#and there's a fucking cop outside. god fucking damn it.

[orcelito]

oh my fucking god now theres a cop outside

WHAT is going ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[hideneverseek]

for real the love that I feel for myself after this fight is incredibly overwhelming holy fuck

[speakercrab666]

it’s okay to cop out sometimes. sometimes eating right and going outside just isn’t gonna happen today, and instead of sitting in your bed and feeling guilty for not making a meal and going for a walk, you get an ice cream and a medium fries from mcdonald’s and eat it parked next to a playground with your car door open.

and is it perfect? no, of course not. i’m not even sitting outside i just have the door open and an ice cream and fries hardly counts as a meal. but it’s something, and that is always better than nothing :)

[laundrybiscuits]

The officer leans close, jabbing a finger into Steve’s chest. “You’re damn lucky it ain’t ten years ago or one state over,” he growls. “You could be looking at a felony charge, serving 15 to life. We didn’t stand for this kind of thing in Hawkins when I joined the force.”

Steve just folds his arms and gives the officer a bored look. “Okay,” he says. “Good talk. Can I see my boyfriend now?”

The officer sneers, but he steps aside to let Steve through. They’ve got Eddie cuffed to the hospital bed with another gun-toting guard in the corner. 

“Jesus christ,” snaps Steve. “He’s not gonna escape, he can’t even walk right now. Why don’t you clear out and give us a little privacy, huh?”

“Sorry,” says the guard, not sounding all that sorry. “It’s for his own protection.”

Fuck. He’s gonna have to hope Eddie can follow his lead. All that practice pretending to be a wizard or whatever has to be good for something, right?

He perches on the side of Eddie’s bed and takes his hand. He can do this. “Hey, gorgeous. How’re you feeling?” 

“Uh,” says Eddie, eyebrows doing something hilarious. “Steve?”

“It’s okay,” says Steve. He rubs his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles. This is the most they’ve ever touched, he thinks—the most that was just skin, no layers of denim or leather in between. Not even a layer of blood and dirt. 

He swallows and keeps going, willing Eddie to develop freaky mind-reading powers all of a sudden. “I know you didn’t want to tell anyone about us, but I had to, baby. I’m sorry. I had to tell them you were, y’know, with me when…when Jason killed Chrissy.”

“You didn’t have to tell them about us,” says Eddie slowly. He’s giving Steve kind of an intense look. “Honey-pie. I’m sure there’s gotta be another way. One without as many consequences for you that you might not have thought all the way through.”

“There really isn’t,” Steve says. Thank god Eddie’s so quick on the uptake. Sure, he’s being a stubborn dick about it, but at least it doesn’t seem like he’s going to let anything slip. 

“Fucking hell,” sighs Eddie. “Don’t suppose we can put that pesky little cat back in the bag. Okay. Darling angel, light of my life, corndog of my soul, who else knows?”

Corndog of my soul, Steve mouths to himself. “Just the cops. And Robin and Nancy, obviously. And—oh, remember Hopper?”

“Do I remember Hopper, he asks. Oh, pudding-pop. The late Chief Hopper and I spent so, so much quality time together over the years; he was practically a father figure to me. And just as with my actual dear old dad, his departure was cause for great rejoicing in Casa Munson.”

“Sorry to break the bad news, then. Hop’s alive, and he—uh, he knows everything.” Steve tries to communicate the scope of everything by kind of tilting his head back and forth. “He’s been…helping.”

“Huh. No shit,” says Eddie. Steve can’t tell whether or not he’s getting it. To be fair, there’s a lot to get. “Okay, gallant knight errant of mine, any news on whether or not I’m getting sprung from this charmingly appointed dungeon?”

“We’re…Hopper’s working on it. That’s why I’m. Y’know. Here. To tell you that they know about us.” 

“Cool, right, understood.” Eddie closes his eyes, leaning back on his pillow. It’s so strange to see him in nothing but a hospital gown against white sheets. He looks like a wrung-out dishtowel. 

There’s a commotion from outside, raised voices saying something like you let him what and haven’t even interrogated the Munson kid yet and not a legal status you fuckin—

“Time’s up, sweetheart,” says Eddie, mouth quirking up into the ghost of a smile. “Anything else you wanna say before they decide to upgrade my security?”

“Uh,” says Steve. He’d mostly been focusing on getting the basics of Eddie’s alibi across in a convincing way, and he can’t remember if there were any other details Eddie should know. 

He hears the door slam open behind him, and panics. “Love you, bye,” he says, and ducks in to brush a quick kiss across Eddie’s chapped lips. The last thing he sees as he’s hauled bodily out of the room by a pissed-off detective is Eddie with his eyes gone enormous and shocked, lifting his uncuffed hand to his mouth, looking and looking at Steve like something is always going to be different from now on, forever.

(ETA: small continuation here!)

[deadghosy]

Slytherins boys during 4th of July with their American! Reader

Warning: of course this is modern era‼️😋

Ft. The riddles, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire

TOM RIDDLE

Your dark aesthetic of an English boyfriend is staying his ass inside 😭 he’s not coming out!!

He DOESNT fuck with them bugs or those loud fireworks…yes he moved to America for you. As much as he loves you. Hell no.

He’s in the shared room with you as he read a book, listening to crime documentary and podcasts. Or he’s just cuddling with you.

If you ever did drag him out to pop fireworks wit you, he may or may not pop them at his brother if mattheo comes to visit.

“Y/N!! GET YOUR MAN!!” Mattheo says running from Tom who had a evil grin on his face. Chasing after Mattheo with a sparkler.

you just stood there waving your sparkler around giggling.

at least he's having fun!

MATTHEO RIDDLE

Mattheo is popping fireworks like a god damn maniac…please control him…

Literally bought an illegal firework and lit it outside…PLEASE get your unhinged man or else people are gonna call the cops on him.

STOP CAUSE HE’S DEFINITELY THE TYPE TO THROW POPPERS AT THE NEIGHBORHOOD KIDS 😭😭

A MENCE TO THE STREETS AND YOU!! YOU ARE NOT SAFE!!

Chaotic just like his damn brother with that evil ass grin. He’s literally the king of being an asshole.

But if you don’t like fireworks, don’t worry…he’s got you bbg. He’s a softie for you anyways.

He’s literally probably buying noise canceling headphones so you can relax with him.

He’s a cutie patootie under all that gremlin energy he’s got 

DRACO MALFOY

This sassy ass man…this bbg dude..is probably staying his ass inside. I’m sorry, but he’s probably confused on why “American’s” celebrate such a day even if you educate him about it.

At least you grill him food and still love him.

That’s all it matters

BLAISE ZABINI

He’s already starting bullshit if you don’t like popping fireworks cause of how loud they are.

If you’re asleep, he’s literally like playing loud ass firework sounds or he is outside popping them loud ass works 😭😭

Honestly I do picture American! Reader just grilling while Blaise is getting ready to pop these babies.

But since I headcannon this Slytherin boy to be a romantic, he’s taking you to a firework show. He loves you like that.

Putting the blanket below you guys, cuddling you with that charming smile of his.

It’s just perfect!

Best 4th of July ever.

THEODORE NOTT

Get ready to wake to this man cooking at 4 am so you can eat.

He knows you love to eat you beautiful foodie, so he’s making you some food.

Watches the fireworks from inside and then goes out to pop his own

He’s a romantic as well, so he might just take you out for a firework show

He loves you like that.

And if you don’t like fireworks, don’t worry you two can just enjoy the fireworks inside

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

He’s the type of boyfriend to try and grill for you only to fail and need assistance. 😭😭

Literally though he will try again only to succeed with your help tactics and then he will be so proud!

Pops small fireworks with you. He doesn’t pop big ones as he did look into the holiday to see so much accidents with big fireworks.

“Enz, honey.. it’s okay…” you say holding up a pack of big fireworks. Lorenzo looked nervous as he took the fireworks from your hold. “Sorry love..but what if an explosion hits you?”

Please calm your man down before he packs it up makes you two just watch movies instead of popping fireworks.

End of the night and day, he loves the food a little bit.

[worldlxvlys]

FOR THE DWB W MATT PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE DO A FIC WHERE HE COMES OVER N THE GUY IS STILL THERE I WANNA SEE WHAT WOULD HAPPEN🙏🏻🙏🏻 YOU DONT HAVE TO THO ID JUST LOVE TO SEE IT👁️👁️

lose your shit

dwb! matt x reader

warnings: mentions of sex, violence, mentions of blood, cursing

based on these texts, it won’t really make sense if you don’t read them.

a/n: the guy’s name is alex, i hope you like this <333

shit shit shit shit.

this is not good. i look over to the man laying in my bed, he was in a dead sleep.

matt doesn’t live that far away, maybe 10 minutes tops. however, he could have left before he even sent that text.

fuck.

i began to shake alex awake. “you gotta wake up, dude”

after a few seconds, he stirred and opened his eyes. “what’s wrong?” he asked, letting out a yawn.

“nothing. you just really need to fucking go”

“alright damn, but what’s the rush?”

“please just hurry up, i don’t have time for this” i said, pulling him off the bed.

“damn, was the sex that bad?” i didn’t even answer, just looked him up and down.

“alright, jeez” i collected his clothes from the floor and handed them to him.

he took the hint, beginning to get dressed.

when he was done he just stood there.

“was there something else you needed?” i asked trying to figure out why he wouldn’t leave.

“can i at least brush my teeth?”

“does this look like a fucking hotel to you? take your shit, and get out. now.” i answered, starting to get annoyed.

he just stared at me, mouth open.

“you do have a tooth brush and running water at your house, correct?”

“well, yeah. but-“

“ok that is amazing, lovely, the quicker you get out of my house, the quicker you can take care of your dental hygiene” i said nudging him out of my room.

i pushed him all the way to my door. maybe there is hope for this man after all.

when i opened the door, there stood matt.

fucking hell.

that has to be the worst timing i’ve ever had in my entire life.

his eyes immediately snapped toward alex. “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“i could ask you the same thing, matty-boy”

they know each other.

the two men stared at each other, never breaking the intense glare.

“oh great! you two know each other! well, alex was just about to head home so, y’all can catch up later” i said, trying to get him to walk away.

“actually, i think i’m gonna stay” he said, looking matt up and down.

well, shit.

this was like something out of a god damn movie. and while it didn’t surprise me that matt was acting this way, i wasn’t expecting this from alex.

alex did not seem like the type of guy to start a fight, he seemed more like the type to run away from one. he simply wasn’t built for it, at least, that’s what i thought.

matt clenched his jaw before grabbing alex by his shirt, pulling him outside and pushing him against my house.

“jesus christ, matt” i said in shock.

“what ya gonna do matty? gonna hit me?” matt did just that, swinging at alex’s face.

“you need to stay the fuck away from her. got it?”

“no can do, matty pooh. i can’t lie, she’s a good fuck”

matt didn’t like his comment, as he pulled his fist back to punch alex again.

alex, however, was quicker this time. he caught matt’s fist with one hand and swung at him with the other.

yeah, i was definitely wrong about alex.

“hey fuckers! i don’t know if you’ve noticed but my house is white. it’d be lovely if you didn’t get blood on it !” i yelled, making matt turn his head towards me.

alex took advantage of matt’s distraction to land another blow to matt’s face.

that shit looked like it hurt.

i then pulled matt away, placing myself between the two.

“you two need to get a fucking grip” i turned to alex. “walk away before i call the cops on your ass”

i turned to matt, “you’ve made your point, let him go”

matt gave him one last glare before gesturing alex to go. with that, alex walked off “your face isn’t the only place i left marks ” he mumbled.

matt started to walk after him, but i placed my hand on his chest to stop him.

i tilted my head at him, looking into his eyes. “it’s fine. just let him go” he looked at me, eyes softening, and nodded.

once i heard alex’s car door shut and him drive away, i pulled matt inside “come on”.

i brought him to my bathroom, pulling out my first aid kit.

“did he actually mark you up?” he asked, as i grabbed a wash cloth for his face.

“no, matt. he was just trying to get under your skin” i said as i ran water over the cloth and brought it to his face.

i began to clean his cuts, making him grimace. “i know, i know. sorry”

my tongue poked out a little past my lips, as i continued to clean his cuts.

he stared down at my lips the whole time, not saying a word.

“all done.” i said as i finished up. i started to reach over him to grab a bandage. “lemme just grab a-“ he suddenly grabbed my arm halting my movements as he studied my face.

my face felt hot under his gaze, as i tried not to show how nervous he made me. without another word, he grabbed my face, pulling me in for a kiss.

he kissed me with passion, like he was pouring all of his emotions into it. it wasn’t hungry or lust-driven. it said all the things that we could never say to each other’s faces.

he pulled away, pressing his forehead to mine. “what was that for?” i asked, eyes still closed.

“i need you to know that i care about you” my eye opened at this, staring into mine.

“i’m not using you for sex. i could never do that, baby. and i’m so sorry i ever made you feel that way. you are the most important thing to me. i can’t lose you, and i couldn’t live with myself if i let anything happen to you.”

he pecked my nose.

“i know that you’re capable of making your own decisions, and i’m not trying to take that away from you. but i know that guy and he’s not the type of person you want to be around. i can’t just watch him ruin you.” he moves a piece of hair out of my face.

“so i’m sorry that i just showed up here. i’m sorry i lost my shit. i’m sorry about the blood on your house” we both chuckled.

“but i can’t help it when it comes to you, you drive me crazy”

“hmm i don’t know i kinda like it when you lose your shit, it’s hot” i said as our noses touched.

he pushed my hips against my sink.

“good” he said as he went in for another kiss.

🌀🌀🌀🌀

hope you liked :)

masterlist

tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @chrissturnioloswifey @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @sosmatt @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @soursturniolo @rac00ns-are-c00l4

[manheeiim]

Nothing Lasts Forever - JJ's Arrest

ᥫ᭡ link to nothing lasts forever masterlist

I'm once again with JJ and his friends, minus John B, and we're all gathered in Pope's family's shop. Pope's dad, Heyward, as JJ called him, but that I found out was actually just Pope's last name, Pope himself, was actually a very nice and welcoming man.

I was helping Pope's dad with something at the counter when he leaned in, speaking lowly, "Listen, kid. I can tell you're a sweet girl but I need to warn you." Heyward started.

"About what?" I asked politely but in a confused manner.

"JJ is trouble." Heyward told me. "Love the kid but he's bad news. You've got your whole life ahead of you and you shouldn't fuck it up by getting involved with his family's shit." Heyward added.

I'm silent for a few moments, "Oh... okay." That is all I say.

Was JJ really that bad? Sure, we've gotten into some type of trouble or did something we weren't supposed to be doing basically every hangout. But, he really was so sweet and I really did like him. I had even more feelings for him now after the kiss at the movie night the other night, so everything was very conflicting for me.

Heyward had gone outside for a moment to take care of something while I stayed inside, tidying up one of the aisles in the front. Pope was still very worried about the encounter at the movie night and honestly, I didn't blame him.

"Don't let them get in your head, bro. There's three of them and two of us. That's some typical Kook shit right there." JJ tells Pope.

"Hell, yeah." Kiara agreed as she worked behind the counter.

"What was your thought process, using your head?" JJ then asked Pope.

"I don't know, man. I just kind of acted off instinct, alright? I was a cornered animal." Pope told him.

"Hey, Pope, someone here to see you." Pope's dad called out as he walked inside the shop again. A cop then walked into the shop and JJ was immediately looking over at Pope, in fact, we all were.

“Evening, officer.” Pope said.

“I have an arrest warrant for felony destruction of property.” The cop said and Pope was looking back at JJ. Fuck. What did they do? “Keep your hands on the counter where I can see ‘em.” The cop said as he walked over to Pope.

“Woah, woah, woah, woah- wait. Shoupe, what’d he do?” Heyward asked as Shoupe cuffed Pope up.

“Take a look at the warrant.” Was all Shoupe responded.

“You’re arresting him?” Kiara asked in shock.

I walked over to JJ and watched nervously. Everyone was freaking out as we followed Pope and Shoupe outside of the shop where Shoupe led Pope to his cop car.

“It wasn’t him!” JJ suddenly yelled and everyone looked over at him. “It was me.” He said. JJ started to walk forward, “He tried to talk me out of it, but I was made because he’d just been beaten up.” JJ explained. “I was so sick of those assholes from Figure Eight that I lost my shit. I can’t let you take the blame for somethin’ I did. You’ve got too much to lose.” He said.

“JJ, what are you doing?” Pope asked and then, I realized that JJ wasn’t telling the truth. He was doing this for Pope.

“I’m tellin’ the truth. For once in my goddamn life, I’m gonna tell the truth.” JJ countered. “I took his old man’s boat too.” He then added.

“What the hell, JJ.” Heyward said.

“JJ, come on.” Pope said.

“Shut up, Pope! Just shut up.” JJ told him before looking at Shoupe. “He’s a good kid. You know where I’m from.” JJ told the cop.

“Yeah.” The cop agreed.

“This was all me.” JJ said.

“That’s the whole truth?” Shoupe asked Pope.

“Whole truth, swear to God.” JJ said.

Shoupe looked at him, “I know what you think, damn it, I’m asking Pope.”

Pope looked at JJ for a few moments before slightly nodding, “Yeah, that about covers it.”

As Shoupe uncuffed Pope, JJ looked back at me, giving me a slight nod of reassurance. I couldn’t find any words as I just looked at him, watching him get into the back of the cop car before Shoupe drove off, leaving us all standing there, thinking; what the fuck?

[frownyalfred]

Do you have any fun stories involving galas and rich men because the botox thing has me so curious now

Ooh, me personally? I have a few. I once was invited to a very important black tie event with an honest-to-god billionaire or close to it, who was a very old man at the time and infamous for being inappropriate with women. We had some face-to-face time briefly and he was absolutely wildly inappropriate to me. His staff were fluttering around him making excuses and thinly-veiled threats about me sharing any of this info. I wasn't allowed to stand more than a few feet away from him since he was grabby. I think he ended up having dementia that they didn't release publicly until after he'd died.

You run into a lot of coke at these events. It's not my thing, but I've stumbled into a lot of bathrooms and back rooms where it's happening very enthusiastically. I've known a few guys who have gotten too deep into that world and embezzled from clients or their jobs. It ends up being super sad and it's rough to watch happen in person (people losing their houses, or social standing, etc, because their husband was trying to maintain a lifestyle they couldn't afford)

I once danced with a wealthier guy (flashy watches, etc) who was, in hindsight, absolutely involved in some sort of organized crime. He was Russian and thought I was cute, and dragged me and my friend to a few different clubs with full line skipping and bottle service at every place. They all knew him by name. Once we got inside and started dancing, I reached behind me while we were kinda grinding to grab his waist. There was a huge fucking gun in the back of his pants. I grabbed my friend and we danced away, haha.

I knew a wealthy man who was going through a rough divorce and very clearly threatened his soon to be ex wife all over his personal social accounts. She didn't like that and called the cops. He never got arrested, but it was a damn near thing. All his buddies pretended it never happened.

I once went on a very fancy date with a guy to a prestigious steakhouse/bar. They refused to seat us since they closed in 30ish minutes. We were in black tie attire from a previous event, and there was a huge storm outside. He ended up suing them for racial discrimination I think. It made the news and everything. He asked me to be a party/witness but he was very, very intense and I kind of dropped him after he wouldn't stop calling me.

I dated someone with a penthouse once. It was very nice but very clearly not his. Never got a full explanation on that one.

[dianawinchester03]

Season 2, Episode 20 - What Is And What Should Never Be (Part One)

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Hi beauties! Another late update because I started working full time again and I barely even have time for myself. I'm warning you, my updates are going to be much slower from now on. I'm so sorry😭❤️

I know the season finale is next but I will definitely try my absolute best to finish them in time but the only day I get to write now is literally Sunday since its my only day off 💔i said it once, and I’ll say it again I HATE ADULTING

Alright, enough of my rambling. I hope you guys enjoy it!! <3

____________________________________________

Third Person POV

Joliet, Illinois

Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Saturday Night Special’ was blasting through the Impala’s deck as Dean drove. His phone rang and he instantly picked it up upon seeing Y/N’s contact. “Yeah?” Dean answered, “There’s a cop car outside” Y/N whispered into the phone that was on speaker, currently holed up in her motel room with Sam and Jo.

She slightly creased the curtain, standing at the window with a worried expression. “You think it’s for us?” Dean asked. “We don't know” Sam responded, moving from his bed where he and Jo sat to speak into the phone next to Y/N. “I don’t see how it could be for you guys. You ditched the plates, the credit cards.” Jo chimed in. Sam and Y/N let out a breath of relief when the cop car drove away.

“They’re leaving. False alarm” Y/N told Dean as Sam moved back to his bed. “See. There's nothing to worry about, sweetheart” Dean assured her. “Yeah, being fugitives is a fucking dance party” Y/N sassed, pacing the room. Sam snorted at her humor in agreement as he flipped through the books on his bed along with Jo. They were currently hunting a Djinn.

“Hey, chicks dig the danger vibe.” Dean chuckled, “Isn’t that right, Jo? You can’t tell me knowing Sammy is a wanted man isn’t getting your knickers in a twist” Dean’s amused voice boomed through the speaker. Jo blushed and flipped him off even though she knew he couldn’t see her before she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t talk about my knickers, prick!” She retorted as Y/N buckled over in laughter. “That’s not exactly a no, asshole” Dean teased, hearing Y/N’s laugh in the background. Sam threw himself down on his bed, covering his face with a pillow and groaned. “I can’t listen to this,” he complained in a muffled tone.

“Leave the lovebirds alone” Y/N joked after sobering up from her laughter, this made Jo toss a pillow at her as Sam groaned again. Y/N quickly dodged it, blowing Jo a playful kiss. “You got anything?” Y/N asked, changing the subject. “Are you kidding me? How could I? You got me sitting through, like, 50 square miles of real estate here” Dean sassed, making Y/N roll her eyes.

“Well that’s where all the victims disappeared” Y/N pointed out as Sam finally uncovered his face and returned to flipping through his books. “Yeah, well. I got diddly squat. What about you guys?” Dean asked, Y/N looked over at Sam hopefully. He shrugged before gesturing for her to hand him the phone. She did just that.

“We got just one thing. I’m pretty sure of it now. We’re hunting a Djinn” Sam told Dean. “A fucking genie?” Dean cackled, “Yeah.” Sam nodded as Jo tossed her feet up on his lap and Y/N dug through her bag to get her cigarettes. “So what? You think these suckers can really grant wishes?” Dean mused as Y/N lit her cigarette.

“We don’t know. I guess they’re powerful enough. But not exactly like Barbara Eden in harem pants” Jo chimed in as Sam ran his hands up and down her shins. “Yeah, I mean, djinn have been feeding off of people for centuries. They’re all over the Koran” Sam added as Y/N propped herself up on the window still. “My God. Barbara Eden was hot, wasn’t she?” Dean muttered.

“Damn straight. Way hotter than that Bewitched chick” Y/N agreed from across the room. Sam scoffed in annoyance as Jo rolled her eyes, the two shooting Y/N a judgemental look. “Are you two even listening to me?” Sam chastised Dean and Y/N. The psychic pursed her lips, trying to hide her amused smile as she took a drag from her cigarette.

“Ahem. Yeah. So where do the djinns lair up?” Dean asked, clearing his throat. “Ruin, usually. The bigger, the better. More places to hide” Sam explained to him. “Yeah. I think I saw a place a couple miles back. I’m gonna go check it out” Dean told them. Sam’s hands paused on Jo’s shin as he and Y/N’s eyes widened with panic.

Y/N quickly crushed her cigarette in her ashtray, darting over to snatch the phone from Sam. “Are you stupid?! Come pick us up first” Y/N said firmly, “Nah. I’m sure it’s nothing. I just wanna take a look around” Dean assured her. Sam, Jo and Y/N shared an unsure look as Dean hung up the phone.

Y/N sighed heavily, stuffing her phone into her pocket. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this” Sam muttered, worry plastered on his face, “Me too” Y/N agreed.

-

Meanwhile, Dean pulled in-front of the old warehouse. A storm was coming as the thunder clapped. He abruptly exited the Impala, shutting the door as he took out his flashlight. Dean clicked on his flashlight, shining it around the dark surroundings before heading towards the building.

The large door on the front of the building was already open, slightly creaking as it rocked a bit back and forth thanks to the wind. Dean stepped in, immediately noticing all the cobwebs and piles of dirt and sand everywhere. He glanced around with his flashlight, noticing the piles of clothing lying among the debris, and the sound of footsteps made his ears perk up.

He immediately clutched his knife dipped in lamb’s blood, clenching his jaw. Dean stepped closer to the sound of the footsteps, his footsteps light and his ears on high alert. The footsteps continued, and Dean felt his heartbeat start thumping in his ears as the dread started to fill his stomach.

Suddenly, the djinn lunged out from behind a pile of clothes. It was a flash, one moment Dean was simply walking and the next his back was slammed backwards against a wall. The back of his head stung and he was briefly disoriented, dropping his knife as white spots danced in his vision.

Dean grunted as the Djinn’s hand gripped his throat, trying to fight the monster off. The Djinn’s eyes flashed a dark shade of blue, along with his hand. Dean struggled and grunted as the Djinn pressed his glowing tatted hand to his forehead, the hunter’s eyes rolling to the back of his head as he fell in a sleep-like state.

____________________________________________

Dean’s Dream World

Lawrence, Kansas

Dean gasped awake in the middle of the night to thunder clapping. His eyes wide as he struggled for breath. He found himself in an unfamiliar bed with a naked woman next to him. He tilted his head in confusion as he leaned down to see who the woman was, the last thing he remembered was getting attacked by the Djinn.

Dean’s jaw plummeted to the ground when it turned out the woman next to him was Y/N, a blanket lazily draped over her chest, her back facing him. Dean began to panic instantly, wondering how in the fuck he ended up in bed…naked…next to Y/N fucking L/N.

His eyes drifted down to her lower back to see her anti possession tattoo was not there. His heart was in his ass at this point.

He sat up quickly, his eyes wide as the realization of the situation hit him. He put his hand up to his head and groaned. He glanced at Y/N’s sleeping form and swallowed the lump in his throat when he saw her eyes were shut. “Motherfucker” He mumbled, glancing at the clock on the bedside table.

4:32 A.M. He slowly removed the covers, silently standing up and grabbing his jeans off ground and quickly got dressed.

-

Now fully dressed, Dean exited the bedroom, strolling around the unfamiliar house. Not in any way used to the environment. He had no idea what the hell was going on. He switched on a light and did what his mind instantly told him to do. He called his little brother.

“Dean?” Sam answered, confused as to why his brother was calling him at this ungodly hour. “Sam?” Dean whispered in relief, trying to keep his voice at bay. “What’s going on?” Sam asked, concerned. “I don’t know where the fuck I am man” Dean told him. “What? What happened?” Sam gasped, now worried.

“Well, the uh, the djinn. It attacked me” Dean told him, running his hand over his face. “The gin? You’re drinking gin?” Sam’s brows furrowed. “No, dumbass. The djinn! The scary creature, remember?” Dean exclaimed lowly. “It put its hand on me and then I woke up in bed next to Y/N!!” Dean explained, his heart pounding out of his chest.

“You mean your fiancée?” Sam snorted. Dean’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped to the ground in surprise. “My WHAT!?” He exclaimed, eyes going even wider if possible. “My fiancée? When the fuck did that happen” He repeated, absolutely flabbergasted.

“Dean, you’re drunk. You’re drunk dialing me” Sam shook his head as he laughed. “No, I am not drunk! Quit fucking around!!” Dean exclaimed lowly, “Look. It’s late. Alright? Just get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Sam brushed it off, instructing his brother to sleep it off. “Wait. Sam! Sam!!” Dean gritted his teeth but the line went dead.

-

Palo Alto, California

Sam chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he sighed deeply before shutting his Criminal Law and Procedure book.

-

Lawrence, Kansas

Y/N heard Dean arguing and slowly awoke, eyes wide with confusion as she sat up and looked around. She realized Dean wasn’t in the bed with her anymore and her stomach dropped. She glanced at the bathroom, it was quiet so he couldn’t be in there. She then saw a faint light coming from the hallway.

Outside, Dean groaned as he looked around nervously. He quickly stuffed his phone into his pocket, his eyes landing on a stack of mail that was placed neatly ontop of the dining room table. His eyes widened again when he picked it up to see, ‘Y/N L/N. #53 Barker Ave. Lawrence, Kansas’ written on the first letter.

Inside their shared room, Y/N pulled the covers off her body before wrapping her light blue robe around her and slowly padded out into the hall, peering into the kitchen to see Dean rifling through mail.

“Lawrence?” Dean muttered to himself, sifting through the mail. ‘Dean Winchester. #53 Barker Ave. Lawrence, Kansas’ was written on the next letter. “What the fuck????” Dean mumbled, his heart stopped when a sleepy voice behind him said. “Charming?” He spun around to see Y/N, clutching her robe to her chest.

“What are you doing up?” Her soft voice of concern honeyed his ears. “Hey…Y/N” Dean said sheepishly as his ‘fiancée’ approached him. His heart beating out of his chest. “Y/N. I just- uh-” Dean stammered, “Oh, you can’t sleep, huh?” She cut him off in a sultry tone, running her hands over his chest. His eyes glanced down at his left hand to see a very familiar ring placed neatly on her ring finger.

The ring his father gave him the day he died belonged to his mother. Sam was indeed not lying when he said that Y/N was his fiancée. Dean’s breath got caught in his throat at Y/N’s touch and the tone in her volume. “Yeah,” Dean chuckled nervously. “Well, why don’t you come back to bed and let’s see if I can do anything to help?” Y/N suggested, her voice low as she snaked her arms around his neck.

Dean shivered involuntarily when Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck. He felt his whole body stiffen as her fingers traced the nape of his neck. His cheeks began to heat up as his eyes looked down at her, the blue robe she was wearing hugged her body perfectly. The low tone of her voice sent a small jolt down to the pit of his stomach.

“Well- um- Princess- ” He mumbled nervously as he tried to make an excuse. He didn’t get a chance to say anything again when she attached her lips to his. Dean’s eyes widened as Y/N’s lips crashed onto his own. He let out a small gasp of surprise against her mouth at her sudden movement.

His brain shut down as his hands automatically moved to grab her waist. Dean shut his eyes, groaning in the back of his throat at the feel of her lips finally against his. But it didn’t feel right. It felt off, he knew the Djinn had something to do with this but he couldn’t wrap his mind around it since the love of his life, the woman he believed didn’t him love back, Y/N fucking L/N’s tongue was down his throat.

The kiss deepened as she parted her lips for him and slowly began to pull him back towards the bedroom. Dean’s brain was screaming to stop. This wasn’t what he wanted, but the feel of her lips against his. The way her tongue was exploring his mouth. It was driving him crazy. And he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her back.

His tongue slipped into her mouth, moving against hers. He moaned low, the sound getting muffled by the kiss. He backed her up against the wall of the hallway, pinning her there with his body.

SNAP OUT OF IT WINCHESTER!

“No, no. Stop” Dean whined, forcefully peeling himself away from her. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t have sex with her. As much as he wanted to, so fucking badly. He couldn’t do it. Not like this.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise and her smile faded from her face at his words. “Huh?” She said, her voice barely above a whisper. She leaned her back against the wall and tilted her neck to look up at him. “Why?” She asked confused as he ran hand through his hair, putting a decent amount of distance between y/n and him.

She stepped closer to him again, placing her hands on his chest. “C’mon baby.” She whispered in a seductive tone, a small smirk on her lips, “What’s wrong? You’re not one to deny sex” She asked concerned. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as she spoke, his breathing becoming a bit more labored.

“Y/N, I- ” He began, his mind racing to find words to explain the situation. But then Y/N pressed chest to his, her palms pressing into his chest. Dean’s mind immediately went blank as she looked up at him with those damn eyes. That damn look is gonna kill him. “I’m just tired, sweetheart” Dean lied fluidly, praying she’ll take the bait.

Y/N’s expression softened a bit as she stared up at him. She could tell it was a lie, by his facial expressions, but she didn’t push him for answers. “Oh, baby” She said tenderly, her hand moving up to caress his cheek. “Why don’t you come back to bed then. I’ll just hold you. How does that sound?” She asked, her voice sweet as honey.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat as she placed her hand on his cheek. Getting held by Y/N didn't sound like a bad idea right about now. His eyes flicked down to her lips, wanting to kiss her again.

God, it’d be so easy.

He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply, leaning his head against hers. “You go ahead, I’m right behind you” He whispered. Dean wanted this to be real, he was praying it was. Y/N’s lips curled into a soft smile at his reply. She brushed her thumb over his cheek before standing on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead softly.

“Alright, don’t take too long” She whispered, patting his shoulder before making her way back to the bedroom. At the doorway, she gave him one last glance before heading back into the bedroom.

Dean groaned under his breath as he watched her disappear into the room. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Dean’s mind was racing. This was all wrong. How the hell did he end up naked in bed with his friend who he was secretly in love with but also his supposed ‘fiancée’?

This was all some sick game the djinn was playing with him. Dean knew they possibly granted wishes, it was no secret that Dean wished for y/n to be his…could it be? Could the Djinn have actually given him what he desperately wanted? Even though he never said it out loud, is it possible the Djinn knew somehow?

Dean began to investigate the house, peering around the living room. He took in the pictures of him and y/n that were placed neatly around the room. Pictures of them on vacation with y/n wearing a big floppy hat, pink two piece bikini and Dean in a matching white shirt with pink swim trunks on.

Dean’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest as he picked up a photo of him and y/n at a beach. It was summer, both of them were soaked, and both was wearing bright smiles with shades on. Dean’s hand trembled as he observed the picture.

He set it down before walking over to the bookshelf, he let his fingers brush over the spines of each book. He was trying to look for a clue, anything to tell him this wasn’t real.

He went back to looking at the pictures. A small smile gracing his face when his eyes landed on a frame that held a picture of the two hugging. Y/N had a big grin on her face, holding out her hand to the camera, showcasing her engagement ring while Dean’s eyes were trapped on her. The starstruck gaze he had on her in the picture was oozing with love and admiration. The two seemed to be at a concert in the picture.

Dean felt his heart swell as he took in the picture. He had no recollection of any of these memories. Curiosity got the best of him, so he turned the picture frame around and took the picture out. Written on the back was ‘Bon Jovi, Nashville Tennesse. February 14th, 2006. She said yes!’ In his handwriting.

His heart leaped to his throat again as he read the writing. This must be when he proposed to her. He sat down on the couch, a wave of emotions washed over him. His fingers trembled as he stared down at the picture in his hand.

Dean’s eyes scanned the room once again, his eyes landing on a particular picture. He thought he was gonna cry upon seeing it, his entire world stopped. Dean Winchester dropped the picture frame, the glass shattering on the ground and instantly left the house.

____________________________________________

The Impala pulled up to the Winchester residence, the L/N residence right across from theirs. Both houses were still intact, the L/N residence not burnt to a crisp. Dean shakily stepped out of the Impala, shutting the door behind him.

He walked up the porch and began banging on the door harshly, ringing the bell a few times until the light came on outside. The door opened to reveal a very alive and well Mary Winchester, a worried expression etched on her face. “Dean?” She said softly, sleep potent in her voice, clutching her robe to her chest.

Dean's eyes widened, tears welling up at his emerald irises. “Mom?” Dean gasped, “What are you doing here? Are you alright?” Mary asked her son, concerned. Dean gulped, unsure of how to feel at this exact moment. “I don’t know” He croaked. “Well, come inside” Mary ushered him inside. His body was stiff, still in shock but he managed to pull himself inside.

“Y/N just called and said you took off all of a sudden” Mary said as she shut the door behind her. “Y/N? Right…” Dean muttered, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from his mother. His very alive mother. “Let me ask you a question. When I was a kid, what did you and Mrs. L/N always tell me when you put me to bed?” Dean asked as he swallowed hard, he wanted this to be real.

Mary’s brows furrowed in confusion as she folded her arms across her chest, “Dean, I don’t understand-” She was cut off, “Just answer the question” Dean snapped. His mothers eyes softened, “We told you angels were watching over you” Mary answered, Dean felt as though he was about to break down into pieces.

“I don’t believe it” Dean almost sobbed before pulling his mother into a tight hug. Mary grunted in surprise as her son’s strong arms engulfed her. Confused from the random show of appreciation, “Honey, you’re scaring me” The motherly tone in her voice echoed through his ears as she gently rubbed his back. “What’s going on?”

“You don’t think that wishes can- can really-?” Dean stammered, his words getting lost in his throat. “What?” Mary asked confused, “Forget it” Dean smiled, pulling his mother into a hug again that he longed for since he was a little boy. “Forget it. I’m just, uh— I’m happy to see you, that’s all” Dean held back his tears as he buried his face in his mother’s hair.

His brows creased, his breath constricting in his throat as he melted into the embrace before pulling away, “You're beautiful” Dean chuckled tearfully before pulling away. “What?” Mary gasped confused. The padding of footsteps made Dean’s ears perk up, his head swung around to see M/N, squinting her sleepy eyes at him.

F/N wasn’t in town, he was coming back tomorrow and M/N never liked staying alone in her house. So, it became tradition whenever either of their husbands went out of town, M/N and Mary would sleep in each other's guest room. Clutching her own robe to her chest, “Dean, what are you doing here?” Y/N’s mom asked him, equally confused.

“I-uh” Dean started, his words caught in his tongue again as he saw Y/N’s mom. Her hair was tousled, her eyes were tired and squinty from being dragged out of a dead sleep. “Mrs. L/N!?” Dean gasped, now engulfing his soon to be mother-in-law in a tight hug.

She was alive. His mother was alive. It was all surreal.

M/N chuckled and patted his back as she returned the hug with her own. Mary just stared at the two with a slight smile on her face. “It’s great to see you too, hun. But why are you here, now of all times?” She asked as she pulled a little away to look up at him.

“Uh- I uh- just missed you guys” Y/N’s mother chuckled at his words and pinched his cheek. “Aren’t you a sweet thing?” She teased, her lips curving into a small smile. “Did Y/N kick you out of the house again?”

Dean’s smile faltered slightly. He felt on the verge of tears again, the only thing keeping him grounded was the feel of M/N in his arms. Just the mention of Y/N set him off again. This time his lips started to tremble when he spoke.

“No- uh- I just-” He began but his voice was cracking. M/N could sense he was on the verge of tears and gently caressed his face. “Okay, sweetie calm down. You’re alright” She whispered in a motherly tone.

Dean felt his bottom lip tremble again. He hasn’t been comforted like this since he was four. He leaned into the comfort of his future mother-in-law. His eyes fluttered closed as M/N’s fingers gently touched his skin, he could practically hear her say ‘You’re okay, baby’.

“I’m fine,” Dean assured her shakily, pulling away from her gently. A broad smile on his face as he cleared his throat, wiping his mouth. His eyes scanned the room, staring at the picture frames that were propped up all about. “Hey, when I was- when I was young, was there ever a fire here? Or at your house?” Dean asked them.

Both women shared a confused look, “No. Never” Mary told him as Dean walked around the room. He saw a few pictures of both their families.

Of him and Sam as kids with their parents, seemingly on vacation.

One of Sam and Y/N, they looked to be in their teens, smashing cake in each other’s faces.

Another of Sam and Y/N wearing a graduation cap and gown, both holding up high school diplomas, Dean wasn't in this picture.

And another of Dean and Y/N, he was wearing a light colored dress shirt, dark jeans. His arm wrapped around Y/N, grins spread across their faces as he wore her graduation cap. This time, Y/N was holding up her degree.

A few more were framed of Sam, Dean and Y/N going to prom. Looking almost exactly like the ones they took years ago.

There was another one of the trio sitting on a couch, their arms folded across their chests and Y/N was sitting in the middle of the boys. It reminded Dean of a picture Bobby made their take years ago as teenagers.

There were more of Y/N and her parents, along with some of all three kids when they were young and another unfamiliar little girl who looked quite similar to Y/N with F/N and M/N. Dean tilted his head in confusion but brushed it off.

Dean’s heart swelled as he looked at the pictures, “I guess I was wrong” Dean mumbled, his eyes widened when his eyes landed on a picture of F/N and John, wielding softball bats, “Dad and Mr. L/N are on a softball team” Dean gasped. He turned to Mary and M/N who seemed to be still confused before clearing his throat.

“Their softball team. That’s funny to me” He covered up his stammering as he took in the picture. The idea of either men on a softball team was wild to him. Mary’s eyes landed on the ground as a sympathetic look took over M/N’s face. “He loved that stupid team” Mary mumbled, M/N noticed her friend’s look of heartbreak and gently placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Dean’s face dropped, his eyes snapping back to his mother. “Dad’s dead?” Dean asked, both Mary and M/N tilted their head at him from his question. Dean quickly recuperated, “And the thing that killed him was a-” He tried to find out. “A stroke. He died in his sleep, you know that” M/N said, shaking her head at him as tears welled up in Mary’s eyes.

As much as hearing his father was dead hurt him, Dean was happy to hear that his father didn’t go out the way he originally, “And F/N?” He asked M/N hopefully, “Out of town, you know that, it’s why M/N is here” Mary said, furrowing her eyebrows at her son. Dean nodded sheepishly before saying, “That’s great”

“Excuse me?” Mary gasped, Dean’s eyes widened when he realized how his words must’ve sounded. “That- that’s great. That he went peacefully, I mean it- and F/N fine….it’s sure beats the alternative” He said softly, placing the photo back down. Mary and M/N shared a knowing look, “You’ve been drinking” Mary pointed out.

“No, I haven’t. Mom” Dean sighed, assuring her. M/N nodded, not wanting to press anymore. “I’m just gonna call Y/N and have her come pick you up, okay?” M/N said calmly, taking her hand off of Mary’s shoulder to pick up the landline. “Wait. No. No, don’t do-” Dean quickly stopped her, holding her hand gently to place the landline back down.

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that” He begged, taking a proper look at her. “I wanna stay here” Dean told them, their faces contorted in confusion again. “Why?” Mary asked. “Because. I-i- I miss the place” Dean sheepishly lied. Mary and M/N shared a look again, both confused at what the hell was going on.

“It’s okay. You two go to bed, okay?” Dean assured them, moving to sit on the couch as he continued to scan the place with his eyes. Mary walked over to her son, placing a gentle hand on his face. “Are you sure you’re alright?” She asked him, the maternal tone potent. Dean’s heart swelled, his eyes softening. “I think so” He croaked, holding back tears again.

“Okay” Mary said sweetly, placing a kiss on his forehead. Dean leaned into the touch and the kiss, still trying not to cry. Mary pulled away and gave her son a small smile, “We’ll be in our rooms if you need us. I love you” The mother told him. M/N nodded in agreement as she and Mary turned to slowly walk out of the room.

“Me too,” Dean said softly. “I’ll get you a blanket” M/N told him gently. “Thanks” Dean croaked out, his voice low as he heard their footsteps fade away. He let out a shaky breath as his head fell into his hands.

He let himself take in a moment to process everything. Seeing his mother and m/n alive again, seeing them full of light and life again. Hearing that his father passed peacefully. Knowing that F/N was alive and well himself. This was the life he always longed for. The life he always secretly wanted.

Dean exhaled another shaky breath. ‘You’re okay. They’re all okay’ He assured himself, wiping his mouth as a tear rolled down his cheek. But it didn’t feel right, that little voice at the back of his head was telling him that this is not what he thinks it is. Not what he wants it to be.

He looked up when he heard footsteps re-enter the room, his eyes landing on Y/N’s mom as she walked toward him with a blanket in her hands.

She stopped at the edge of the couch before she gently laid the blanket over him. Dean’s body tensed as he felt the fabric being pulled over his lap. A feeling he hasn’t experienced for a very long time. M/N seemed to notice his tenseness, her eyebrows slightly furrowing, “What’s wrong?” She gently asked.

“Nothing” Dean replied, his eyes not leaving the blanket that rested against his legs. “Just tired” He muttered, shifting his body so he laid down as he leaned against the pillows. M/N gave him a soft smile. “I know that” She said softly before leaning down and placing a kiss on his temple.

Dean melted at the feeling on his skin again, closing his eyes and relishing the comfort he got from this simple action. It’s a feeling he always craved but never got. M/N gently pushed his hair away and gave his cheek an affectionate pinch. “Get some rest, honey, okay?” The woman told him gently.

Dean opened his eyes and met M/N’s loving stare, fighting the urge to cry again. “I will” He mumbled, a lump in his throat slowly forming. M/N smiled and gave him one last pat to the cheek before she pulled away, turning on her heel to head down the hall to the guest room. leaving him alone in the living room.

The second she was gone, a soft “Fuck” escaped his lips as a tear rolled down his cheek again. Dean allowed himself to succumb to the comfort, his mind finally stopped racing, the darkness of a peaceful sleep taking him over.

-

The next morning, Dean woke up on the couch. He shot up from his position after his eyes fluttered open.

It was real? It wasn’t a dream? What the fuck is going on?

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he stared at the picture frames again, his heart still aching from the comfort he’d received. He shook his head. “No. Something’s not right” He whispered to himself, his eyes landing back on the picture of him and Y/N on prom night.

He did the only thing he could think to do in a moment like this. He called his little brother. Dean fished his phone out of his pocket, dialing in Sam’s number but it went to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. I can’t come to the phone-” He shut his phone, taking a deep breath.

He had to figure out what the fuck was going on, what this djinn did to him, or gave him.

____________________________________________

“Well I don’t think I’ve seen you in my class before” The professor said to Dean, leaning back in his chair. Dean sat across from the professor in his office, immediately going to the Lawrence local college for any answers on this Djinn. “You kidding me? I love your lectures. You- you make learning fun” Dean chuckled, pointing to the teacher who chuckled in response.

“So, what can I do for you?” The Professor asked. “What can you tell me about djinns?” Dean asked, clasping his hands in front of him as he leaned into his chair.

-

Now infront of several books filled with lore, “Well, a lot of Muslims believe the djinn are very real. They’re me times in the Koran” The Professor explained, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, i know. Get to the wish part” Dean said impatiently. “What about it?” The professor furrowed his brows. “Do you think they could really do it?” Dean asked.

The professor looked baffled, “Uh…no. No, I don't think they can really do it. But, you understand that these are mythic creatures?” The Professor pointed out. “Yeah. No, I know, I know. But, uh, I mean, in the stories” Dean clarified. “You know, say you had a wish, uh-” He cleared his throat, gulping before continuing.

“-but you never even said it out loud. You know, like that- uh. Some loved ones never died or something awful never happened. Or…uh...the girl you love starts loving you back? Is it possible?” Dean asked, swallowing harshly. “Supposedly, yes” The Professor shrugged. “I mean, they have godlike power. They can Alter reality however they want. Past, present, future” The Professor explained.

“Why would the djinn do it?” Dean queried, leaning down to look at the books as the Professor eyed him suspiciously. “What, self defense? Or maybe it’s not really evil” Dean muttered, hoping that he could stay in this reality. This beautiful, dreamlike reality. “Son?” The Professor asked, concerned. “Hmm?” Dean hummed.

“You been drinking?” The Professor questioned, his brows raised. Dean had to stop himself from laughing, “Everybody keeps asking me that, but, uh, no” He assured him with a cheeky smile.

-

Dean was now outside the college, opening the trunk to the Impala. He snorted upon opening it when his eyes landed on a couple of old magazines and trash in the trunk. “Well, who would’ve thought, Baby? We’re civilians” He chuckled, shutting the trunk.

Dean felt as though someone was watching him, so he looked across the street to see a young girl, looking almost terrified yet calm, staring right back at him. Dean looked shocked and confused as to why this young girl kept her eyes trained on him. Assuming she could be in trouble, he began to approach her.

He moved to walk across the road without looking at both sides and almost got hit by a red pick up. The tired screeching on the road as the driver hit the brakes. The driver beeped their horn and yelled inaudible curses at him as he stood in the middle of the road.

“Ah, sorry” He apologized, holding up his hands apologetically before turning his eyes back to the little girl, only to see she was now gone. Nowhere in sight. Dean felt something off in his stomach as he walked away.

____________________________________________

Now back at the Winchester household, Dean greedily and contently ate a sandwich prepared by his mom. He leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to relish the feeling of a home cooked meal. One of Mary’s favorites to make him, a chicken salad sandwich with extra pickle. A loud moan of content left his throat.

“Mmm. This is the best sandwich ever!” He exclaimed, his mouth filled with food. Mary chuckled lightly from where she was at the sink. “Thank you. M/N made you a pie before she left for the airport to pick up F/N. I’ll get you some”

“Pie?” Dean mumbled, perking up at the mention of it. He hadn’t had M/N’s pie in years, the only person who could almost replicate her recipe was Y/N. And he loved her pie but nothing could compare to M/N’s pie. Mary hummed in response and disappeared into the other room for a short moment.

He waited anxiously in his seat, his eyes bouncing back towards the doorway every other second, waiting for the woman to reappear with the pie. “I tried to get ahold of Sam earlier. Where-? Where is he?” Dean asked through a mouth full of food as he chewed.

“Oh, he’ll be here soon. M/N is picking him up too” Mary replied, setting down a plate of warm apple pie in front of Dean. “Good. Thanks mom, I’m dying to see him” He replied, picking up a fork and dug into the pie immediately. A small hum of contentment escaped his throat.

His eyes fluttered shut, his lips curled into a smile, “Sweetie, uh, don’t get me wrong.” Mary began, sitting across from Dean at the dining table. “I am thrilled you’re hanging out here all of a sudden” Mary said softly, placing her hand on Dean's shoulder before gently brushing her son's face. A content smile spread across Dean’s face, his cheeks still stuffed with pie as she said this.

“But, uh, shouldn’t you be at work?” She asked. “Work?” Dean’s face dropped. “At the garage” Mary said as if it were obvious. “Right. The garage. That’s where I work.” Dean chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah. I’ve got. the day off” Dean said as he took another heaped forkful of pie into his mouth. “Mmm” He moaned as his mother chuckled.

“That’s good. The boss man deserves a day off with how hard you work” Mary said. “Bossman?” Dean mumbled again, confused. “Yeah” Mary chuckled. “The one you and F/N own after your dad left his shares to you in his will?” Mary stated as if he was supposed to know this. Which he was, but obviously, Dean was confused.

A nervous laugh escaped his throat as he tried to compose himself, attempting to act as normal as possible. Mary tilted her head when she saw his bewildered look again before continuing, “Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?” She questioned a second time, her hand still gently resting on her son's face.

A lump formed in his throat as he looked at her. A feeling welling up in his chest. “Yeah, I’m sure, mom” He mumbled, forcing a smile. Mary looked worried for her son, wondering if he started drinking frequently again. But she nodded before pulling away, not wanting to rile him up as his eyes landed on the lawn outside the window. Picking up his pie, Dean padded over to the window.

He leaned down to get a better look before saying, “That lawn looks like it could use some mowing” Dean said excitedly as he stuffed his piehole with…..pie. Mary looked surprised at this, “You wanna mow the lawn?” She asked, amused. “Are you kidding me? I’d love to mow the lawn” Dean said enthusiastically like a kid on Christmas.

“Knock yourself out. I think you’d never mowed a lawn in your life” She snorted, sipping her coffee. Dean shrugged at her words but ignored them, he was just so excited to mow a lawn. The domestication of it all was heartwarming for him.

-

Dean reeled the chain back of the lawn mower, happily pushing the machine around the grass. He struggled a bit but quickly got the hang of it. He noticed a neighbor across the street throwing out trash, so he happily waved to the man, who awkwardly waved back at him.

Dean didn’t think too much of it, instead. He continued mowing the lawn.

-

After finishing up the yard work, Dean sat contently, relaxing on the steps to the porch of his mom’s house. A beer in his hand, He took a swig, “Ahhh” he breathed out. He let his head roll back, his eyes fluttered shut as he took in a deep breath, letting his eyes travel back to the lawn, the sweat on his forehead glistening as it hit the setting sunlight.

His thoughts got interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up, his eyes darted back towards the driveway. His eyes widened when he saw a car pull into the driveway, someone he believed to have been gone appeared. “I don’t believe it” Dean gasped as M/N pulled up with Jessica, Sam, and F/N. Jessica was alive and well.

Dean instantly pulled Jess into a tight hug, grunting as the college student gasped. “Jessica,” Dean said with relief. “Good to see you too, Dean” Jessica chuckled awkwardly, wiggling in his tight grip. “You’re okay” Dean mumbled in her hair. “Dean. Can’t breathe” Jessica groaned, causing Dean to finally let go.

Sam looked a bit confused at his brother, who now had a huge smile on his face, which was pretty rare when it came to him. Dean’s eyes landed on Y/N’s father, who was helping Sam unload the trunk. An almost tearstrucken expression was on Dean’s face, “F/N” Dean pulled him into a bone crushing hug as M/N smiled at the affection Dean displayed.

The two never had that since they were always at each other’s throats, oppositely contrasting real life. F/N’s eyes widened in disbelief and surprise at the hug. He instantly brushed him off, leading Dean to be confused. “It’s Mr. L/N to you, son,” He said sternly.

Dean’s smile faded as he looked at Y/N’s dad, slightly shocked. He took a step back, letting out an uncomfortable chuckle as he muttered an apology, “Right. Sorry, Mr. L/N” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, shooting a glance at Sam who shrugged in response.

M/N’s smile dropped at his rude response, she smacked her husband on his arm roughly. “Be nice!” She chastised him as Sam and Jessica shared an amused look. F/N winced and rubbed his arm where his wife smacked him before he let out a laugh, “Hey! I was nice” He protested. The corners of Dean’s mouth curled into a smile as he shoved his free hand in his pocket.

M/N rolled her eyes in response at her husband’s usual stern behavior to Dean before turning to him. “Tell your mom we’ll be right over, honey. We’re just gonna put his stuff away” M/N said gently to Dean, pointing to their house across the street before patting his cheek.

“Of course” Dean smiled, running a hand through his short cut hair. “See y’all in a minute” He called over his shoulder, watching as the married couple walked across the street with the luggage. M/N was firmly pointing at her husband for being rude while he said lowly, “What’d I do? I was nice” F/N protested.

But M/N wasn’t having any of it, “You were rude, and you know you were. You’re always like this with the boy” M/N said, shaking her head at her husband. Dean’s brows furrowed, confused as to why Y/N’s father seemed to not like him. But he brushed it off, shaking the thought.

“Sammy, look at you!” Dean then turned to his little brother, patting him on his shoulder. “You’re with Jessica, that's- I don’t believe it” Dean chuckled as Sam smiled. “Yeah” Sam said a little awkwardly. “Where'd you guys come from?” Dean asked the crew. “We just flew in from California” Sam Said as if Dean was supposed to know that.

“California! Stanford, huh? Law school, I bet” Dean exclaimed excitedly. Sam slightly scoffed at his enthusiasm, “I see you started off Mom’s birthday with a bang, as usual” Sam said with a bit of judgment, gesturing to his beer. Dean blinked twice, “Wait, Mom’s birthday. That’s- That’s today?” Dean stuttered.

Sam raised his brows at his brother, “Yeah. Yeah, Dean. That’s today. That’s why we’re here. Don’t tell me you forgot” Sam shook his head at him in disapproval. Dean gulped slightly, feeling guilty for not knowing, even though there was no way he could’ve even known.

____________________________________________

Later that night, the Winchester’s and L/N’s were dining at quite an exquisite restaurant for Mary’s birthday. The table was filled with chatter and laughter, “Wow, that- that looks awesome” Dean said sarcastically with a grimace as the waiter set down his food, which was practically asparagus on a stick. The table erupted in laughter as Y/N gently placed her hand on her fiancé’s thigh.

“Alright. To Mom, Happy Birthday” Sam put up his wine in a toast, “Happy Birthday” Y/N and Jess both said to her as everyone raised their glasses. Mary smiled happily, letting the warm feeling spread through her chest as she thanked her family. Jessica then leaned over to place a kiss on Sam’s lips.

Dean looked at the pair with awe, a warm feeling in his chest, he was beyond relieved to see his little brother happy. Though, he did wonder about Jo. But he put two and two together in his head, realizing that they met Jo on a hunt. So since they have a normal life, they never met.

“I was really worried about you last night” Y/N said softly to him, causing Dean to break his gaze away from the couple. “Oh, I’m- I’m good. I’m really good” Dean assured her, his heart skipping a beat at the feeling of her hand gently caressing his thigh. “Okay” Y/N nodded, though she didn’t believe him, but she decided not to push.

Her eyes flickered down to Dean’s very unappetizing looking food, a coy smile on her face. “Why don’t you say later we get you a cheeseburger and we can watch American Pie on Blu-Ray” Y/N said in a suggestive tone. “Oh God, yes” Dean almost moaned at the thought, causing Y/N to snort in response as lightly bit her lip.

Cheeseburgers and American Pie were code for “food and sex” when it comes to them. But Dean didn’t know that yet.

“How did I end up with such an amazing woman” Dean said with awe. A smile spread across Y/N features as she gently squeezed her fiancé’s thigh. “I’ve just got low standards” She joked. Dean snorted as He looked at her lovingly, a small smile on his face as his eyes roamed her features.

“What?” Y/N asked suddenly as she caught Dean studying her. He shook his head in response as he said softly, “Nothing. Just admiring you, as always” Y/N’s eyes softened at his response before leaning over to place a small gentle kiss on his lips.

F/N narrowed his eyes at his daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law, but said nothing as he glanced over at the young couple, shaking his head slightly as he took a sip of his wine. His wife shot him another stern look, firmly pointing her finger at her husband in a manner that said, ‘Behave’. F/N sighed deeply, giving an almost bored look at his wife before turning back to his food, a grumpy look on his face.

Sam cleared his throat, “Alright, Jess and I actually have another surprise for Mom’s birthday” Sam began before turning to Jess. “Uh, you wanna tell them?” He asked her. “They’re your family” Jess said shyly, “What? Tell me what?” Mary asked curiously, Sam then lifted Jess’ hand to display her engagement ring.

Dean’s jaw dropped as gasps were heard around the table. “Sam!” He exclaimed, his eyes moving from Jess’ hand to his little brother, shock still written on his features. Y/N placed her hand over her mouth, excitement radiating off of her as Mary and M/N clapped their hands together, a huge smile on their face, “Oh, my God! You’re getting married!” Mary cried, bringing a hand up to her lips.

The older woman instantly got up along with M/N And Y/N. “That’s so wonderful!” Mary exclaimed as she pulled Jess into a hug. “Thank you” Jess smiled as Mary let go. “Congratulations, honey” M/N Said as she hugged the young girl. “Thank you, Mrs. L/N” Jess giggled before turning to Y/N after her mom let her go.

Y/N pulled her into a tight hug as she exclaimed, “We’re both gonna be Winchesters!” A smile spread across Jess’ features as she pulled away, “I know. I’m so excited!” Jess gushed. Y/N pulled back and held Jess’ hands in hers. “Let me see that ring,” She said expectantly.

Jess giggled as she held her hand out before Y/N gently took it, admiring the ring. “It’s so beautiful” Y/N commented, letting go of Jess’s hand and turning to Sam. She gave him a quick thumbs up as Dean got up to give Jess a tight bear hug, lifting her up slightly from the floor as Mary hugged Sam. “I just wish your dad was here” Mary said to her younger son.

“Yeah, me too” Sam said softly to his mother, hugging her tighter before pulling away. Dean then moved to shake his little brother's hand, “Congratulations, Sammy” Dean said sincerely as Sam eyed him weirdly at the term ‘Sammy’. “Thanks,” Sam said gratefully, “I’m really glad you’re happy. Even if it’s not with Jo, I know you loved Jess” Dean’s words spewed out of his mouth without thinking.

Sam raised his eyes at his brother, confusion written on his face, "What are you talking about?” He questioned, "Who’s Jo?" Dean’s mouth slightly went agape when he realized what he said but he didn’t get a chance to clear up his words, due to the girl from earlier that day appearing at the corner of the restaurant.

Dean’s eyes wide fed as he pushed past his brother, immediately rushing over to the girl. He brushed past a few people, his eyes leaving the young girl for a split second, only for her to disappear again, gone into thin air.

Everyone at the table looked at Dean with confusion as he turnt back to them gulping, F/N especially with a look of disapproval aimed in his direction as he crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

____________________________________________

The two families were laughing and chattering as they reentered the Winchester residence. “So, Dean, what was all that back at the restaurant?” Sam asked his brother as they walked into the living room, all the ladies were talking amongst themselves as he said. “Oh, I thought I saw someone. I’m sure its nothing” Dean assured him.

“Well, I had a lovely birthday. Thank you” Mary said sincerely to everyone. “Goodnight” Everyone Said in unison as Jess And Y/N blew kisses to their future mother-in-law. Mary smiled as she started to rub her eyes. “Goodnight” She said, blowing kisses to everyone before wrapping her arms around M/N, drawing her in for a tight hug.

“Thank you for baking the cake, it was delicious” Mary said to her best friend with much gratitude. “It was my pleasure as always, Mar” M/N squeezed her back before letting go, moving back to cling to her husband as Mary walked up the stairs. A little yawn left her lips. “I think you and I should hit the hay” F/N chuckled, gently wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist, letting her lean against him.

“Agreed” M/N said, a small smile on her face before turning to her daughter. “Goodnight, baby” M/N said softly. “Goodnight, Mom.” Y/N said as she leaned in to hug her mom, a smile on her face. She then plastered on a fake smile towards her father before awkwardly hugging him.

“Have a great night everyone, love you y/n/n” F/N said to his daughter gently, a bit of despair in his eyes. “You too, daddy” Y/N responded half heartedly. Her dad sighed before shooting Dean one last glare. He then opened his door for his wife, before walking out behind her and shutting the door behind him as Dean smiled awkwardly.

“Yeah, well. I’m beat” Sam said tiredly, “Ready to turn in?” He asked Jess. “Sure” Jess nodded. “Alright, night guys” Sam smiled at everyone, “Goodnight” Y/N muttered But Dean’s face dropped. “Hey, hey. Wait a second, wait a second. Come on, it’s not even 9 o'clock yet.” Dean protested. “Let’s, uh, let’s go have a drink or something” Dean suggested.

Y/N shrugged in agreement, not minding the idea of hanging out with everyone. “Maybe another time,” Sam said, a little irritated. “Come on, man. Look at us. I mean, we both have beautiful women on our arms. We’re both engaged. Let’s go celebrate!” Dean chuckled, smacking Sam on his chest lightly.

A silence fell in the room due to the way Sam was looking at Dean, “Guys, can you excuse us. I just wanna talk to my brother” Sam said to the ladies politely. “Sure. Come on, Y/N” Jess shrugged, gesturing for both her and Y/N to leave. “Thanks,” Sam smiled but Y/N narrowed her eyes at Sam.

“Don’t start, Samuel” She whispered in a warning tone before following Jessica out of the kitchen. Sam raised his hands in defense, “Won’t do anything” He assured her as she, as well as Jess, left the room. Y/N him one last pointed look over her shoulder before shutting the door behind her.

Sam turned to his brother, an irritated look on his face. “Okay, what’s gotten into you?” He questioned. “What? What do you mean?” Dean asked, confused. “I mean, this whole…warm fuzzy ecstasy-trip thing” Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. “I’m just happy for you, Sammy,” Dean smiled, patting his brother on his arm. Sam rolled his eyes with a tight smile.

“Yeah. Right. That’s another thing. Since when do you call me Sammy?” Sam scoffed. Dean's brows furrowed, his heart dropping. “Dean, come on. We don’t talk outside of holidays” Sam pointed out. Dean blinked twice in shock, “We don’t?” He asked surprised. “Well, we should. I mean, you’re my brother” Dean chuckled, trying to ignore the tugging pain in his chest.

“You’re my brother?” Sam huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah,” Dean smiled. “You know, that's what you said when you snagged my ATM card. Or when you crashed my car. Or when you bailed on me and Y/N’s high school graduation.” Sam pointed out his multiple mistakes as Dean’s mouth went agape again. “Yeah, that kinda does sound like me,” Dean admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Well, hey man, I’m sorry about all that-” Dean tried to apologize, stepping closer to Sam but he cut him off and stepped away. “No. Look. It’s alright. I just— you know, I’m not asking you to change. I just, uh….I don’t know. I guess we just don’t really have anything in common. You know?” Sam said, shrugging. Dean felt his heart drop in his chest again.

A lump grew in his throat as Sam moved to walk away. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Yes, we do. Yes, we do” Dean stammered, pulling Sam back. “What?” Sam raised his brows. “Hunting” Dean took a chance. “Hunting? I’ve never been hunting in my life, Dean” Sam scoffed. Dean swallowed harshly, his heart caught in his throat,

“Yeah, well, we should go sometime. Me, you and Y/N. I think you guys would be great at it” Dean said sadly, this made Sam even more confused. “Y/N? We've barely talked since high school since you two hooked up on our prom night” Sam snorted.

Dean’s heart felt like it had been stabbed as Sam’s words sank in. “What? You guys don’t talk?” He asked in disbelief. Sam shook his head, burying his hands in his pockets as he looked at his brother, still confused. “Why not?” Dean asked genuinely, feeling another pang of pain in his chest, he was trying to wrap his head around all the things that had been said tonight.

He thought that he and Y/N were the best of friends, hell, they were practically siblings, so why would they not talk?

“People just…drift” Sam shrugged, eyeing his brother weirdly. “That fucking sucks, you two were like ring on finger” Dean gaped, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, people change,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. A silence fell between them as Dean took in the newly found information, “Get some rest” Sam said softly to his brother before leaving the room. The shock still evident on Dean’s face.

____________________________________________

It was later that night, Dean and Y/N were back at their own house while Dean sat on the couch in the living room. His mind was racing and stuck on that dreadful conversation he had with Sam. His heart was caught in his throat, a sick feeling churning in his stomach at the fact that he and his brother were not close and neither was his brother and the love of his life.

Y/N noticed Dean was a bit in his head as she entered the living room, a sigh escaped her lips as she padded over to the kitchen. She opened the fridge and took out two beers, she then popped the bottle cap open with a silver ring on her right hand. She then headed back into the living room, offering her fiancé the beer.

Dean’s eyes snapped over to her, his expression softening. “My favorite. I guess you know me pretty well” Dean said softly as he accepted the beer, “Afraid so” Ashe teased, plopping on the couch next to him. “You alright, baby?” Y/N asked gently.

Dean gave her a thin smile before bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a sip of the beverage. The conversation with his brother had really been bugging him. How could they have not been talking? When did they stop talking? And when did Sam and Y/N stop being friends?

“Sammy and I don’t get along. And you guys stopped talking” Dean said, glancing down at the bottle in his hands as Y/N sipped from her own bottle. “Well, you don't really spend a lot of time together and me and Sam sorta just…drifted. It happens, people change. I mean, I just think you dont know each other all that well” Y/N said gently, a small frown on my face.

“And for the record, he doesn't know what he's missing” She added, offering Dean a smile, which he returned. “I could fix things with us. I can make it up to you guys….to everyone” Dean said confidently, nodding. Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion. “Okay…what's gotten into you lately?” She asked with a small chuckle.

“This isnt gonna make a lick of sense to you, princess. But I kinda feel like I've been given a second chance. And I don’t wanna waste it” Dean said wholeheartedly as he stared at Y/N lovingly. Calling her ‘princess’ felt wrong here to him but he didn’t care, he wanted it to be real so bad. “You're right, it doesn't make any sense. But I’m all in” Y/N chuckled.

Dean grinned at her words as he placed a gentle hand on Y/N's thigh "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are," he said softly, his emerald eyes filled with tenderness. Y/N smiled shyly, a light blush spreading across her cheeks, “You only say that every hour” She teased, taking another sip of her beer. “Not that I’m complaining, it gives me an ego boost” She joked.

Dean chuckled along with Y/N, the sound of her laughter music to his ears. The thought that had crossed his mind earlier in the day resurfaced, prompting him to ask her a question. “Hey, princess,” he began. Y/N looked at him expectantly, curious about what he was going to say. “I gotta ask…why does your dad hate me?” Dean asked, tilting his head a bit.

Y/N let out a sigh, a slight frown on her face as she recalled the strained relationship between her father and fiancé. "It's complicated, babe. My dad's just a bit of a control freak, especially when it comes to me" She explained with a hint of frustration.

Dean looked confused, he was used to F/N being controlling in reality but the man never seemed to hate him before. If anything, he adored Dean. So F/N hating Dean right now was foreign to him. “You know, since that night..” Y/N said lowly, Dean was even more confused now.

"Since what night?" Dean asked, a frown forming on his face as he tried to decipher why F/N’s behavior had drastically changed towards him. Y/N took a deep breath before answering, the memory still a bit raw. “Don’t you remember the night of my prom?” She asked. "Well…not exactly" Dean admitted, trying to recall the event, only to come up blank.

Y/N gave him an incredulous look, “You don't remember?” She asked in surprise, her tone almost sounding hurt. Dean’s heart sank at Y/N’s reaction, he hated the thought that he’d done something to hurt her, but he genuinely had no memory of what took place on prom night, at least in this world.

"Look, I'm sorry, princess," Dean began, moving closer to Y/N and taking her hand in his. "I seriously can't remember a thing about that night. Can you tell me what happened?" He asked gently. “We lost our virginities to each other and Dad caught us a couple weeks later hooking up at a motel, how could you not remember that?”

A mixture of realization and shock washed over Dean as Y/N's words sank in. It all made sense now why her father hated him with a fiery passion. “And then he kicked me out the same night when he said he didn’t approve of our relationship” Y/N further explained, caressing Dean’s hand with her thumb.

"Jesus... no wonder he hates me" Dean muttered, running a hand through his hair in disbelief. It all made perfect sense now. But the memory of that night was still a complete blank for him.

"I personally don’t think that's why he doesn’t like you. I think it's because you proved him wrong” Y/N assured Dean. Dean furrowed his brows, puzzled by Y/N's statement. "Proved him wrong? What do you mean?” he asked, genuinely curious as he rest his beer down on the table. “Jesus, charming. What’s going on with your memory?” Y/N chuckled.

Dean cracked a small sheepish grin, realizing how dense he sounded. "Right, sorry. Go on" he chuckled, giving her hand a squeeze. “After he cut me off from my trust fund and John cut you off from yours. You worked your ass off and put me through college. Dad never thought you had it in you, but I knew you did. He has not choice but to respect you, but Dad being Dad is too prideful to admit it”

Dean’s expression softened as Y/N recounted their history. After what Sam told him, it messed with his head. Realizing he was practically the family fuck-up, the black sheep…it hurt him to say the least. But now knowing that Y/N stood beside him through all he had supposedly done and he did whatever it took to support the love of his life despite getting completely cut off, Dean felt a sense of pride and accomplishment in himself.

He felt like he was worth something, because everyone including God himself knows how Dean Winchester thinks of himself. A proud smile tugged at his lips, his loving gaze never leaving Y/N’s face.

"I'll do whatever it takes” Dean said tenderly, squeezing her hand again. She giggled lightly at this, resting her own beer down besides his, “I know you will, and that's one of the many reasons why I love you” Y/N said softly as she brought her hand up to cup Dean’s cheek, he automatically leaned into her touch, nuzzling into her hand like a kitten.

“And I love you too, more than anything" he replied tenderly, placing a soft kiss on her palm. “Besides, Adrienne was always his golden child” Y/N said with a bitter tone and a scoff as she pulled away. Dean furrowed his brows, confused by the new name she had mentioned. "Who's Adrienne?" he asked quizzically, his curiosity piqued.

“My little sister.” Y/N said as if Dean was supposed to know that, rolling her eyes. His eyes widened in surprise. Y/N had a little sister??? His mind then went back to the little girl in the pictures at his mom’s house, that must've been Adrienne.

“The one who tried to sleep with you last time she was in town” Y/N added bitterly. "It's always been ‘Adrienne this, Adrienne that’ “ she imitated her father's voice. Dean's smile dropped as he processed Y/N's words.

He couldn't recall the interaction with her sister or any prior mention of her, but the idea of anyone trying to come between them made him feel rather possessive.

"She tried to what?! ” Dean exclaimed, a hint of anger in his tone. "Relax, baby” Y/N chuckled as she placed a soothing hand on his chest. "You shut her down pretty quick, if I recall. You drunkenly said I was ‘the one’ and then proceeded to scream your lungs out at her, I think I’m safe” she replied, amused by his reaction.

“It's why you put a ring on it” Y/N teased, gesturing to her engagement ring, admiring it in her hand. Dean smirked as he watched Y/N admiring the ring on her finger. "I knew it would look good on you" he said with a hint of admiration in his voice. Seeing her wear the physical symbol of their commitment filled him with a sense of contentment and belonging.

“I’ll never forget you kneeling down in that stadium while Bon Jovi was playing ‘All About Lovin’ You’ and you asking me to marry you.” Y/N reminisced, resting her head on Dean’s shoulder. A warm smile played on Dean's lips as Y/N recounted the proposal. Even without his memory of it, he could tell it must’ve been special.

The fact that he had chosen such a romantic setting because he was never a huge Bon Jovi fan but Y/N loved the band’s music. The fact that he chose something so close to her heart filled him with a sense of satisfaction. "That sounds like a pretty perfect moment" he said, a hint of longing in his voice.

"You were so nervous" Y/N chuckled. "You kept shaking your hands and your leg kept bouncing up and down," she added, recalling the proposal with a fond look. Dean shook his head with a mock frown, "Shut up" he muttered playfully. “You know….I get it” Dean said softly, tracing circles on her hip with his thumb.

Y/N hummed in response, enjoying the feeling of his touch on her skin. "Get what?" she asked curiously, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him. “Why you’re the one,” Dean responded, connecting his eyes with hers, this gaze filled with love and admiration. Y/N felt a warm sensation in her chest as she returned his gaze, his eyes so full of love and tenderness. "Oh, really?” she asked, teasing him a bit.

Dean grinned as he nodded, attaching his lips to hers. Y/N let out a small gasp of surprise, which soon melted into a soft moan as she returned the kiss eagerly. The way he took charge sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine, her heart hammering in her chest.

Dean's hand on her hip began to wander, gently caressing her body through the thin fabric of her clothing. His other hand moved to cup her face, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. There was a voice at the back of his mind that was screaming at him to stop, telling him this wasn’t right as Y/N straddled him.

Dean's mind waged a war with itself, her presence in his lap both tantalizing and guilt-inducing. He wanted her, craved her, and yet he couldn't shake the nagging thoughts that told him it was wrong, Dean couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet.

He pulled back from the kiss, panting lightly as he looked up at Y/N. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen and parted in a gasp. "We gotta stop,” he said quietly, his voice filled with both desire and restraint. Dean brought his lips to her neck, “Mhhmm” Y/N panted, groaning slightly as she rocked her core against his growing erection.

Dean stifled a moan as she rocked against him, his hands on her hips gripping just a bit tighter. "We gotta stop..” he repeated, though his body was clearly at odds with his words. “I know, I know, i've got work” Y/N sighed, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

Dean returned the kiss, his fingers moving to run through her hair, the silky strands slipping through his fingers. "You gotta work now?” he asked, his voice thick with desire but also confusion because it was nearly midnight. “I told you, I’ve got the night shifts on Thursday” Y/N responded as she reluctantly peeled herself away from him and headed over to the closet.

Dean’s brows furrowed as he picked up his beer from the table and followed behind her, “You work nights at the uh…” He began as he stepped into the closet to see Y/N with a hanger in her hand, nurse scrubs attached to them, “…hospital.” He finished, an impressed grin on his face. “I’m engaged to a nurse. That is so respectable….and hot” Dean muttered to himself as he eyed Y/N’s ass while taking a sip of his beer.

He wondered to himself why Y/N decided to go into nursing due to the fact she always had a love for music, but Dean shrugged it off.

______________________________________________

Authors Note: Okay soooo, Tumblr told me that my post was too long so I had to split this into two parts.

Part Two Here!

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

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

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

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy

@hey-its-zoe @modiddys-blog @thvxr @tommysaxes @cookiemonstermusic258

Xoxo

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen

TW: nsfw, violence, angst

“What–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing, McCauley?” 

The cop on the stool–who is clearly drunk–turns his attention to Tom towering behind you. “Just enjoying the view, Ludz. She’s got great tits.”  

He’s clearly stupid too. 

A second passes that feels like an eternity, before Tom bursts into action, knocking the asshole off the barstool with one punch. There’s a wave of outcry through the crowd, but before anyone can do anything, Ludlow has the guy up by the collar and is marching him out of the bar. You watch through the dimmed front windows, barely able to see past the crowd, as there’s more of a scuffle between the two on the sidewalk. It doesn’t last long at all–Ludlow hits the guy like a hurricane, knocking him down flat, before stalking away back inside. 

“Sorry about that asshole,” says Tom, barely broken a sweat, though you can’t help but notice his knuckles are torn. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” you sigh, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go get you patched up.” Surely he has a first aid kit in his car. 

However, he can tell something has changed. He turns your gaze up to his with a hand on your cheek, searching your eyes. “What’s wrong? What did he say to you? Swear to god, I’ll fucking kill him.”

You grab onto his arm before this high strung man can march back outside and finish the job, if the idiot has not yet cleared out. 

“He said you’re married,” you inform him, doing your own search of his soul as you drop this bomb. 

“What?” He seems genuinely confused. 

“He said I should be careful, or I’ll end up like your wife?”

Tom shakes his head with a growl. “Fucking asshole. No, I’m not married, sweetheart, I promise you.” 

“Then…?” It’s only getting louder in the bar as the night goes on, and you can barely hear each other now. It’s not the best place to have a serious conversation, and maybe he senses that you’re not going to enjoy yourself again until that conversation is had. You’re not the type to take a don’t worry about it at face value. 

Tom sighs, throws some money down on the bar and lifts you down off your stool. “Come on.”

The ease with which he manhandles you is almost more intoxicating than the vodka you’ve just consumed. 

He almost tries to carry you out of the damn bar, but you protest against that vehemently. 

You spill out onto the sidewalk, and find the asshole has indeed made himself scarce. There’s a dark stain on the concrete that might be a little splatter of blood. You decide to ignore it. 

“I’m guessing you want me to take you home?” It squeezes your heart, how disappointed he sounds, but you nod anyway. You walk back to his car in silence, only broken when you thank him softly for opening the door for you. 

He starts the Charger’s engine, the thing growling to life like a beast of the jungle. His expression matches the sound of the car, thunderous and maybe a little feral. You don’t prod him as he drives, waiting. He knows very well what you want to know. It takes the whole journey home and him parking on the street before he’s willing to open his mouth again, and even then it’s begrudgingly. 

He turns towards you in the seat, taking your little hand in his. He’s very interested in your silver rings, and you think you just might die from the suspense. 

If this man is married, you are swearing off the dumber sex forever. 

“I was married,” he finally begins. “She died of a blood clot in her brain. She was with another man, and he just dumped her on the sidewalk in front of the hospital where you work, like she was a sack of garbage. She died alone, and I’ve never been able to find out who the fucker was that treated her like that.”

You know your eyes are the size of half dollars by the time he finishes his tale. You think you might recognize this story, told by the nurses in the trauma center from a few years back. “What was her name?”

“Cheryl.” 

“Fuck. I…heard about that, from the other nurses. God, Tom, I’m so sorry.” 

At least you know he’s not lying. 

He just nods, but he won’t look at you, and it chews your heart up. Finally you reach for him, physically turning his gaze back to yours. His eyes in that moment are black pits of despair, and a part of you is sorry for ever asking, even though you had every right to know. 

“Come upstairs with me,” you say. “I’ll patch up your hand.”

He looks down at his excoriated knuckles, grins, shakes off that abused puppy dog look. You can tell he’s about as good with emotions as you are, which is going to be a match made in hell, but it doesn’t really matter right now when you want him so bad you can taste it. 

“Alright, I guess if you’re gonna force me.” 

“Nurse’s orders. Come on.”

“Bossy. I like it.” You roll your eyes, but utterly fail at suppressing a grin. You had to hand it to him. He knew how to lighten the mood from misery to humor in two seconds. You suppose that came with his occupation. Otherwise, you’d go mad.

He trails behind you, your tall shadow, letting you lead the way through the security door and up the stairs. When you let him into your tiny one bedroom apartment he smiles, looking around with the curious eyes of a detective. You're sure after five seconds he could describe the scene with 99 percent accuracy, down to the colors of the tapestry hanging above your blue couch, and how many house plants you managed to cram in the one good window in the kitchen.

“Have a seat,” you invite, waving towards the couch while you go to get your medical kit.

He perches himself on the edge of the couch, almost awkwardly. It's kind of cute, and something you don’t expect from this brutish man. 

“The couch doesn’t bite,” you tell him, setting your little first aid bag on the stand and then taking his hand rather boldly in your own. 

“Sorry, feel like I’m gonna ruin your cute place with my man smell, or something.”

You giggle, resisting the urge to tell him that if he wants to rub against everything in here like a cat in heat and leave it smelling just like him, you won’t mind it at all. 

His woodsy spice would pair nicely with your patchouli-lavender candles and sandalwood incense.

“You’ve broken your knuckles a lot,” you inform him absentmindedly while cleaning his fist. You can tell by how prominent they are, how the ones in his left hand-his dominant hand-are bigger than the ones in his right. You’d hate to be on the receiving end of this fist when he’s mad.

“Yeah?” While you dote on his hand, wrapping and cleaning, his heavy attention is fully on you, and it would make you blush and squirm if you weren’t so focused on patching him up. 

“How many fights have you been in?”

“I lost count. You?” 

You scoff. “Hey, I actually have been in one fight.” 

He gives a little whistle. “I was actually expecting that number to be higher, feisty girl.” 

“Nah.”

“Okay, so who’d you fight on the school playground?” 

You roll your eyes. “It was an ex.” You know you should learn to think before you speak, because fuck if that doesn’t open up a whole other can of worms when you watch those huge knuckles flex white while the rest of him visibly tenses.

“He beat you up?” His voice is low, quiet, it makes you want to turn the convo back around into playful territory again. 

“Yeah.” You try to smile, play off the tension. “And I hit him with a flower pot.” 

“What’s his name?” 

It’s a horrible mistake to ever make direct eye contact with Tom, but especially in this circumstance. Even though his orbs are as black as the consuming ocean, the color of anger in them is vibrant and burning. 

“It was a long time ago. Back in Kansas.”

He uses his other big hand to cup your cheek, run a calloused thumb over your bottom lip. “I’m gonna find out who he is whether you like it or not, honey.” 

A cold steel spike of adrenaline straightens your spine when you understand his implication. “Tom, he lives in Kansas.”

“That’s the problem.”

You blink at him stupidly. “What?”

“That he lives.” 

You would roll your eyes and swat his hand away and tell him to get real because you’ve heard all this shit before from other men who thought they were valiant, vengeful knights in armor. So, yeah, you would just brush him off with a scoff, but you have this feeling—and maybe it’s because of what happened at the bar or maybe it’s because of him “arresting” Julian or maybe it’s because of his terrifying tenacious persistence—that Tom will actually find him and wreck his shit. 

The idea should not turn you on. It really fucking shouldn’t. And, since his knuckles are bandaged and you need to cut some of this tension and the alcohol still buzzes pleasantly in your veins, you lean up and distract him with a little wet kiss.  

His eyes get softer for you, which is a mini power trip of its own, and he hazards a smile again. “Alright, alright. You fixed me, now I’m gonna fix you.”

You’re confused for a minute until he scoops an arm behind your knees and drapes your legs over his lap, settling back into the cushions.

The hem of your dress rides up over your thighs again, giving him a little peek of the cute, perpetually damp panties, before you can wiggle your legs shut and tug the fabric back down.

He adjusts you, asks if you’re comfortable while propping your knees on a pillow and turning sideways. 

“I’m-yeah, I'm comfy. What’re you doing, Tom?”

“I’m gonna give you that massage I promised.”

Deja Vu. Two massages in one month from a hot doctor and a cop? You feel like an absolute little whore. “Wait, Tom, you don’t have to-“

He silences you with his mouth over yours, swallows the nervous words and turns them into a sweet moan. God, this man can kiss. You’ve never considered yourself unintelligent, but his lips make you absolutely stupid. 

He untangles your hands from his hair, because apparently they ended up there somehow, sets them in your lap, and pulls away with a little trail of saliva. “Settle down,” he murmurs, guiding you back onto the throw pillows. “I’ve got you.” 

“Really, you don’t,” you try with halfhearted sincerity.

“You know,” he says, making you jump when he engulfs your right foot in his hand. “My aunt, she had a chihuahua.” 

“Yeah? Okay? Was it cute?” 

His fingers press deep into your arch, and it’s actually really pleasant. The muscles in your foot, overworked and underpaid, sing for his hands as they knead the ache out. 

You debate whether or not to tell him he’s better at this than an actual doctor who studies human anatomy, but he already looks like his ego has grown impossibly bigger throughout the night, so maybe you’ll save the praises for later when his dick is inside of your weeping, furious cunt. 

“She was. You remind me of her.”

“I remind you. Of a chihuahua?” You feel the tension in your body fade while he works. “Okay, that actually feels really fucking good.” 

“You do. Tiny, nippy, sweet once you warm up to someone. Adorable.” He knuckles your heel and you sigh in pleasure, pressing back into his hand. 

“I’m gonna pretend you’re complimenting me just because of this amazing foot rub.” 

“Well, I’ve already told you how smart and great you are, and I’ve already told you how pretty you are, so the only two things left, obviously, are either comparing you to a chihuahua or telling you how sexy you look in this dress and how hard it’s been not to rip it in half the entire night.”

You swallow your nerves and your rationality. “So, do it.” Then, you rethink, because this dress was thirty damn dollars and you like it. “Okay, maybe just take it off.” 

This is when he offers you the most infuriating smirk in the history of mankind. “Maybe when I get up there…” 

Waiting doesn't feel like a valid option, because you're pretty sure you’re on the brink of self-combustion. His hands on your feet are heaven, and he’s even moved those strong hands up to your calves, and you just wish he would keep going until he could find for himself exactly the damage he’s wreaked on your panties this whole time.

You collapse back on the arm of the couch dramatically, fighting not to squirm in the grip of your pent up desire. “Tom Ludlow,” you grouse, “I think you might be an evil man.”

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, lifts your ankle up to kiss and graze with that rough, tickling stubble, makes you giggle, then turns the laugh into a groan while his tongue travels the length of your calf, right up to the bend in your knee. 

“Fucking shit.” It’s more your cunt talking than you, now, while he nibbles and kisses supple flesh. It's such a strange spot, one that you never thought could be erogenous in any way. And he finds so many of those tender slices of you with his mouth and hands that you’re sure by the end of it—panting and teary eyed and already asking please—it’s just the proverbial Tom Ludlow effect. 

His hands move up your calves, thighs, skip the important stuff, which you curse at him for, a mean protest that he subdues by tugging your dress up and kissing your pantyline. 

“You always give massages with your mouth?”

You don’t know how it’s possible, but that smirk just gets wickeder. “You need me that bad, baby?” 

He would fucking make you tell him about it. 

Not sure who you’re more annoyed with, him or yourself, you look away, huffing under your breath.

“Oh, no pouting, beautiful, a man can only take so much.” Suddenly he has grabbed you up, dragging you across the couch so that you are laying on top of him. All this happens in the blink of an eye–you’re not proud of the girlish yip that escapes you.

It only seems to spur him on, his mouth finding yours in one of those toe-curling, brain-melting kisses. “I am trying to prove to you that I’m a nice guy, remember?”

“Hmm,” you say cheekily, feigning amnesia. He is so broad and solid beneath you, that you just might pass out. “Seems unlikely. Your kisses are very nice though.”

“Oh?” He kisses your forehead, cheeks, the bridge of your nose, makes you laugh and bury your head into his neck where he uses the new found position to kiss your hair. 

You have to chastise him a little bit when he pulls you up by your hips so his mouth can pepper kisses on your throat and shoulders, not because you don’t love being handled like that stuffed bunny you won, but more because you love it a little bit too much, and a girl could really get used to this. 

“S’wrong, thought you liked my kisses?” He licks at the hollow of your throat, presses that knife of a grin to your jugular and sucks. 

You have so much you could say, and all of it is lost in the wet, heated sin of this moment. You should be frightened of how preoccupied you are with everything that is Tom—the delicious, dark cologne, the solid weight, the burning, roaming, calloused hands—except you don’t have enough sense to be scared because he’s suckling your neck and teasing your dress higher and higher and higher until his fingertips graze the bottom of your ass and you make a pathetic sound with a bonus hip thrust just to add to the humiliation. 

He pushes open your thighs just a tiny bit. “You want me to touch you?” He asks, tickling down the crease of your butt, so fucking close to where you need him. 

“I can’t-yes. Yes. Touch me.” 

His thumbs run the tops of your inner thighs, and you press down for more, absolutely positive you’re whining like that chihuahua he mentioned earlier. 

“Here?” He asks, and the humor in his voice makes your bare toes curl against his calves. 

“Maybe here?” He tries, smoothing the pantyline that covers the very start of your puffy cunt. “Oh, you’re soaked under here, huh?” 

“Tom. Please. Fuck.” 

“I bet.” He covers the center of you completely with three fingers. “I bet I could fit right in - nice and tight and comfy.” 

You grind down onto his hand. “Yeah, yeah, do that.” 

You let out an exasperated cry when he retreats from your center, moving to trace the lacy edge of your panties on your butt cheek, slipping his fingertip just inside the seam. Even that is enough to make you writhe against him; the impressive (perhaps even intimidating) bulge in his pants beneath you is driving you equally mad.

You decide to take matters into your own shaking hands, sitting up to straddle him, reaching for his belt, the buckle jangling beneath your fingers. You’ve never met a man who could resist it, once his dick was out.

But he outmaneuvers you in that too, pushing your hands away to wrench the leather free of its loops. The resulting crack raises every little hair on your body; yet you don’t have the sense to be terribly afraid.

Either that, or…you trust this man.

“So I’ve been thinking, about you, and Dr. Bitch, and what exactly about him might have appealed to you.”

Nevermind the fact that Julian is a handsome, successful doctor…You’re smart enough not to say this aloud.

He reaches around you, securing your hands behind your back with a loop of the belt. “And I think what you want, Miss Tough Girl, is someone to take charge for you, just for a little while.” He adds another loop. “Someone you trust.” He lifts one of those perfect eyebrows, and something crucial inside you just melts. His voice softens. “Is this ok?”

He can probably tell by your body language alone—the cant of your hips, the flushing goosebumps dimpling your flesh, the little choked sounds of anticipation while he tightens his belt around your wrists—that this is more than okay, but that’s not good enough for him, so he cradles your cheek and runs his thumb over your lips while leaving one hand secured around the unfinished cinch of his belt. You reach out to kiss his fingertip, suck and taste as much as he’ll let you before he takes it away. “Is it okay, baby?”

“Yeah.” 

“Is it what you want?” You have never felt so seen in your life as in this moment, with this man’s penetrating dark eyes looking straight into your soul.

You realize you do trust Officer Tom Ludlow implicitly, not to hurt you physically, at least. You do not feel any of the uneasy trepidation you’d experienced with Dr. Julian, only a burning desire that, if not satisfied, will surely eat you alive. 

Licking your lips, trembling like a newborn fawn, you slowly nod.

“You know you’re safe with me?”

You nod again, and fuck if his wicked smile does not melt all the rest of your doubts, your inhibitions, and your sanity. He is so handsome it hurts, and you know it’s stupid, but you want to give him everything. 

He seals the deal with an expertly executed cinch of that belt, and fuck if it doesn’t echo something inside your heart falling into place for this man. 

“Good. Now come back here, I like you laying on top of me with all these luscious curves of yours.” He guides you back down on top of him, and you swear this man is going to fry some crucial wires in your brain, and turn you into a vegetable. You are doubly certain of this, when he catches your mouth with his, working you over with those plush lips in a way that absolutely makes you see stars. By the time he is done with you, he’s turned you into a quivering, needy mess on top of him, and you can tell he’s loving every minute of it.

Really, you’re easy to please after a lifetime of being touch starved and mostly void of the basic pleasures of human softness, so his everywhere hands and hungry mouth and bulky warmth are more than enough to drive you up the fucking wall, but then he adds those little coos of reassurance—the hushed repetition of “you’re safe, pretty girl”, “I got you”—and just absolutely destroys you. 

For most men the position he has you in would be a problem, but his arms are so long he can easily reach his intended prize–or grab two handfuls of it, squeezing the globes of your ass with a groan of appreciation. 

“Finally, I get some payback for the torture you put me through, having to watch you in your cute fucking scrubs but you wouldn’t let me touch you.”

“I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you feel me up at work?” There’s no real venom in your words as you fire back–how the tables have turned. 

“You’re going to be.” You can just hear the grin in his voice, and that alone is enough to make you squirm against him, burying your face in the bend of his neck. You kiss the column of his throat, sucking at his pulse; you feel the rumble of approval from deep in his chest, more than hear it. 

His big hands slide up your back, under your dress, kneading the tension and ache out and in all at the same time, and there is something maddening about this man’s touch that makes you feel uncharacteristically small, and vulnerable. When at last his hand rubs down, into the back of your panties, you think you just might die. The tip of his middle finger tests your weeping hole, just barely pressing in. Before you can even think to whine about it, his mouth is covering yours, swallowing your cries and your curses as he only slides into the first knuckle, teasing you with slow circles.

While he plays with your insides, his mouth does equal damage to your lips. Fast learner that he is, he’s come to find that if he just sucks and licks and nips your top lip swollen without really kissing you it makes you clamp and pulse rhythmically and desperately on his long digit. 

You unstick your mouth from his to plead your case, because if you don’t get more you’re going to fucking die, and he follows your lips with his teeth. 

“Wai-“ takes you back into a slow, awful, soaked kiss that sets every piece of you on fire, sizzles the skin and fat and meat off your body to leave only exposed nerve endings. 

Reasoning turns to begging fairly quickly when he finally lets you talk. “Want your fingers on my clit, please.”

He hums and pushes sweaty hair behind your ear. “Just my fingers? Not my tongue?” 

“No no no yes that’s better ok-“

“Shh.” He gives you a tiny peck, nuzzles his nose against yours, inspires a strangled gurgle of frustration. 

You're about to press the issue, but then he’s on top of you with your body pressed tight into the couch cushions. 

He really does dwarf you, gets concerned about his full weight and keeping it off your lungs. Unfortunately-fortunately-the position his caution inspires puts his mouth in line with your chest. 

Your chest, with which you so masterfully distracted him into missing his last shot in the shooting gallery.

You just know he’s thinking about that, as he glares down at your breasts as though they’d talked back to him. “I should cite these,” he says between planting open mouthed kisses to your cleavage, “for Reckless Endangerment.” He sucks at your tender flesh, hard enough that you know there will be a purple mark.

“I can’t help it that you looked,” you protest, arching against him. Here you are with your hands bound behind your back, with the cheek to talk back to this big, bad man pinning you down with his delicious weight–you must be missing some crucial wrinkle in your brain just for risk assessment.

He just clicks his tongue in answer. “Please keep talking back to me, sweet girl, it’s giving me ideas.”

Said ideas seem to include nibbling at your nipple through the thin satin of your bra, sending a jolt of longing straight to your already agonizingly aching cunt. “Please,” you beg, on the edge of losing your mind to this man’s touch. 

“I could spend all day giving these attention,” he tells you, ignoring your begging, flicking a path of saliva over the fabric covering your tits, landing a wide kiss on your other hardened bud while his thumb tweaks the tip of the last. 

You wish you could grind into the solid mass of him, but his weight pins your hips still, and this inspires a little feral growl that is, apparently, hilarious judging by his responding laugh. 

“That so?” He asks, finally giving you a proper hard suck that puts little teardrops in your lashes and conjures a strangled scream. “Didn’t think it through, huh?” 

“I hate you. You expect me to be able to think right now?”

“Yeah. Maybe that’s not fair,” he agrees with a wicked curl of lips. 

You think that maybe, just maybe, he might take some mercy on you, as he begins to move down your body. His long fingers hook in your panties, drawing them down your legs as slow as is humanly possible. You hold your breath, determined not to make the slightest sound of complaint, because if you do you just know he will punish you somehow.

With your ruffly skirt up around your waist he stares down at you, long enough that you almost wish you could cover yourself. Yet when his dark eyes roll up to meet yours, the intensity in his gaze makes your needy cunt clench so hard it borders on pain. “So fucking beautiful.” Suddenly it’s as though he is the one who cannot wait, scooping under your hips with his strong arms, holding you down with his big hand spread over your belly as his tongue dips into your center.

This is how you die.

From pure pleasure, and if he did not restrain you, you would have arched off of the couch as he laps at your clit, driving you wild with pointed licks and wide strokes of his tongue. He does not tease you with a single finger, gifting you two thick digits as deep inside you as he can reach, your needy cunt clenching fiercely upon him. It makes him groan, and he slides his fingers in and out of your velvety wet warmth as he takes you to heaven with his lush mouth. You fight not to crush his head with your thighs, your hips canted desperately as you strain for release.

“Oh, god, Tom…” You don’t know how you manage to form even that much of a coherent thought. The deep grumble of his approval vibrates against your pussy, straight to your womb, and you feel the tightening coil of pleasure tensing in your loins. It’s ridiculous, how fucking grateful you are that he doesnt tease you any longer, his clever, furious tongue shoving you over the edge of oblivion into a place of ecstasy that lasts for just a few, perfect, seconds. You’re not proud, but you scream nearly at the top of your lungs as it washes through you.

You’re afraid he’s going to think you’re a spazz, because there are tears in your eyes, and you literally cannot remember the last time anyone took such good care of you. Jesus fucking Christ. Do you say that? To this man, who was so generous to you, but is so fucking full of himself? He already knows he holds the keys to your castle. Does he have to have access to the inner sanctum too?

“My pretty girl,” he coaxes you with a kiss to your inner thigh, bringing you down so sweetly with his fingers still stretching you inside. “You taste so good, I could eat you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” Just hearing it makes your pussy flutter around his fingers, and he smiles to himself, bestowing your clit with one last lazy lick.

“Fuck. Tom!” You're not sure if you’re begging, or protesting, at this point.

When he slides out of you, you feel almost unbearably bereft of him, too empty for words, only able to watch with a lazy gaze as he sucks your glistening cum off his fingers.

Those damp fingers flick some tears off your face. “You alright?”

You try a little timid smile. “Yeah, I’m great.”

“Good, cuz I might have to make you cum again just to see that pretty look on your face.” 

You squirm in either protest or agreement, unsure if your body can handle more so soon. It would be kind of like going from 0 to 100. Plus, your hands are going a little numb underneath you. 

He must sense your hesitation, great detective that he is, and helps you sit up. 

“Why don’t you lay on your belly? Let me put a pillow under your hips?” 

Even though your body is thoroughly stimulated, it bristles at the idea of him inside of you. The idea of getting him closer, of having more of him is intoxicating, enthralling. 

He pulls your bottom lip from the sharp grip of your teeth, and kisses the sting away. “C’mon, I know you can give me more than that, beautiful.” 

You don’t know why you feel so embarrassed asking for this, but your eyes can’t focus on his own when you open your mouth. “Are you—can you be inside of me?” 

“Ass up and I’ll think about it.” 

And you do—you do end up with your ass in the air, dress pooled around your hips, cool air licking at your soaked cunt that you didn’t realize would be so open for his viewing pleasure. 

You squirm, huff, make him laugh. He kisses the hill of your bottom and gives the crease of your thigh a little singing slap. 

“Ow,” you whine, attempting to slide away from his fingers. He settles you back into place with a tug on the belt around your wrists and then kisses the little raw red mark left from his hand. 

“Let’s take a vacation so I can spend it sucking on this pretty pussy.” He flicks his tongue over the plumped back of your cunt.

“Tommmm.” Frustrated. Because he promised—okay, he said maybe—he would fuck you if you got into this vulnerable position, and instead he’s just teasing you with his tongue again, cleaning up all that sensitive sticky flesh and coaxing you back into a needy little creature. 

You hear blessed fabric being pulled and shifted, the telltale sign of his beautiful cock springing free, and this has never happened to you before, but when you look back at him, your mouth actually waters. He’s perfect. Dark, plush hair, florid, plump tip with just a tiny bead of cum dolloped on top that you desperately want to lick into your mouth. The tops of his thighs are bulky and lined with muscle. He’s thick and slim in the right places, eats his goddamn wheaties, that’s for sure, and you want to taste every inch of that tight olive skin. 

He pets the length of his shaft with his thumb, grips the head, and smiles at the probably stupid little look of awe on your face. “You good?” 

Spectacular. Goddamn fantastic. “Take the rest of your clothes off. Let me see you.” You don’t even care that you’re basically begging at this point. Anything to see him, feel him sliding inside your deprived, clenching cunt. Anything for him. 

His smile does not waver, as his hands go to the buttons of his shirt. He is not shy about laying himself bare, but then, why would he be? He’s the most gorgeous specimen of male beauty you’ve ever seen. You make a small sound, when all his clothes are in a pile on the floor, and his broad chest is on full display.

You cannot stop staring.

His smile widens a little, though there is a softness in his eyes for you that melts you even more as he lets you stare at the beautiful length of him. All you can really do is look at him, so much so that it strains your neck and makes the space between your shoulder blades ache. 

He takes that wonderful appendage between his legs and presses the bulk of it inside your pussy lips, grinding the head against your clit and getting the whole thing nice and soaked in preparation. “You know,” he grunts, “when I first saw you in that waiting room, I thought you were beautiful.”

His sweet words contrast so beautifully with the filthy slipping tease of his cock, and you could cum from the combination, but you’d much rather do that with him stretching you open and pounding into your desperate pussy. “Tom, want you.” You take a ragged breath when he presses his tip more firmly against your clit. 

“You got me, baby,” he soothes, steadying the thrum of your hips with his sure grip. 

He’s so close to sinking inside you, splitting you open, filling you in a way that’s surely. going to ruin you for any other man. You sob into the pillows, hands knuckled tight around the thick leather of his belt when his head presses against your gasping entrance. 

“Please please please.” You’re not even sure if you’re begging aloud or if your voice is even coherent at this point. All you know is Tom, and he’s all you want to know. 

He sinks into you, deeper than his fingers and tongue, deeper than anything you’ve ever experienced. You feel more whole, in this moment, than you have in a very long time with him nudged up against your cervix, with his warm hips pressing into your ass. Maybe you never realized just how empty you were up until now. 

He doesn’t sound much better off than you do, and you can tell by the tightening of his thigh muscles he’s trying to give it to you slow and deep, just like you told him on the phone, instead of fucking into you like a depraved animal. 

You giggle when he curses, using this new found position to wiggle your hips and push him deeper, wrenching sharp groans from the both of you. 

“Jesus, fuck.” He spreads you open so that he can watch himself sink in and out, see your overfilled cunt milk him slowly. “I knew you’d feel like heaven,” he growls. “Do you have any idea how insane you’ve been making me?”

When he reaches to touch your clit with his thick cock filling you to the brim, your smug laughter dies on your lips, replaced by a hedonistic moan, a sound you hardly recognize as coming from your own mouth. 

“Yeah?” he says, as though you’ve said something actually intelligible. “Is that good, baby? You like my fingers while I fuck you with this big cock?” The panting strain in this steadfast man’s voice, who is usually so in control, is as maddening as all the rest. That this man goes to pieces for you is as intoxicating as it is seemingly unbelievable.

“Yes,” is all you can manage, your face pressed into the cushions of the couch, your hips straining for him even though it must be physically impossible for you to take any more. After the fury of your first orgasm, you don’t know how it’s possible that your body could deliver again, but by some miracle you feel it filling the cradle of your hips, the clench and burn of your nerves desperate to immolate themselves again.

You have a feeling this miracle has a name, and it is Tom Ludlow.

“You gonna cum again for me, pretty girl?” 

You absolutely are.

You answer him with a fierce squeeze that makes him curse again. You feel him trembling behind you, fighting not to drive himself inside you with total abandon. You decide that you want that. You want to feel him come undone, to fuck you the way he wants to. For once you’re not afraid. You want to give him everything. 

“Harder,” you pant. “It’s ok. Take me. I want you.” He stutters in his rhythm behind you, as though just the thought is almost enough to drive him over.

“You sure, baby girl?” His big hand makes a soothing circle over the globe of your ass. It makes you purr like a cat, and you know you are utterly lost to this man.

“Yes.”

He gives a tiny thrust, hitting just right, pinching your clit at the same time, taunting. “You positive?”

“Fuck you, Tom. Just fuck me. Please.” 

And he does. Not only understands the assignment, but goes above and beyond to achieve it. Your first orgasm on his cock is white hot, back arching, lip splitting. You think for a second you might pass out, like when you’re laughing too hard or stand up too fast, but he’s still drilling away. Rubbing diligently with three disperse fingers, staying right there despite having to fight against his own girth getting in the way and the absolutely slippery soaked mess between your bodies. 

“There you go,” he praises, “you deserve it, honey. Take it all.” His words are broken, voice evident with the threat of his own release. 

You’re an absolute mess, wracked with sobs, clawing at the skin of your own back. He tugs you back, because you’re trying to unconsciously get away from the overwhelming stimulation, absolutely painfully and pleasurably fucking cock drunk. The sole focus of your body is where you are joined with Tom, where he is doing exactly what you asked. 

He leans over you so that his scratchy five o clock shadow presses into the crook of your shoulder and makes a shiver curl down your spine. He’s not doing it because he’s tired, he’s doing it so he can talk to you, whisper in your ear and lick your throat and take you deeper.

“One more, baby girl. Can you do that for me? Love feeling you cum on my cock. Could stay inside you for hours, sweet girl, give me another one.” 

Filthy words whispered so lovingly against your skin–who knew it could work out for you, for once, to be a people pleaser? That is, if this doesn’t kill you. But God, what a way to go. You have reached a point of euphoria and overstimulation where you are practically hovering outside your own body, watching yourself with a birds eye view as Tom absolutely rails you from behind. Defying your own expectation and hell, maybe even anatomical possibility, that scintillating pleasure explodes and spreads through your loins. You cry out into the couch, partly for happiness and in part for mercy. It’s all so much and you’ve never felt anything like it in your life.

“That’s my girl,” rasps Tom from above you. “So perfect. So good for me, giving me everything I want.” His thrusts become longer, more erratic, his tip bumping your cervix before withdrawing almost completely, then slamming back inside you again. You can hardly control your own body at this point, your every muscle trembling with the intensity of it all. “Love the way you take me. Want me to fill you up, beautiful?” 

If you had a brain cell left in your body, you might have found this amusing. The unflappable Tom Ludlow, babbling, for you? But somehow, at the the same time, amidst the desperate bump and grind of this carnal dance between you–it’s also impossibly sweet. Without a grain of shame left to your name, you beg for it. “Yes, I want you. Give me what’s mine, baby.”

With a groan that rattles you to the marrow of your bones Tom’s hips snap and lock against you, filling you with the hot rush of his seed. You cry out with him, meeting him as he spasms against you.

The world has taken on a hazy, golden edged focus. You are vaguely aware of deft fingers on your wrists, the belt loosening behind you. “You ok, baby?” He rubs your wrists, kissing the reddened skin.

“Yes.” You laugh, a sound of dazed joy. “More than ok. Jesus fucking christ, Tom.”

He collapses on the couch beside you with a knowing smile, pulling you into his arms, where you both rest in a breathless heap.

“Fuck,” he says softly, kissing the crown of your messy hair. 

“What?” You ask.

“We’re gonna have to get Plan B.” 

“I’m–” You are still trying to catch your breath, your face buried in his broad chest. “On birth control.”

“Sorry, I should have asked.” he kisses your hair again. “Just wanted inside you so bad.” 

You giggle for a little bit, and he laughs with you. For a minute, that’s all the both of you can do. It’s the after euphoria, that pleasant droopy high.  “Oh, how terrible of you, Tom.” 

“We should get you cleaned up,” he suggests, making no move to untangle himself from you. 

“Mm, yeah,” you agree, also not moving at all. 

The temptation of sleep looms closer and closer while you’re wrapped up in Tom, and you know you have to go to the bathroom because UTIs are never pleasant, but the thought of getting up almost makes you want to cry. Maybe Tom Ludlow knows more about female anatomy than you would give him credit for, though, and it makes you admire him even more. “Hey,” he says in a sleepy voice, rubbing your side. “C’mon. I’ll be right here waiting.” 

He helps you stand, kisses your tummy, and then waits patiently to pull you back into his arms where everything is golden and warm and safe. You kiss his cheek, and he chuckles. “Me too, honey.”

You fall asleep in his arms, and you’ve never, ever felt more safe.

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 18

Kinktober Masterlist dis manibus - "for the ghost" Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader Kinks > possessive, dub con, ghosts?? Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

In your little town of Sleepy Hollow, it’s usually not hard to make the news. But, when the headlines start bringing up ghosts from the past, and your fellow residents make claims that a ghoulish biker is attacking drivers on Route 330, you start to regret being the lone journalist in town. Legend has it that the masked rider is on the hunt for the most perfect sacrifice, and he won’t stop his reign of terror until he finds it.

Warning: actual ghosts, possession, dub con?, general spookiness

Yellowed teeth and a dangling cigarette, the stench of sweat and cheap tobacco, shaky hands and disordered movements, plus a wardrobe of ill-fitting, oil-stained jorts with a crooked-cropped Bud Light tee shirt completed Brandi Reddman’s signature look. Mrs. Reddman was standing in her usual spot outside of a dilapidated Pilot truck stop on the corner of Hatchet and Simmons. But, the leather-skinned, bleached-blonde, trailer park queen didn’t go by her late husband’s surname anymore. She preferred to be called by her well-earned title: Beaumont Brandi.

“And don’t you go putin’ no damn Reddman on my fuckin’ report,” she glared at you from her perch on the bright red bollard just outside her favorite Pilot truck stop, “Don’t even know what I’m gettin’ a goddamn ticket for. Two consentin’ adults can do whatever the hell they like, cain’t they? Ain’t this still America?”

“Ms. Brandi,” you sighed, “I’m not a cop. I’m a reporter. And I’m not sure what you want me to do when Mr. Brunson calls me down here to tell me about you tearing up his dumpsters again. You know there's a whole town full of people upset about the destruction of property here.”

Your stomach turned just thinking about writing this ridiculous article. What would the title even be? The Trash Takes Itself Out: a Sleepy Hollow tale. Or, Lot Lizard Strikes Again! With a full cover spread? No. This could not be your life. You tried to control the look of disdain on your face. 

“It wasn’t even me! That asshole is crazy!” Brandi protested, the cigarette in her mouth holding onto her dry, cracking lip with nothing more than God’s will at this point. 

“He said he saw you and a certain truck driver come out of the alcove just a few hours ago,” you reiterated.

“Hell, no. I ain’t gonna fuck no John in no smelly-ass dumpster. I’m a high class lady,” Brandi gestured to her ensemble, “And I’m tellin’ you, that lock was busted before I even stepped over here this mornin’. It’s that damn haint is what it is.”

The Haint of Sleepy Hollow. The Hollow’s Hell Rider. The Ghoul of 330. He went by many names, or sometimes, he was just called The Ghost. 

Back in the late seventies when everyone was doing a little too much of everything, your town earned a bit of a reputation. There had been a string of disappearances off of the local highway, Route 330, and locals claimed to have seen a masked soldier on a motorbike, fresh home from Saigon, carrying his M16 slung across his back and wearing a skull mask over his face. He was riding an Indian 900, blacked out with no headlight and no plate. 

Of course the truckers had been the first ones to sound the alarm, and there was a city-wide manhunt for any bikers matching that description. But back then, no one had cameras in their hands as readily as they did now, so it was all just a bunch of hearsay and over-exaggerated stories about the boogeyman. 

But, that’s all it was. Just stories. There was no masked rider. 

“Hey, you got another one of those?” Brandi pointed to the pack of smokes in your pocket that you’d brought along to bribe her with. 

You sighed, lighting one for her and then for you. You told yourself you needed it to get through the rest of this conversation. 

As she took a long drag, her timbre changed. She became quieted by her own voice, it seemed.

“I seent him, though. He was there. Parked under the bridge.”

She pointed to the overpass, her wrinkled finger trembling a bit as she guestered to the black shadows under the highway. You followed her line of sight, trying to imagine a dark rider in a skull mask, parked in the umber and looking for vengeance in the most boring town in New England. 

“Did he do anything?” You asked, trying your best to scrounge up something more interesting than sex work in gas station parking lots for this write up. 

Beaumont Brandi stared into the darkness with you, remembering… or maybe she was just fucking with you. But, it didn’t seem like it. She took another puff of smoke into her mouth, hissing it out through her stained teeth, 

“No, but it felt like he was looking for somethin’. Felt… lonely. I dunno.”

Shaking you from the eerie moment Brandi had crafted between you both, a big, rumbling Mack truck pulled into the back lot, turning your gaze away from the bridge. Your interviewee hurried to smoke one more pull from her pilfered cigarette and gathered up her glittery, denim purse. 

“That’s my ride. See you around,” she said, her voice still distant and restrained, lacking all of the ruffled animosity she’d presented to you earlier. 

You stayed there, watching her scamper across the wide, drab concrete field, dodging pot holes and puddles, heading for the blue semi that had just parked in the trucker wash station. You watched her until she knocked on the door, standing on her tiptoes to reach the wide passenger window, shuffling around until the latch popped open and she disappeared inside. 

The dark hollow of the highway’s bridge caught your gaze as you turned away from Brandi and her “ride”, and a cold chill shot down your spine. As you peered into the shadowy underpass, a lone biker, all in black, was sitting on his Indian motorcycle, staring right at you. His body was enormous. Even though the bike he rode was large, he was simply unfathomably tall and broad. When he leaned forward on the handlebars, idling there, his shoulders bulged in his leathers, threatening to break free. He was wearing a full-face helmet, but you could feel his eyes burning into your skin. 

The problem was, you had no idea how he got there. You hadn’t heard his engine rev, and you knew you would’ve been able to listen to the roar echo through the underside of the highway, it’s enclosure making an accidental amplifier. 

You stared back at him, but you reached into your pocket and clutched your car keys. Everything in your body was telling you to run. So, you quickly turned away, needing to force yourself to break your gaze, making yourself walk briskly back to your beat-up Miata. 

Get in, and drive away, you told yourself. Get in. Drive away. Get in…

You were trying to calm yourself down, your mind feeding you a million excuses as to why you hadn’t heard him approach, or telling yourself it was just a guy on a bike and not a ghost, but you could still feel your heart in your throat, pounding away like a fist inside your veins. 

Popping open the door to your car, you climbed in and immediately shut it behind you. Luckily, the soft canvas top of your ratty old convertible was already pulled up, but the sooner you got back to your apartment, the better you would feel. You cranked the engine, threw it in reverse, and sped off out of the gas station parking lot, sending your work bag spilling out across the floor. 

As you pulled onto Hatchet, you headed east, avoiding 330. You tried to tell yourself it was because you enjoyed the senic route instead of the shorter path, but you knew that was a lie. 

Behind you, you heard the roar of a bike. 

You looked in your rearview mirror, but you didn’t see any headlights. Then, as you checked the side mirror, you saw him. It was the blacked out biker from the bridge. He was riding close to your back wheel, sitting in your blindspot, staring hard at you. 

He followed you for miles. You doubled back, avoiding red lights, trying to make circles so he would get tired of tailing you, but he never did. If anything, he was getting braver and braver, moving his bike up and down the length of your car. Getting in your way, toying with you just to get a reaction. 

You tried to speed up, but your junker was no match for his machine. So, you turned into a neighborhood, trying to lose him in the curvy, bumpy side streets. 

He followed, and you felt your breath catch in your chest. With every turn, he would drive up next to your window to peer inside, staring straight into your eyes. You almost hit the curb, and when you finally exited the neighborhood, you took a right, trying to race him on a wider road. 

It was one lane, but he didn’t seem to care. He reached out and planted his gloved hand on the glass of your driver’s side window as if he was trying to touch you through it, and you screamed at him through the glass, illogically,

“Leave me alone!”

He threw his head back, and you knew he was jeering at you. If a masked, faceless being could laugh, that’s what it would look like. 

You had no idea what else to do, so you got aggressive. You swerved, trying to sideswipe him, desperate to get rid of your masked tormentor. 

He dodged, nimbly moving himself out of your way. Then, he was right behind you, so you slammed on the brakes. 

There was no way for him to stop in time. No way. 

But, it didn’t matter. You watched in horror in your mirror as his bike and his body dematerialized, and he faded into a black mist, filling the interior of your tiny car, and reconstituting itself in your passenger seat. Your nose filled up with the smell of stale cigarettes and something undeniably masculine. His body filled in next to you in inky layers, pouring from a gas to a solid like smoke into a bottle, and what was supposedly impossible was becoming very, very real in your car. 

You screamed, pressing the brakes even harder, coming to a full, screeching stop in the middle of the road. No one was behind you yet, but you wished there would be. You prayed for someone - anyone - to turn down your street and find you stopped in the middle of it. 

The ghost - because what else could he be? - was staring straight at you, as if he was waiting for something.

“Leave me alone,” you begged, your voice feeling so small and strained. 

You were staring into your own eyes, seeing your face as it was warped and contorted in the gleaming black shine of his helmet visor. Suddenly, you felt your car lurch forward, and it was moving on its own. You tried to turn the wheel, and your foot was glued down onto the brake, but nothing you did mattered. The car was driving itself.

You yanked at your seatbelt and pulled on the door handle, trying to throw yourself from the car, but it wouldn’t budge. You ripped at the handle even harder, trying to slam your shoulder into the door, ignoring the pain. In a last-ditch effort, you reached into the steering column and pulled the keys from the car, hoping to kill the engine. But, it didn’t. Your vehicle was taking you wherever your ghost wanted to go, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

With your keys held tightly in your fist, you lashed out at the biker, using the metal shards to rake across his mask, scratching the visor. 

The speed with which he reacted startled you, and as his hand wrapped itself around your wrist, he tilted his head to the side as if to study you, curious about you and your choices. 

You felt your throat burn with despair, and tears ran from your eyes. 

“Please don’t kill me,” you sobbed, trying to pull your wrist away. 

He yanked your arm to his chest, tugging your body closer to his, forcing you into his space and taking you almost out of your seat, if it wasn’t for your belt. 

You were face to helmet with him, and you could smell the menthols that inexplicably clung to his clothes. He could touch you, and you could touch him. He felt so real, so warm. And yet…

Slowly, he reached out to you with his other hand to touch your face, caressing your cheek and wiping away a stray tear. The feel of his leather glove was so gentle against your skin, it made your head spin. His earlier aggression was still fresh in your mind, and you sobbed from the fear. 

Out of nowhere, a pickup truck swerved around your stopped car, blaring its horn at you, kicking up dirt from the side of the road, obviously upset at the stopped Miata in the middle of a street. 

In the few seconds your attention was snatched from the ghost in front of you, he disappeared. Your passenger seat was immediately empty, and you were alone once more. Your car was dead since your keys were in your hand, and the clicking of a warm engine cooling down was the only noise you heard. 

Another car was honking behind you, less aggressively than the pickup, but it moved around you and you turned back in your seat. 

As you drove home, you were numb. You couldn’t reconcile anything that happened to you, and you had no words to even describe it. You thought about driving to the police, or to your office so that your phantom biker wouldn’t know where you lived, but something in you laughed at your naivety. Why would that matter? He was a ghost. He could reach you no matter where you were. You might as well leave your front door wide open for how much good it would do you. 

When you finally crawled into bed, you left every light in the house on, but it didn’t help.

It was 0417 when you jerked out of your restless sleep, opening your eyes in your unusually bright room. You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself down, and the horrors of the night before felt more like a bad dream than a true memory. 

You looked around, trying to determine whether you could manage to go back to sleep or not, when a faint noise pricked your ears. It was coming from outside your apartment window, down in the parking lot below your balcony. 

You sprang out of bed and pulled your curtain. There, parked and sitting on the side of his bike, was your ghost. He was looking up at your window, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he was waiting for you. Waiting for you to say something, to do something. But, you didn’t know what.

Grabbing your keys, you flew out of your door and rushed down the stairs, hurrying to see if you could catch him. But, he was gone. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say to him, but you needed to know the truth. Your instincts as a reporter were driving you forward. You craved answers, needed them. 

You turned back around and headed for your car, starting it up and driving out of your complex, back onto the street. You headed for the highway, and he was waiting for you, parked on the shoulder. He took off, and you followed him, swerving in and out of early morning commuters, pushing your crappy Miata to its limit. 

He took the exit toward the old part of town, turning on the road to Ichabod Farm, cutting his speed and letting you catch up to him. Then, as he got further and further away from civilization, the farms turned into forests, and the roads went from pavement to dirt. Just as the sun was staining the clouds with its pink dawn, he stopped, sticking his leg out as a kickstand, and turned around to look at you. 

You waited, sitting in your car, but after a while, nothing changed. He was still just sitting there, staring back at you. So, you killed the engine, and you climbed out of your car. 

“Who are you?” You called to him, willing your voice to carry in the quiet morning. 

As if he was tired of your questioning, he turned forward. He swung his leg over the body of the bike, and stood beside it, still waiting for you. 

You started walking around to the front of your car, beginning to feel like you were a rabbit being led into its own trap, a lamb to its slaughter, and your skin tightened, the hair prickling on the back of your neck.

He put his hand out, gesturing toward the bike. 

“Do you want me to go with you somewhere?”

He seemed impatient. He stalked forward, marching in black leathers and boots, and grabbed your wrist just like he did in the car. 

“Wait! Hey! Wait, no!” You tried to fight him, but he held you fast, dragging you over to the bike. 

He lifted you without struggle and sat you on the back of his seat, and he climbed in front of you, bringing the bike back to a loud roar. He took off, nearly toppling you over, and in your shock, you wrapped both of your hands around his middle, holding on for dear life. 

To your shock, he turned off of the road and into the trees. The leaves made his tires slip and the roots of the tall yews made the ride bumpy and wild. You gripped him tighter and tighter, trying to remember which direction you were going, sure that he was taking you straight to your death, but just in case you escaped, you wanted to be able to try and make it out of the woods.

Suddenly, you came to a clearing. In the middle of it stood a huge, dead tree. The trunk had been struck by lightning, and the branches hung low, dipping towards the ground. Its roots were gnarled and popping like broken bones out of the dark earth, and it gave you a sense of immediate dread. 

He stopped the bike, throwing down the kickstand and climbing off. Then, he held out his hand to you. 

You looked at his helmet for a moment, trying to determine what he wanted, and then you realized he was trying to help you down. You placed your hand in his and felt him support you as you climbed off of the old motorcycle. 

He released you, and he stood beside you, looking up at the tree. 

You waited for a moment, again unsure about what he was trying to show you, but then you stepped forward. Something compelled you to touch the tree’s wide, twisting trunk. 

You were suddenly aware of the state of your dress. You were in socks, sleep shorts, and a tattered old tee shirt, shivering from fear and from the chilly morning. But, still, you stepped forward, moving with your hand out towards the tree, trying to ignore the pinch of stray rocks and sticks beneath your feet. 

Right before you touched the bark, you looked over your shoulder at the biker, and he was still standing there, waiting for you. 

So, you pushed forward, laying your palm against it, and you were instantly overwhelmed with flashes of images and sounds, memories which were not yours. You saw him. It was your ghost. He was fighting in a war with muskets and swords, and then he was in a trench with grenades. You watched him crawl on his belly through a wet, dense jungle. Then, you felt the heat and the sting of desert sands, and watched him dragging the bodies of his friends from the rubble of a bombed building. 

As quickly as they had begun, the visions stopped. You looked back at the masked rider, and he stepped toward you. His hands went to the neck of his jacket, and he raked the zipper down, revealing his bare chest and belly. He was riddled with scars, but he looked very much like a real man. The jacket fell with a thud on the forest floor, and he moved to shuck off his helmet. 

You watched the reveal with wide eyes and an open mouth. Black, inky smoke surrounded his face. He didn’t have a head. It was only a skull mask, cracked and broken around the edges, perched on him where his face should have been. It was just a swirling darkness, nothing else. His head was gone. 

Your heart nearly stopped.

“What… happened….” You managed to ask, your voice lower than a whisper. 

The helmet clattered to the ground, rolling until it rested against a thick root. 

He walked toward you, and you were staring into two black pits where there should have been soft brown eyes. You’d seen him in the vision. You knew what he should look like. And yet, all you were left with was this ghastly form. 

His body was warm. You could feel it as he towered over you, mere inches away from your face. You reached up to touch his cheek like he had touched yours in the car, and he let you. As your hand swiped across his jaw, you saw flesh appear where there was none before. More and more, you touched him, painting his face back on with your hands. You moved over his eyes and nose and mouth, feeling the softness of his lips and watching in awe as he became a man again. 

“Oh, my God.” You gaped, watching his face twist into an unknown expression, “You’re…”

“You made me real,” he spoke, his words sounded hellish; the noise was a terrible smear of shadow and violence. It was as if a million of voices were speaking at once. 

“I…” You were trying to talk, but he wasn’t interested. 

He leaned forward and slanted his mouth against yours, kissing you with a smoky musk on his tongue, forcing you to open and take his writhing muscle inside of your cheeks. He was breathing just as raggedly as you were, pushing himself onto you, dragging you to the leaf-covered ground. 

He repeated his mantra, gasping it, his timbre full of disbelief,

“You… made me… real…”

His mouth was on you again, the top half of his face still hidden by the skull mask. He kissed your neck, and you felt his gloved hands grabbing at your clothes, shoving down your shorts. 

“What are you doing?” You whispered. 

“You.” His voice reverberated through you like a snarl of thunder. You could feel the sound move through your bones, “You can bring me back to this place.” 

The air was cold as it billowed across your skin when he pulled away your shirt. The leather of his gloves was such a rough contrast to the smooth, furry expanse of his chest and belly, and he crushed himself against you, pressing you with all of his weight into the forest floor. 

Your mind was in a haze. All of the magic and memories from the tree were whirling around you. His many lives, all stacked together, repeated like the rings of its trunk, year after year, his wars, his scars. All of them now real and raised to the touch. 

His mouth moved over you, hungry and wanting. You weren’t ready to be taken so roughly, with so little regard, in the dirty, dank mud of this clearing. But, you wanted to be. You found yourself completely captivated by his movements, his hands, and the way he consumed you, making you feel like you were the key to his entire existence. 

You spread your legs for him, and he had the audacity to laugh softly in his ghostly throat, rolling his hips between your legs to fit himself there, spreading you further with his wide body. 

You felt the button of his leather pants loose and dangling, flapping open against your thighs which meant…

His cock lolled across your mons and belly, warm and hard. He humped himself against you, rutting along the curve of your tummy and teasing you with a preview of his strength. You reached down very slowly, stroking him carefully, barely touching his velvety foreskin, feeling the slip of it as he moved against your hand.

He let out a long, heated moan, his breath warm as it surrounded your neck, and he whispered to you in his million voices,

“Give yourself to me,” he chanted, “Bring me back.”

No sooner could you whisper back your consent than he grabbed you by your jaw and forced you to look into his black, soulless eyes. He notched his cock at your trembling hole, letting it dip into the wetness he had crafted there. Then, he pushed forward, stretching your walls around him, making you take his drooling head, raking himself in and out so that he could go deeper and deeper with each thrust. 

You cried out, grasping your hands around his shoulders, and he squeezed your face in his huge paw, making you feel like he might break your jaw if he held you any tighter. 

Once he was fully sheathed within the hollow of your body, he moved with a powerful, pistoned thrust, slamming himself through you and making your core heat from his friction. You felt yourself being broken by him, the parts of you that were holding together your sanity were slowly slipping away with each punishing movement, and the deeper you allowed him to fuck you, the further away from reality your thoughts were. You were back in his memories, imagining his life before, his warfare, ancient and modern, and all you could think about was why he would want to be back here. What did he want? Was it you?

His hand slipped between your lips, and he pressed into your throat, rubbing your tongue and making your jaw ache from his pressure and invasion. You tried to suckle from him, taking his fingers past your teeth, licking and slurping up your own spit from his glove. 

“Such a good girl. Perfect for me. A new vessel.”

Vessel? What were you holding?

You whined, trying to understand, and he silenced you with a growl, low and deep. He was fucking you at a pace full of fire and fury, and your whole body felt like it was being pounded into submission. You could hear the wet, gushing slapping noises that his cock was making as it churned inside of you. Your legs felt weak, and you couldn’t help but leave them hanging open, allowing him to fill you as deep as he could go. 

Your mouth burned from his fingers, and your pussy was begging to come, clenching and shaking with need. He felt you, and he pushed through your shuddering quim harder and harder, using you to bring himself to his own crescendo, joining you on the edge. 

“You’re mine…” He hissed, moving himself right against your most pliant spot, massaging you up to a tumbling explosion of feeling and fervent want. 

As you came, you screamed, but it was muffled by his invasive hand. He came with you, filling you as you tightened around him, dumping his thick load into your hole, smearing it all over your lips with each covetous thrust. 

Then, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was melting into you, his body turning back into mist, covering your skin and seeping into your flesh. You felt him inside of you, curling and twisting around all of the parts that made you who you were, turning them for his own benefit, staining your soul with his own. 

You gasped, searching for air, watching helplessly as the last thing you saw before he disappeared completely was the black sockets of his skull mask, and it felt like he was smiling. 

You lay there, alone, and yet full of him. He was feeling and sensing and thinking right alongside you. And he was… playing with you. You could feel him moving his cock deep within you even though, when you looked down, there was nothing there. 

“Please…” You begged, closing your legs together, trying to stop the sensation from happening.

“Pretty thing,” the Ghost chuckled, “We’re just getting started.”

[makeucrawl]

🎃HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🎃

~A little Halloween “ShockTherapy” short for you all~

!!WARNING!!NSFW!!

It was Halloween night in the Murkoff facility, and Coyle was patiently waiting for his favorite doctor to arrive. Easterman was at some company party and promised to bring back some alcohol.

Hearing the keypad outside his door beeping,Leland immediately perks up.

Like a dog ready to greet it’s master home.

Hendrick entered the room, the cop’s eyes nearly burst out from behind his sunglasses.

The doctor was wearing a priest's costume.

“W-What in the hell are you wearin’!?" Coyle's mouth dropped open as the doctor handed him a beer.

“It was a Halloween party, Leland. People dress up for them." Easterman shrugs and opens a drink for himself.

"Well you look…stupid." Coyle murmurs as he drinks, his gaze still fixed on the other man.

There was something about seeing the doctor dressed differently than his normal dark suit that was working for the cop. He nursed his beer, intensely observing the other like prey.

“You a religious type or is it all science with you?" The police officer asks curiously though he deeply hopes the other would recite something.

“If you're asking if Ive read the Bible, I still do so on occasion. I haven't been to a real church in a long time.” The doctor makes the sign of the cross, drink still in hand, while leaning back against a wooden dresser. Coyle made a weird sound, similar to a growl.

Easterman narrows his gaze at the officer.

“Oh don't tell me this is doing something for you."

He gestures at the clothing he is wearing before rolling his eyes. "Your mind really does only know the perverse doesn’t it?" The doctor reaches up about to remove the white clerical collar.

The sound of a bottle hitting the ground was Hendrick's only warning before Leland pounced.

“Don't you dare take a damn thing off."

With one hand, he holds the struggling man's wrists above his head. "What are you doing!? Get off of me!!” Easterman exclaims, but Coyle simply grins down at him.

“Well fergive me father fer I'm about to ssssin~”

He let out a devious chuckle, which caused the doctor to shiver slightly.

“That was a…terrible..terrible joke. Now get off of me!" He lets out a sharp gasp as Coyle grabs his ass with his free hand and lifts him up onto the dresser.

“Can’t do that, Father, and it ain’t a joke. Now let’s get that ass to mass!”

“Oh my g- Stop with the damn jokes!!” Henrick's face flushes slightly as Leland grinds his hard on against him.

“Aw yer a little shy aintcha ya~” The sight of the normally pompous man writhing and becoming flustered just fueled him.

He couldn't wait any longer.

Breathing heavily he makes short work of undoing the “priest's” pants.

"Going to make ya sing hallelujah!" Another malicious laugh as he lifts the other man's legs into the air. "Now let me give ya a lil communion." He dragged his heavy tongue around the sensitive skin before plunging it into the twitching hole. Hendrick bites his wrist as a shaky hand grabs for Coyle's hair.

“F-Fuck! Leland…G-god..damn..your tongue..!” The doctor unleashes a series of curses, causing the prime asset to chuckle deeply making his tongue vibrate slightly.

After pulling his tongue away, Leland spits heavily into the already dripping hole. He enjoyed the rather nasty look the doc gave him.

“Now let's we if we can get you seeing the lord~"

“I am going to kill you for this-!”

Easterman's head jerks back on the dresser as Coyle pushes within him. One hand covered his mouth, and the other grips tightly onto the officer's arm.

“Hoooooly fffuck..!! Oooh g-god..daaamn..Father you feel..sssoooo fuckin good..!”

He groans out, slowly rotating his hips into the quivering “priest” before picking up the pace.

The wooden dresser groaned and creaked beneath them, obscured by all of Coyle's continuous chatting.

“Oh fuck..oh fuck oh fuck-! Hnnn! This is too damn gooood..! Need to haaaaa…need to get in ya more often! Heheheh oooh…an’ ya look so fuckin delicious right now! F-Fuck! Am I fuckin’ ya nice an hard, Father? Huh?! Ya seein’ god yet?!”

“J-Just shut up already!”

Hendrick glares up at him, but it was difficult to maintain that expression for long. His most sensitive spot was being abused by this crazed ranting lunatic.

He was confused at first when the cop drank the rest of his beer, or at least until he kissed him. Now he was a little more grateful for having his drink stolen.

Coyle kissed him as if his life depended on it, his tongue gliding against the doctor's.

“Heheh..Ooh..Thinkin’ it’s c-come t-to Jesus time…!”

The prime asset suddenly chuckles, causing the other man to groan. Regardless of the bad joke, he knew he was going to cum soon. His release splattered the costume as he lets out a low groan.

Leland followed quickly, his hips sputter with each twitch of his cock. He continues thrusting himself enjoying the heavy slick wet sound that accompanied it.

“Holy-Fuck!…S-Stop...! G-get o-off..!”

Easterman groans, attempting to push Coyle away. Though the cop whines, he slowly pulls himself out, grinning as his cum spills out.

“Outta get ya dressed up more often~”

“Please..Just..shut up..and..bring me another beer..” The doctor wheezes listening to Coyle chuckle as he walked away. He was going to have to burn this outfit.

[mysterycitrus]

Thinking about Jim, do you think he also gets this good cop good father protection because of Barbara Gordon's admiration of him? Reading it from Barbara's perspective like all her stories have Jim Gordon as the best dad and her wanting to be a cop or as a child being the gcpd little cheerleader. Like trying to tie that with her role as Oracle but then even thinking of like The Hill where Jim shot and killed a teenager and his response to the mother was that the kid was armed like... it is hard to think that she would have that blind admiration of him. I also think she is more willing to work with morally questionable characters since she has a history of working with those types of characters. What do you think DC needs to do with Barbara Gordon to get actual interest in her again?

the solution for babs is simple — she needs to be oracle again.

no ifs whens or buts — babs being batgirl again is such a spectacular downgrade from her time as oracle it’s almost unreal. babs as a character, her growth after being shot, her rediscovery and pursuit of her own autonomy, her vindictiveness, her need for control, her relationships with the birds and wendy and cass and steph, make her an infinitely richer and more interesting character than when she wears the cowl. that’s even ignoring the ableist rhetoric behind her “reclaiming” her power by getting an implant and leaving her chair, which like, vom, because it’s a whole other can of worms.

unlike batwoman where there’s a completely different identity and mantle that’s seperate from bruce, batgirl is unequivocally the subordinate to batman. the girl denotes her lack of authority. cass and helena come the closest to shaking this off, but it’s still a very deliberate character dynamic that dc upholds. batgirl 2009 also successfully orients the mantle around babs and steph, but a large part of that is that bruce isn’t present in the story.

babs was at least two years older than dick in the original canon. she was a librarian who had a life outside of the community. she was a support for other disabled women. she’d tell bruce to shut the fuck up to his face. she was singularly the most important resource to the league and all other hero teams. she was a complicated person with a lot of trauma, not the cool girlfriend archetype. i also dislike that she’s dating dick while he’s nightwing and she’s still batgirl. imagine if they made dick robin again and had him date babs as oracle. it’d be so weird!

wrt jim gordon— a lot of babs’s unequivocal support of him comes from dc’s general inability to admit that he’s a deeply flawed human being in a position of power. the narrative rarely actually criticises him over his decisions. however, i also think people forget that like…. a lot of babs’s politics is tied up with the police. she’s essentially a one woman surveillance state, and she historically struggles with boundaries around the people she loves. she does work with people that the other bats wouldn’t — isley, waller, etc, but i don’t think that necessarily separates her from the police because often the police or armed forces do the same thing. her modus operandi is also very similar to bruce in a lot of ways too.

in saying that tho, i do appreciate that she’s willing to just say fuck it, full throttle and getting a god damned law degree to bust bruce out of a murder charge. she’s an icon. let her be cunty again!!

[tollundwoman]

I will fully cop to the fact that Undead Unluck is like basically a melting pot of shit that is quintessentially me-core, and that 100% colors my view of it. However, on the other hand, I don't care, this shit is still fucking complete fuego top to bottom.

Like, i get that the humor at the start is very unsavory and hard to swallow for some people, and I don't hold that against them. But the way it pays off on the initial rocky relationship between Andy and Fuuko is 10000000000000000000000000000% worth the price of admission.

And like, the character designs coupled with the art scratch a fucking primal itch in my brain. I could *look* at Undead Unluck forever. It's such a goddamn FUN style, and it's matched by a strong grasp on slick, readable page layouts. Not to mention the way the series is constantly moving its setting. In the first, like, thirty chapters alone, they go to Japan, Russia, The USA, Brazil, Australia, etc. I'm such a sucker for globe trotting.

The cast is very visually diverse. They all look cool, and so it's appealing to me on that level, but you can also just TELL that Tosuka adores his OCs. Like, fucking Void Volks, the basically nameless and faceless redshirt from volume 1? Yeah he's a core member of the cast now. Gina? The woman who died in volume 2 to advance Fuuko's plot? No she gets her happy ending actually and she gets to actually be friends with Fuuko. Like you want to talk about side cast utilization, this series should be setting a new fucking gold standard in WSJ as far as im concerned, One Piece notwithstanding.

And the worldbuilding. God, the worldbuilding. I'm a sucker for SCP/Magnus Archives-esque shit on a subatomic level and UDUL doesn't disappoint at all.

God, and how the powersystem is intrinsically tied to the worldbuilding on such a goddamn fundamental level, and how basically every superpower in the series has a purpose outside of combat, and just god shit fuck it's so fucking god damn good and I just wish I could like fucking bottle up the feelings that I feel about this series as an Imbibable Liquid and have you all drink it to actually understand how much I love this series because I genuinely feel that a) I will never be able to *fully* articulate why I love this series and b) I also totally understand why someone would think I'm a fuckin maniac for just how strong my feelings about it are. Like it's probably the epitome of like, "That Pretty Good thing that is just randomly a masterpiece to one specific person on the planet." But I happen to be that one specific person, and to me, Undead Unluck is That Pretty Good Thing.

[depravitycentral]

yandere! Daichi Sawamura x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of kidnapping, exhibitionism, abuse of Daichi's cop privileges and access to cop cars, Stockholm syndrome, Daichi convinces you that he treats you well, fem reader, MDNI

Thinking of how Daichi Sawamura, in a moment of weakness, bends to your relentless requests to let you go outside - outside, into the scary, horrible world.

It's an abuse of his power and he knows it, but he's got the cop car already in the driveway of his modest home, the windows dark and tinted and the SUV large and roomy.

Maybe this'll get you to stop complaining - it might be good for you. It's what you want, after all - or, at least, a version of it.

You're so excited as you strap yourself into the back seat (not the passenger seat - he doesn't want anyone to see you, and the back seat windows are dark and more opaque anyways). Your eagerness is palpable; it makes Daichi's palms sweat, his trousers already feeling a little tight.

The park is close by - not too populated at a time at night like this, thankfully, but still a few people loitering around here and there. It's not dark out yet, but the sun is setting, casting a light that he finds romantic and perfect for what's about to happen.

He parks the car and turns back to you, licking his lips and getting this look, one that makes you nervous, yet it also sets off a feeling of warmth between your legs because you know that look. You know it means you're about to get fucked so hard you won't be able to walk tomorrow, and as he crawls back into the backseat with you, your suspicious are already confirmed.

In a manner of seconds he's got you on your hands and knees, face pressed right up close to the window, his eager hands already grabbing at the hem of your shorts and tugging them down, your panties going with them.

He's already naked and he's already hard - his cock is heavy as he presses it against you, his chest resting on your back as he leans over you, a hand grasping at your chin to turn you to face him.

We're outside, honey, just like you wanted. And look - isn't the sunset so pretty?

You nod, a little confused, but Daichi takes it in stride.

You know what's even prettier, though, is how you look when you fall apart for me. Daichi's voice gets low, and his grip on your chin gets tighter. Let's show all these people in the park just how fucking gorgeous you look when you're moaning my name, huh? But don't worry, love, they can't see you, so feel free to get as loud as you want.

He sucks in a breath. In fact, I want you to be as loud as you can.

And with that he's shimmying apart your legs, one hand guiding him inside you while the other works at your clit, trying to get you loosened up for him, even as he bullies his way into you.

Soon his hips are clapping against yours, balls smacking against your clit over and over, one of his hands resting against the car seat head rest while the other gropes and kneads at one of your breasts, his hot breath in your ear.

You're mine, f-fuck, who do you belong to?

You're crying out, the angle feeling so impossibly deep that it makes you crazy, the pleasure making your toes curl and your throat feel dry.

You! Daichi Daichi Daichi -

He groans. Look outside, baby. All these - oh, oh fuck, all these people don't love you the way I do.

He hisses under his breath. They don't love this tight little pussy like I do, they can't take care of you as well as I do - god, tell me I take care of you.

You babble out something along those lines, his thrusts getting harsher the longer he talks. He feels impossibly big inside you, every inch making you feel full, fuller than you've ever been in your life - full of him him him, and Daichi loves the way you're mindlessly moaning his name now.

He wants everyone in this whole damn park to hear you scream his name.

Rough fingertips work at your clit, rubbing harsh circles that make your hips shake, your cries getting louder and louder as he growls in your ear. Come for me, fuck come all over my cock, show everyone just how good I fuck you.

You're practically screaming now, just as Daichi hoped for, your body spasming and your hips stuttering, your arms going weak and sagging as your face presses against the glass, the fogged up, dark windows barely separating you from the young man that quickly walks by the car, trying his best not to look at the clearly rocking and shaking vehicle, muffled moans and cries coming from the inside.

Daichi bites out a curse, the hand playing with your breast suddenly squeezing down hard, and then you feel a warmth inside you, his ragged pants and the incessant clenching of his balls against your thighs making you squirm.

He stays like that for a while, both of you trying to catch your breath as cum slowly leaks down your thigh, but he breaks the silence eventually. He leans down to kiss at your ear, letting his tongue slip out over the shell. You took me so well, baby, I'm proud of you.

And as he situates you to lay down in the backseat (with your legs folded up against your chest, just to make sure none of his cum drips out of you, so that it all stays nice and warm inside you, where it should be), he'll climb back up to the driver's seat, wiping the sweat off his brow and smiling at the sight of your in the rearview mirror. You're so pretty, all spent and stuffed with him, and now you've gotten your fix of the outside world for a while. You even got to see people - you'd be happy for a while now.

Maybe next time you got the urge to go outside again, he'd have you sit underneath one of the covered wooden tables and suck him off so hard your lips bruise.

A shiver rolls down his spine, as he backs out of the parking space, he throws your fucked-out body one last glance.

Yeah, that would do.

[sparrowsarus]

A defense of Ulder Ravengard

Ulder Ravengard starts his life as the 4th son of a blacksmith, and it is implied that Ravengard Senior talks in grunts, and hardly acknowledged his children.

So with that foundation, a young Ulder fucks off and joins the Flaming Fist--a mercenary company with an identity crisis, cops and soldiers and mercs, and damn is Baldur's Gate's government dysfunctional.

At some point, he falls in love with a woman named Francesca, who dies in childbirth. That's all we get of her--and that only if you happen to read some flavour text on Ulder's sword. He tells his crying son that it will be alright, and he doesn't seem to believe it.

It is much, much easier to get the other flavour text on Ulder's mace--how he didn't want to be like his father, but felt a distance between him and his newborn son. Some people say this is proof that Ulder never loved Wyll--I think it says he just lost the woman he loved, and was now facing single parenthood with no baseline to work off of. He was going to be doing this from scratch, with no help nor role model. He's going to be a little distraught!

But. He has his son. Who he takes to the harbour, and teaches to swordfight, and is really a very hands-on guy! His kid runs a little wild (having the childhood Ulder never got to have; maybe being a little too lenient, since Wyll's only a boy.)

And then he watches his boss, a beloved figure in the Gate and son of Bhaal, get ripped apart--and he can do nothing. Even as the new Marshal, trying to run an investigation with the God of Murder whispering paranoia in his ear.

There is hysteria. There are riots.

There are tribunals, and I won't defend them, but--Bhaal, trying to corrupt and coerce. It is important to remember--Ulder is a hero to the people of Baldur's Gate. He will go to the Gods when he dies. What a fantastic prize for the God of murder.

But Ulder manages to escape that fate, and at some point he becomes Grand Duke. A real success story--the poor blacksmith's boy becoming the leader of one of the Sword Coast's biggest cities. A position he had to fight for, because Baldur's Gate's politics are run by hereditary gentry and the wealthy guildleaders. Ulder Ravengard is an outsider, and the last commoner duke was aligned with devils.

And Wyll, his boy, learns to dance, and charm the Upper Crust of the Gate, and get into fights with his father--who had to learn politics, and to work with people he hated, because no, the Glorious Revolution will never come to pass. You need to work with people towards a common goal even when you hate them.

And one day, Ulder leaves for a meeting with another city's leader--

and when he gets back, his 17 year old son, his boy, the child his wife had died for--

has a devil with him and won't (can't, but Ulder doesn't know that yet) tell him what is going on. Wyll takes him to Dusthawk Hill, to see nothing.

So Ulder exiles him, because, again, devil.

(Sidenote: Devils in D&D are Ontologically Evil. Full stop. People who ally with them are generally assumed to be evil. Take it up with WoTC. UIder did nothing wrong regarding the exile, because he has to look out for an entire city, and Wyll was considered a grown man in his society by 15. This is not the actions of a child, and to treat it as such is a disservice to Wyll.)

(Wyll would always have to leave.)

And seven years later, Ulder Ravengard goes on a diplomatic visit, and gets dragged down to the Hells, along with the city of Elturel. He tries his best to save the city, to fight the demons, to manage the defenses. He tries so, so hard.

And once Elturel is restored, Ulder heads home.

(The tiefling refugees are headed to Baldur's Gate; I wonder if Ulder had promised safety? Sanctuary? A home less judgemental than Elturel?)

But on the way back to The Gate, Ulder is kidnapped, forcibly mind controlled, and damn near scrambles his brain fighting that control.

(Note: he tells Florrick to look for Wyll. He still believes there is some good in him, that Wyll is not wholly the devil's creature. But he's afraid, too, because if Wyll did it for a good reason? Ulder has failed. And you do not go from blacksmith's son to Grand Duke if you are tolerant of you own failures.

Wyll saves his father. Wyll proves he did what he thought was right.

Wyll gets an apology, and his father's support, either becoming a duke or becoming a ranger--everything Wyll wanted from his father..

And a family is rebuilt--different from before, but there is no harm in that. Both of them putting in the work to fix things, because you need to meet each other halfway--give the other person space to apologize, and forgive, because that's what they both wanted.