machine pieced the Spy back together, shoving his consciousness into the new body as the man wobbled slightly on his feet, blinking as the Engineer quickly moved up to him, carefully looking him over.

"You're not feelin' like you're gonna melt again, are you?" Engineer asked quickly, pulling Spy into a hug, feeling as the taller man returned the gesture, burying his face in the Engineer's shoulder as he began to cry. "Shhh... it's okay sunshine... It's alright... Come on now, let's get you dressed."

Engineer carefully helped him along, concern still clear on his face as he helped the Spy with his mask, making sure it sat evenly on the man's face before cupping his cheeks in his hands and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

"I won't let this happen again... I-I don't know what I'd do if you got stuck like that..." The Engineer spoke softly looking up at the Spy's face "I don't care what it takes... I'm gonna fix that machine so it doesn't happen again."

"Thank you, mon amour... I-I do not know what I would do if I were to get stuck like that either..." The Spy whispered, gently resting his forehead against the Engineer's, both of them hoping that the incident never repeated again.

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

@thatonesimp-e @sprite-or-something

[chiefpapermuffinpasta]

a deadly calm inside - 5

pairing: dean winchester x oc!witch!reader

chapter summary: After reluctantly seeking refuge at Cordelia’s, Sam and Dean begin to suspect there’s more to her past with Marjorie than she’s letting on. As Marjorie battles her own demons, both literal and personal, she sets a trap for the wraith that has been haunting her, forcing herself to face the pain it thrives on. But when Marjorie finally enacts the ritual, she is left with no choice but to destroy the wraith and walk away from the only mother figure she’s ever known. Now, wounded but resolute, she joins the Winchesters in hunting down Meg, setting the stage for a new, volatile alliance.

word count: 14.0k

marjorie outfit inspo 2 3

marjorie get behind me! i really loved writing this chapter and building marjorie's relationship with the winchesters. i know there still isn't any smooching, but it's a slow burn for a reason lol. also, i know this is a dean fic, but how would we feel about a sam fic? im actually a sam girl and i don’t think he gets enough love on tumblr, but u guys can let me know. enjoy!!!!!

*****

The scent of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air as Marjorie slid into the diner booth, stretching her legs across the seat. The place had a charming, old-school feel- faded red vinyl booths, a jukebox humming in the background, and the faint clatter of plates in the kitchen. It was the kind of place that felt untouched by time, a perfect slice of normalcy. 

Dean grabbed the toe of her boots, shoving her legs to the floor, and dropping into the seat across from her. His eyes looked over the menu, scanning to see shock on her face. She couldn’t see the rest of his face, but she knew he was smiling. Sam slid next to him, giving him a pointed look. 

Sam looked over at Dean’s menu. “You’re really gonna order that much grease this early?” Dean looked down at his watch- 8 am. 

“It’s never too early for a bacon cheeseburger.”

A waitress walked over, her name tag showing ‘Becca.’

“What can I get started for you guys?” Her deep brown hair was tied loosely into a side braid and she had a pretty shade of red painted on her lips. Dean definitely noticed. 

He flashed her a toothy grin, giving her his order. 

Sam rolled his eyes, Marjorie mirroring the movement. 

“I’ll just get some eggs and whole wheat toast, thanks.” Sam gave her a nod, handing his menu to the woman. 

Marjorie followed, Becca not even making eye contact with her as she ordered a short stack of their chocolate chip pancakes. Becca gave her a small smile, though it didn’t really reach her eyes. 

“Coming right up,” she said as she her teeth found her bottom lip and she gave Dean the same eyes the main character of a rom-com gives the love interest. 

“That happen a lot?” Marjorie asked Sam, pointing to Dean.

“Why? You jealous, carrot top?”

Dean's smirk quickly turned to a grimace as one of Marjorie’s heels jammed into the top of his foot. 

“You wish.” Marjorie huffed.

The three fell into a comfortable silence, and Marjorie leaned back in her seat , soaking in the moment- the warmth of the diner, the smell of sticky syrup, the rare, fleeting sense of ease. It felt normal.

Normal never lasted.

Sam cleared his throat, eyes flicking back and forth from Marjorie to the salt shaker in front of him. “Do you ever talk about it?”, he asked, his voice so soft she almost didn’t hear him.

Becca sauntered over to their table, carrying three plates gratefully. 

Impressive, Marjorie thought. 

The woman placed the three plates in front of the trio, the smell overwhelming Marjorie’s nostrils. She was hungry, genuinely hungry. She smiled at the feeling. 

But then she remembered Sam’s question.

With fake confusion, she shoved a forkfull of pancake in her mouth. “Talk about what?” 

Dean watched her cheeks double in size as she ate, a fluttering in his stomach appeared. Just hungry, he thought to himself. 

Sam hesitated before clarifying. “The night you died.”

Marjorie froze mid chew. Her fingers tightened around her fork and knife, swallowing thickly. She glanced between them- Dean was quiet, watching her carefully, and Sam, ever the empathetic one, looked like he already regretted bringing it up. 

She let out a dry laugh. “Really? We’re doing trauma talk over pancakes?” 

Sam started to backpedal. “You don’t have to-”

“No, it’s fine,” Marjorie exhaled, pouring a mountain of syrup over her already soaked pancakes. “I mean… you guys already know the basics, right? Might as well go all in.”

Dean shifted. “You really don’t have to.”

She nodded to him as a thanks. She considered brushing it off but Cordelia was right- she need to talk about it. Exposure therapy or something. If this brought her closer to killing the wraith, then she was willing to do it. 

“I remember it being cold. The kind of cold you feel in your bones, you know? Eleanor and I… we were inside by the fire. I was reading her a story.” Her voice wavered slightly.

“Then the door busted open.” She remembered the way to wood cracked and flew around them by the force. 

“There were so many of them. Neighbors, people I’d helped, people I thought were my friends. They dragged me outside before I could register what was happening.” She let out a hollow laugh. “I was kicking. Screaming. Fighting. They used a witchcatcher.”

Dean raised a brow. 

“It’s a collar used on witches. Once its on, we’re completely restrained. I had no control of my powers.”

His jaw tightened, his hands clenched under the table. 

“None of them could look me in the eye. I was nothing to them anymore.”

Sam’s expression was unreadbale, but she could sense the pity.

“They called me unnatural,” she spat. “That I was cursed. That I was dangerous.” Her throat tightened and her eyes looked to the window next to the booth. “And then they took Eleanor.”

Silence. Sam stiffened and Dean let out a heavy exhale. 

Marjorie continued, pushing through the lump in her throat, resting her head on her hand. “She was only six,” she whispered. “She didn’t understand what was happening. She just kept calling for me, kept crying-” she sucked in a breath. “I begged them to let her go. Swore I’d leave too, do whatever they wanted, but they didn’t listen.”

The room felt smaller. Heavier. 

“They tied us up,” she said. “Strapped us to the stake.”

Sam’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Marjorie’s gaze was far away now, lost in memories she couldn’t escape. “I told her to close her eyes,” she murmered. “Told her that everything was going to be okay.” A bitter smile twisted on her face. “I lied to her.” 

Deans voice, when it came, was hoarse. “Jesus, Marjorie.”

She blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry. “She was so scared,” her lip trembled. “And I couldn’t do a damn thing.” 

Silence again.

Marjorie took a deep breath, then another. “The flames caught so fast,” she continued, voice steadier now, colder. “I remember the pain- you don’t forget something like that. How it felt like my skin was peeling away, like my insides were boiling.” Her fingers twitched as if she could still feel it. “But I didn’t scream. Not at first.” 

Dean’s head dropped slightly, like he physically couldn’t take it. Sam didn’t take his eyes off her.

“Her screams were terrible. Such a small thing, subjected to so much pain. And then she stopped- there was nothing.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. 

“That’s when I cried. I tried so hard to soothe her, but it did nothing. How could it, you know? And then, she died.” 

For a moment, no one spoke.

The Marjorie let out a shaky laugh, bitter and humorless. “And then I woke up. The air wasn’t cold anymore. I had been gone a while. ”

Dean muttered, “You said you killed them. The ones who did that to you.”

Marjorie snorted, though there was no real amusement in it. “I did. I hunted them for months- I wanted them to know I was coming. I wanted them to be scared.”

Dean met her gaze, and something shifted. 

Not fear. Not wariness.

Understanding. 

He might not have known what is was like to be burnt alive, to lose a child, but her understood vengeance. Understood the kind of pain that carved out a piece of you and left something rotten in its place. 

Sam exhaled slowly. “Marjorie, I’m so sor-”

“Dont,” she cut in. “No ‘I’m sorrys.’ That’s not why I told you.” 

Sam nodded, understanding her boundary. 

Marjorie forced a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “So. That’s my super fun backstory. Now you know why I’m such a delight to be around.” 

Dean shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “You were definitely a pain in the ass way before that.” 

A genuine laugh bubbled in her throat, surprising even her. Sam rolled his eyes, but the heaviness in his expression had eased, just a little. 

“What was she like?” Dean asked, shoveling a fry into his mouth.

Marjorie stuffed a pancake into her own as her eyes lit up. 

“Eleanor?” 

Dean nodded in confirmation. 

Marjorie stared at him. No one had really bothered to ask her that before. The people who knew about Eleanor didn’t care much to know about the girl. Just that she was Marjorie’s daughter, and that she was dead. 

For a second, she didn’t know what to say.

“She was…” a small, distant smile ghosted her lips. “She was sunshine.” 

Sam and Dean both listened, the weight of her words settling over the table. 

Becca had made her way back to the table, starting ask them, Dean mostly, if they needed anything else at the moment.

“We’re fine,” he told her, his eyes not leaving Marjorie. 

Marjorie’s fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup absentmindenly. “She had the biggest laugh. You know the kind- too big for her tiny little body. It would just burst out of her, completely uncontained.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “She used to laugh so hard she’d get hiccups.”

Dean’s lips twitched upward. “She sounds like a handful.” 

“Oh, she was,” Marjorie said, her smiling growing. “I was sixteen when I had her, so we were basically just two kids trying to figure everything out together.” 

It was Sam’s turn to raise and eyebrow. 

“It was the 1800s Sam, not a nunnery. Though my father wasn’t very happy about it.” Sam laughed at this.

Marjorie continued, leaning back again, placing her palm against her chest. “She was stubborn as hell. Always asking questions, always pushing limits. If she wanted something, she wasn’t gonna stop until she got it.”

“She sounds like you,” Sam told her. 

Marjorie huffed. “She was better than me.” 

Something flickered in her expression then- grief, love, something deeper than either of them could name. 

“She used to bring home stray animals,” Marjorie laughed. “Birds wth broken wings, half-drowned kittens, even a damn fox once. She’d look at me with these big, wide, brown eyes and say ‘Mama, we gotta help them.’” She huffed a breath through her nose. “I could never say no.”

Dean swallowed hard, breaking his gaze from Marjorie to look down at his hands. 

Marjorie didn’t notice. “She loved flowers,” she added. “Would spend hours in the yard, picking them just to give them away. She’d shove them into people’s hands, tell them they needed to smile more. Hers was my favorite. Her front teeth were bigger than the rest so they poke out everytime she smiled. She was a beautiful little girl- she had this long brown hair and when she was in the sun for too long, she’d get a couple freckles that scattered across her cheeks. I don’t know where she got that beauty from.” Marjorie brought a hand up to her own face. 

A confused look spread across Dean’s face, but he shook it away quickly. His voice was low. “She sounds like a good kid.”

Marjorie nodded. “She was the best.”

The weight in the room was different now. Not just grief, but warmth. Love. A memory that wasn’t just pain, but something worth holding on to. 

Marjorie stretched her arms over her head. “Anyway,” she said, forcing herself back to the present. “That’s enough tragedy for one morning. “Who’s paying for my breakfast?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m too young to be a sugar daddy, sweetheart.” 

Marjorie smirked. “Scared of a little philantropy?” 

Sam sighed, already reaching for his wallet. 

Marjorie and Dean met eachother eyes again. They could feel the shift.

Niether of them minded. 

It was nice to be understood. 

*****

The Impala rumbled to a stop in front of Cordelia’s house, the engine ticking as Dean threw it into park. Marjorie sighed, already reaching for the door handle.

“Well,” she said, forcing a lightness into her voice, “it’s been fun. Thanks for the food, the riveting conversation, and the ride home.” She popped the door open and slid out, turning back with a half-smile. “Drive safe.”

She expected them to nod, maybe toss out a keep in touch before peeling off into the horizon.

Instead, both brothers got out of the car.

Marjorie’s stomach dropped. “What are you doing?” she asked, brows knitting together.

Dean shut his door with an easy shrug. “Walking you to the door.”

Sam shut his a second later. “And letting you know we’re staying.”

Marjorie blinked. “Come again?”

Dean stretched, like the answer was the most natural thing in the world. “Look, you told us everything you know about Meg, which means we’re dealing with her. But first, we’re handling this wraith situation. Might even get us closer to her.”

“What about your dad?” she challenged.

“He’ll be fine. Right now, we’d just be in his way,” Sam said simply.

Marjorie stared. “You—what—no, that’s not—” She exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair. “That’s not how this works.”

Dean tilted his head. “Says who?”

“Says me!” She threw up her hands. “I told you what I know, so you can go do your whole heroic martyr routine and deal with Meg. I’ll take care of the wraith.”

Sam arched a brow. “And if you die?”

Marjorie faltered.

Dean sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Look, sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but we’re in this now. I know you don’t need help, but it wouldn’t hurt.”

Before she could fire back, the front door swung open.

“And where exactly do you two plan on staying?”

Dean grinned up at Cordelia, still standing in the doorway. “We were just getting to that part.”

Cordelia snorted. “Let me guess. You two decided to be knights in shining Carhartt and refuse to leave until Marjorie stops being self-destructive.”

Dean’s grin widened. “See? You get us.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes, but Marjorie caught the flicker of relief beneath her usual dry amusement.

Cordelia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Come inside.”

Dean clapped his hands together. “Not you.”

Dean blinked. “Uh—”

“I was talking to Marjorie.”

Cordelia leaned against the doorframe, extending an arm in invitation. Marjorie didn’t hesitate, bounding up the steps, a quiet sense of security settling over her the moment she reached Cordelia’s side. She didn’t leave the house much these days. Standing out here, on the open lawn, she felt exposed—like a raw nerve waiting to be struck. The wraith could be watching. Could be waiting.

Instinct told her to go where she felt safest.

Sam cleared his throat. “Look, we’re not trying to overstep. But we’ve got strength in numbers. If we handle the wraith first, we don’t have to worry about it getting in the way when we go after Meg.”

Marjorie hesitated. Damn it. He had a point.

She turned to Cordelia, their eyes meeting in a silent conversation.

Cordelia, for all her posturing, sighed like she was already regretting this decision. “Fine. But don’t touch my stuff.”

Dean let out a triumphant laugh. “Define stuff.”

She pointed a warning finger at him. “If anything in this house explodes, goes missing, or turns up broken, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair,” Dean said, strolling past her. “So, you got a guest room?”

Cordelia shut the door behind them with a long-suffering sigh. “You’re staying wherever you annoy me the least.”

Dean beamed. “Your couch is pretty comfy.”

Cordelia muttered something under her breath, but Marjorie caught the ghost of a smile before she turned away.

Maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

*****

A week passed. Somehow—against all odds—they hadn’t killed each other yet.

If anything, it was almost… nice.

Mornings settled into a rhythm. Cordelia staked her claim over the kitchen like a queen defending her throne, muttering hexes under her breath if anyone so much as glanced at her coffee before she’d taken her first sip. Marjorie quickly took over cooking after the first morning when Dean’s attempt at making bacon nearly set the entire house on fire. (No one knew how it happened. The bacon was fine one second, then whoosh.)

Sam, unsurprisingly, was the easiest housemate. Up at the crack of dawn, he spent his mornings buried in whatever lore books he could scrounge up, helping Cordelia research while sipping black coffee like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the mortal plane.

Dean, on the other hand, had a talent for making himself very present.

And Cordelia?

Cordelia had made it her personal mission to make Dean Winchester’s life as inconvenient as humanly (or magically) possible.

It started small.

Dean would reach for his coffee, only for the mug to slide an inch out of reach at the last second.

Then his knife and fork would flip out of his hands every time he picked them up.

At first, he thought he was losing his mind—until he caught Cordelia smirking over the rim of her cup.

“Oh, you think you’re funny,” he muttered.

“Kid, I know I’m funny,” she shot back.

The next day, his beer mysteriously turned into chamomile tea the second he took a sip.

The day after that, every time he put on his boots, something inside them squished unpleasantly—like Jell-O had been melted into them overnight.

“You’re a menace,” Dean grumbled after discovering his leather jacket had inexplicably shrunk two sizes.

Cordelia patted his cheek with faux sympathy. “Don’t test me, hunter.”

Meanwhile, Sam was treated like a prince.

“Oh, Sam,” Cordelia cooed one morning. “I made you some tea for your headache.”

Dean, mid-bite of toast, nearly choked. “Wait, what?”

Sam, amused but wary, accepted the cup. “Uh… thanks?”

“Oh, and I found an old book in my collection.” Cordelia placed a massive, ancient tome in front of him, dust curling up from its worn leather cover. “It has some theories on dream-walking that might help with your research.”

Dean stared at the scene in utter betrayal. “Where’s my book?”

Cordelia didn’t even look up. “I gave you a book.”

“No, you gave me The Beginner’s Guide to Knitting and You.”

Cordelia sipped her coffee with a slow, smug smile. “Exactly.”

Dean groaned, shoving the book away like it personally offended him. “Unbelievable.”

Marjorie snorted into her tea, and Sam barely hid a smirk.

*****

Marjorie wasn’t sure why she was awake.

It wasn’t a nightmare, for once. It wasn’t some lingering shadow of her past creeping in. She just…wasn’t tired. 

So, she wandered to the living room, where the fire had burned down to embers and the whole house was quiet. She expected to be alone. 

The brothers had been sleeping in a room off the back porch on a small, cramped pull out couch. Dean had offered he and Marjorie share a bed as he was too big to share with his brother, but Marjorie, obviously, turned him down. 

She wasn’t alone. 

Dean was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over his chest, the other loosely gripping a bottle of whiskey. His eyes flicked up to her when she entered, and instead of the usual smirk or snarky remark, he just tilted the bottle slightly.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Marjorie shook her head, sitting on the armrest of the couch. “You neither?”

Dean shrugged. “Whiskey helps.” He took another sip then glanced at her. “You want some?”

Marjorie considered it for a moment. She could’ve made a joke about how carrying around a bottle of whiskey is usually a tell-tale sign you should go to AA, but she didn’t. She just nodded. Dean leaned forward, offering the bottle, and she took a long sip before handing it back. 

For a few minutes, they just sat there, passing the bottle back and forth in comfortable silence. 

Then, Dean glanced up at her, something amused in his expression. “So, be honest with me- how much of Cordelia’s magic is just to mess with me specifically?”

Marjorie laughed. “Oh, at least seventy percent. The other thirty is just Delia’s sass.”

Dean groaned. “I knew it. She turned my beer into tea.”

“That one was actually my idea,” Marjorie admitted, smirking. 

Dean turned to stare at her. “You’re evil.”

She grinned, stretching her legs out to sit atop the coffe table in front of them.

Dean noticed her socks had tiny witch hats and brooms on them. Cute, he thought. 

“Not evil, just…magically gifted in the art of pettiness.” 

Dean shook his head, but he was laughing. “Alright, I’ll admit, it’s kinda cool. You’re magic, I mean. I’ve never really spent this much time around a witch.”

Marjorie raised a brow. “You, really?”

“Whatever.” Dean lifted the bottle to his lips again.

Marjorie bit the skin on her lower lip shyly. “You wanna see something cool?”

Dean sat up a little. “Hell yeah, I do.”

Marjorie help up a hand, finger curling slightly. The air in the room shifted, warm and electric. Then, suddenly, tiny glowing embers- like fireflies made of pure blue light- flickered into existence between her fingertips, dancing through the air like they had a mind of their own. 

Dean’s eyes widened slightly. “Damn.”

Marjorie flicked her wrist slightly, and the embers swirled upward, shifting into different shapes- first a bird, then a flute, then a car that looked suspicously like the Impala. 

Dean let out a low whistle. “Awesome.”

Marjorie smirked. “I know, right?”

Dean reached out, as if trying to touch one. Embers curled around his fingers gracefully, then flickered away softly. “So, what else can you do?”

Marjorie thought for a second. The, grinning, she lifted her other hand and snapped her fingers. The fireplace roared back to life in an instant, sending warm golden light soaring around the room.

Dean raised an impressed brow. “That’s useful.”

“Sure is,” Marjorie said. “Especially in winter. Or when I want a dramatic exit.”

Dean snorted. “I knew you were the type to make your own dramatic lighting.”

Marjorie rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. 

The pair sat there, the fire crackling , the half-empty whiskey bottle between them. 

Dean watched the tiny glowing shapes fade into the air. “You know…you’re alright Marjorie.”

She glanced at him, rasing an eyebrow. “Was I not alright before?”

“Jury was still out.”

“Well, thanks, I guess.”

Dean tipped the bottle toward her. “To magic, whiskey, and not murdering each other in our sleep.” 

Marjorie tinked a knuckle against the bottle. “Cheers to that.”

The air around them continued to warm. Marjorie smiled to herself.

She liked Dean Winchester.

*****

Dean was two bites into his sandwich when his phone buzzed against the worn wooden table, rattling slightly.

Marjorie leaned beside him against the counter, idly flipping through one of Cordelia’s old spellbooks, though Dean doubted she was actually reading it. Sam stood at the sink, rinsing out his coffee mug with the methodical precision of someone pretending not to eavesdrop.

Across the room, Cordelia sat cross-legged on the couch, lazily flipping through TV channels. To the untrained eye, she looked disinterested. But Dean knew better. She was watching. Analyzing. Measuring the space—no, the tension—between him and Marjorie. And maybe, just maybe, pretending she couldn’t smell the desperation coming off both of them. Clueless.

The phone buzzed again.

Dean ignored it.

It stopped.

Then immediately started ringing again.

“Just answer it,” Sam sighed, shaking water from his hands as he reached for a dish towel.

Dean scowled and snatched the phone up, barely glancing at the caller ID. “Yeah?”

The voice on the other end was unmistakable.

“Where are you?” John Winchester’s tone had a way of filling a room, even over the phone.

Dean’s jaw tightened. His grip on the sandwich went slack. “Still working that case.”

“The case should be closed by now,” John snapped, his irritation cutting through the static. “I told you boys to track Meg, not play house with some—”

Dean shoved back from the table so abruptly that his chair scraped against the floor with a sharp screech. Marjorie’s fingers stilled against the pages of her book.

“We got a situation, alright? We’re handling it.”

Silence. Heavy. Tense.

On the couch, Cordelia finally stopped flipping channels. Even Sam, who had been making a valiant effort to appear disinterested, turned slightly, his back going rigid.

John exhaled, the sound crackling over the line. “What kind of situation?”

Dean hesitated. His eyes flicked to Marjorie, who kept her gaze stubbornly fixed on the book in her hands, though he knew damn well she was listening.

He wasn’t going to rat her out. The wraith was her fight.

“Just some complications,” he said finally, choosing his words carefully. “It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

John’s sigh was sharp and unimpressed. “We don’t have time for complications, Dean. We’ve got a demon on the loose, and she’s dangerous. I need you two back on the road.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “Dad, we’ve got something dangerous here too. Once we finish this, we’re back on Meg. I promise.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then John spoke again, his voice lower, laced with something heavier than before.

“You’re getting attached.”

The words landed like a blow to the ribs.

Dean stilled.

Cordelia finally looked up from the TV. Sam abandoned the pretense of not listening, his fingers curling into the dish towel.

Dean forced a hollow chuckle. “What?”

“You know what,” John said, voice cold and clipped. “I warned you about her, boy, and now look at you. You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to? When did some crush become more important than your mother?”

Dean’s fingers tightened around the phone, his knuckles turning white.

John sighed, a sound weighted with finality. “Do what you want. But don’t forget why you’re out there.”

Then the line went dead.

Dean exhaled sharply and set his phone down—harder than necessary.

Cordelia, ever unfazed, flipped another channel. “Well,” she drawled, stretching her legs out on the couch, “that was tense.”

Marjorie moved toward Dean, reaching for his arm in a small, hesitant attempt at comfort.

“You alri—”

Dean jerked away, shrugging her off with a roughness that wasn’t entirely intentional. “I’m fine.” His voice was sharp. Clipped. He turned on his heel. “I gotta go get some stuff. Be back in twenty.”

He grabbed his jacket off the couch in one fluid motion and stomped toward the door, slamming it behind him with enough force to make the walls rattle.

Marjorie scowled, throwing her hands up in exasperation before flopping onto the couch beside Cordelia.

“Men.”

They said it in unison.

From the sink, Sam let out a barely contained snicker.

*****

The air outside was thick with the scent of pine and earth, the evening still humming with the remnants of the summer heat. The back porch creaked under Marjorie’s weight as she stepped outside, a glass of wine perched inbetween her fingertips. Dean was already there, lounging on the old wooden swing, one foot braced against the railing to make it sway in a steady rhythm. He was still in the same clothes as earlier; hadn’t even taken off his boots when he got back to Cordelia’s. He didn’t look up when she approached, but there was a tension set in his shoulders that told her she knew she was there. 

Sam was perched on the porch railing, leaning back with his arms crossed against his chest, his face lit only by the soft glow of the setting sun and the illuminating porch light. He hadn’t said much since Dean got back, but his posture was relaxed, which for Sam, was probably the closest he got to being at ease. 

Marjorie hesitated for a moment, looking between the two men. The weight of John’s call earlier, hell the few weeks, was pressing on her chest, and she could feel exhaustion in every muscle. But there was something about the quiet of the night, the low chirping of cicadas, being here with them, that made it a bit easier to breathe. 

Dean shifted slightly on the swing, and the motion pulled her out of the spot. He patted the spot beside him without saying a word. 

It wasn’t much, but it was an invitation. 

She sat down in the free space next to him, her eyes darting over to Sam briefly. Her gave her a small, almost knowing smile before leaning back against the railing again, staring out at the backyard. 

Marjorie could feel Dean’s presence next to her, and for a moment, she let herself enjoy the silence, the only sounds being the creaking of the swing and the distant rustle of leaves.

The arm Dean had hanging over the back of the swing knocked against her shoulder with every sway of the seat. The warmth she felt was definitely just the wine. His fingers twitched a couple times, brushing against her skin lightly, almost featherlike. Neither of them did anything about it. 

It was a peaceful kind of tension. She didn’t know how long it would last, but she knew she didn’t want to be the one to break it. 

After a long moment, Sam broke the silence. “So, about Cordelia…” His voice was casual, but there was something about the way he phrased it that made it clear he had questions. 

Marjorie’s lips curved into a faint smirk. She leaned a bit more into Dean, the small swing not giving them much room for personal space. “What about her?”

Dean snorted, reaching for the beer bottle resting beside him on the swing’s armrest. “You mean, why does she hate me?”

Sam tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in amusement. “I wasn’t gonna put it like that but, sure. Seems like you two have a special connection.” 

Dean groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hand. “I don’t get her. She’s got that vibe like she’s too cool for school. Hell, she thinks I’m the enemy.” His voice softened slightly, and Marjorie caught the hint of frustration in it. “I don’t know. Can’t seem to break that woman’s guard.”

Marjorie tilted her head, studying Deans profile for a moment. “She’s been through a lot,” she said quietly, her voice softer than intended. “Trust isn’t something that she just hands out.” Her fingers traced the rim of her cup, eyes unfocused as she thought about Cordelia’s hard exterior. 

“She loves Sam,” Dean complained, his fingers now grazing against the red strands of hair sitting next to him.

“Sam’s…nice,” Marjorie saw the way Dean’s face contorted as if he couldn’t believe she didn’t think he was sunshine and rainbows. “He’s not as rugged as you- he didn’t come barging in here like he owned the place. Plus, she has a thing for pretty brown hair.” She winked at Sam.

“Gross, Marj. She’s old enough to be our mom.”

Marjorie shrugged. She’d seen stranger things.

Sam’s gaze studied Marjorie’s relaxed attitude. The scene in front him him looking almost domestic.

“Maybe that’s why you two get along so well.” The words hung in the air, and Marjorie blinked, unsure of what Sam was getting at. 

Before she could ask, Dean shifted beside her, the action causing her to sink deeper into his side. 

“Don’t you start,” Dean muttered. 

Sam threw his head back, looking up at the sky, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “What? I’m just saying. You two have a thing for doing things the hard way.”

Dean’s lips twitched, but he didn’t laugh. “I don’t have thing, Sammy.”

Marjorie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, catching the way his lips turned into a tight, almost pained smile.

Something about it made her want to reach out, even if she didn’t know how. 

And then the moment passed, just as quickly as it had come. 

“You definitely have a thing.” Marjorie tilted her glass toward Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh, but it was obvious he wasn’t mad. He was the little brother, the one who always played the peacekeeper, and tonight, it felt like that role was written into the lines of his face. “I think we’ve both figured that out by now,” Sam said, then added with a grin.

Dean scowled at Sam but didn’t argue.

The evening stretched on, and for once, Marjorie didn’t feel like she was standing on the edge of something dark. She didn’t feel the weight of the past or the unrelenting pull of the wraith chasing her. Instead, she felt normal- like the kind of person who could laugh and joke with two brothers who had somehow become her allies in a world of chaos.

Dean shifted again, his thigh brushing against hers. They sat there, side by side, the easy warmth of the night wrapping around them like a blanket.

They existed in the same space, content to share the silence and the quiet rhythm of the swing creaking beneath them.

At some point, Dean nudged her with his shoulder, the playful grin creeping back into his voice. “So, you think Cordelia has a friend for me? S’ not fair that Sam gets all the fun.”

She arched an eyebrow, leaning just a little closer. “You’re a dog.”

He chuckled softly, the sound more real than it had been all day. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Her lips parted with a small, teasing smile. “It wasn’t meant as one.”

The evening stretched on, and the trio continued their stay on the porch, their voices mingling with quiet sounds of the night. 

Dean was mid-sentence, telling some old hunting story when Marjorie’s words cut through the comfortable banter with a sharp edge. 

“You guys can leave if you want.” 

Sam snapped his head over to her. He glanced at Dean, who was suddenly still beside her, a slight tension creeping into his posture. 

Dean, who’d been so lost in the conversation just moments before, now gave her his full attention, his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” His voice was low, the playful tone from earlier gone.

Marjorie shifted slightly on the swing, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She finally met Dean’s eyes, and there was a vulnerability there that she didn’t usually show. "You’re not really stuck here with me. This is your job- hunting down Meg. I know you’ve got bigger things to do. I wouldn’t blame you for leaving. You’ve got a lot on your plate, and I'm not some…side quest."

Sam’s gaze softened as he jumped down from the railing, his large frame blocking her view of the night sky. “Marjorie, no,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. He crossed the space between them and stopped a few feet away, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach her. “You’re not just some side quest.” He shot a glance at Dean before focusing on her again, his words sincere. “We don’t just leave people behind. That’s not how this works.”

Dean’s jaw tightened at Sam’s words, and for a moment, there was an awkward silence. Marjorie could see the flash of frustration in Dean’s eyes- he was tired, she knew that. But there was something more there, something that wasn’t just about their situation.

After a long pause, Dean finally spoke, his voice gruff. “You think we’d just walk away now? We’re a part of this, Marjorie.” He gave a short, dry laugh, as if he didn’t even believe what he was saying, but there was no denying the sincerity behind it. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his tired eyes before turning to face her fully. “This thing with the wraith…it’s your fight, yeah, but that doesn’t mean we’re just gonna pack up and leave. We’re here. We finish it.”

Marjorie felt a strange weight lift from her chest, but there was still an ache there, a tightness she hadn’t realized was lingering.

Sam gave her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s not about the wraith. It’s about you. We’re not going anywhere until you’re safe. That’s the deal.” His voice was calm, a little like the brother Marjorie never asked for.

Her eyes softened at Sam’s words, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She swallowed hard and leaned back against the swing’s edge, letting out a quiet sigh.

Dean watched her carefully, his gaze more intense than usual, the weight of everything that had happened hanging between them. Finally, he spoke again, quieter this time. “Look, Marjorie… You think we don’t want to be here? You think this is some kind of burden? Nah, it’s not. We’re doing this because we want to. Yeah sure, at first we thought you and Meg were in kahoots, and honestly I was coming here to kill you,” He took a deep breath, his voice rough. “But obviously, I was wrong. We’re gonna help you.”

Marjorie looked away for a moment, her chest tight with something she couldn’t quite name. She felt a strange mix of gratitude and guilt- a nagging feeling that she shouldn’t be relying so much on them. But the warmth of their words, their concern, melted some of that doubt. She could feel the sincerity in every glance, every word.

"I’m just saying," she said, her voice quieter now. "You’ve been here for over a week and we’re only a bit closer to being able to kill this thing. You guys have to go save the world or something."

Dean cut her off with a shake of his head, the stubbornness in his voice as unmistakable as the set of his jaw. "We’re not going anywhere."

Sam nodded firmly, his smile softening as he glanced between them. "We’re gonna take care of it. After that, we’ll go find Meg."

Marjorie swallowed her words, a lump forming in her throat. She didn’t expect this level of care- not from them, not from anyone but Delia anymore. Just months ago Dean couldn’t be in the same room as her. It was overwhelming, in a way that made her feel like she might break, or maybe- just maybe- she might let herself believe in the possibility of something more.

She turned to Dean, her gaze softening, and allowed herself to breathe a little easier. “Thanks,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I-I wasn’t sure where I stood with you two. We don’t have the greatest history.”

Dean leaned back against the swing, the motion easy, casual, but his eyes never left hers. “That’s old news. Don’t sweat it.” he said simply, his voice quiet but certain. 

The words hung in the air for a long beat before Sam cleared his throat. “Well, if you two are done being all sentimental, I’m pretty sure there’s a stash of candy bars in the kitchen, and Cordelia isn’t awake to tell me they’re gonna rot my teeth.”

Dean snorted, breaking the tension with a laugh. “Sam’s right. We don’t want to exhaust ourselves on all this emotional crap.” He nudged Marjorie with his elbow. “Besides, there’s no way I’m letting you sit there and feel sorry for yourself.”

Marjorie chuckled softly,“Who says I’m feeling sorry for myself?” She raised an eyebrow teasingly at Dean.

Sam smiled, stepping back toward the door. “Oh, you’re definitely feeling something.”

Dean stood up, offering her a hand as he did. “You coming? I’m not letting Sam eat all of them. I need my chocolate too.”

Marjorie hesitated for a moment, looking up at him with a faint, teasing smile. “Are you sure you want to share with me?”

Dean’s lips twitched. “I’m a generous guy.”

“Generous? I’ve never seen you share anything willingly,” Sam chimed in from the doorway, shaking his head with a knowing grin.

The three of them shared a quiet laugh before heading inside. For now, Marjorie knew she didn’t have to do this alone. 

*****

It had been days since the phone call with John, and Marjorie hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was wrong. The wraith’s presence was like a shadow, always lurking just beyond the edge of her perception. At first, it had been whispers- a faint voice barely audible, like a soft breeze brushing against her ear. But now, it was louder, clearer, and it seemed to be coming from everywhere.

She sat alone in the kitchen, the flickering light above her casting odd shadows on the walls. Sam and Dean were in the next room, likely discussing their next move, but Marjorie couldn’t bring herself to focus on anything. The wraith’s voice was too loud. It had been for the past few days.

“You’re weak,” the voice crooned from the corners of her mind, the words curling like smoke around her thoughts. “You think they’ll save you? They won’t. You’re just a liability.”

Her hands shook as she set the coffee mug down on the counter, the sound of it clinking sharply in the quiet room. Her gaze flitted to the doorway, where Dean had been standing earlier, and for a moment, she saw him again- only it wasn’t Dean. The figure that filled the frame of the door had hollow eyes, a twisted grin, and an unmistakable air of malevolence.

“They’re just waiting for you to break,” the wraith whispered, its voice wrapping around her like chains. “You’re nothing but a ticking time bomb. They’ll leave you. They’ll all leave you in the end.”

Marjorie blinked rapidly, pushing the image away. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she had to remind herself that it was just the wraith. It was not real.

She stood quickly, wiping her face as if to rid herself of the unwanted visions. The last few days had been a blur of hallucinations and taunts, each worse than the last. At times, she felt like she wasn’t even in control of her own body. The wraith had gotten inside her head, and it was starting to feel like the walls were closing in on her.

Dean moved to where she sat in the kitchen, his expression unreadable, but there was concern in his eyes. “You good?” His voice was steady, but there was a slight tightness to it, as if he could feel the shift in the air.

Marjorie didn’t trust her own voice. She nodded curtly, unable to shake the feeling that the wraith’s whispers were still echoing in her mind.

Dean’s gaze softened, and for a moment, she saw something flicker there- something more than just concern. “Don’t let it get to you.”

But Marjorie didn’t hear him. The wraith’s mocking voice came back, louder this time.

“They’re just lying to you. They don’t care. You’re nothing but a tool to them.”

Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she thought she might crumble. But she didn’t. Not yet.

“I need some air,” she muttered, forcing herself past Dean and out the door before he could stop her.

Dean’s voice trailed after her, low and urgent. “Marjorie-”

But she was already outside, pacing on the porch, trying to drown out the wraith’s voice with the cool night air.

Behind her, Cordelia stood by the door, watching with a careful, measured gaze. She’d seen it all- the way Marjorie began to flinch and cower, the way the wraith’s taunts had started to chip away at her. Cordelia watched the slow descent, seemingly out of nowhere, knowing exactly what it was like to feel the weight of something haunting you, pushing you to the edge. But she couldn’t let Marjorie see her own fears. Not now. Not when the girl needed her. 

Her chest tightened, but she shoved the feelings down, forcing a calm exterior. She should have known this would happen. The wraith was a curse, not just a creature. It would latch on, find a weakness, and exploit it- exactly what it had done to Marjorie. Her own secret crawled up her spine like a cockroach, suffocating her. Meg was back and she led the Winchester’s here. She had taunted Cordelia the same way the wraith was taunting Marjorie. If Marjorie found out- Cordelia didn’t believe the girl of cold murder, but she didn’t do well with betrayal.

But still, watching Marjorie like this, it felt wrong. Cordelia wasn’t someone to wear her emotions on her sleeve, even with Marjorie, but now as she saw the toll that the wraith was taking on the younger girl, she couldn’t help the bile that rumbled in her gut. She should be helping her more. She should be doing more than standing back. Selfishly, her fear of Meg interfering the second Cordelia made too much of an effort stopped her from giving Marjorie the comfort she deserved. If she did too much, Meg would find them and expose Cordelia to all of them. That she had once worked with Meg on deals just like Marjorie’s. That, deep down, she knew the wraith would be back one day- no one escapes a deal with a BloodWraith. That she could find Meg’s location in minutes, and the Winchester’s could have a shot at ending her. But that was uncertain, and Cordelia wasn’t one for wishful thinking.

She glanced at Sam, who was silently observing, his concern for Marjorie clear. Dean had gone silent, the tension in his body palpable. The unspoken bond between the three of them was tangible, and Cordelia knew she was the outsider here, unable to be part of that. But still, the guilt gnawed at her.

Marjorie was fading quickly and despite everything, Cordelia couldn’t ignore the pang of fear that she might lose her. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the thoughts. She loved Marjorie, truly. Looked at the girl like she had hung the stars in the sky. That’s why she was terrified. Terrified of seeing hate in Marjorie’s eyes and knowing it was directed at her. She couldn’t bear it. 

"I don’t know how much longer she can take this," Sam muttered, as though reading her mind. He was standing next to her now, his hand resting on the back of the porch railing, his eyes focused on Marjorie.

Cordelia’s gaze flickered to him before she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s strong. She’ll push through it. But…”

Her voice faltered, and Sam’s brow furrowed in concern. "But what?"

But I’m scared, she thought. She couldn’t say it. Not now. Not when Marjorie needed every ounce of strength she had left to fight this. Cordelia bit her lip, staring at the woman she had known for so long, seen so many versions of, and cared for each of them. But still, she kept her secrets locked away.

“I just hope she can,” Cordelia said, her words edged with something more than just concern. It was fear. Fear that the wraith would break Marjorie. Fear that Marjorie would break them- and maybe it wasn’t just the wraith she was afraid of.

The air grew heavier, the tension building between them as they watched Marjorie move through the haze of the wraith’s influence. Dean stepped forward, his hand gently landing on her shoulder as he joined her on the porch. The others followed suit, standing in a quiet solidarity.

But Cordelia couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. Whatever the wraith was doing to Marjorie, it was far from over.

*****

The wraith’s taunts were becoming more frequent, more aggressive. Every time she closed her eyes, it was there, twisting her thoughts, feeding on her doubts. Marjorie barely slept, knowing that even when she closed her eyes, the wraith would find a way in.

The silence in the room was oppressive, suffocating even. The air itself felt thick, as if the wraith had somehow infected every corner of the space, bending it to its will. Marjorie felt the walls closing in around her, her breath shallow as the taunts continued to echo in her mind.

"You don’t belong here," the wraith whispered again, its voice cold and biting. "They’ll all leave you eventually. You’re nothing to them, just a tool. Once they get what they need, they’ll cast you aside. Just like everyone else."

She shook her head, pressing her palms harder against her temples, trying to force the voice out, trying to push the suffocating weight of its words away. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t.

"You're worthless," the wraith’s voice came again, louder now, more insistent. "They’re already starting to see it. The cracks are already showing. They’ll know you’re weak. And then they’ll abandon you."

The world around her blurred, her vision swimming as the wraith’s words dug into her like sharp needles. She stumbled backward, the edge of the table digging into her ribs as she tried to steady herself. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

Except, in her heart, a tiny part of her wondered if it was. What if it was right? What if everyone else really would leave her? What if the wraith’s voice had seen the truth before she could? What if she was already a burden to them, already a failure?

"Marjorie?" Dean’s voice was soft now, more tentative. "We need to talk."

The sound of his voice snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest. She could feel him standing outside the door, waiting, probably wondering why she hadn’t answered. But she couldn’t bring herself to respond, couldn’t let him hear how far gone she felt, how much the wraith had already taken from her.

"Yeah," she finally said, her voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. "I’m fine. No need to get all soft."

The words felt like they were scraping against her throat, but they were the only ones she could force out.

A heavy silence followed, stretching between them like a chasm. She could almost feel Dean’s hesitation on the other side of the door, his concern mixing with something else- frustration, maybe. Was he angry with her? Did he think she was hiding something?

"We both know you’re not," Dean said quietly after a beat, his tone softer now, but still holding that edge of worry.

Marjorie didn’t respond. She couldn’t. If she did, she feared the crack in her composure would widen even further, and she’d be lost. She didn’t know how to explain it to him- how to make him understand the way the wraith had invaded her mind, how the darkness felt like it was eating her from the inside out. She couldn’t tell him how it whispered to her when no one else could hear it, how it twisted her every thought, every feeling.

She pressed her back into the wall, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to push the images and voices away. She could feel it all closing in again, the suffocating grip of the wraith creeping up on her, and the fear that it might be right- maybe she was weak, maybe she was just a failure.

But she wasn’t ready to let that truth- if it even was the truth- consume her. Not yet.

She opened her eyes slowly, and for a moment, just a moment, she could hear Dean on the other side, waiting, still unsure. His presence, even from behind the door, felt grounding, a reminder that maybe she wasn’t as alone in this as the wraith wanted her to think.

But still, she couldn’t let him in- not yet. Not until she could hold herself together, at least enough to face him without falling apart.

"Just give me a second," she finally whispered, so softly that she wasn’t sure he would hear it.

And for a long while, there was nothing. No answer, no footsteps retreating. Just silence. The kind of silence that left her trapped between her own thoughts and the wraith’s relentless whispers.

*****

The wraith didn’t let up. Not for a second.

Marjorie had barely slept in days, the taunts digging into her mind like claws, twisting her thoughts until she couldn’t tell what was real anymore. But tonight—it was worse.

She had been lulled into sleep, exhaustion finally winning out, but rest never came. Instead, she was there again. The house smelled of burning wood and blood, just as it had all those years ago.

And then, she saw her.

Eleanor.

Her daughter stood at the edge of the bed, small and fragile, just as she had been the last time Marjorie had seen her. Her dark curls were messy, her nightgown torn. But it was her eyes that made Marjorie’s stomach twist with terror- because they were filled with fear.

“Mama?” Eleanor’s voice wavered, tiny and afraid.

Marjorie couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Then she saw what stood behind her.

The wraith loomed over Eleanor, its skeletal fingers curling around the girl’s small shoulders. It grinned, wide and monstrous, its yellowed teeth glistening in the dim light.

“You let me have her once,” it cooed, its voice echoing through the house. “You’ll let me have her again.”

“No,” Marjorie choked, finally finding her voice.

“Oh, but you will.”

The wraith’s grip tightened on Eleanor, and the little girl screamed- a heart-wrenching, piercing cry that shook the foundation of the dream itself.

Marjorie lunged forward, but the second she reached for her daughter, the image shattered.

She gasped awake, her body drenched in sweat, her heart slamming against her ribs. She was in her room at Cordelia’s, but it still felt like she was there, trapped in the nightmare.

The wraith’s laughter echoed in her skull.

Marjorie sat up, breathing hard. The truth hit her like a slap to the face.

This was never going to stop.

It would keep tormenting her, keep whispering in her ear, keep dragging her daughter into her nightmares. It would never stop unless she ended it herself.

Her hands trembled as she pushed the blankets aside. She wouldn’t let it win.

She wouldn’t let it take anything else from her.

Not now. Not ever.

She stood and crossed the room, grabbing the small bag she had packed earlier that day- just in case. Her fingers curled around the leather strap, and she took one last look at the room before slipping out the door.

She was doing this alone.

Because it had to be her.

*****

The stillness of the house was off.

It wasn’t the typical quiet of the night, where the wind rustled the leaves outside, and the world seemed to hum with secrets whispered just beyond reach. This silence felt wrong, sharp- a quiet that pressed on Dean’s chest like a weight, making him uneasy for reasons he couldn’t quite place.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, the tension from the last week still eating at him. They had now been at Cordelia’s for two weeks, and each day Marjorie seemed to get worse and worse. After hours of tossing and turning, he’d given up on rest. Coffee was the only thing that could numb the gnawing discomfort that had taken root. As he passed Marjorie’s door on the way to the kitchen, a fleeting thought stopped him in his tracks.

Her door was cracked open.

A thread of anxiety coiled tight in his gut.

"Marjorie?" Dean called softly, his voice cutting through the oppressive stillness. His feet carried him closer to the door before he even realized it.

There was no answer.

He pushed the door open, his heart rate picking up, eyes scanning the dark room. The moonlight streamed across the bed, empty but for tangled blankets. The missing bag from the corner, the one she’d packed earlier, was gone.

And then it hit him.

She was gone.

Dean muttered a curse under his breath, his body already moving in the direction of the stairs, a cold, familiar panic curling at the edges of his mind.

“Son of a bitch.”

He stormed down the hallway, intent on finding her, his thoughts running wild. The wraith. She was going after the wraith. And she was doing it alone. Damn it, she was reckless, always so damn reckless.

Sam was already awake when he appeared at the door of the backporch, rubbing his face and trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “What’s wrong?” he asked, blinking at his brother.

“She’s gone.” Dean didn’t stop to explain, barely slowing his pace as he strode past Sam.

Sam frowned, confusion still clouding his features. “Wait, what?”

“She took off. Packed a bag. No sign of her anywhere.” Dean reached for his jacket, frustration mounting with every second that passed.

Cordelia appeared then, emerging from the shadows like a shadow herself, her sharp eyes immediately landing on Dean. “What’s all the noise?”

“Marjorie’s missing,” Dean snapped, feeling the weight of the situation pressing in on him.

Cordelia’s face darkened, a storm brewing in her expression. “Damn it.”

Dean’s frustration bubbled over. “You knew she’d do this?”

“I suspected she might,” Cordelia admitted, her voice tight with a mixture of anger and fear. She grabbed her coat, her movements precise. “But I was hoping she'd have enough sense to wait.”

Sam, ever the detective, was already putting the pieces together. “She’s going after the wraith.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, the words coming out in a tight, exasperated breath. “Yeah. Thanks, Sherlock.”

Cordelia’s jaw tightened, her eyes flickering with a mix of concern and something darker, something she couldn’t quite hide. “Then we’d better move.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, that silent agreement passing between them like a spark. No hesitation. No second thoughts. They couldn’t let Marjorie go face the wraith alone. Not now. Not after everything she’d been through.

Dean grabbed his keys, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “Let’s go.”

As they rushed out of the house, Cordelia’s thoughts churned, a storm she struggled to contain. She was terrified for Marjorie, of course. But that wasn’t the only thing keeping her up at night. If Marjorie went after the wraith, if she confronted it—there was a real chance that Cordelia’s secret, the one she’d buried so deep inside for so long, could come to light. And if it did—if the brothers found out what she was hiding—there was no telling what would happen next.

She could feel it closing in on her, that dark fear that she might lose everything she’d worked so hard to protect.

And maybe, just maybe, that was what scared her more than anything else.

*****

The abandoned warehouse loomed out before Marjorie like a hollow, forgotten shell. The air inside was thick with decay, the once strong structure now bowing under years of neglect. The cieling, lined with rusted beams, creaked and groaned in protest as the wind outside clawed at the walls, but in here, it was dead quiet. The scent of damp earth and rotting wood mingled with the sharp, pungent tang of incense, creating a strange tension that clung to the air, making every breath feel heavy.

The candlelight flickered, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched across the cracked concrete floor. Marjorie moved carefully, each step deliberate as she centered herself within the sigil-marked containment circle. The symbols were intricate and glowing faintly- a brilliant blue- barely visible in the dark, but they had been drawn with precision, each stroke of chalk and blood a calculated effort to trap the wraith. 

An incessant drip fell to the floor, the thick, crimson liquid draining from her now cut wrist and plummeting to the floor with each step she took. The pain from the cut did not phase her- one, insignificant injury was helping her end this. 

Her fingers tightened around the relic she had brought- the locket. It was small, fragile, and twisted from the fire that had destroyed everything she had once known. No one knew she had kept the jewelery- she was scared it would be taken from her. The delicate metal had been burned, the glass cracked, but it was still there, the remnants of her daughters life. A life lost. A past that haunted her.

She had allowed Eleanor to occupy her thoughts more in the past two weeks than she had since the day she lost her. Perhaps it was Cordelia’s warmth and admiration, or maybe it was the way Sam looked at her with those soulful, puppy-dog eyes when he asked about what happened. Or maybe it was how Dean gazed at her, as if they were the only two people in that diner, while she rambled on and on about her little girl. She wasn’t sure what it was. But one thing was clear: she had stopped avoiding it, letting the brothers slip past the walls she’d worked so hard to fortify.

Her heart hammered in her chest, as she knelt before the circle, placing the locket directly in the center. This was the final step. The wraith would come for her, of course. It had been lurking in the shadows, feeding off her fear, her grief. But this time, it wouldn’t win. This time, she would take back control.

The chanting started, the words flowing from her lips, ancient and familiar, yet foreign at the same time. Latin. Or perhaps something older. Something her grandmother had once spoken, something that had been passed down through generations of women who had carried their power in silence. She didn’t understand all of it, but she didn’t need to. She knew the intent. She knew what needed to be done.

The air around her vibrated with energy as she spoke the incantation, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. The sigils around the circle flared to life, glowing brighter as the ritual took hold.

For a moment, everything was still.

And then, the wraith answered.

A gust of wind, sharp and sudden, whipped through the space, though the windows were shattered long ago. The candles flickered wildly, casting strange, erratic shadows against the walls. Marjorie felt the shift in the air, the temperature plummeting, the weight of it pressing against her skin like a heavy hand.

It was here.

Her breath hitched as the whispering started, faint at first, like the rustling of leaves on a distant breeze. But then it grew louder- closer. A sound that slid under her skin, into her bones.

“Marjorie…”

The voice was soft at first, almost tender, like a memory. But there was a dark edge to it, a twist that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She gritted her teeth, trying to keep her focus. This was it. This was the moment she had been preparing for. The wraith would show itself, and she would confront it. She had no choice.

“Mama…”

Her heart stopped, and for a moment, she felt the ground beneath her shift. She could hear it so clearly- Eleanor’s voice, sweet and innocent, calling to her from the depths of the memory she had worked so hard to bury. It was different than her dream. Eleanor was here. The same voice that had echoed in her ears the night of the fire. The same voice that haunted her dreams, her waking hours.

The memory hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with the force of something she couldn’t outrun. She was back there, back in that horrible place. The heat of the flames licking at her skin. The smoke that had suffocated her. The crackle of fire eating away at everything she had ever loved.

“No…” Marjorie whispered. She couldn’t. She couldn’t let herself go back there. Not again. Not now.

But the wraith was relentless. It wasn’t just a shadow. It was a memory made flesh, a cruel manipulation of everything Marjorie had ever feared.

The temperature dropped further, the air thickening with a cold that bit into her skin. The warehouse seemed to darken, the walls stretching and shifting as though the very space itself was warping under the wraith’s influence.

And then she heard it- the scream.

It was so real, so visceral, that Marjorie felt her chest tighten, her breath catching in her throat. She could see it now- Elanor’s face, pale and twisted with pain, her small body writhing as the flames consumed her. The smoke choked her, and the heat was unbearable. The vision was vivid, too vivid, like it was happening all over again.

“Eleanor…” The name slipped from her lips, a cry of agony that she couldn’t hold back.

The wraith was feeding on her grief, on the weakness it had always known was there.

But Marjorie fought to stay grounded. She could feel the ritual pulling at her, the energy of the sigils battling against the wraith’s pull. She had to stay strong. She had to let go.

“Mamma… Help me…”

Eleanor stood before her. Barefoot. Soot-stained. Brown eyes hollowed by death. 

“Why didn’t you save me?”

The words dug in like barbs. Marjorie’s entire body went rigid, the knife in her hand growing impossibly heavy.

“You let me burn.”

The words twisted, warping into something grotesque, the voice no longer her child’s, but something ancient and cruel. The girl’s lips turned into a sneer, her small hands flexing as nails blackened and sharpened into talons.

“You let me die, screaming for you.”

Marjorie staggered back, nausea curling in her stomach.

“No, El, I swear. I tried everything. Baby, there were too many of them.”

“You were supposed to be powerful, mama. You left me alone. I have no one.”

“You’re not real.” Marjorie jammed her fists into the side of her head, over and over again, trying to rid the image of her dead daughter standing in front of her.

The wraith was a parasite, feeding on the worst parts of her. It was using her love for Eleanor as a weapon, twisting it into something ugly.

Eleanor was gone. The child she couldn’t save was lost to the flames.

The wraith wasn’t her. It wasn’t Eleanor. It was just an echo, a twisted thing that had been feeding off her pain.

Marjorie’s eyes snapped open, and she stood taller, her hands clutching the blade. “You cant control me anymore,” she hissed, her voice steady, almost cold.

The wraith’s form flickered and shuddered, its distorted figure contorting as it reached out toward her. The air around them seemed to scream with a deafening roar, the force of the wraith’s power shaking the very foundation of the warehouse.

But Marjorie didn’t flinch. The fire in her veins wasn’t just from the ritual-it was from the anger. She wasn’t just fighting the wraith. She was fighting her own weakness.

The sigils around her flared with light as the wraith fought to maintain its form. The more Marjorie accepted the truth, the more it shrank, its ethereal body weakening.

“I’m not scared of you.”

And then, just as it seemed the wraith was about to snap into full corporeal form, the door to the warehouse crashed open.

Cordelia stepped into the room, her eyes wide with shock at the sight of the writhing shadow in front of Marjorie. She hesitated, fear flashing across her face as she watched the battle unfold.

“Marjorie, you-” she started, but Marjorie didn’t listen. Her focus was fixed entirely on the wraith, her grip tightening on the blade she had drawn earlier- a consecrated weapon soaked in blood. The ritual was almost complete. The wraith was vulnerable.

Suddenly, the air felt alive, buzzing with malignant energy, and a whisper cut though the stillness. 

“Cordelia, how nice of you to join us.”

Marjorie stiffened. Her eyes flickered toward Cordelia, who had stepped back slightly, her expression panicked. Marjorie’s pulse quickened- what was going on?

A soft laugh echoed, cruel and guttual, from somewhere deep in the shadows. The sound twisted, warping, and then the wraiths form expanded- larger and stronger than before. It was using Cordelia’s fear. 

It’s eyes, dark and glistening with malicious intent were fixed on Cordelia.

“Oh this one,” the wraith hissed, stretching its words like a snake, mockery evident in its words. “She’s so good at pretending, isn’t she? At hiding her true nature… her secrets…”

Marjorie’s heart stopped for a moment, but her stance stayed firm and her eyes didn’t leave the wraith. She could feel Cordelia stiffen, but her hands rattled against her sides. 

“You think you’re so clever, Cordelia… you think you’ve hidden it all so well… but I see you… I know you…” The wraith’s form flickered and rippled, growing more solid with each passing second. Its voice grew louder, more distorted, like the scraping of nails on a chalkboard. “How many times have you danced with darkness, hmm? How many times have you betrayed those you claimed to love?”

Cordelia’s breath caught. Marjorie’s eyes widened as she saw the flicker of panic in Cordelia’s eyes- the subtle tremble of her shoulders. It was the same look Marjorie had seen in her own reflection, the same terror of being exposed, of being known for something terrible. The wraith was feeding on that fear, twisting it into something sharp, something deadly.

The wraith’s laugh echoed, guttural and sharp. “Poor, poor Cordelia… how many times did you think you could lie to her?” It was a sickening mockery of sympathy. “You think you’ve escaped your past, but I know what you did.”

Marjorie’s mind spun, and suddenly the pieces started clicking into place. The way Cordelia had always been so protective, so careful with Marjorie. The unspoken tension. The guarded glances. The secrets she’d kept hidden beneath the surface.

The wraith’s shadowy form grew bolder, twisting into something almost human now, a grotesque, sneering parody of a person. The voice that came from it was now low and slithering. “What was it you offered to get all of this? To live this lie? Tell her, Cordelia… tell her what you’ve done.”

Cordelia’s hand tightened at her side, her knuckles white. “No- stop,” she hissed, stepping back. But the wraith’s voice only grew louder.

“You don’t have to hide anymore, Cordelia. I know. I see you. How much blood has stained your hands? How many people have you thrown away to keep yourself safe?” The wraith took a step forward, its eyes glowing with cruel delight. “How you led me right to your precious Marjorie. You and Meg. Does she know that you were one of my best soldiers? How you found all those sad, innococent people and tricked them into deals? How you’re the reason I am here in the first place.”

Marjorie’s pulse thundered in her ears, her stomach twisting as she watched Cordelia’s mask crack, just a little. Just enough for her to see it- the fear. The guilt. The truth.

“I- I didn’t-” Cordelia’s voice was shaky, her lips pressing together as if she were struggling to keep herself from breaking down. But the wraith didn’t give her the space to explain. It wasn’t interested in explanations. It was interested in torment.

You think I didn’t see the way you looked at her? How you tried to control everything around you?” The wraith’s sneering face moved closer to Cordelia, its shadow darkening her features. “You were never just her ally, were you, Cordelia? You were her jailer. You thought you could hold her down, keep her from realizing the truth about herself. About you.”

The air was thick with tension, a mixture of guilt, betrayal, and suffocating fear. Marjorie could feel it pulling at her, tightening around her chest, but she didn’t look away. She couldn’t. Not now. She had to see it. She had to know.

The wraith wasn’t done. It turned its attention back to Marjorie, its mocking grin widening.

“You think she’s your ally? Your friend? Your savior?” It twisted the words, each syllable laden with contempt. “What happens when you find out she’s been playing you all along? Without her, you would’ve never made that deal with me. Would’ve never had the false hope of a daughter reborn- would’ve never had to see sweet Eleanor die for a second time.”

Marjorie’s blood ran cold as the wraith’s form flickered and twisted. Its laughter echoed one last time before it finally evaporated, leaving only the cold, suffocating silence that remained between them.

For a moment, no one spoke. No one moved.

Cordelia stood frozen, her face pale, her eyes wide with something that was a mix of shame and terror. The breath left her in a shaky exhale, as though the wraith’s words had carved deep into her, leaving marks that would never fully fade.

Marjorie’s heart pounded, a cold rage beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t just confronted the wraith tonight- she’d confronted her own darkest memories. But Cordelia had betrayed her, too. The truth was undeniable now.

Cordelia had known. She had known the wraith’s true power, and she had been hiding it all along, playing a dangerous game with both Marjorie and herself.

Marorie turned to Cordelia now, blazing tendrils of blue surging down her arms and curling around her hands. “You knew.” Her voice was tight, controlled. “You did this to me.”

Cordelia opened her mouth, but the words came out weak, barely a whisper. “My girl, I didn’t-”

“You brought that thing to me. You knew I would say yes- that I would die.”

Marjorie’s voice cracked. Cordelia had been just as much part ofthis as the wraith. 

“I left that life behind,” Cordelia’s voice was choked, full of something that could’ve been regret. Probably fear. “I chose you. I protected you for years, Marjorie. Everything I did- it was to keep you safe.”

“You lied to me.”

“I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” Marjorie’s entire being was shaking now. The ground beneath them rumbled slightly, shaking the old building like the wind in a thunderstorm. 

Cordelia, her Cordelia, the woman who had raised her, cared for her, loved her- had been hiding this from her the entire time. 

The wraiths form flickered again, its mocking laughter filling the room with the worst kind of poison. “It’s too late now, Cordelia. She’s got you all figured out.”

Marjorie barely heard it. 

Her eyes were locked on Cordelia’s, searching for something, anything that would make this hurt less. 

“Do you have any regrets?” she whispered. “Doing this to me?”

Cordelia swallowed hard. “Every day.”

The wraith laughed again. 

"Tell me, Marjorie-if I let you hear her voice again, if I let you see her little face just one more time-would you let me in? Would you let me crawl inside your head, take all that grief, all that guilt, and make it stop?"

It stopped in front of her, right in her face, breath like spoiled meat.

"You want that, don’t you? To be free of this?"

Her throat was so tight she could barely breathe.

For a terrifying, shameful second-she did want that.

No more waking up gasping for air.

No more hearing screams in her dreams.

No more guilt sinking its claws into her ribs.

Just… nothing.

But then she thought of Cordelia’s voice, steady even in her betrayal.

She thought of Dean’s concern, of Sam’s quiet faith in her, of the life she had built-however fragile.

She thought of everything this thing had taken from her.

She would not let it win.

"No."

The wraith’s grin twisted into something monstrous.

"Liar."

It lunged.

Marjorie barely had time to react before it was on her, knocking the knife from her grasp. She hit the ground hard, the impact rattling her bones.

Cold fingers wrapped around her throat.

Her vision blurred, the air squeezed from her lungs.

The wraith hovered over her, its face shifting-Eleanor, Cordelia, Meg, even herself.

It wanted to break her.

To own her.

Her fingers scraped against the floor, desperate, searching-until they curled around something familiar.

Cold metal.

The locket.

The last thing she had of Eleanor.

The offering she had used to summon this monster.

Marjorie gritted her teeth.

With the last of her strength, she slammed the locket against the wraith’s forehead.

The sigils in the containment circle flared to life, blinding-bright.

The wraith let out a shriek of agony, its grip loosening just enough for Marjorie to throw it off. She scrambled to her feet, gasping, reaching for the knife-

And then it was just her and the wraith, both on their knees, facing each other.

Marjorie lifted the blade.

The wraith smiled.

"Do it, then."

Marjorie’s breath was ragged.

The wraith wanted her to kill it in anger. It thrived on rage, on suffering.

But it wouldn’t get that.

Not from her.

"Shut. Up," she whispered.

She drove the blade into its heart.

The wraith screamed, its form twisting, breaking. Its body blackened, its flesh curling away in wisps of ash as the containment circle erupted in light.

For a brief, agonizing moment, its shifting form locked onto Eleanor’s face one last time.

Marjorie clenched her jaw.

"Go to Hell."

With a final, piercing shriek—

The wraith was gone.

Ashes scattered to the warehouse floor.

But the silence that followed felt different. Empty. Marjorie stood there, panting, the blade still in her hand, staring at the spot where the wraith had once been.

Cordelia stepped forward hesitantly, her face pale, eyes full of something Marjorie didn’t recognize-fear, regret, and guilt all mixed into one fragile expression.

Marjorie turned her back on her, unable to face her any longer. Her heart was still pounding in her chest, but there was something else now. Something cold.

She turned to leave.

“I trusted you,” Marjorie said , her voice low, almost calm now. “I trusted you and you didn’t care. One-hundred and fourteen years, Cordelia. That’s how long you’ve had to tell me. ”

“Marjorie-”

“The worst part about all of it, is that if you asked me now, I would probably forgive you.”

Cordelia flinched as though struck, her mouth opening and closing, desperate to find words that could undo the weight of what had just happened. But there was nothing. No excuse, no justification that could erase the truth.

Marjorie stopped at the threshold of the warehouse, her back still to Cordelia. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of burned wax and old blood, remnants of the ritual that had bound and killed the wraith. But the betrayal, the realization that Cordelia had been playing her all along- that was what suffocated her now.

Slowly, she turned her head, her voice barely above a whisper, but sharp enough to cut like a blade.

“If I ever see you again…” She let the words hang in the air, thick with unspoken threat. “I will kill you.”

Cordelia sucked in a breath, but she didn’t move, didn’t try to stop her.

Marjorie didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and stepped out into the night, her boots crunching against the gravel outside the warehouse. The air was cold against her skin, but inside, she was burning.

She didn’t look back.

*****

Marjorie didn’t stop walking until she reached the edge of the warehouse lot, where the Imapala was parked haphazardly, its doors already open. Sam and Dean stood by the car, tense, weapons in hand. Deans face was a storm of emotion- anger, concern, something deeper he couldn’t put a name to. Sam looked exhausted, eyes flickering between her and the warehouse like he was still piecing everything together.

She barely registered them. Her body felt like it was moving on auto-pilot, her hands shaking as the adrenaline wore off. The night was still, unnervingly so, after everything that had just happened. 

Dean was the first to speak. “Marjorie.”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t acknowledge him.

He took a step forward, cutting off her path before she could get any further. “What the hell happened in there?”

Marjorie didn’t look at him, her eyes somewhere else, far away from any of them. She was breathing hard, the taste of ash and blood lingered on her tongue. “It’s dead,” she said flatly.

Dean searched her face. “Cordelia?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Gone.”

Sam stepped forward, cautious. “Gone?”

“I told her I’d kill her if I saw her again, so for her sake. I hope she’s long gone.”

Silence. The weight of her words hung heavy between them.

Deans mouth pressed into a tight line, but he didn’t argue. He just watched her, eyes scanning every inch of her like he was trying to make sure she was still standing, still her. 

Sam, however, frowned. “Marj…”

“Don’t.” She shook her head, her voice raw. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

Sam backed off, knowing better than to push her right now. 

Dean took a second step forward. “You’re bleeding.”

Marjorie finally blinked, looking down at her hands. Her knuckles were raw, her nails still lined with the remnants of the ritual. The deeper wound on her arm, a thin angry cut from where she bled to summon the raise pulsed quickly.

She swallowed. “It’s a paper cut.”

“Yeah, well, your ‘paper cut’ needs stitches,” Dean muttered, already moving toward the trunk of the Impala to grab their make-shift first aid kit. 

Marjorie watched him for a second, some of the ice in her chest cracking, just barely. Then she let out a slow breath and sat down on the open passenger seat of the car, her body finally succumbing to the exhaustion she had been pushing back.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Dean said after a moment. “Not now.”

Marjorie gave a short, bitter laugh. “Good.”

Dean retuned with the first aid kit and knelt beside her. “This is gonna sting.”

Marjorie met his gaze and sighed, “Go ahead.”

As Dean cleaned her arm, his hands careful but firm. Marjorie leaned her head against the door, her eyes fluttering shut. Sam stood next to her, giving her shoulder a squeeze everytime she would wince. 

Dean finished wrapping the gauze around her arm, his mouth set in that gruff, focused line. Marjorie watched the muscle in his jaw ticked, the way he worked through his emotions by doing something. She wanted to say something- maybe to ground herself, maybe to pull the concern off his face- but nothing same.

“We should go,” Dean spoke, rising from his kneeling position.

Marjorie blinked, her gaze stuck to him. He wasn’t looking at her, but his tone was pointed.

Sam looked down at his brother. “Go where?”

“Meg.” Dean exhaled. “She’s still out there, and after everything tonight…” He hesitated, then finally locked eyes with Marjorie. “She’s numero dos, isn’t she?”

Sam scoffed. “Hold on, you’re telling me we’re going into this with no rest, no plan- just full-speed ahead to whatever the hell Meg’s got waiting for us?”

“Yes,” Marjorie’s voice was steady. “And I’m coming with.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to her. “You just took on the wraith alone, and now you want to go hunt a demon?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not sitting around while she’s still out there.”

Sam shifted, like he agreed but didn’t quite want to say it aloud. 

Dean let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “I swear to God, you two are gonna kill me.”

Marjorie smirked, just a little. “You’d be bored otherwise.”

Dean shot her a look, but there wasn’t real heat behind it.

Sam cleared his throat, pushing off the car. “We need to figure out where she is. I’ll dig into possible leads, but she’s smart- she’s not gonna make it easy.”

“Perfect,” Marjorie muttered, rubbing her now bandaged arm.

Dean pointed at her. “You are getting rest first.”

She opened her mouth to argue. 

“Not negotiable,” he added.

Marjorie huffed, but didn’t push. 

Sam pulled out his phone, already scanning for anything that might give them a lead. “Marjorie, get some sleep.”

She nodded, moving to crawl into the back seat. Dean moved toward’s the drivers side, but before he climbed in he shot her another glance.

“You’re with us now, huh?”

Marjorie tilted her head back against the worn leather. “Guess so.”

Dean shook his head, but a faint smile made its way to his face. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Sam snorted.

Marjorie gave him a wink, allowing herself to relax into the seats, eyes falling shut once again. 

Despite the exhaustion, despite everything, they were a trio now. And now matter what came next, they were in it together. 

*****

[theglamorousferal]

Samantha al Ghul

Rain raced down her window as she looked out to the gloomy surroundings. Sam had never felt more at home than in Gotham she's realizing. The architecture and general vibe of the city resonated with her on a level she had only felt when in the Infinite Realms.

Sam's parents stuck out like a sore thumb, all bright and hopeful. They looked like you took two characters from a children's show and dropped them into a grimdark HBO classic. Sam loves them, she really does, but just one look at them would have muggers salivating.

She's been somewhat looking forward to this particular gala, if only because she managed to convince her parents to let her wear a dress that's mostly black with details of roses and thorny vines twisted around the bottom of the skirt. She would be blending in for once, something she had mixed feelings about. At least there would be some other kids her age there, at least according to her parents. Hopefully they weren't the usual stuck up people like Paulina, Sam was sick of her being the only one to talk to at functions in Amity.

They pulled up to a large gothic manor and the driver came to the door with umbrellas for the family, helping them out of the car. Sam's first thought when looking at the house was envy, she would love to live in a place like this. Her second thought was of getting out of the rain so that it wouldn't ruin her favorite combat heels. At the door, they were greeted by a butler who took their coats and introduced himself as "Alfred Pennyworth, head butler of the Wayne family." Which gave Sam momentary pause, the dredges of a memory popping up.

Why is that familiar? What does Wayne mean in accordance with Gotham?

As she walked in to the gala, she got her answer.

Standing next to a tall man with a streak of white through the front of his hair was someone she hadn't seen in years. Someone she thought had died that day ten years prior. Someone she always felt guilty for.

She was moving before she even realized, skidding to a stop before him.

"Ahki" She mutter low so only he could hear. The boy froze and then slowly turned to look at her.

"Ukht" He said back and suddenly they were both hugging, clinging to each other like they had when they were so much smaller. Tears rarely spent were shed. "How are you here? How are you alive?"

"I survived the fall. I don't know how, but I survived the fall but then I had amnesia and didn't remember anything. I was taken in by this couple who had wanted a daughter. By the time I remembered anything, it was too late for me to return to the League. How'd you get out? I thought you died that day!"

The tall man put his hands on each of their shoulders. "Maybe you should take this to a private setting? We don't want anything leaking to the press."

Damian seemed to think it over for a moment before looking at the crowd who were all staring at the two teens. They let go of each other and made their way to a balcony. "I managed to kill the interloper that held me, but when I looked over the cliff's edge, you were nowhere to be seen. I had assumed you had been swept beneath the current. I searched along the riverbanks to no avail." He glanced over her face, seeming to drink in the sight he had missed for so long. "How are you here?"

"I came with my adoptive parents. They're the ones who stick out like a sore thumb. I've been living with them in Amity Park, Illinois since I was found. They're good people, but they have their eccentricities. They want me to wear bright colors all the time." Sam's nose scrunched up in distaste. Damian chuckled.

"That hasn't changed I see."

"What about you? How'd you get out?"

"There was a coup, one of Grandfather's apprentices, Deathstroke, attacked him. In the chaos Mother managed to get us out and she brought me to Father. I've been living with him for five years now."

"Oh, so Father is here?" Sam thought for a moment then whispered. "I know Father is the Bat, but what is his real name? I know mother told us once, but my memory is still kinda foggy."

"It's his gala you're attending, Father is Bruce Wayne."

"That airheaded himbo?" Sam snorted, then thought a bit. "Wow he's a much better actor than I expected then."

"We should probably go make an appearance again, the vultures are probably talking about our outburst."

[v-era-18]

HoneyBee

Chapter Two: Chased or Chase

‘Why continue to chase after someone when they deserve the moon, and you simply can’t give it to them,’- Sam Witwicky

2

Tonight was perfect.

Not only was (Y/n) able to warm up her meal from ‘Honey’s Waffles’ without ruining the quality, but she was able to watch her favorite movie before falling asleep. The covers were warm, along with the hand sewn quilt her grandmother made her in the ninth grade. The stars were hand stitched, along with her favorite constellations.

It was beautiful, in the far right square at the very bottom was a stitched planet from her family's stories her grandfather told. She still remembers the tears she shed that night on her birthday, Sam’s laughter at how ugly her face scrunched up as fat tears rolled down. It was one of the memories she cherished the most, things were so simple back then, but here they were last year of highschool and college acceptance letters littered her simi neat desk.

She rolled over, snuggling into the bear on the other side of the bed as she thought about the handsome boy from earlier. The girl bit her lip as a giggle bubbled up behind her lips as she tried to keep the feeling at bay. He was a stranger, and yet he left her feeling like she was the only one in the world at that moment. She could still feel the lips that whispered against her ear at the soft promise to see her again.

(Y/n) will admit, she's looking forward to the possibility of the boy walking through the large doors of her family's library. It was another one of her pride that she did not take lightly, and sharing it with someone she saw as a romantic interest was something she most definitely wanted to share. She rarely had crushes of course, she spent so much time on school work and stories to really experience dating and here she was, imagining scenarios of her reading him her favorite book as they snuggled on the couch.

Her mind wandered back to the illusion episode she had in the car, it came out of nowhere but left her hot and heavy. The hands seemed to know where to go on her body as if they'd done it so many times before

A yawn escaped her plump lips getting comfortable underneath the warm blankets, now all she had to do was get a few more hours of sleep before-,

Her phone started to go off, the ringtone blaring to life with the three women's voices taking over singing ‘Soldier’. A groan left her lips as she slugged her arm over to grab the phone from the nightstand. The screen blinded her as the contact read ‘Lord Witwicky >:(‘ appeared with three text messages.

With a sigh (Y/n) answered, praying he wasn’t calling her to tell her about a dream he had about Mikaela.

“Yes Sam-”

“(Y-Y/n)! I need you to bike down to the end of your block right now! M-My car is being stolen-they're about to pass your street!” Sam's breathing sounded panicked and out of breath, he let out a yelp as the phone shuffled a bit.

“Whoa-wait that doesn't make any sense?!,” She was already putting on her shoes, forgetting the shorts and tank she had on before dashing outside to her black bike, “Why did you call me-Call the police!”

“I did! You try to speak to the police-when you can barely breath! It's been so long since I've biked this much I’m out of shape,”

She biked down to the end of her street and sure enough the black and yellow camaro drove full speed ahead, deciding to follow she made a full dash behind them. The windows were oddly tinted from what she could tell but it didn't make sense due to the fact they were not the few times she was in the car.

Sam soon caught up with her, their speed wasn’t as fast as the vehicle ,but they were able to keep on its tail the whole entire time. Her breathing was labored as they passed many streets in pursuit of the speeding vehicle, it was a miracle for the robber that the streets were clear this time of night. It wasn’t long before the pursuit led them onto private property, the car rammed right through the gate without mercy.

(Y/n) stopped as Sam kept biking on through the gate, “Sam! This is private property!”

The boy didn't seem to hear her as he was more focused on retrieving his car. Sam's form disappeared behind the corner of the building , the girl groaned in frustration and followed against her better judgment. She soon caught up with her friend on foot leaving her bike where he left his.

“Sam we have to leave-”

Sam covered her mouth, pointing up at the large emerging figure in front of the powerplant. (Y/n) looked up at the sight before her in great fascination. The robot's form was one to take a gander at. From the clear Chevrolet bust to the wings on the back being the doors. A quirk of a smile made way on her face at the sight before her

Sam ducked down and began recording on his phone, “Hello, My name is Sam Witwicky! I am here with my best friend (Y/n) (L/n)-who ever finds this my car is alive-okay,” He held up the phone to the robot, accidently getting (Y/n)’s curious expression in the process, “I-If this is my last words-I just wanted to say, Mom-Dad I love you and if you find ‘Busties Beauties’ under my bed it wasn’t mine! I'm holding it for Miles! No-no-wait that's not true it's mine-Miles gave it to me I'm sorry! Mojo, I love you.``

Sam hug up the phone and slowly picked himself up from the ground, He grabbed (Y/n) pulling her along from the massive robot shining the light into the night.

Her gaze never left the figure, something inside of her tugged her soul back towards the massive being. The same being from the stories her grandfather told her about each night. It was different from what she'd imagined, but she wasn't disappointed-not one bit. (Y/n) heard they came in a variety of many shapes and sizes, just like humans only their forms were more mechanical and they could live for ages in comparison.

The girl turned her excited gaze back to Sam,“What do you think it was? Pops told me stories about this-” She was cut off with the boy silencing her, it took a moment before she heard it, the low growl of a predator.

The two teens moved slowly, watching the dogs carefully looking for a means of escape; Unfortunately, (Y/n) wasn’t one to dwell with danger, in fact her first response was to run from it. Sam was hot on her heels, the growls of the two dogs growing near with each turn the two took. The two teens jumped and dodge obstacles in the wake, trying to escape the threatening jaws of punishment.

“H-hey! Good Dog! Good Dog-!”

“Shut up Sam! And Run!”

They both ended up in a dead end, both fending for themselves on a large crate to escape the large jaws of disapproval. One ended up biting the girl's shoe, leading to her yelling in panic, Sam tried to grab a hold of her before she could fall. Before the black dog could jump and attack again, the black and yellow car crashed through just in time, Sam never looked more scared in his life as the vehicle circled them drawing away the dogs from earlier.

“H-hey! Please-Please don't kill us! I'm sorry! Here's the keys-you can have em’! Cars all yours!” Sam threw the keys at the car, pulling (Y/n) along with him outside.

(Y/n) froze once the cop car pulled up in front of them, Sam was relieved rushing up to them in panic, “Woah-woah-listen-listen-listen!Good your here!-”

“Let me see your hands!” Both officers immediately pulled both firearms pointing at the two of them, the girl felt bile in her throat, and immediately placed her hands up walking over in compliance.

“Wait-no no no-what you mean? The guys inside-?!”

“Shut up! Put your hands behind your head, and put your head on the hood.” Both of them complied, Sam looked over at his friend noticing her expression. (Y/n)’s eyes were filled with tears, a bitter snarl on her lips as she was handcuffed first beside him. He immediately regretted calling her tonight.

~✯~

The car ride was tense between the two teens as Ron drove (Y/n) home. Their time at the police office was surely interesting, the two cops never let up on her, not once. She's been many things in her life, but never had she been called a drug addict and a thug.

It hurt, it hurt so bad and she never knew those two men in her life. It was the fact it took Sam asking, ‘Why are you guys only questioning her? I'm the one who called!’ for them to finally let up on their verbal abuse. She was so tired and worn out. It left a mental strain to know she actually went to jail, and was arrested for simply trying to help.

Sam shifted awkwardly in his seat, “(Y/n), I’m sorry-”

“Save it,” Her tone was bitter and hurt, a struggled breath left her in trying hard not to cry, “Out of all things I’ve done for you this is the one thing-the one thing I deeply regret.”

The boy looked at her hurt, “You don't mean that-”

“Sam,” Ron tried to shut his son up.

“No-she doesn't mean that! (Y/n) you always said were in it together-”

“When has there been an us as of late!” The Afro headed girl finally snapped, “Every single time you ask for something it's for your benefit! When have you ever done me a favor-!”

“Plenty of times!”

“Name one Samuel!”

Sam paused for a moment, rethinking the last time he actually offered to help her with something. Ron looked at his son in the corner of his eye in frustration, he knew this would somehow come back to bite his son in the ass. The boy sighed against the seat in frustration.

“I-I’m sorry-I didn't realize that I neglected this part of our friendship-”

“You did the moment you let Miles degrade me and keep him around-over and over-This! This is the tip of the iceberg Sam!,” (Y/n) sighed, “You’d rather have any friend to talk to-and any girl to stare at you and caress you without actually making the steps to build something, without thinking of them in a lewd manner-”

“Hey guys-let's not say anything we might regret-”

“I mean every-fucking-word. I've been nothing but a good friend-not only did I give you the car I wanted-but I helped you with a girl who didn't give two shits about you-who-hell-didn't even know your name till sixteen hours ago and I still corrected her-”

“Mikaela doesn't have to do with anything in regards to the conversation-”

“Of course she doesn't! But everytime shes not around and your with me you have to bring her up twenty four seven-”

“Guys-”

“Oh-oh really? You wanna bring that up? How about we talk about how you basically were talking with a stranger and was basically inviting him to fu-”

Ron smacked his son's head before he could finish, but the damage was done, (Y/n) sat back in the seat , tears seeped her lips as she stared out the window. Sam acknowledged his mistake ,and didn't say another word for the rest of the car ride.

Mr. Witwicky dropped the girl off and watched her sad figure walk inside the house, he looked back at Sam, a deep frown placed on his face. “Out of everything to say, you allude to her being a prostitute-”

“She was bashing Mikaela-”

“She wasn’t bashing that girl, and you know it!” Mr Witwicky threw his hands to the roof of the vehicle in frustration, “She was pointing out how you take the things you have for granted, especially your friendship. To be honest I thought you'd grow up and be smart and realize that (Y/n) is the one you should be running after, not some chick who messes with jocks and because she looks like a pornstar,”

Sam looked at the door (Y/n) walked through, the lights were on-signaling her Nana was awake, it was no doubt she would be interrogated. He knew his dad didn’t mean to insult Mikaela, so he let it slide; but he still didn’t like how both of them were right. He did have a habit of chasing after girls who focused more on popular guys than schoolwork.

“She’ll never see me that way, she only has stuck around because we’re all we have-“

“Oh so “friends” wake up at 2 o’clock at night, go on a car chase and get arrested for someone because their friends,” The boy's father was deeply disappointed, watching the girl he watched grow along his son wasn’t something to idle by. (Y/n)’s reputation would be described as pure since middle school and on; However, tonight tainted the innocent record that landed her many scholarships.

“Think about all the things she lost, do you honestly want to take away the one thing she wanted to achieve in life?! Her degree in robotics, her minor in creative writing-“

Sam sighed in frustration, his father didn’t even finish he was so heated with the night of events. It was his first time being arrested along with (Y/n), however it didn’t affect him as much since his father was head of the neighborhood watch.

“I-I couldn't see her that way! I chose to see her as a sister-and whenever I entertained that idea it just seemed wrong!” Sam looked at his dad, a pained expression morphed on his face from the night of events, “I know I'm not the one for her Dad, these past few years proved it. Yesterday, I was so jealous at the thought of another guy stealing what we have with each other, then I realized how toxic I would've been-to keep her single while I kept looking for someone else like her.”

Ron frowned slowly realizing what his son was venting. He knew the answer but decided to ask anyway. “Did you fall in love with her and give up?”

Sams face twisted and turned his head out the window once more, the night sky suddenly looked more interesting, “Why continue to chase after someone when they deserve the moon, and you simply can’t give it to them,”

~✯~

The two women were silent as they looked at eachother, it was overwhelming to say the least. (Y/n) had expected to see a belt, her laptop and favorite belongings on full display in front of Nana awaiting her punishment. Instead she wasn't seeing any of that, her grandmother simply sat on the sofa with her hands in her lap staring up at her with worried eyes.

She stood in the living room, tears running down her face, her twists were in a disheveled bun from the night of events and her pajamas were dirty. Her Nana gave her a once over, spotting the scrap on the girl's knee that wasn't banaged. You’d think the girl would have noticed her injury, she guessed the adrenaline as she ran from the dogs made up for it.

A sharp inhale caused (Y/n) to flinch, much to her grandmother's dismay, “You don't have to be so tense, I talked with Ron on the phone. I know it wasn't your fault sweetheart,” The older woman stood up from the sofa and waved a hand gesturing towards the kitchen. “Let's fix you up, then you can tell me your side of the story.”

(Y/n) stood still in the doorway, a sharp needle of anxiety pierced her heart, “You're not mad? Or disappointed-?”

“Not mad, just worried. And the only way I would have been disappointed was if you hadn’t complied when told to-that would have put you in more danger.”

The two of them made their way to the kitchen, the light in the room seemed to calm her down for the most part but she was still unsettled from everything that had happened. She couldn’t forget the words the men had spoken to her in such a derogatory manner. (Y/n) normally would’ve rolled it off her shoulder, but something about tonight hit her like a storm.

‘We get girls like you in this seat all the time, star students by day-druggies by night’

‘Such a shame, we've got nothing but good things about you on file. It seems everyone has a devil inside them-’

‘What do you expect? Their kind is more susceptible to the life of crime anyway. Especially females, they love the rush of a thug being their man-ain’t that right girl?’

The second cop was so racist to a point where she didn't understand. The other one was treating her and Sam to the same treatment where the other was just so discriminatory. She's sure a good bath and drowning herself in movies would help, after all it wasn't like racism didn't exist; everywhere- even on cybertron that's how she learned about the subject anyway-especially with Nana's concerns of her going to middle school not knowing about the subject.

(Y/n) flinched as her grandmother cleaned the cut, she felt like a little girl again watching how she carefully cleaned the cut with peroxide before dabbing on some neosporin. If she wasnt so traumatized she'd be convinced she had just fallen off her bike after learning for the first time. Pop’s carrying her back in the house as she sucked on a popsicle through blurry eyes of frustration.

“You're lucky it was just grazed, nothing too deep,” Her Nana placed a kiss over the band-aid before putting the medical supplies away, “Now do you wanna tell me why you chased after that vehicle?”

The girl let out a shaky breath before starting the disgruntled tale. Her grandmother had fixed herself tea as she listened, sometimes she would interrupt and ask questions; ‘How tinted were the windows?’ ‘Could you see the driver?’ ‘Did the motor sound weird?’. It wasn’t long before she paused mid story when she accidentally spilled that they saw something, Nana gazed at her telling to continue, but her mouth became dry. Her grandmother didn't react well last time when she mentioned the insignia, how was she supposed to tell her about the robot she saw? She could hardly believe it herself from what her own eyes had captured.

“You-you wouldn’t believe me anyway-”

“Try me,” The cup was sat down, the kind gaze never wavering as she looked at her, “Me and your grandfather have seen and experienced many things (Y/n), that many people wouldn't believe unless they've seen it for themselves.”

A nervous laugh erupted from her tired lips, she hardly believed what she said next, “Sam's car turned into a giant robot.” She laughed again, but this time it was sad as tears rolled down.

Then it hit her, whatever it was-the anxiety never left this time instead it boiled. Her mind couldn't take it-she was so tired. The sight that she had seen tonight was the one thing she had wanted to see since she was so young. She promised to help them-to fight alongside them in the war and achieve many victories for their cause. And here she was years later, and she didn't know if she believed it, or if she had simply gone mad after her grandfather died.

Whether it was the lost part of innocence tonight or wishful thinking, she never wanted that escape again more in her life, she missed it. The effortless journals she’d write of going on adventures, fighting, living a life as that character everyone loved and wanted to be. All of it, was it pointless?

“-Sweetheart?”

“I'm going to bed-I-Im sorry for lying, Nana. We only saw the burglars abandon it, nothing more.”

(Y/n) left the kitchen her form shaking and disgruntled, as her Nana sat at the table watching her leave. The older woman sighed, rolling her eyes before getting up and heading towards her room. A liar is not what (Y/n) is, her Nana knew. What emerged from her granddaughter's mouth was nothing but the truth.

Robots-no Cybertronians are a special case.

Their whole family knew the truth except the girl in the other room, sometimes (GM/N) wondered why they never told her the truth before (GD/N) died. Sure, it was best to keep her innocent for a while but after what she saw tonight only means she'll soon be tossed into something she never bargained for.

Nana took the box from the high shelf from the right side of the closet where her late husband stored his belongings. The box was a bit worn and dusty, but the contents were safe. She hugged the box close to her chest and sent a quick prayer.

Afterall, her granddaughter was going to need it.

~✯~

To many teenagers work was a chore they hated to get up and get ready for this time of day, but as far as this aspiring protagonist goes, she loved waking up in the morning and heading to her family's library. With her finals being done in comparison to Sam, she's able to take up earlier shifts than normal. Luckily Grace was willing to switch morning shifts with her this morning much to her pleasure.

It was around nine am giving her enough time to organize the return pile by genre and author. It was a nice ritual to get her mind off of the past few days, don't get her wrong; there were moments she'd mess with the band aid on her knee, or simply sipped her coffee anxiously as a police car drove by the large window. She didn't want to think about that night, and if she did she only wanted to think about one thing; the cybertronian.

It started to feel wrong to call them a robot after all she knew what the species were called. It was no secret to her family about the stories and now-truth be told she started to gain the suspension. They were not just stories. She thought long and hard about how gentle her grandmother was with her yesterday, she kept glancing at her as if she had something to tell her-just don't know how. Not to even mention she sat by the phone expecting Sam to call her-why she didn't know. (Y/n) just wanted the reassurance that they were still friends-family even.

(Y/n) placed the last neat pile over near the horror section, it had been quite popular the past few weeks after they hosted that horror book night last october-it was her idea for a fundraiser and it was highly successful. The only takeaway was hunting people who forget to return them. In the corner of her eye she watched her Nana walk out of the break room with a steaming cup and a cinnamon roll from the bakery next door.

If She had been a bit more considerate of herself this morning she might have gotten one as well, they were nice and soft, the icing smooth and sickenly sweet if eaten too fast. She had to think long and hard about where she was going to eat lunch.

(Y/n) finished her morning ritual in the library with ease, once she was sure everything was in order she was able to help out at the front. Some were familiar faces, others were simply students from other schools returning books required for the curriculum of english. It was all worth it; after the familiar face strolled in her heart began to thump anxiously, whereas her hands were suddenly busy in her coils.

The black haired boy looked around for a moment before locking eyes with her own. It didn't take but a minute before he flashed a smile heading in her direction, the others in the library seemed irrelevant at the moment in comparison to the male who remembered her quick words that day. He looked nice; His shirt was black with vertical white and yellow stripes down his chest, and he wore black jeans with a subtle chain on the hip. His converse were a bit dirty like hers, but in her mind all shoes were meant to be replaced after a while.

“So this is the famous (L/n) library,” Bee smiled brightly, he did another once over causing her heart to warm with his excited eyes, “I’m impressed! You own the place so young?”

She laughed, “No, it's a family business! It’s been here for more than sixty-eight years.”

He whistled low, the charm he had was starting to take effect. She licked her lips nervously as he took a gander at the ceiling, it was a renaissance styled painting with her family's stories. There were many robots stylized to show which were good, evil, and simply trying to survive crossfire. His eyes seemed to land on one figure specifically, a large sword was in the figures hands, they were leaner with a female build with an angular frame. What stood out so much was the male human by her side.

Blue eyes went back on her form, something glimmered for a second before a carefree look took on his features. He paused for a moment, looking behind her, she followed his gaze seeing that Nana was looking at the boy. It was a moment where (Y/n) could see them talking with their eyes, another moment passed before her grandmother smiled, turning to her.

“(Y/n) who is this? A New friend?”

The girl bit her lip looking over at a Bee, he seemed to be awaiting her answer, “Y-yeah, we met at the park last Friday. He was very nice,”

The boy seemed to approve of her answer, “Hello my name is Bee,”

“Hello Bee, Im (Y/n)’s grandmother (G/N), but you can call me Nana,” Nana smiled at her new friend, placing the new stack of history books on the desk to be organized later. “You're actually in luck, my sweetheart is on break! She'd love to hang out with you a bit.”

“What? But-”

“That's great! I'd love to hear more about the paintings above and the histories about them.” The black haired smiled.

Her Nana pushed her from behind the desk quickly, urging her to talk to the boy before them. (Y/n) grabbed her grandfather's notebook from the top counter, this one was the history about the library, in chapter two it gives short summaries about the paintings above. She’d tell her friend about the summary and they tell him what she remembered about the story to the best of her ability.

(Y/n) led Bee to the comfortable part of the library, in the far corner there was a circular table with two arm chairs. It was her favorite spot for breaks. They both sat down, she couldn’t help but notice how the boy felt up and down with the fabric as if it were foreign to him.

“Is it not comfortable?” She questioned quietly with a frown. Bee flinched with her question, planching his hands on his knees.

“No-no it's very comfortable-im just not used to the feeling,” He answered with a bit of nerves in his tone. “I'm sorry if I've offended you-”

“No you haven't, I just wanted to make sure my new friend was comfortable,” She offered a kind smile to ease him of his worries.

She gave him a once over, he did clean up nicely from the last time she saw him, however she couldn’t help but pause at his neck. There was a prominent scare on the right side, she couldn't believe she had never seen it before. If there was one way of describing it, it would be a star that she gazed at each night before going to bed, it rested right near the vocal cords.

“So about the femme-female in the middle, what story do you have for her my dear storyteller?”

(Y/n) actually let out a giggle, “Storyteller? Is that my new nickname?”

Bee hummed, “No you deserve something better, but that's what you do right? You tell amazing stories and draw people in.”

“Well yes, but it's only fun doing it. It's not like it'll be a job for me to do in the near future.”

The boy cocked an eyebrow, which apparently has a slit, “Why not?”

“It simply won’t pay the bills. As an aspiring author or writer you have to be smart, you have to have another area of profession to feed yourself until everything takes off.”

He nodded in understanding, “I see. I wouldn’t rule this out of your life forever. You do such a good job as is,” He scooted the chair closer once the girl flipped through the pages of the book. He seemed more preoccupied with staring at her than the varying pictures. “So what are you gonna read to me today?”

(Y/n) smiled, “The summary of Merlin’s Female knight. I’ll have to get to know you more before I tell you the full tale. These are our family stories.”

“Seems fair,”

The girl inhaled before starting the summary.

“During the dark ages of Merlin, a variety of knights were introduced from the planet Cybertron. With these knights came a new era of acceptance with humans; they fought many wars and formed many alliances. However with the new era the knights acknowledged something needed to be changed with predacons as well. A few of these predacons were highly intelligent femmes pledging their loyalty to the cause. Three knights took the predacons as sparkmates, leading to the next generation. One of these femmes was named-“

(Y/n)s words faltered as she felt Bee's breath on the nape of her neck. She finally took notice of how close he’d gotten. His hand was close to hers, slightly brushing as she flipped the page again. She was reading the words in English, skipping over the cybertronian language she’s grown to learn.

A hand clasped hers urgently, she paused on the page she was about to skip, the pages were filled with the foreign symbols. She looked at him, his mouth was moving as he scanned the page.

‘He can read it?!’

“You can read it? How can you-“

“I-I’m sorry I have to go.” The boy removed his hand from hers, the warmth that enveloped her body was gone; she was so tempted to frown right there. She stormed after him, questions filling her mind with urgency. It’s been so long since she had someone who understood the language other than her grandparents.

“Wha-what? Why? What did I do-?” Bee cut her off by grabbing her hands in his once more. He stared at her, his eyes were worried and deeply struggled to communicate.

“You haven't done anything. (Y/n) I know I haven't done anything to deserve your trust ,but I’m going to need you to trust me,” His frown seemed almost natural on his face as if he was more accustomed to the expression. It spoke volumes to her. “I promise, to explain later sweetspark okay?”

The girl nodded a bit, flustered from the boy using the tongue it took her many years to accomplish. He had her trust by just speaking the language. With the nod of confirmation, he made haste out the front doors. When she tried to watch him leave, he was already gone.

It was two hours after the boy left and oddly enough (Y/n) felt as if a huge weight was lifted off her chest in regards to the events that have happened lately. She could still feel the warmth of his hands against hers as she turned the pages.

It felt as if the hands on their own could tell stories, along with the scar of the left side of his neck. The intimate thoughts she had earlier returned, her lips would graze each scar with sweet whispers; (Y/n) could hear his playful tone teasing her for being so bold, yet so sweet with his battle wounds.

She paused for a minute at the thought-when had she decided the scars came from battle or even a war. Something about her intuition was going off, whether it was the sinking feeling at the thought of him being so young on the front lines, or the fact he had to keep such secrets of his injuries to himself. (Y/n) shook her head before closing the book, deciding it was time to clock out.

Grace had already clocked in thirty minutes ago and was ready to take over. Now all she needed was her book bag and-. A loud commotion of a familiar voice suddenly filled the space of the library much to her dismay, she hoped it wasn't her Nana reminding her not to work overtime and to relax. However, when she turned the corner from one of the isles she was met with an erratic and panicked Witwicky.

“Sam! What the hell is your problem?! This is a library-!” (Y/n) was suddenly embraced by Sam, his form was shaky and he had labored breaths. She didn't get to ask questions about it, as she was already being led outside the library with her bookbag in hand.

“We’re being followed by the car,” Sam spoke quickly, he grabbed her bike from the rack and pushed it towards her. She finally took notice of the fact he was riding his mom's bike, normally she would’ve laughed but at the moment she sunk in the situation at hand.

“Did you just say the car is following us?” The question rolled off her tongue with ease, it sounded excited, no hint of worry in sight. It scared her afterwards with how quick she got happy with the thought of the alien following them.

“Yes-it followed me home! Then when I biked here to get away, it followed me-only it didn’t take the same route, it took a faster one and parked behind the building. It knows where you work!” He hopped on the bike, (Y/n) doing the same quickly with her own, as anxiety rolled down her spine.

The two teens biked down the street quickly, it wasn't long before the sound of a roaring engine sped up right behind them-the game of cat and mouse being reversed from the other day. The girl didn't dare to look back, Sam did enough for the both of them combined. Judging from the way her friend was panting in panic she could only assume the car was close. They both decided to bike through a park, Sam was so focused on his escape from the vehicle to notice the uneven concrete in the midst of their path.

It was a domino effect, Sam flipped himself landing on his back with a pained groan. (Y/n) let out a yelp and tried to swerve the bike in time but ended up losing her balance and falling off. She bit back a whine from the new found scrapes and bruises on her elbow and right knee.

“Sam? (Y/n)?” A familiar voice called out to the two of them. Sam looked to his right to find Mikeala and her friends looking at them. A few were giggling and whispering while looking in (Y/n)’s direction, none of them had ever seen the girl flawed before. The teen always made sure to be poised in all conditions, however seeing the girl fall off her bike nearing tears was something to boost their egos.

“Hi,” He mustered awkwardly with a groan, whereas (Y/n) simply waved a hand clutching her arm.

“Um t-that was uh-that was really…..awesome,” The girl managed to ease up the situation, “Are you two okay?”

“N-no I'm not-alright? I'm losing my mind. My car is chasing us,” Sam bit out straightening his bike. He looked over at (Y/n) taking in her injury, her steps faltered a bit due to the pressure placed on her knee. Sam quickly helped her onto her bike, his hands rested on her hips longer than they should’ve though. “We gotta go.”

Mikaela noticed (Y/n)’s look of anguish for a moment before turning back to her friends, “Hey I'm gonna catch up with you guys later.” About the time the brunet made it to her Vespa the two friends were already on the move once more.

(Y/n)’s balance swayed here and there, her head was throbbing and her elbow hurt to bend. She was lagging behind, the car seemed to notice, as each time it got to close it started to slow down its pace giving her enough time to bike through each light.

Thankfully they finally found a place to stop, (Y/n) led the way underneath the interstate bridges where many cars were parked. She gestured to Sam to follow her, they had found a nice hiding spot for a moment,watching the car speed past. The two friends looked at each other before letting out a breath of relief.

“Are you okay? How's your arm?” Sam gently grabbed the girl's arm, trying to extend it a bit to make sure nothing was broken. (Y/n) winced a bit, fighting back tears, it wasn't that bad, she was sure it'd feel better later.

The silence was soon interrupted by a familiar siren, shaking the girl to her core. Sam on the other hand was relieved, he whispered a soft ‘stay here’ before moving from their hiding spot. Her breathing became labored, the foreign chill of metal on her wrists became a new fear. They couldn’t be arrested again, they couldn't!

“Officer!Listen-” Sam let out a pained yelp as the car door hit him, knocking him off the bike with one fell swoop. (Y/n) gasped, she suddenly forgot how to breath suddenly as she watched her friend wither on the ground.

“Offi-Listen to me! Thank god! My friend and I have had the worst day ever! We've been followed here-on my mothers and her grandmother's bike! Right?! And My cars right there-and it's been following me-us here! so-so get out of the car!” Right after Sam slammed his hands on the police vehicle it started to drive forward, knocking Sam off his feet and onto the ground. “Woah stop-!Okay-Okay!I'm sorry! Im Sorry! I'm sorry I hit your car!”

“Stop!” (Y/n) raced from her hiding spot, she tried to step between Sam and the vehicle. She kicked the hood showing she had enough of the abuse of power displayed. She however paused once the vehicle's headlights popped out, sharp metal sticking out around the lights sending a chill down her body. She soon looked at the side of the car, her body running cold; ‘to punish and enslave’.

“Run. Sam run!” She grabbed her friend, helping him on his feet; it was just in time too, she soon heard the sound of shifting metal behind her. The rise of bile was heavy in her throat as she pushed Sam to run faster.

“Oh Shit! Oh Shit!” Sam screamed as he made a turn through the rubble of trash. “What the hell is that?!”

“A Decepticon! Here on earth?!” The girl cried to herself, she was pretty sure her subconscious mind answered for her. She had never seen a Decepticon in person, but the way the con was chasing them with a threatening aura she was so sure.

Before she could get them to make another turn she felt herself flying through the air before making impact with the windshield of a car. She heard Sam scream her name, only for him to fall on top of her a second later. She made a move to push the boy off only to scream instead once the con pulled out a chainsaw for a hand, slamming it on the side of the car.

Out of all the questions she had running through her mind as to why the con wanted them only one was answered, and it was one of the most threatening ways of answering.

“Are you username Ladiesman217?! And are you Storyteller (Y/n) (L/n)?!”

The two teens looked at eachother frightened, “Yea”

“Where are the glasses! And the books of Luna One!”