#bestialism

[artyandink]

amoralism | eleven

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, making out, SA (I think) but it’s not real, nightmares, Jack Kline, Crowley and Rowena, choking and not in the sexy way

A/N - I might have cooked with this chapter, who knows :)

Song Inspo: Tattoo - Loreen

SERIES MASTERLIST

bestialism

You drove in silence, the weight of the world pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. The city lights blurred past you, each one a reminder of how everything had just shattered. The news had hit you like a freight train, leaving you numb, your thoughts spiraling in a thousand different directions. Dean Winchester, the man you trusted, the man you… No, you couldn’t even finish the thought. It was too painful, too raw.

Your hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white as you navigated through the familiar streets leading to your dad’s house. Rick had always been your rock, a steady presence through every storm. And now, as the world crumbled around you, he was the only place you could think to go. You needed something solid to hold onto, something that hadn’t been tainted by betrayal.

The car’s engine hummed softly as you pulled into the driveway. The porch light was on, casting a warm, welcoming glow over the front yard. You sat there for a moment, staring at the house where you’d grown up, trying to gather the strength to face your father. He’d always been able to read you like an open book, and tonight would be no different. But how could you explain this? How could you even begin to put it into words?

With a deep breath, you turned off the ignition and stepped out into the cool night air. The chill cut through your jacket, but you barely noticed. You walked up the steps slowly, each one feeling like a mile, and then you were at the door, hand raised to knock. But before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door swung open.

Rick stood there, his broad frame filling the doorway, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those familiar, steady eyes—held a softness, an understanding that broke something deep inside you. He didn’t say a word, just stepped aside to let you in. The warmth of the house enveloped you as you crossed the threshold, the familiar scents of home filling your senses. It was as if the very walls were trying to comfort you, to shield you from the harsh reality waiting outside.

You walked into the living room, your movements mechanical, and dropped your bag by the couch. Rick followed you, his footsteps quiet, careful. You turned to face him, your breath catching in your throat. How could you tell him? How could you say the words that would make all of this real?

But before you could speak, before you could even begin to form a coherent thought, Rick closed the distance between you and pulled you into his arms. The embrace was firm, solid, and you collapsed into it, all the strength you’d been clinging to evaporating in an instant. The tears came then, hot and relentless, as you buried your face against his chest. He held you tighter, his hand gently rubbing your back, his presence a balm to the open wound inside you.

“Dad…” Your voice was barely a whisper, choked with emotion, and you couldn’t find the words to continue.

Rick didn’t push, didn’t ask for explanations. He just held you, letting you cry, letting you pour out all the pain and confusion and betrayal. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Maybe it was the way you’d come straight here, or the look in your eyes when you walked through the door. Maybe he’d seen the signs before you had, pieces of a puzzle you’d been too close to see. Whatever it was, he understood without you needing to say a word.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving you feeling hollow and exhausted, you pulled back slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. Rick’s hands rested on your shoulders, grounding you, giving you the strength you so desperately needed.

“I just… I need a place to stay,” you said, your voice rough from crying.

Rick nodded, his expression gentle. “Of course. You know you’re always welcome here.”

You managed a small, shaky smile, grateful beyond words for his unconditional support. It was exactly what you needed right now—no questions, no judgment, just a safe place to fall apart.

“Cassie’s already in bed,” Rick added, his voice low and soothing. “But she’ll be happy to see you in the morning.”

The thought of your little sister, her innocent smile, brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. You blinked them back, trying to hold yourself together. You didn’t want to break down again, not when you’d finally found a semblance of calm. But Rick noticed, of course he did. He always noticed.

“Hey,” he said softly, guiding you to the couch. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get you something warm to drink.”

You nodded, letting him lead you to the couch. The cushions were soft, familiar, and you sank into them gratefully. As Rick moved toward the kitchen, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the lingering chill that had settled in your bones.

The house was quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of the refrigerator and the soft clinking of dishes as your dad prepared something in the kitchen. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on those simple, comforting noises instead of the storm raging inside you. Dean’s face flashed in your mind, the way he’d looked at you just that morning, his smile warm and genuine. How could he have hidden so much? How could he have deceived you so completely?

The betrayal cut deep, deeper than you’d thought possible. You’d trusted him, relied on him, and now… Now everything was in ruins. You’d have to face the consequences of this, both professionally and personally. But not tonight. Tonight, you just needed to survive.

Rick returned a few minutes later, a steaming mug in his hand. He handed it to you with a small, encouraging smile. “Chamomile,” he said. “It’ll help you sleep.”

You took the mug, the warmth seeping into your hands, and murmured a quiet thank you. The tea smelled faintly floral, a scent that reminded you of simpler times, when your biggest worry had been a school project or a crush. You took a sip, the hot liquid soothing your raw throat.

Rick sat down beside you, not too close, giving you space but still close enough to remind you that you weren’t alone. The silence stretched between you, comfortable and familiar, the way it always was with him. He didn’t push you to talk, didn’t ask for details. He just let you be, which was exactly what you needed.

After a few more sips of tea, you set the mug down on the coffee table, your hands trembling slightly. The weight of everything pressed down on you again, but somehow, it felt more bearable here, in the safety of your father’s home.

“Dad…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”

Rick turned to you, his expression filled with quiet understanding. “You don’t have to deal with it all at once,” he said gently. “Just take it one step at a time. And remember, you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together.”

His words were a lifeline, something solid to cling to in the midst of the chaos. You nodded, feeling a tiny bit of the weight lift off your shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to remind you that you could get through this. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dad,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Rick smiled, reaching out to gently squeeze your hand. “You’ll never have to find out.”

The tears came again, softer this time, more manageable. You leaned into your father, resting your head on his shoulder, and let yourself find comfort in the one place that had always been safe. No matter what happened next, you knew you had your family to fall back on. And right now, that was all you needed.

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of your childhood bedroom, casting a pale light over the walls covered in faded posters and memories. You hadn't slept much, the weight of yesterday's revelations pressing down on you like a ton of bricks. Your mind kept replaying the events, the shock, the betrayal, and the gnawing pain that refused to leave. Dean—your partner, the man you'd trusted, the man you'd loved—was the mole. The thought alone was enough to make your stomach churn.

But you were here, in the safety of your father's home, trying to make sense of it all. The familiar creak of the floorboards outside your door brought you back to the present. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to get up, to face whatever the day would bring. You knew your dad and Cassie were both awake, and the thought of their concerned faces made your heart ache even more. They’d been your rock through this, especially last night, when you felt like you might fall apart.

As you shuffled down the stairs, the smell of coffee hit you, a small comfort in the midst of the chaos. Your dad was at the kitchen table, a steaming mug in hand, and Cassie was perched on the counter, swinging her legs as she bit into a piece of toast. The moment they saw you, their faces softened with concern.

“Morning,” you murmured, forcing a small smile.

“Morning, sweetheart,” your dad replied, his voice gentle. “How’re you holding up?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down again. Cassie slid off the counter and wrapped you in a hug, her warmth seeping into you, offering a brief moment of peace.

Before you could sink into the comfort of your family, there was a knock at the front door. Your dad exchanged a glance with you, a silent question in his eyes. You nodded, and he went to answer it.

When the door opened, you heard a familiar voice. Sam.

You felt your stomach drop. Of course, he would come. He was Dean’s brother, after all, and probably had questions of his own. Questions you weren’t sure you could answer. But as much as you wanted to hide away and pretend none of this was happening, you couldn’t avoid this conversation forever.

Sam walked into the kitchen, his tall frame taking up too much space in the small room. His face was drawn, concern etched into every line. When his eyes landed on you, they softened, but you could still see the turmoil behind them.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low.

“Hey,” you replied, wrapping your arms around yourself defensively.

“Mind if we talk?” he asked, glancing at your dad and Cassie, who both took the hint and quietly left the room.

Once they were gone, Sam turned back to you, his expression serious. “I’ve been going over everything that happened, and… I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right about Dean being the mole.”

You stiffened, your defenses going up immediately. “Sam, I was there. He confessed. He told me how he manipulated me, how he used me to get information. And then… then he fought his way out of custody.” The memory was sharp, cutting deep, and you had to take a steadying breath before continuing. “He doesn’t want to be found.”

Sam’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking as he absorbed your words. But he didn’t back down. “I hear you. I do. But this doesn’t add up. Dean’s not the kind of guy who’d sell out his team, let alone his country. He’s been through hell and back, and he’s always done what’s right, no matter the cost. There has to be more to this.”

“Sam…” you started, shaking your head. “I know you want to believe that. I wanted to believe it too. But I saw the look in his eyes. He’s not the same person we thought he was.”

“He’s my brother,” Sam insisted, his voice rising slightly. “I know him better than anyone. There’s no way he’d do something like this without a damn good reason. And I’m not saying he didn’t do something, but maybe it’s not what it looks like. Maybe he’s being framed or forced into this.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Framed? Sam, he confessed. He admitted everything. How do you explain that?”

Sam ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I don’t know. But I can’t just sit back and accept that Dean’s suddenly a traitor. It doesn’t make sense. Think about it—he’s been risking his life for years, putting everything on the line. Why would he turn now? Something else has to be going on, and I need your help to figure it out.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him that he was grasping at straws, but deep down, a part of you didn’t want to believe it either. The Dean you knew, the one you’d fallen for, wouldn’t do this. But the evidence was damning, and you had to protect yourself from getting hurt even more.

“Even if you’re right,” you said quietly, “I can’t… I can’t go after him. Not after everything that’s happened. I need to distance myself from this, from him.”

Sam looked at you, his eyes pleading. “I get it. I do. But we’re running out of time. If Dean’s in trouble, we need to help him. And nobody can solve a Major Crimes case better than you can. You’re the best we have. You can see things others miss. Please, help me find out the truth.”

You hesitated, the conflict tearing you apart. You wanted to help Sam, to find out what really happened, but the thought of getting involved again, of possibly facing Dean after everything, was too much to bear.

Seeing your reluctance, Sam softened his tone. “Look, I know this isn’t easy. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’ll figure this out together.”

His words stirred something inside you, a small spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more to the story. But that hope was dangerous, and you weren’t sure you could afford to cling to it. Still, you couldn’t deny the pull to uncover the truth, to understand why Dean had done what he’d done.

You took a deep breath, weighing your options. “If I agree to help, we do it my way. No half-cocked plans, no rushing in without a solid lead. We gather all the evidence first, and we do this by the book.”

Sam nodded, relief washing over his features. “Absolutely. We’ll do it right.”

“And if we find out that Dean really is guilty…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, but Sam understood.

“If he’s guilty, we’ll deal with it,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with sadness.

You nodded, feeling the weight of your decision settle over you. “Okay. I’ll help. But I need to know you’re ready for whatever we find.”

Sam met your gaze, his expression resolute. “I am. And thank you.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, both of you absorbing the gravity of what lay ahead. You weren’t sure if you were making the right choice, but it was the only choice that felt even remotely right. Dean had been a part of your life for so long, and if there was a chance that he wasn’t the monster he seemed to be, you had to know. You owed that much to yourself, and maybe even to him.

After a few moments, you stood up, feeling a new resolve settle in your bones. “We should start by reviewing the evidence. Every report, every detail that led us to this point. If there’s something off, we’ll find it.”

Sam followed your lead, a determined look in his eyes. “Agreed. Let’s head to the office and get to work.”

As you grabbed your coat and prepared to leave, your dad appeared in the doorway, concern etched into his face. “You okay, kiddo?”

You forced a smile, trying to reassure him. “Yeah, Dad. I’m okay. I just… I need to look into something.”

Rick studied you for a moment, then nodded, trusting you to do what needed to be done. “Be careful.”

“I will,” you promised, and then you were out the door, Sam at your side.

The drive to the office was quiet, both of you lost in thought. The gravity of the situation hung over you, but there was also a sense of purpose, a small sliver of hope that maybe things weren’t as black and white as they seemed. You clung to that hope, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind.

When you arrived at the office, it was eerily quiet, the usual buzz of activity muted. The case had shaken everyone, and the tension was palpable. You and Sam made your way to the records room, where every piece of evidence on Dean’s case was stored.

As you started sorting through the files, you found yourself slipping into work mode, the familiar routine bringing a strange sense of comfort. You knew how to do this, how to piece together a puzzle, even one as twisted as this.

Sam worked beside you, his focus intense. “We need to find the point where everything changed,” he said, more to himself than to you. “The moment Dean stopped being our guy and became… whatever this is.”

You nodded, flipping through reports, surveillance footage, anything that might give you a clue. But the deeper you dug, the more confusing it became. Dean’s actions were erratic, inconsistent. Some of his moves didn’t make sense if he was really working against the FBI. And yet, the evidence was there, staring you in the face.

Hours passed, the sun dipping lower in the sky, and still, nothing definitive emerged. Frustration gnawed at you, but you couldn’t give up. Not yet.

Sam suddenly paused, his eyes narrowing as he focused on a particular report. “Wait… look at this.”

You moved closer, peering over his shoulder. The report detailed a meeting Dean had with a known informant, one that had supposedly gone south, leading to his capture. But something about the timeline didn’t add up.

“This meeting,” Sam said, pointing to the date and time, “Dean was supposed to be on a surveillance run across town at the same time. I remember because I was covering his backup that day.”

You frowned, the pieces not fitting together. “But if he was on surveillance, how could he have been at this meeting?”

“That’s the thing,” Sam said, his voice tense. “He couldn’t have been. Which means this report was either faked, or someone was posing as Dean.”

The atmosphere in the Bureau was thick with tension, the kind that seeped into your bones and made your every nerve hum with anxiety. You and Sam had been working tirelessly to uncover the truth behind the mole and Dean’s involvement, piecing together fragments of a puzzle that seemed impossible to solve. Every lead, every scrap of information, led you deeper into a web of corruption that stretched far beyond anything you’d ever imagined.

The coffee in your cup had long gone cold, but you barely noticed, too engrossed in the case files sprawled out before you. Sam sat across from you, equally absorbed, his brow furrowed in concentration. The silence between you was comfortable, both of you working in sync, even as the world outside the Bureau continued to spin out of control.

The knock on the door was so quiet you almost missed it, but Sam looked up, and you followed his gaze to see a young agent standing in the doorway. Jack Kline. You recognized him immediately—one of the newer recruits, barely out of training but with a reputation for being sharp and dedicated. His eyes, usually bright with youthful energy, were clouded with something darker today. Determination. Grief.

“Agent Kline,” Sam greeted him, his tone neutral but curious. “What brings you here?”

Jack stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His movements were deliberate, almost hesitant, as if he was still gathering the courage to speak. “I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with emotion. “Both of you.”

You exchanged a glance with Sam, then gestured for Jack to take a seat. He did, folding his hands in his lap as if to keep them from shaking.

“What’s on your mind, Jack?” you asked gently, sensing that whatever he had to say was important.

Jack took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the table between you. “I want to help with the case. The one involving Lucifer.”

The mention of Lucifer’s name made your stomach twist. Lucifer, the leader of the syndicate—the man who had been pulling the strings behind so much of the chaos you’d been dealing with. He was a ghost, a shadow, never directly involved but always there, lurking just out of reach.

“Jack,” Sam started, his voice cautious, “this case is dangerous. Lucifer’s not just some criminal mastermind; he’s a monster. We can’t ask you to get involved in this.”

“I know,” Jack interrupted, his voice firm. “But I’m not asking for permission. I’m telling you I need to be involved. You see, he killed my mom. Kelly Kline. She was… everything to me. And he took her away.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and you felt a pang of sympathy for him. Kelly Kline had been a respected agent, someone who had left a mark on the Bureau, and her death had been a devastating blow, especially for her son.

Sam leaned back in his chair, his expression softening. “Jack, I get it. I really do. But this isn’t something you should take on alone. Lucifer is—”

“I’m not asking to do it alone,” Jack cut in again, his tone more urgent now. “I’m asking to work with you, with both of you. I have information, things I’ve been looking into on my own. I know I’m young, but I’m not a kid. I can handle this.”

You studied him, the resolve in his eyes clear. He wasn’t going to back down from this, and you couldn’t blame him. If someone had taken your mother away, you’d want justice too. But this wasn’t just about revenge; it was about stopping Lucifer before he could cause more harm.

“What kind of information?” you asked, leaning forward slightly.

Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook. He flipped it open to a page marked with hastily scribbled notes. “I’ve been tracking some of Lucifer’s movements, cross-referencing data from various sources. He’s been meeting with some pretty powerful people, both in the criminal world and legitimate business. But the most interesting thing I found was about Crowley and Rowena.”

“Crowley and Rowena?” Sam echoed, surprise flickering in his eyes. The names were familiar—two influential CEOs who operated in both the legal and illegal worlds. They were known for their cunning and for always having their fingers in various pies, including dealings with the FBI.

“Yeah,” Jack confirmed. “They’re tied to Lucifer in ways that aren’t obvious at first. I think they’re working with him, but they’re also playing both sides, keeping ties with the Bureau to cover their tracks. If we can get to them, we might be able to find out what Lucifer’s planning next.”

You exchanged another glance with Sam, the implications of Jack’s findings sinking in. Crowley and Rowena were notoriously difficult to pin down, slippery as snakes, but if they had information on Lucifer’s next move, it was a lead you couldn’t afford to ignore.

“Alright,” Sam said after a moment, his voice steady. “We’ll bring you in on this. But you need to understand that this isn’t just about finding Lucifer. We need to be smart, and we need to protect you. If things get too dangerous, you pull back. No arguments.”

Jack nodded, relief washing over his features. “I understand. Thank you.”

You felt a surge of determination, the pieces of the puzzle starting to come together in your mind. If Crowley and Rowena were involved, you had a chance to get ahead of Lucifer, to stop whatever plan he was putting into motion before it could reach fruition. But it would take careful planning and a willingness to dive deep into the murky waters of crime and corruption.

“First things first,” you said, your tone all business. “We need to arrange a meeting with Crowley and Rowena. They’re not going to give us anything willingly, so we’ll have to convince them it’s in their best interest to cooperate.”

“I can set that up,” Sam offered, already reaching for his phone. “They owe me a favor or two.”

Jack watched you both, a fire of determination in his eyes. You could see the raw emotion behind his resolve, the need for justice that mirrored your own, and you knew you’d made the right decision in bringing him on board.

As Sam dialed, you turned to Jack. “This isn’t going to be easy. Crowley and Rowena are smart, and they’ll try to outmaneuver us. But if we stick together, we can do this.”

Jack nodded, his jaw set in determination. “I’m ready.”

The call was brief, Sam’s tone clipped and professional as he spoke to someone on the other end. When he hung up, he looked at both of you. “They’ll meet us, but they’re expecting us to bring something to the table. We need to make it clear that we’re not just fishing for information.”

“We’ll have to play our cards carefully,” you agreed. “Let’s gather what we know and make sure we’re prepared for whatever they throw at us.”

With a plan in motion, the three of you got to work, pooling your knowledge and resources. The minutes ticked by as you strategized, fine-tuning your approach to the meeting. Crowley and Rowena were unpredictable, and you knew that this would be as much a game of wits as it would be a negotiation.

When the time finally came to meet with them, you felt the familiar buzz of adrenaline in your veins. You, Sam, and Jack made your way to a sleek, upscale restaurant in the city—a place where deals were made behind closed doors and secrets were traded over expensive wine.

Crowley and Rowena were already there, seated in a private booth near the back, their expressions unreadable as you approached. Crowley was the first to stand, his smile sharp as a blade, while Rowena remained seated, her eyes assessing you with cool detachment.

“Agent,” Crowley greeted Sam with a nod, then turned to you. “Other Agent.”

You forced a polite smile, not missing the way his gaze flicked over to Jack, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “We’re hoping you might be able to shed some light on a situation we’re dealing with.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Rowena interjected smoothly, her voice lilting with a touch of amusement. “But we don’t give out information for free, darling. What’s in it for us?”

Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Protection. You help us, and we make sure the FBI’s spotlight stays off of you. We all know you’ve got your hands in more than a few pies, Rowena. It would be a shame if those activities came under scrutiny.”

Crowley chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Straight to the point, as always. But you’ve piqued our interest. What exactly are you after?”

“Lucifer,” you said bluntly, watching their reactions closely.

Crowley’s smile faltered ever so slightly, and Rowena’s eyes narrowed. “Lucifer’s not a man you want to cross,” Crowley warned. “Even we keep our distance from that one.”

“That may be,” Sam said, leaning forward slightly, “but we have reason to believe he’s planning something big, something that could destabilize more than just the Bureau. If you know anything—anything at all—it could help prevent a lot of bloodshed.”

There was a tense silence as Crowley and Rowena exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Rowena sighed, a gesture of reluctant agreement.

“Fine,” she said, her tone resigned but tinged with curiosity. “But if we do this, you’ll owe us. And believe me, we always collect.”

Crowley’s grin returned, and he leaned back in his seat, folding his hands in his lap. “We’ve heard whispers, nothing concrete, but enough to suggest Lucifer’s gathering allies. Not just within the syndicate, but from outside forces as well. He’s planning a strike against the Bureau, a way to cripple your operations and take control of the city’s underground.”

Sam’s expression darkened, and you felt a cold chill run down your spine. This was worse than you’d thought. Lucifer wasn’t just after revenge or power—he wanted to dismantle the very foundation of law and order.

“We need specifics,” Sam pressed, his voice hard. “Names, locations, anything you can give us.”

Crowley shrugged, a lazy gesture that belied the gravity of the situation. “We’re working on that. But we’ll keep you in the loop—provided you keep your end of the bargain.”

You nodded, knowing there was no other choice. “We’ll be in touch.”

With that, you all stood, the meeting concluded, but the weight of what you’d learned settling heavily on your shoulders. As you left the restaurant, you knew the road ahead would be treacherous, but with Jack now part of your team, you had another valuable ally in the fight against Lucifer.

You only hoped it would be enough.

The night was still, and the room was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside. The soft glow from the streetlights filtered through the blinds, casting gentle patterns on the walls. You were lying on the bed, your body relaxed against the cool sheets, but your mind was restless, thoughts spinning in a hundred different directions.

It had been a long day—too long, really. Everything was starting to blur together: the endless investigation, the shocking revelations, and the gnawing ache in your chest.

But then Dean was there, appearing in the doorway of the bedroom, his familiar silhouette a comforting sight. He didn’t say anything as he walked over, his expression soft, a small smile playing on his lips. The tension in your shoulders eased a little at the sight of him, and you found yourself smiling back, despite the weight on your heart.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice like a balm to your frazzled nerves.

“Hey,” you replied, shifting to make room for him on the bed.

He kicked off his boots and slid under the covers beside you, his warmth immediately seeping into your skin as he pulled you into his arms. You nestled closer to him, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and whiskey that clung to him, letting it ground you.

“It’s been a hell of a day,” you murmured, closing your eyes as you rested your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, a comforting rhythm that you could almost sync your own breath to.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice rumbling through his chest. “But it’s over now. Just you and me.”

His hand found its way to your back, tracing soothing circles against your spine, and you sighed contentedly, feeling the last of the day’s tension start to melt away. With Dean beside you, it was easy to forget the troubles that weighed so heavily on your mind. He had always had that effect on you—this uncanny ability to make everything else disappear, if only for a little while.

You tilted your head up to look at him, catching the way his green eyes sparkled in the dim light. They were always so full of life, so full of mischief and warmth, and you couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for the man lying beside you.

“What?” he asked, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his mouth when he caught you staring.

“Nothing,” you said with a small smile, though your heart ached. “Just… I’m glad you’re here.”

Dean’s grin softened into something more tender, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

His lips moved down to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, and you sighed, tilting your face up to meet him. The kiss was soft, a gentle meeting of lips that was more about comfort than passion, but it still sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into him, threading your fingers through his hair, losing yourself in the sensation of his mouth against yours.

His kisses grew a little more insistent, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. You let yourself sink into the moment, focusing on the warmth of his body, the feel of his hand on your face, the way his lips tasted of bourbon. It was so easy to forget everything else when you were wrapped up in him like this, his presence a balm to the turmoil in your mind.

But then something shifted. His grip on your face tightened, just a fraction too much, and the kiss grew harder, more forceful. You hesitated, a flicker of unease sparking in your chest, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. He kept kissing you, his mouth pressing insistently against yours, and you felt your heart start to race—not with excitement, but with something darker.

“Dean,” you mumbled against his lips, pulling back slightly, but his other hand came up to the back of your neck, holding you in place.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice low, but there was an edge to it that hadn’t been there before. “Just relax.”

But you couldn’t relax. There was something off, something wrong, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You tried to pull back again, but he wouldn’t let you, his grip on your neck tightening to the point of pain.

“Dean,” you tried again, your voice trembling now, but he didn’t respond, his eyes darkening as he looked down at you.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, his tone almost threatening, and your stomach twisted with fear. This wasn’t right. Dean wasn’t like this. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t—

But the hands on you weren’t Dean’s anymore. They were cold, clammy, and the grip was too strong, too cruel. You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and what you saw made your blood run cold.

His eyes—those warm, green eyes you knew so well—were gone, replaced with something dark, something inhuman. His face twisted into a cruel smile, and your breath caught in your throat.

“No,” you whispered, trying to pull away, but he held you tight, his fingers digging painfully into your skin.

“Don’t be scared,” he crooned, his voice a horrible mockery of the man you loved. “It’ll all be over soon.”

You struggled against him, panic setting in as his grip tightened even more. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, your heart hammering in your chest as you fought to get away. But he was too strong, too powerful, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

“Dean, please,” you begged, tears stinging your eyes, but he just laughed—a cold, heartless sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“Sweetheart, it’s me,” he said, but the voice was wrong, distorted, like a cruel echo of the man you knew.

And then, without warning, he moved, his hand suddenly around your throat, squeezing tight. You gasped, clawing at his hand, trying to pry his fingers off, but it was no use. The pressure on your neck increased, and you could feel your airways closing, the panic turning into sheer terror.

“No!” you screamed, but it came out as a strangled gasp, your vision starting to blur around the edges as the world began to darken. “Please, Dean, don’t—”

But he wasn’t listening, his eyes dark and unfeeling as he squeezed harder, his smile widening as he watched you struggle. It felt like hours, an eternity of pain and terror, until finally—

You jerked awake, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps as you bolted upright in bed. The room was dark, the only sound the rapid thumping of your own heart in your ears. You reached up, clutching your throat, half-expecting to feel the crushing grip of Dean’s hand still there.

But there was nothing. Just your own skin, slick with cold sweat. The sheets were tangled around you, the pillow soaked with tears you hadn’t realized you’d shed.

You were alone. Dean wasn’t there. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and you doubled over, wrapping your arms around yourself as you struggled to calm down, to slow your racing heart.

It had been a dream—a nightmare. Just a nightmare. But it had felt so real, so vivid, that you could still feel the phantom pressure of Dean’s hands on your throat, could still hear his voice, twisted and wrong, echoing in your ears.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to banish the images from your mind, but they clung to you like a dark cloud, refusing to leave. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him again—his face twisted with cruelty, his eyes empty of the warmth you knew so well.

Your chest ached with a deep, hollow pain, the kind that felt like it would never go away. Dean had been your rock, your safe place, the one person you could always count on. And now… now you didn’t know what to believe. The man you loved was a stranger, and the thought of it made you feel like you were losing your mind.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, curled up in the darkness, before you finally found the strength to move. The clock on the bedside table told you it was still early, but you knew you wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight. Not with the images of that nightmare still fresh in your mind.

With a heavy sigh, you slid out of bed, your legs shaky as you stood. The room was cold, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as you made your way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face in a futile attempt to wash away the lingering dread.

When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you barely recognized the person staring back at you. Your eyes were red and puffy, your skin pale and clammy, and there was a hollowness in your expression that made you look like a ghost.

You turned away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight, and made your way back to the bedroom. The bed was uninviting, the sheets still twisted and damp with sweat, so you grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around yourself, sinking into the armchair by the window instead.

You sat there for what felt like hours, staring out at the city beyond the glass, your mind a jumbled mess of fear, confusion, and heartache. You couldn’t stop thinking about Dean, about the way he had looked at you in that dream, about the things he had said.

Even though you knew it was just a nightmare, it still left you shaken to your core. Because deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to it. If the Dean you knew, the man you loved, was really gone.

Or worse—if he had never existed in the first place.

TAGLIST:

@goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

@lucyholmes13 @pandadork-blog1 @nicolstancu @malusinhaaaa @dybalabandolero

@a-cup-of-nightshade @tomatoessoup @sh0rtcakee @fall-06 @mckaykay-fandoms

@b3th13

@demonxangelomegaverse @deanwinchestersgirl87 @capailluiscedove @i723l-interrupted2323 @niyomiii

@all-the-fan-fic @eviekinevie8 @sunflowerlover57

@1-800-dean-winchester

@darichvep @idk-usernme @supernaturalmarvel3000 @ega2025 @deanbrainrotwritings

@targaryenluvs @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes @leigh70 @aintnowayboi @ripoffsteveharrington

@gleefulleve @sacrosankta

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@impyrz

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@lyarr24 @ximm19 @deanbrainrotwritings

@a-girl-who-loves-disney @jeneelsworld @deans-spinster-witch @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @kayleighwinchester

@k-slla @muhahaha303 @suckitands33

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

@katherineeekai @freefallthoughts @angzls @deans-baby-momma @syrma-sensei

@cheynovak

[circusclowne]

some object ocs!!

[geekgirles]

OMG, this franchise and its way to foreshadow and interconnect everything! I'm guessing this means Bestiale takes place in Waven as well.

[mothwingwritings]

C and F for my boy Pickle

Eyyy sorry for the delay! (Yes I am still working on these!!!) Here is some Pickle goodness for you my dear.~<3

WARNINGS: Sex and violence and one love sick feral man.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Pickle would honestly treat you as nicely as he is able too. His living environment has its limitations, but he does everything he can to make it comfortable and inviting for you, adamant about making it a home that is fitting of his mate.

Once you are safely stashed away in his secret abode he sets to work constructing you a nest of things so that you may find pinnacle contentment in your new home. He’s gathered an amalgamation of the softest blankets, clothes, linen, etc. that has been given to him or that he has scavenged, so that you may rest in peace and luxury while in his presence. He also brings you the best cuts of meat after his hunts, though he caught on quickly that you were apt to turn your nose at his bloody, raw offering (he couldn’t quite understand why, he was sure you would love it if you just gave it a chance). Once he picks up on your distaste, he instead begins to hoard ingredients and snacks he steals picks up out in the world, supplying you all manner of foodstuff till he pins down the ones you like.

While Pickle prefers you in your natural state, he understands your body needs protection from the elements. He doesn’t quite get modern fashion, but you seem sad wearing the same thing over and over again. While he’s out he procures a hodge-podge of varying clothing, presenting it to you by dumping it at your feet, a huge dopey grin on his face. He loves seeing you in the clothing he gifts you, you look so beautiful in each and every piece that he can’t help but stare, holding back the urge to rip it right back off and have his way with you.

Pickle won’t mock you and wouldn’t dream of disrespecting you in anyway. Any harm he causes you is either completely unintentional or for your own good. He loses control of himself sometimes, forgetting his own strength. You are just so small and he loves you so much, it’s hard to hold himself back. He hates using his strength against you to prove a point, but if you remain insistent on trying to escape him he will do what he must to protect you. You are HIS mate and HE’S the only one who can take care of you. All that’s waiting for you in this strange new world is danger, so if you won’t stay by his side willingly, he will force you there.

All that said, while you may be relatively safe from Pickle’s more violent tendencies, anyone else most certainly is NOT. If another person approaches you, threatens you, or tries to take you away from him they will be obliterated, decimated, ripped to shreds, torn apart until nothing is left. He’ll bask in the gruesome slaughter, their end another validation that he is the best one for you, the one who loves and can protect you above all others. Doesn’t matter if that person is a stranger or your own mother-he is all you need, anyone else butting in is an unnecessary threat.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He would find it incredibly charming if you tried to fight him. Pickle doesn’t see it as an act of aggression at all, but views it as you trying to mimic him as a sign of reverence. You think he is so impressive and strong that you strive to be like him, going so far as to challenge him to a fight. It’s adorable, and he can’t help but break out into a huge toothy grin when he sees you assume a fighting stance.

And it excites him- seeing you tense up, clenching your fists and bending your knees, preparing to strike at a moment’s notice. Seconds before the fray, you stare him down with such intensity, sizing him up and calculating what moves you should make against him, gears turning in your head as you focus wholly on him. The fixation on him sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine. He is the only one you are thinking of in that moment, and in turn you are all that is occupying his thoughts.

Your strikes never hurt him and he can tell how much that frustrates you. He’ll play along sometimes to make you happy, yowling like a mother lioness that is being batted by her cub. He’ll cringe at your punch, shy away from your kick. If he’s convincing enough, you sometimes award him with a small smile, a brief look of accomplishment. It warms his heart, knowing you are having as good of a time as he is.

He also relishes the closeness the two of you share when you initiate these little fights. Usually you try and hide away from him, distancing yourself as much as possible whenever he is in the vicinity. At first he thought it was another game you were trying to play with him, something coy, cute, and seductive to grab his attention. But when the chase became a regular thing he was disappointed, why did you put up such a fuss each time your mate tried to approach you? You didn’t even give him a prize when he finally caught you, just flailing and screaming and spitting. It hurt his feelings- this was supposed to be fun.

But the little brawls you had were fun, and they gave him a chance to have you near him without any to-do. He could feel your skin on his, smell your sweat as your body writhed and wriggled against his. Feeling your small hands grab at his hulking form, listening to your strained moans and heavy breathing as you threw your all into attacking him… Witnessing you in such a state, holding you close as your body rubbed his in just the right way, it doesn’t take long for him to completely lose control.

Before you can recognize what is going on, your body is sheathing his cock, previous grunts of exertion quickly turning into wails of pleasure.

He doesn’t understand why you cry so much afterwards, though. Were you not having as much fun as he was? You initiated the fight, why are you so upset at the outcome? It was a good tussle, and judging by the noises you were making, he was able to make you feel good. Even if you struggled a bit when he was trying to enter you, you always end up yielding to him. The fit is tight, and there have been several times he was afraid he would outright break you when he pushed deeper, pressing into your core.  But the pleasure that courses through him as he bottoms out is indescribable. He loses himself in the feel of you surrounding him, completely consumed by the euphoria your body has supplied him.

You are his perfect mate, his brave little warrior, and his love for you is endless. So don’t cry, OK? Maybe next time he’ll let you really ‘win.’ :)

[spider-man-2o99]

hits the disinformation machine with a bat a big bat a big heavy lead-core thick wood bat kablam whack whack whack whack whack. miguel ohara does not have "spider instincts," he has never in even one piece of official material ever had nor experienced the phenomenon that fandom colloquially refers to as "spider instincts," okay, that concept is entirely and 100% a fandom-born headcanon that people created post-ATSV as an excuse to write the guy as a stupid Feral Brown Beast-Man caricature . lord have mercy. it takes. two seconds of research 2 not perpetuate racist malarkey. do better

[nina-numa-blog]

New visual from Bestiale

Yeah, Ankama is still cooking

[articwolfclawartist]

@geekgirles EXCUSE ME????????

MY BOY

ITS MY BOY!!!

how did I not know about this

[asphyxiating-endless-darkness]

Blasphemy

posted by Full Moon Productions

[cocogum]

Reassuring proof that the sadidas are very much alive and well in the Waven era:

In the Lance Dur webtoon, a sadida appeared in the 4th chapter called “The Sickness of Lance Dur”. Lance Dur is far older than the last time we saw him in Season 4, meaning that more than a decade had passed which was after the wave had happened. (Waven happens 10 years after the Wakfu era)

In Waven, if we look around on Astrub Island, we can see a female sadida gardener looking for some shrubs. Her quest info does not reveal her race but her skin complexion as well as her hair color matches the sadida race perfectly.

(this woman was looking for some sentient shrubs by the way...don't ask why...)

We also notice a male sadida and a female sadida eating together in an inn in Amakna.

One of Waven’s quests has Renate, an (iconic) sadida, asking you to help him with the smells of a temple. He is not only a sadida but is also a royal servant of Amalia.

Renate doesn't seem to be near Canar this time around but looks to be well. He’s even joined one of Waven’s four cardinal clans, which in his case, is the nature clan.

In Waven, we can see a small music sadida band playing in Amakna.

When we take a look at Waven’s emotes skin shop, we can see three Sadida god reaction stickers. If Sadida had lost his godly status (meaning if he died), then his stickers wouldn’t have been present in the shop. The emotes skin shop currently has three reaction stickers for Iop, Cra, Eniripsa, Ecaflip, Enutrof, Sram, Sadida, Xelor, Sacrier, and Feca.

*Reaction stickers are not available for Osamodas and Pandawa at the moment*

In the Bestiale teaser trailer, which is a show that will take place in Waven, two sadidas can be seen in the background when Yrehn, our osamodas main character, is visiting a market.

One of these sadidas, however, seems to be someone we already know: the one on the left is Chamberlain Thicktuft, the counsellor or advisor (?) of the Sadia kingdom. He appeared in every season (excluding Season 3) and has even been seen in The Great Wave manga attending the banquet for the male sadida and female eliatrope marriage.

So why is he in the Bestiale teaser? No idea.

Aside from the Sadida proof listing above, another thing people noticed were the cras in Waven. Or rather their weapons.

When we take a look at each cra and their types, none of their weapons remotely look like the ones we’ve seen in Wakfu or Dofus anymore. Back in Wakfu, the cras were in an alliance with the sadidas which is why their bows were primarily made of special wood. Evangelyne was a good example of this.

So when we compare Wakfu to Waven, the cras now have more than one choice of weapon :

Arcarius Paladir replaced their bows with a much more efficient trajectory leafy-like weapon.

Blunderbust have adopted a steampunk style and chose to use guns that shoot arrows.

Buneblade have abandoned long-range weapons of any format entirely and opted to use boomerangs instead.

Piven Bow might just be the only type we know who still uses the old cra style by keeping the bows. Their name even has the word “bow” in it.

Shaden Shiru just like the Buneblade, threw out the bows to use knuckle ring-looking weapons as their main source for fighting.

Zandiezer Zo relies on a stoned glove in the shape of a crossbow that can emit long-range shots.

Given that most cras have preferred using other weapons than the bow, this leaves us to speculate that the alliance between the cras and sadidas is indefinitely over and might have possibly ended after the Necrome war or a bit later.

Other than that, it’s reassuring to know that the sadidas have at least survived the great wave since the tree of life had to have been protected and now resides somewhere safe and hidden from the world.

Waven is currently in progress, so there is still a lot to discover and learn about what happened after the great wave struck. When more updates drop, there might also be more islands to explore which could reveal more about the sadidas’ situation.

[dailypocketcat]

Day 31

[womenstruation]

4 of the seven people killed at the Bondi junction attack were women, one a baby and the male perpetrator was already known to police. Male violence is endless and the fact that these violent men are allowed to walk free, free to attack even more women, while we have to cower and hide away.

[st-just]

Truly don't understand the apparently widespread appeal of vampires who aren't actually compelled to like, meaningfully predate and hurt people (of moral significance!). Like what's even the point then. You just surgically extracted the most compelling part.

[beast-feast]

Pondering these like a new species of insect that I've discovered

[evvthanasiax]

• Mortiis •

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Sepultura