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alchemistc · 3 months ago

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He never hid it from Bobby. That's the thing he keeps trying to remind himself, as he sits on the razor edge of this dumb fucking argument and keeps deciding not to ask for advice on how to fix it.

He never hid it from Bobby. It was just -

Bobby's approval means something to him. It always does. Hell, even fucked up coma-dream Bobby digging through pill bottles had been the conscience on his shoulder. And at the time he'd been sure of two things:

1. He wanted this to work with Tommy

and

2. If Bobby had cautioned him he'd have backed off from his speed run to reassess and he didn't want to second guess himself.

Because it had felt right. It had felt good, and safe and warm and terrifying in a way he'd never really experienced before.

So. He'd talked about Tommy at work and he'd dealt with the teasing (he'd loved the teasing) and when Bobby had caught him tucking a toiletry bag stuffed with condoms and lube into his overnight bag, and told him Tommy was good people - good for him - he'd rode that high for another three months.

It had felt - adult. Grown up. No need to hit up Captain Dad for advice on this new thing he'd navigated with advice from people he saw more as peers than authority figures.

Only.

It had felt like the first time Emily Harden had smiled at him from her desk two seats over from his, too - heart fluttering in his chest and eyes catching on the thin skin of her neck right below her earlobe and he'd ducked his head and wanted to bash it into his desk just to make sure he wasn't dreaming because he could still feel her lips - sticky with that sweet tasting gloss - on his from when they'd snuck behind the auxillary classroom after lunch.

And it had felt like that first time he'd fumbled with a condom in the back seat of someone else's car and Ashley J had giggled, two years older and definitely not the first time for her, and steadied his hand as she rolled it on for him, and Buck had been pretty sure he loved her. (He'd loved her the way a child loves it's favorite toy, and he'd cherished her for paying so much frank attention to him, and she'd loved the way his cock filled his shorts and her pussy and how focused he was on making it good for her.) He hadn't even come, that first time, too fucking terrified to go off early that the nerves had settled like a vice around his balls and so instead he'd grunted into the side of her neck, pulled out and gotten his fingers up in her just to make sure the fluttering he'd felt around him was real, and with hushed gasps she'd ridden the palm of his hand until the fluttering happened a second time and he discreetly tucked himself back in his shorts before she could notice.

It felt like - firsts and lasts and everything in between. Tommy - Tommy was something new and good and achingly familiar at the same time Buck felt like he'd never experienced anything quite like this before.

So.

And Bobby - Bobby's been off doing this new thing, away from them because he'd - he'd been done, or something. With the job, with the 118, with Buck maybe too

He's mad as hell right now, though, headset on while Athena relays the absolutely ridiculous plan they've concocted and even as Bobby drives the engine they'd one hundred percent stolen from the set of Hotshots (they weren't even hotshots, is a thing he knows and has ranted about to Tommy multiple times, while Tommy licked icing from Buck's bellybutton and dropped amusing snark into the skin of his thigh). And actually, Bucks's mad too, because he and Tommy haven't resolved the whatever it is that had actually been at the heart of their stupid fight and now he's - now he's -

Mehta is already on scene, commandeering a hangar to set up the engines from other stations, and he's taking over comms even as Bobby's lips purse and Athena's voice trails off.

"They're insane," Buck says, and Bobby's nod is crisp and firm. "That sounds like a bad movie plot."

Bobby blinks, and then he does something inexplicably frustrating. He laughs. "It is. It actually is a bad movie plot."

He barely stops laughing the entire drive there.

Buck isn't actually sure why they took the fake fire engine - it isn't actually kitted out with anything real other than a CO2 tank, Buck isn't even sure the ladder extends, but maybe Bobby had just been caught up in the moment, although - although he's driving this one, after some weird tense standoff with the actor Buck's pretty sure plays the captain in the dumb inaccurate firefighter show (they've never even shown the 119 doing fire suppression, let alone dropping into a wildfire, why did they call it Hotshots), which is not usual at all.

Buck feels the stress all along his spine, in his bad leg, rolling along his arms and up his neck while Mehta keeps the lines mostly clear and then there's Tommy's voice. He's in the air, and it's weird to realize that he's not at the controls, because instead he's gonna do something absolutely batshit insane.

("Give that man thirty seconds and he can figure out how to fly anything," Ruiz had mentioned, three months ago, while Buck piled another scoop of casserole onto her plate and watched Tommy duck his head bashfully like it was embarrassing to be so good at your job that people thought you were maybe a little superhuman.)

Mehta looks simultaneously pissed and resigned when they disembark from the purloined engine. It's gone full dark, by now, and most of the engines in the bay are set up and ready to go, and Bobby's haphazard parking job has put them just out of the way. There's a 217 engine tucked in between two 118's and Buck wants to take a picture of it to send to Tommy because he'll either have something amusing or devastatingly charming and sappy to say back but -

But Tommy's harnessing up in the back of a chopper he's usually flying and also they're still fighting.

Maybe.

Kind of.

Bobby gets a stern look and a finger pointed towards where Hen has the 118 circling her, and Mehta just sighs when Buck looks to him for orders. Buck is - technically - maybe a little suspended right now, on account of being the reason Gerrard has a crack in his skull instead of a saw blade in his side, but the all hands on deck situation seems to be tipping in Buck's favor.

"You leave my comm line open, Buckley," Mehta says and waves him in the direction of the 118.

Buck races to catch up to Bobby

---

It actually works, is the thing, and Buck watches Bobby wrapping Athena up in his arms and remembers that moment something had clicked over in his head - some deep part of his brain following the interesting pull of this firefighter pilot with a wicked sense of humor and the same fucked up crazy fuck it attitude Buck's family had. Who Cares, only they all care so goddamn deeply about everything all the time, and Buck's hindbrain had recognized something long before the rest of it did.

Tommy's the last one off the plane. He's got a helmet tucked under his arm and the harness still in place and his hair is a mess, sticking up on one side and plastered to his head on the other, sweaty and windswept and smiling at Buck the moment he catches sight of him.

Eddie and Chim are both busy dealing with passengers and Buck is grateful as hell because he absolutely knows he'd end up competing for Tommy's attention if they were around to see him disembark.

(They're at work, Buck reminds himself. They are in full view of about a dozen different firehouses and a planeful of passengers besides. Buck is still mad at Tommy.)

"Hey," Tommy says, low and gravelly half a second before he slings out an arm to drag Buck in by his neck.

("Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?" he'd asked, anxiety creeping red hot up the back of his neck, and Tommy had been joking, probably, but Buck can't quite remember the circuitous path they'd made to this point, only the feeling like he was five inches tall and Tommy didn't want to be his date to some official LAFD thing. "Like - I mean - I thought the whole point of you pumping the brakes forever ago was you didn't want to hide or be hidden, Tommy!"

And they hadn't actually gotten past that, because all hands on deck meant every firefighter in LA had gotten the reverse 911 that highly encouraged them to get to their stations immediately.

Buck resists for half a second, and Tommy's eyes dart to his when it takes more muscle than he'd been expecting to tug Buck to him.

He looks so goddamn good. Buck wants to eat him up. He also -

"People can see, Tommy," Buck says, and Tommy's smile is wry.

"Kinda the point, sweetheart," he says, and Buck doesn't fight it when he tips his head to press their foreheads together.

They still gotta have this out. They need to actually talk about it, despite Tommy's aversion to digging deep into his psyche to pick at his vulnerabilities. They need to -

Someone wolf whistles across the tarmac. Probably fifty heads turn in their direction. Tommy tips his chin up to press his lips to Buck's birthmark.

"You're not off the hook for the conversation just because you decided to be a bit of an exhibitionist," Buck says, and Tommy's face does something complicated but ultimately understanding.

Mehta makes direct eye contact and looks somewhere between amused and annoyed, but he doesn't make a move towards them.

"Do I at least get points for being a badass?"

Buck raises a brow, and Tommy pouts a little.

"How about a very public kiss, at least?"

"I distinctly remember you saying something about how shoving it down peoples throats was something you had a problem with."

"I had some time to rethink my position, while I was clinging to the nose of a plane."

Buck loves him. He's - they're -

Buck dips forward for a quick peck, and across the tarmac it sounds like Donato and at least a dozen other firefighters have gathered to heckle - they get a few canned boos and some hissing, a rapt audience. Tommy tosses something over his shoulder that Buck can't see because he's suddenly being crowded into Tommy, hands on both hips and his nose digging into Buck's cheek.

"They're not gonna stop until we give 'em a show."

"They got a whole B Movie plot already," Buck argues, but he's tracing the grooves of Tommy's smile.

"Evan, you know those always close on a kiss before the credits roll."

He does, actually, now, because Tommy isn't shy at all about sharing his interests with Buck. Movie nights happen all the time, and sometimes Tommy gets invested enough that Buck climbing into his lap isn't even enough to distract him.

"I'm serious, though. We actually have to talk about this, at some point."

Tommy tips his head to the side, blows out a breath against Buck's earlobe. "You finally cave and hit up Bobby for advice?"

Buck can't help but nip at a tendon drawn tight against the side of Tommy's neck. Whatever their crowded audience can see in their shadowy embrace spurns them into a catcall or two.

"At least I'm not going to Eddie," he snipes, because he knows Eddie knows more than he's letting on. "Also no, because we can figure this out on our own."

Tommy's cheek dances up against Buck's, like Buck's said something he appreciates. "Will you just kiss me already so we can get rid of the peanut gallery?"

Buck tips his chin and gathers Tommy's lips in his own - a beat, two, three, and off in the distance he can hear Donato making her minions disperse, and then he's lost to the kiss for a bit.

When they break for air, Buck has a hand stuffed half-in the zip of Tommy's flight suit, and Tommy's looking at him with something soft and warm and achingly quiet amidst the cacophony. "I really wish you were a little less of an adrenaline junkie, but, uh... you just rappelled out of a helicopter onto the nose of a plane and landed it safely and that's - really doing it for me."

"Evan," he says, faux-scandalized. "Stop trying to seduce me before we've had excruciating serious talk."

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #this wandered too much the adhd brain is real for both me and buck

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jaredpadonlyyyy · 3 months ago

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𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝘼𝘿𝙃𝙊𝙐𝙎𝙀

• 𝙋𝙐𝙍𝙀 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏𝙏𝙔 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏

• 𝙄𝙁 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝘼𝙍𝙀 𝟭𝟴 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗗𝗢 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗! !

• 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗫 (𝘞𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴) 𝙋 𝙄𝙉 𝙑, 𝙈𝘼𝙇𝙀 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙄𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝙉𝙎𝙁𝙒, 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙔 𝙏𝘼𝙇𝙆.

• 🍓 • • • • ❤️ • • •💋 • 🎀 • 💋 • • • ❤️ • • • • 🍓 •

Y/N is running around the roadhouse giving the hunters their drinks. They all love her and they always almost tipped her well. Some tried to get in her pants but she had a boyfriend, by the name of Sam Winchester. Y/N was a hunter as well. She just wasn’t one to go to all hunts all the time. Her thing was always keeping an eye out on the supernatural and handing out cases to hunters who really did hunt.

“There she is.” She heard his voice behind her as she turned around with the tray full of empty cups. “Sam?” She questions as she smiled looking over at her boyfriend. “Hey baby.” He said as she puts down the tray and rushed into his arms crashing her lips on his soft ones. Pulling away, her arms wrapped around his neck she smiled. “Oh how I’ve missed you.” She said to him as he smiled down at her. “I’m guessing she’s not single.” A hunter came up to them as Sam looked over at him. “No, man.” Sam shook his head as his hands gripped her hips tighter as he looked at the hunter. “Too bad man, she’s hot.” He said making her roll her eyes. “Go away, Roy.” She huffed as she pulled away from her hug with her boyfriend. She made eye contact with Dean and they both smiled.

“There’s my favorite girl.” Dean said as they both went in for a hug. She smiled pulling away. “How are you?” She asked him as he nods. “Been better.” He told her. She then looked around and found Jo taking cups from empty tables. “Hey, jo. Mind taking my shift for a little bit?” She asked her as she smiled at her best friend and nods her head. “Sure.” She said.

She pulled Sam with her as she winked over at Dean as he smirked. They both went to the back and into the room Ellen was letting her stay in. As she didn’t have anywhere else to go. She had Bobby, but she didn’t want to drive all the way over there all the damn time. She pulled him into her room as he looks around. “What are we doing?” He asked her as she started to take off her apron tossing it to the side.

She looked up at him with smiling innocently. “Strip” she told him as Sam’s mouth fell open in shock as she said that. He looked at her as she took off her shirt and her bra leaving her in only her jeans. He looked at her chest and saw her hardened nipples in full display for him. She then proceeded to take off her jeans pausing as she looked at him. “Didn’t you just hear me?” She asked him as he snapped out of it and started to strip as she smiled taking off her pants and her thong. “We only have a few minutes before Ellen returns and ask’ for me.” She told him.

Y/N got ahold of the speechless now, naked hunter and walked him over to the bed as he sat down on it. She got on her knees as she grabbed his long hard cock giving it a few pumps as he threw his head back as he moaned softly. He felt your lips on his tip as you licked the pre cum dripping from it. The salty taste of his pre cum making you hum in delight. Sam looked at her as her lips wrapped on his head making him hiss as you swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock making it twitch as he gripped the sheets of the bed. He gritted his teeth letting out a moan as you took him more into your mouth pumping the base.

She started to bobbed her head at a fast pace making him buckle his hips as his mouth drops open “fuuck, argh.” He grunted as you looked at him through your eyelashes as he breathed heavily his cock twitching meaning her was close to cumming in your mouth. He puts his hand on your head keeping you there as he whimpered feeling his balls tightened Y/N could feel he was close because of the fact that he fell back into the bed as he lets out loud moans.

She hummed and that’s all it took for Sam to let it go. His legs shaking as he coats her tongue with his cum. “Uargh!” He jerked as you continued to bob your head making him take you off from how sensitive he felt. He looked at you breathing in and out as he watched you swallow him making him groan. But he wasn’t done. He stood up and helped her up turning her to his chest as his hands went down to her clit making her legs spread as he rubs fast circles making her a moaning mess as she calls out his name. He rolled his still hard cock between her legs as her legs buckled from the sensation of his fingers and his cock rubbing on her very wet pussy.

He walked her over to the bed and bends her down slapping her plumed ass making her gasp turning her on even more. He puts his hard dick on her entrance and slammed into her making her jerk forward as she lets out the most intense gasp ever. Sam pulled out leaving his tip inside and slammed again making her cry out in both pain and pleasure as his tip hits her G-spot over and over again. Sam then grabbed her bum and slowly, sensually rolled his hips inside of her as he legs shook almost making her fall if it wasn’t for Sam getting ahold of her. “Oh my god, faster!” She said. Sam pulled her up from her waist and walked her over to the wall and he started to pick up his pace

First he began a steady pace and then he picked it up little by little. And finally he was slamming into her mercifully as his and her hips slapped against one another. “Fuck, so tight, this pussy is mine.” He growled as his long fingers found her clit rubbing hard, fast circles as her legs shook. “Aah, aah! Oh, fuck!” She couldn’t hold in her moans anymore as his long big cock slamming into her walls. She was a mess. Y/N puts a hand on his hip as to easy up the intensity of his cock hitting her cervix in a way that had her seeing the heavens. “You like that, you like that don’t you?” He whispered into her ear panting.

She nodded her head quickly, and yelped when Sam slapped her ass again. “Use your words, babe.” He said as he nibbles on her ear. “Yes! I do! I love it!” She yelled. Sam pulled out and turned her around and seen how much of a mess he made of her. Y/N opens her eyes with so much lust inside of them and she pushed him onto the bed making him fall on to it.

She got on top of him grabbing his dick as she slides down making Sam’s mouth open, his head falling back as his eyes closed as she sinks in making her moan. “Don’t move.” She instructed him. He opened his hazel eyes, just as she started to move her hips making him hiss as how deep he was inside of her. She moaned as he groaned his hands on her hips.

She slapped his hands away. “I told you not to move.” She snapped. Sam looked at her as she got on her feet placing her hands on his chest for support and she started to bounce on his cock making him let out a moan. He wanted to so bad grab her hips and slam into her so hard that she screamed into the air and all the hunters that wanted her heard her calling his name. “Sam, I’m going to cum, oh god!” She shook as her head was thrown back staying still as she shook. Her walls fluttering around his cock as she coats him with her orgasm. She then fell back into his chest breathing heavily as her legs shook a lot.

“My turn.” He said as he grabbed her from the small of her back turning her on her back making her gasp. Sam didn’t care how sensitive she was. But he took her legs wrapping them around his waist, taking a hold of her hips and started to slam into her at a fast pace, his cock started to twitch as she moaned his name. The moans becoming progressively louder. Sam screwed his eyes shut, his teeth grits as his thrust become sloppy. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuuck I’m cuuummmung! Ugh!!” He groaned loudly as he released his seed into the condom he was wearing. Spurt after spurt as his nails dig into her.

Letting out one last groan he pulled out and laid beside her both breathing heavily. Y/N’s eyes closing as Sam’s dick softened his hand finding his girlfriend and bring her to his chest. He lets out a breath of satisfaction. Y/N opened her eyes and looked at the time. She groaned as she sat up. “Ellen is about to make her appearance. We should get dressed.” She told her boyfriend picking up his shirt and tossing it over to him. “Yeah, I don’t want to end up as vampire bait.” He told her as she started getting dressed up.

Sam took off the condom filled with his seed tying it up and tossing it into the trash can. Then got dressed Y/N leaned down and kissed him gently. “See you out there.” She said taking out the trash and walked out. Sam groaned running his hands down his face. “What have you done to me.” He whispered like a love sick fool. Then also walked out after the woman.

• 🍓 • • • • ❤️ • • •💋 • 🎀 • 💋 • • • ❤️ • • • • 🍓 •

If you have any requests lmk. I’ll see what I can do. Since I don’t really do stuff like this. I can try. The only things I don’t do. Are daddy kinks or wincest, or age gap or peeing kink. But other than that feel free. I☺️ ps. I’m a destiel shipper but I don’t write destiel smut sorry.

#supernatural #spnfandom #spn #sam winchester #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #jared padalecki

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urdreamydoodles · 1 month ago

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X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You are being mind-controled by a villain and you believe your lover cheated on you (Part.1)

A fog has settled between you, a cruel illusion woven by unseen hands. You now look at your beloved with wounded eyes, twisted by whispers that cloud your trust.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier & Bobby Drake

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- You stormed into Logan’s quarters, your heart pounding and your fists clenched, fury mingling with disbelief. You’d seen what you thought was proof—evidence that he’d betrayed you with someone else, leaving your heart cracked and bleeding. Logan’s stoic expression softened the moment he saw your face, but the pain and mistrust in your gaze threw him off. The look in your eyes seemed to strip him of his tough demeanor, revealing a wounded vulnerability as you accused him of something he couldn’t even fathom.

- “Darlin’, you know me better than that,” he said, voice rough with confusion and the beginning tremors of hurt. His hands were up in a calming gesture, yet you took a step back, unable to bear the thought of him reaching out to you. The raw agony in his voice almost made you falter, but the accusations burned too brightly in your chest. His face contorted with frustration and sadness, but he let you finish, taking each verbal blow without pushing back.

- Days passed, and the silence between you two felt like an endless canyon, too wide to cross. Logan tried reaching out once, showing up near your room or during training, but you brushed him off coldly, unwilling to let him anywhere near your heart again. You knew you’d hurt him, but the thought of betrayal consumed you, filling your mind with a vicious loop of lies you’d unknowingly been fed. Logan’s presence felt like a haunting reminder of the love you’d once shared, now tainted by supposed deception.

- When the mind control lifted a week later, the weight of the truth came crashing down, leaving you stunned and guilt-ridden. The realization hit hard: he’d never betrayed you; he’d never once given you a reason to doubt him. The villain’s twisted manipulation had clouded your mind, robbing you of the trust you had once shared so naturally with Logan. Shame settled like a stone in your stomach as you processed the damage you’d caused, your accusations like knives you’d driven into him.

- You found him in the training room, his shoulders tense as he focused on striking a dummy with restrained but undeniable fury. He paused when he noticed you, his hardened expression flickering with something softer, perhaps hope, though it was tinged with hurt. As you approached, your voice came out small, shaky, an apology tangled in each word as you tried to explain the manipulation you’d been under. “I’m so sorry, Logan… It wasn’t real, I—” you stammered, voice thick with remorse.

- Logan didn’t respond right away; his jaw clenched as he looked down, processing your apology in silence. But then, with a heavy sigh, he pulled you into his arms, the warmth and familiarity of him enveloping you, melting the tension from your body. He whispered, “Next time, come to me first, darlin’. I’d fight the whole world before I’d ever hurt you.” There was forgiveness in his voice, even if the pain lingered, but he held you close, and you felt the pieces of trust slowly knitting back together.

- That night, you lay beside him, listening to the soft rumble of his breathing, finding comfort in his closeness as he traced gentle patterns along your arm. He didn’t speak much, but his steady presence reassured you that, though scarred, your relationship could heal. You both knew it wouldn’t be easy, but Logan’s quiet strength gave you hope, his forgiveness a balm for your wounded heart.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- You barged into Remy’s room, the image of him with another woman branded into your mind, his playful smirk twisting into something cruel as you confronted him. Your heart ached, not understanding how someone who’d once held you so gently could betray you like this. Remy’s easygoing demeanor faltered as he met your gaze, surprise replaced by hurt when you spat accusations, your voice trembling with sorrow and anger.

- “Chère, I swear to you, it ain’t true,” he tried to insist, his tone serious, stripped of the usual teasing warmth. But you didn’t let him finish, words spilling out like poison as you described the pain his supposed betrayal had caused. Remy listened, mouth set in a line, his dark eyes clouded with anguish, but you turned away before he could respond, ignoring the way his outstretched hand dropped back to his side, fingers curling in frustration.

- A week went by, each day feeling like a splinter under your skin as you avoided him, memories of his charming smile now laced with bitterness. Remy, ever the gentleman, respected your space, though you often caught glimpses of his devastated expression from afar. You overheard others speak of how he’d thrown himself into training, his usual flair dulled, his laughter absent. Yet, every time you passed him, his gaze still followed you, a silent plea hidden beneath his usually confident gaze.

- When the villain’s hold on your mind finally dissipated, clarity returned, bringing with it a crushing wave of guilt and self-reproach. You realized the image of his “betrayal” had been a malicious trick, a deceitful seed planted to tear you apart from him. The weight of your harsh accusations pressed on you, a constant reminder of the pain you’d inflicted on him without cause. Heart pounding, you steeled yourself and set out to make things right.

- You found Remy in the rec room, the lights low as he tossed a deck of cards absentmindedly, flipping each one into the air with his usual deftness. He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, his gaze softened, and his lips curved slightly, though you could see the shadow of hurt still in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, you poured out your apology, explaining the mind control that had twisted your perception, your voice filled with regret.

- He listened in silence, watching you with an unreadable expression until you finished. Then, a small smirk crept onto his lips, though his eyes were still vulnerable. “Chère, you broke my heart, y’know,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. But then he pulled you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his embrace as warm as it had always been. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna make me stop lovin’ you, though. Just don’t make me wait so long to fix things next time.”

- That evening, as you curled up in his arms, Remy gently traced circles along your back, his familiar scent and warmth calming your guilty heart. His fingers laced with yours, and the soft whisper of “I love you, chère” melted away the last remnants of doubt, grounding you in his unwavering affection.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- You found Kurt in his room, your voice trembling as you confronted him, eyes filled with tears. The image of his supposed infidelity haunted you, the kind-hearted, compassionate Kurt you loved now tainted by betrayal. His golden eyes widened as he listened to your accusations, his expression crumpling with shock and heartbreak. He reached for you, his voice soft and pleading, “Liebchen, please… I would never…” But you pulled back, too hurt to listen.

- Kurt stood there, his tail swishing nervously, torn between reaching out to comfort you and respecting the painful distance you’d created. He watched helplessly as you turned and walked away, leaving him alone, his prayers for understanding left unanswered. The sadness in his eyes stayed with you, even in your anger, like a haunting reminder of what you’d shared, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal weighing on your heart.

- Days passed in agonizing silence, Kurt’s usual warmth missing from your life, replaced by a cold emptiness. You avoided him, and he, respecting your wishes, didn’t try to bridge the gap. Yet, you could feel his sadness from afar, a sense of sorrow that tugged at you each time you caught a glimpse of his shadow in the halls or heard his voice. The playful spark you’d once shared was gone, and the regret began to gnaw at you, though the pain of betrayal still held you back.

- Then, the fog lifted, and the truth of the mind control emerged, crushing you beneath a tidal wave of guilt. You realized how the villain’s manipulation had poisoned your mind, distorting the love Kurt had shown you into a twisted illusion. Heart aching, you felt the sting of your unfounded accusations and the weight of the hurt you’d caused him, each memory of his pained gaze lancing through you.

- You found Kurt in the chapel, praying, his silhouette outlined by soft candlelight. He looked up as you approached, his face a mixture of hope and trepidation, his usually joyful smile subdued. As you explained everything, your words laced with remorse, he listened intently, his golden eyes shining with unspoken forgiveness. The apology spilled from you, a torrent of sorrow and regret.

- Kurt took your hand in his, squeezing it gently as he spoke, “I forgive you, liebchen. My heart knew it wasn’t true.” His voice was tender, each word a balm to your guilty heart. He pulled you into a tight embrace, his warmth soothing the ache of your mistake, and you felt the comfort of his unconditional love envelop you. “Let us leave this behind us,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

- That night, as you lay beside him, your fingers entwined, Kurt’s laughter returned, soft and comforting. His playful smile reappeared, and the joyful glint in his eyes sparkled anew. His forgiveness, given so freely, renewed the light in your relationship, reminding you of the deep, unshakeable bond you shared.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- When you stormed into the war room, your anger boiled over as you accused Scott of betrayal, the stoic leader you’d trusted having seemingly shattered your faith in him. Scott’s face fell, his usually composed demeanor shaken as you poured out your pain, describing how you’d seen him with someone else. His lips parted in surprise, but you didn’t give him a chance to explain, too hurt by the thought of him being with someone else.

- Scott’s initial shock shifted to pain, his jaw clenching as he listened, unable to find the words to defend himself against accusations he didn’t understand. His eyes—so often shielded behind his visor—seemed to reveal a vulnerability he rarely showed. He tried to reach out, his voice low and steady as he denied your claims, but your trust had been severed, leaving you feeling distant and alone.

- The following days felt like a hollow void, each passing moment amplifying the absence of Scott’s steady presence in your life. Scott continued his duties with the X-Men, though his usual precision and focus seemed dimmed. You caught glimpses of him, his shoulders tense, his face etched with a sorrow he tried to hide, and though a part of you ached to believe him, your mind remained clouded by distrust.

- A week later, the fog lifted, and with it came the crushing reality of the villain’s manipulation. Realizing you’d been deceived into doubting Scott tore at you, guilt consuming you as you remembered each harsh word you’d thrown at him. You’d wounded him deeply, casting him out in your pain, and now the weight of that regret sat heavily on your heart as you prepared to make amends.

- You found Scott in the danger room, his focus intense as he trained, his body moving with practiced precision, though there was an underlying tension in every motion. He paused when he saw you, his face a careful mask as he waited, giving you the space to speak. Your apology tumbled out, words spilling over each other as you explained the mind control you’d been under, your voice breaking with regret.

- Scott’s face softened as he took in your words, nodding slowly, though a hint of hurt remained in his gaze. “I understand,” he said quietly, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace. His hold was gentle yet reassuring, a reminder of the unshakable trust he placed in you. “Next time, talk to me first,” he added, his voice a mix of relief and gentle admonishment, and you nodded, knowing the advice was well-deserved.

- That night, as you lay with him, his calm, steady breathing beside you, Scott’s familiar hand rested over yours, anchoring you in his quiet strength. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, and with that simple gesture, the sense of peace returned, his unwavering loyalty rekindling the trust you’d thought you’d lost.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- When you confronted Jean, the weight of betrayal and disbelief surged through you, making it hard to catch your breath. Your accusations spilled out, each word sharpened by hurt, as you described seeing her with someone else. Jean’s emerald eyes widened, her expression reflecting your own pain as you accused her of infidelity. Her mouth opened as if to defend herself, but the words didn’t come. You could feel her shock and sadness pulsing back at you, a faint psychic echo that only deepened the ache in your heart.

- “Please, you have to believe me, it’s not true,” she murmured, her voice gentle but edged with hurt. Jean tried to reach out, fingers trembling as they stretched toward you, but you pulled back, retreating from her touch. Her face fell as you turned away, her pleading expression remaining etched in your mind as you left her there, feeling shattered and alone. The telepathic bond you once shared now felt cold, a reminder of the trust you thought had been broken.

- For days, Jean kept her distance, though you’d catch her watching you with a quiet sadness whenever you passed each other. Her usual warmth, the fiery passion she radiated, seemed dimmed, like she’d wrapped herself in a barrier to shield from the hurt. You tried to push her out of your mind, but her absence left a hollow ache, one that only deepened each time you remembered the way her eyes had softened as you walked away.

- When the villain’s manipulation lifted a week later, the truth hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you reeling with guilt. You’d been tricked into believing Jean had betrayed you, but in reality, she’d been loyal to you, her love unwavering. Shame washed over you, knowing that you’d hurt her without reason, tearing apart the trust she’d cherished. You could only hope that it wasn’t too late to make things right.

- You found Jean alone in the gardens, her gaze distant as she sat in silence, a small frown creasing her forehead. Her shoulders tensed as you approached, but she didn’t look up. Heart pounding, you poured out your apology, explaining the mind control that had twisted your perception. She listened, her expression unreadable, though a glimmer of hope began to soften her gaze as you continued.

- After a long pause, Jean reached for your hand, squeezing it gently as tears brimmed in her eyes. “I wanted to reach out, but I could feel your pain too deeply,” she whispered, voice trembling. She pulled you into a soft embrace, her presence like a warm blanket around your heart. “Please, let’s promise to trust each other from now on, no matter what,” she added, and you nodded, feeling the first glimmers of relief.

- That night, as you held each other, Jean’s fingers gently traced along your arm, her psychic presence soothing and warm as she shared her feelings with you. The silent bond between you two, once bruised, began to heal, mending the hurt that had divided you. You found comfort in her arms, her forgiveness a balm that promised a fresh start, her love as unbreakable as ever.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Your voice shook as you confronted Ororo, disbelief and betrayal twisting inside you as you accused her of infidelity. Ororo’s calm gaze held your own, her eyes wide with shock and a hint of sorrow as your words struck her like thunder. You saw her usual composure flicker, her regal presence momentarily faltering as you laid out your accusations, heart aching with each word you threw at her.

- “I… I don’t know where this is coming from,” she replied, her voice soft, laced with heartbreak. She reached for you, a gentle attempt to reassure you, but you stepped back, hurt mingling with anger as you turned away. Ororo watched you go, her hand still outstretched, her usually warm expression now marred with the anguish of unspoken words. Even as you walked away, a part of you felt the sorrow radiating from her like a storm brewing in the distance.

- Days passed with silence filling the void between you two, the peacefulness she usually brought into your life now replaced by a cold emptiness. Ororo respected your space, though you’d catch glimpses of her from afar, her shoulders tense, her face etched with the sadness she struggled to conceal. Every time you saw her, it felt like the calm before a storm, the ache of loss lingering as the reality of her absence settled around you.

- When the fog of mind control finally lifted, understanding hit you like a gust of wind, and you felt the weight of guilt pressing down on you. Ororo had never betrayed you; her loyalty and love had remained steady. The villain’s manipulation had twisted your perception, turning the warmth you shared into bitter suspicion. Heart pounding, you knew you had to find her, to make things right and ask for her forgiveness.

- You found her in the garden, surrounded by blooming flowers and a soft breeze. She stood with her back to you, eyes closed, as if in quiet communion with nature. When she sensed your approach, she turned, her expression unreadable, a mixture of hope and lingering hurt. Words tumbled from your mouth, the apology spilling out as you explained the mind control that had manipulated your mind, your voice breaking with remorse.

- Ororo’s expression softened, her serene gaze meeting yours as she listened. After a moment of silence, she placed a gentle hand on your cheek, her touch soothing as she whispered, “I forgive you. I know the heart can be clouded by lies, but our love is stronger than that.” Her words were a calm reassurance, her forgiveness like a gentle rain that washed away the doubt and guilt that had lingered in your heart.

- That night, you sat together beneath the stars, her hand entwined with yours as she told stories of her childhood under the open sky. The peaceful presence she exuded settled around you like a comforting blanket, and as you rested your head on her shoulder, you felt the scars of your doubt fading, replaced by the steady strength of her love.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- You stormed into Rogue’s room, accusations slipping out before you could even consider the impact of your words. Rogue’s eyes widened in disbelief as you described what you’d seen, your voice laced with pain and anger. She shook her head, stepping back as you continued, your heart aching as you accused her of something you never thought she’d do. Her lips parted, her shock transforming into sorrow, as if each word was a blow that left her more vulnerable than you’d ever seen.

- “Ah wouldn’t ever do that t’ you,” she whispered, her voice thick with hurt, her Southern accent laced with a trembling sadness. Rogue reached out instinctively, her gloved hand hovering as if to reassure you, but you pulled away, the ache of betrayal too fresh. The sight of her slumping shoulders haunted you as you walked out, her sadness lingering in your mind even as you tried to push her from your thoughts.

- The following days felt hollow, the vibrant spark that Rogue usually brought into your life now replaced by a dull ache. Rogue didn’t try to push her way back in, though every time you saw her, her gaze lingered, a mixture of hurt and confusion visible in her green eyes. You’d catch her in training, her laughter absent, her confidence dimmed, each glance at her a reminder of the trust you’d once shared, now seemingly fractured.

- A week later, the villain’s hold on your mind lifted, leaving you reeling with regret. The image of Rogue’s “betrayal” had been nothing but an illusion, a trick meant to sever your bond. The guilt weighed heavily on you as you remembered each accusation, each moment of doubt you’d forced on her. The damage was done, but you knew you had to try to mend the hurt you’d inflicted, to apologize and hope that she’d understand.

- You found her on the mansion’s balcony, gazing out at the sprawling landscape, her expression pensive. She turned when you approached, her gaze wary, the pain still fresh in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, you offered a heartfelt apology, explaining how you’d been manipulated, each word laced with sorrow and remorse. Rogue listened, her expression softening as you spoke, though a hint of hurt remained.

- She was quiet for a moment, studying you, before her lips quirked in a sad smile. “Ah figured somethin’ was off, but it hurt, sugar,” she murmured, her voice raw with the vulnerability she rarely showed. But then, in true Rogue fashion, she pulled you into a tight embrace, the warmth of her hold seeping through your guilt. “Just promise me you’ll trust me next time, alright?” she whispered, her voice thick with forgiveness.

- That night, you lay side by side, the moon casting soft light across her face as she told you stories of her past, her gloved hand tracing gentle patterns on your arm. She forgave you with a grace you hadn’t anticipated, her love steadfast and undiminished. As you held her, you felt a renewed trust blossom between you, a bond that had withstood the storm, now stronger than ever.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- When you confronted Erik, anger and heartbreak mingled in your words as you accused him of betrayal. His normally sharp, guarded gaze softened, showing a flicker of vulnerability you’d rarely seen as he absorbed your accusations. Erik’s face darkened with pain as he denied your claims, his usual calm and confidence faltering as you recounted what you’d seen. He reached out, trying to make you understand, but the hurt clouded your judgment, leaving you feeling shattered and disconnected.

- “You know me better than that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, a hint of desperation in his tone. Erik’s hand dropped to his side as he watched you turn away, his shoulders tense with a restrained sorrow that only deepened the ache in your heart. He didn’t chase after you, respecting your choice to walk away, though the look in his eyes haunted you, a mixture of regret and confusion that lingered long after you’d left.

- In the days that followed, Erik returned to his usual demeanor, his powerful presence now tainted by an unspoken sadness. Though he resumed his work, his moments of quiet solitude grew longer, the stoic mask he wore cracking slightly under the weight of the distance between you. You saw him standing alone on the mansion grounds more often, his expression hardened but with a flicker of sorrow that betrayed the pain he carried within.

- A week later, as the fog of mind control finally dissipated, the truth hit you with a crushing force. The betrayal you’d seen had been nothing more than an illusion, a cruel trick meant to drive a wedge between you and Erik. Regret flooded through you, the weight of each harsh word you’d thrown at him settling heavily on your heart. Determined to make amends, you knew you had to find him, to confess the truth and ask for his forgiveness.

- You found Erik in the metal workshop, his focus intense as he worked, manipulating metal with quiet precision. When he noticed you, his hands stilled, his face carefully guarded as he met your gaze, waiting for you to speak. Taking a shaky breath, you apologized, explaining the mind control that had twisted your perception and pushed you to doubt him. Erik listened silently, his eyes never leaving yours, a mix of hurt and understanding etched on his face.

- Erik stepped closer, his hand reaching out to rest against your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I know the world often gives us reason to doubt, but I hoped you’d trust in me,” he murmured, his voice heavy with both forgiveness and a lingering sadness. He pulled you into a strong embrace, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt protective, as though he’d keep you close, despite the pain you’d caused.

- That night, as you lay beside him, Erik’s fingers traced gentle patterns on your arm, a soft reminder of his silent devotion. He held you close, his presence both reassuring and grounding, a quiet promise that your bond was stronger than any villain’s lies. In his arms, you felt the forgiveness you’d feared you’d lost, a renewed trust settling between you as the weight of doubt faded away, replaced by a love that defied all odds.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- When you confronted Charles, the words spilled out in a painful rush, your heart aching as you accused him of something you’d once thought impossible. His calm blue gaze wavered as he listened, the hurt in his eyes clear as he took in each painful accusation. Charles tried to reach out telepathically, his gentle voice brushing against your mind, but the hurt pushed you to block him, leaving him standing there, stunned and sorrowful.

- “Please, if you’d just let me explain,” he pleaded, his usually steady voice faltering as he took a step toward you. Charles’s outstretched hand fell back to his side when you backed away, his face softening with regret and a sadness that tugged at your heart. He watched you leave, his expression a mixture of sorrow and helplessness, a silent question lingering between you that neither of you could answer.

- In the days that followed, Charles kept his distance, his presence around the mansion more subdued than usual. Though he carried on with his responsibilities, his usual warmth and reassuring smile seemed dimmed, a hint of sadness in his eyes whenever you passed each other. You noticed him sitting alone in his study more often, his gaze distant, as though wrestling with the hurt of your accusations in his own quiet way.

- When the villain’s manipulation finally lifted, the realization of the truth hit you hard, guilt flooding your heart. You’d been deceived, twisted into believing a betrayal that had never happened, and in doing so, you’d hurt the man who had trusted you so deeply. Shame filled you as you remembered each accusation, each cold look you’d given him, and you knew you had to make things right.

- You found Charles in his study, his gaze focused on a book but distant, lost in thought. When you entered, he looked up, his expression a mixture of surprise and guarded hope. Stumbling over your words, you explained the mind control that had been used to deceive you, your apology spilling out as you begged for his forgiveness. Charles listened, his expression softening as he absorbed your words, though a trace of hurt lingered in his eyes.

- “I understand, my dear,” he replied gently, reaching out to take your hand in his. His touch was warm, comforting, as he squeezed your hand reassuringly. “The mind can be a fragile thing, easily manipulated. But I believe in us,” he added, his voice a gentle reminder that trust, once broken, could be rebuilt. Charles pulled you into a soft embrace, his forgiveness radiating through you like a quiet, calming balm.

- That night, as you sat by the fire, Charles shared memories of times you’d spent together, his voice soothing and full of love. With each story, he reassured you of his unwavering trust and commitment, your bond gradually healing in the warmth of his presence. The quiet strength of his forgiveness wrapped around you, giving you a renewed faith in the love that had weathered even the darkest of manipulations.

Bobby Drake aka. Iceman

- You confronted Bobby with a whirlwind of hurt and frustration, accusing him of betrayal with an intensity that left you both shaken. Bobby’s usual carefree grin vanished, replaced by a look of shock as he absorbed your accusations, his blue eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to protest, to deny what you were saying, but the pain in your voice silenced him, leaving him looking lost and wounded.

- “I would never do that to you,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with sincerity, hurt flickering in his eyes as he searched your face for any sign of belief. He reached out, his hand trembling as he tried to reassure you, but you pulled back, the ache of distrust making it hard to accept his words. Bobby’s shoulders slumped as you turned away, his usual bright spirit dampened by the weight of your accusations.

- For days, the once lively mansion felt colder, the warmth Bobby usually brought replaced by an uncomfortable silence. He withdrew, giving you the space you needed, though his gaze would linger sadly whenever you passed each other. You missed his humor, the lighthearted moments that had once filled your days, but the cloud of suspicion remained, leaving a hollow ache that only grew with time.

- A week later, the villain’s hold on your mind finally lifted, and with it came the realization of the truth. Bobby’s supposed betrayal had been nothing more than a cruel manipulation, meant to tear you apart. The guilt was overwhelming as you remembered the hurt in his eyes, the way you’d rejected him despite his protests. Heart heavy, you knew you had to find him and apologize, to explain the lies that had clouded your mind.

- You found Bobby in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, his posture tense as he focused on an ice sculpture he was absentmindedly creating. He looked up when you entered, his expression guarded, a flicker of hope in his gaze as you began to apologize. Your words tumbled out, explaining the mind control that had twisted your perception, the regret heavy in your voice.

- Bobby’s expression softened, his usual playful spark returning as he let out a soft laugh, though there was a hint of lingering hurt in his eyes. “Guess I can’t stay mad at you,” he said, a playful grin breaking through the sadness as he pulled you into a tight hug. He held you close, his embrace warm despite his powers, a silent reassurance that he forgave you and that he’d missed you too.

- That night, as you lay together on the couch, Bobby’s arms wrapped around you, he cracked jokes, his usual humor returning in full force as he playfully teased you about your suspicions. The lighthearted banter soothed the remaining tension, reminding you of the joy he brought into your life. In his laughter and his forgiveness, you found the comfort you’d missed, the love between you rekindled with a warmth that melted away all doubts.

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sebsxphia · 1 year ago

Note

Imagine

Bob putting soft cock in his bunny so they can feel it grow and stretch them out

￫ a/n: oh goodness fucking hell yes please dear anon jesus christ i’m foaming at the fucking MOUTH rn 😵‍💫🤤

￫ c/w: cockwarming and p in v.

you’re pawing at his chest as you straddle him on the sofa, with your face nuzzled in between where his neck meets his shoulders and mouthing at his warm, bare chest.

“need you, bobby, please.” you softly whine.

he chuckles quietly before cooing at you. “i’ve got you, ‘m right here, bunny.”

one of his large hands is still cradling your head and letting his fingertips scratch your scalp. his other hand reaches down to the waistband of his grey sweatpants and pulls them down, freeing his soft cock. “it’s a little soft right now, bunny, but i’d never deny my sweetheart.”

the keenness of you rutting your hips along this thighs and hearing you needy whines, mixed with his hand giving it a couple of strokes, allows it to harden ever so slightly. it’s just enough so he can sit inside of you, but still soft enough that it doesn’t fill you whole.

you let out a huff of content breath at suddenly feeling so connected to bobby, before grinding your hips more. you’re still kissing and mouthing at his bare chest, with little groans leaving your lips.

“feels s’ nice, bobby. i like feeling you grow ‘n stretch me out.” you murmur against him.

bob lets out a silent, “oh.” before settling his large hands to your hips and moving them against his own. you whimper at each movement, being able to feel his tip nudge deeper inside of you and his shaft grow. you felt bob’s warm lips press against the shell of your ear and kiss you tenderly, with his voice soothing in your ear.

“does that feel nice, bunny? feelin’ my cock stretch out my sweet cunt? so good for me, letting me fill my sweet bunny whole.”

1K notes · View notes

mystic-writings · 5 days ago

Text

forgiven

PAIRING — ex!dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY — two years after you broke up, dean convinces you to let him help you with a hunt.

WARNINGS — angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, torture, reader and dean ‘hate’ each other

WORD COUNT — 6,610

SONG — my tears ricochet - taylor swift

NOTES — writing this fic almost killed me. why does dean winchester turn me into an anguished poet.

masterlist | taglist

Regret.

Dean was a man with a long list of them, but as he stood in a field, watching the pyre burn alongside his brother and Bobby, he found himself placing you at the very top. You were the biggest regret of his life, and he hasn’t even made it to his thirties. He regretted shutting you out. He regretted letting you walk away. He regretted not looking for you when he finally came to his senses. He regretted not being fast enough.

He regretted letting you die.

Sam and Bobby had told him one too many times that it wasn’t his fault, but wasn’t it always? Wasn’t it always him making the hard choices, only for them to be wrong, in the end? Wasn’t it always him who had the blood of innocent people staining his hands? Wasn’t it always him that isn’t fast enough, isn’t strong enough, isn’t good enough?

Wasn’t it him that got you killed?

He’d heard things from other hunters after you broke things off with him. How bloodthirsty you’d become, always working alone, working efficiently, working ruthlessly. He’d hated it, deep down. How you dug yourself deeper into the hunting world when all either of you ever wanted was to get out. It killed him inside, knowing you were still in the business, even if a larger part of him carried hatred for you, albeit misplaced. Dean would never admit it aloud to anyone, though. Sam was often on the receiving end of his outward projections and rants at how much he hated you, and so was Bobby, on the rare occasion he saw the Winchesters. But the inward reflection of his soul was full of hurt; pain and grief and regret buried deep, dug up when Sam was asleep in the Impala and Dean waited for you to start some kind of weird conversation — only to remember you weren’t there anymore.

It came back to him every once in a while, the memories Dean never wanted to relive. They were too domestic (at least, as domestic as they could get in their line of work), too happy. But they were always hidden, waiting for Dean to be at his weakest. In an old mixtape, in a certain Zeppelin song that would play on the radio, in the crappy diner meals he would eat late into the night, in the glint of light off the silver ring you gifted him on his last birthday with you.

He wanted to hate you. He wanted nothing more than to hate you. But all you wanted to do was help him. His dad just died, of course all you wanted to do was help him. Dean was just too busy spiralling and drowning in his own grief to see it. That’s what he liked to tell himself. It was the grief that pushed you away. Just another thing his father wouldn’t let him keep to himself, to enjoy and cherish. He put the blame on his father, because why wouldn’t he? John Winchester was responsible for just about every other bad thing in his life thus far, why wouldn’t he be responsible for pushing you away, too?

So, like you, Dean hardened himself, diving headfirst into the very next case Sam was able to find. He ignored the pain, closed himself off, and got back to doing what he did best — hunting.

It was easy enough most days. In fact, it made him just that much better at what he did. It should’ve been concerning, at the very least, but Sam knew better than to step in Dean’s path. So, he watched silently as his brother, slowly but surely, crumbled beneath the weight of his own steeled emotions. But it didn’t show; not really, not beyond the occasional breakdown or bender, not until Sam and Dean arrived in Chicago.

The case itself was mostly cut and dry, they could see that before they even reached the city. Bobby had offered it over to them, a suspected shapeshifter that enjoyed preying upon people by taking on the faces of their ex-boyfriends and torturing them to death. It was gruesome, to say the least, but it wasn’t anything the Winchesters hadn’t seen before. In fact, it practically solved itself, save for the fact that the locations didn’t quite line up with the sewer system, and therefore, they had to take their time in locating the shapeshifter’s lair.

Their first clue that something was wrong was when they interviewed the first victim’s best friend.

“And you’re sure Katie was fine when you left?” Sam asked.

“Yes! Katie doesn’t— didn’t drink. She hated the stuff. We thought Matt was already gone, I mean, he said it himself. He was about to move to Boston.” The girl — Ashley, Dean thought her name might’ve been — reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “Why are you asking all this again?”

“Again?” Dean stiffened.

“Yeah, again.” She scoffed. “Another agent was here yesterday. A woman, I can’t remember her name. Mick? Something like that?”

Sam’s face dropped. “Agent Nicks?”

“Yeah, that’s her. Look, she already asked me all this stuff before, can’t you guys just leave me alone?”

Dean and Sam shared a quick glance before the latter closed his notebook. “Of course, we’ll get out of your hair.”

Neither of the brothers spoke until they were in the Impala, Sam reaching for his phone while peeling away from the curb, dialling Bobby’s number and putting him on speaker.

Bobby didn’t have the chance to breathe on the other line before Sam was speaking. “She’s here.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise we were playing a game of Guess Who.” Bobby snipped. “Who the hell are you talking about, boy?”

“Y/n. She’s in Chicago. We just talked to the first vic’s friend, she said another agent already talked to her. Agent Nicks.”

Bobby cursed under his breath. “She ain’t gonna like you two bein’ there.”

“Well that’s just too bad,” Dean piped up, practically white-knuckling the steering wheel. “We’re already here. And I’m not leaving a case behind just because little miss wants to pitch a fit about it. We’re finishing this hunt whether she likes it or not.”

“On your head,” Bobby conceded. “Just be careful, boys. She ain’t the same girl she was two years ago.”

“We will. Talk to you later, Bobby.” Sam huffed as he ended the call, eyeing his oddly silent older brother as they headed back to their motel room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your voice was sharp, laced with anger directed at a pair of haunting green eyes.

“Working the case, sweetheart,” Dean smiled condescendingly, leaning against the bar. “You know, you should try to be a little less conspicuous next time, Agent Nicks.”

Damnit.

“And which conspicuous name are you using this time?” You tilted your head, chest already filled to the brim with barely contained rage. “Johnson? Perry? Oh, maybe it’s Plant! You always did have a hard-on for Zeppelin.”

“Would you—” Dean cut himself off with a heavy sigh. “God, you’re so— You know, I don’t know how the hell I put up with you for so long.”

“I guess I was just really good in bed,” you shrugged, a coy smirk playing on your lips. If this had been some post-hunt pub night years ago, Dean would’ve kissed that smirk right off your face. But it wasn’t. It was now, in Chicago, in a hotspot for shapeshifter activity and you hadn’t seen Dean’s face in so long that the presence of it now only made your blood boil.

“Whatever. We’re both in this now, whether you like it or not.”

“Like hell,” you nearly spat, finishing off your beer. “I work alone, Winchester. Or haven’t you heard?”

“It’s funny that you think I still think about you.” Dean scoffed a laugh. “We might as well do this together. Shapeshifters, they’re tricky business.”

“For you, maybe. Besides, taking on a shapeshifter in a group practically spells trouble. Ever since I left you guys, I’ve had no trouble taking them out on my own.” You shrugged, like it was no big deal.

Dean huffed, suddenly frustrated at your vehement refusal to work together. “Look, if we don’t work together, we’re only gonna get in each other’s way. And you and I both know neither of us are just gonna give up the job. That’s not how we work.”

“Why are you so insistent that I be anywhere near you, Dean?” You asked, dropping your angry mask and giving into the slight heartache behind it. “Because if I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted me gone.”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his mind fumbling for any response that he could save face with. His green eyes flashed with hurt, only to be swept away by his tired, nearly pleading puppy dog eyes — nowhere near as convincing as Sam’s, but you were the only person he was ever able to charm with them, anyway. “Because it’s safer, and you of all people should know that I’d never hang a hunter out to dry like that. Especially—”

Dean cut himself off, his heart aching as he seemed, just for a moment, to forget what you two really were. Bitter exes with a taste for violence; proximal bombs so close to going off. If only you weren’t just that, then Dean would’ve said what was on his mind. Especially people I care about. Especially you.

You eyed the elder Winchester wearily, his words scratching at the crumbling walls around your heart. You hated to admit it, but maybe, just this once, Dean Winchester was right. These past few years had been wearing you down, stripping your resolve down to nothing more than a single, solitary wall protecting the worst thing you could think of from reaching your heart. You were tired. More so than you were when Dean first suggested getting the hell out of hunting. Back when he suggested it for the both of you, and ideas of an apartment and a dog and a normal fucking job were included in hushed conversations before bed in a crappy motel.

And then John Winchester sacrificed himself to save his son, and everything slipped out from underneath you. Because you knew the truth, long before Dean ever figured it out. John had told you himself — his final act, the only selfless thing he’d done for his boys. He begged you to get them out, told you that killing yellow eyes didn’t matter anymore. He just wanted his sons safe. And you couldn’t even do that.

With a final sigh, a too-long look into Dean’s eyes, and the echo of John Winchester’s final words to you ringing in your ears, you conceded. “Fine. But if anything happens, Winchester, so help me—”

“I know, you’ll kick my ass.”

“Actually, I’ll key your car, but that works too.”

Once you finally put all three of your heads together, it wasn’t difficult to find the shapeshifter’s central hiding spot. All of the locations it’d attacked at were no more than a 15-minute walk from an abandoned factory, which seemed to be the perfect spot. It irked you that you still didn’t know exactly how the shifter was picking and choosing its victims, but as long as it was dead before dawn broke, you would be content.

So, loaded up with silver — a knife tucked up your sleeve and some handy silver bullets loaded into your pistol, you joined the Winchesters in hunting a monster for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

Your reunion with Sam was much more pleasant than your encounter with Dean, as the younger of the brothers had always had a soft spot for you. He considered you family well before Dean had even had the guts to ask you out, and he was just glad that you’d been staying safe during the years you spent apart.

“So, what exactly are we doing?” You’d asked, leaning over the Impala’s front seat, eyeing both Winchesters like it was any other hunt. The ride up until then had been eerily quiet, no one speaking a word and no music playing, which was unusual for Dean. But that was only because the last cassette mix you’d made him was still in the player, and he refused to show any kind of weakness. To show you that he still kept some parts of you around.

“Factory’s pretty big, so we might have to split up for a bit, see what we can see.” Dean reminded you, sending you a cursory glance in the rearview mirror.

You grimaced. “I don’t like the sound of that. A shifter could do anything with that kind of vulnerability between us.”

“And it’ll take hours for us to find the damn thing and gank it if we all stick together,” Dean argued, gripping the wheel a little tighter. A sliver of moonlight glinted off a ring on his right ring finger, and you noticed absently that it was the one you’d gifted him for his birthday just before you’d broken up.

“And we won’t be able to gank it at all if it looks like one of us and then we all die, Dean!” You shot back, voice rising in volume. “I’ve done this enough to know that if we stick together, our chances are better.”

“We’re splitting up and that’s final. I don’t like it either, but it’s our best shot at finding this thing. From what I know, it’s quicker than most shifters, and that means it’s more dangerous.” Dean reasoned, and you knew better than to keep fighting him on it.

“Look,” Sam stepped in, turning to catch your gaze as you slumped back against the backseat. “It’ll be a lot quicker, but just in case something goes wrong, you shout. If you come across one of us and think it’s the shifter, pull your knife. It’s not the best, but Dean’s right, and it’s all we’ve got.”

You merely huffed, silently conceding to the brothers’ plan and ignoring the twist in your gut. Your mind was practically screaming at you, begging you to get away from the Winchester brothers and complete this hunt on your own. You would’ve made an exception for them in any other case, if it has just been any other monster. But shapeshifters relied on groups. They relied on the connection between mimic and victim. And your connection to Dean alone was too big of a risk to take just to kill one stupid monster.

But that monster had killed three people in the span of two weeks alone, and you would be damned if you let it kill anyone else.

So, you tamped down the anxiety brewing in your gut and let the lull of the Impala bring you a comfort you’d been sorely missing over the past few years. Despite what you led others to believe, hunting by yourself was lonely. There was never any backup, and you could die at any given moment, but it was all you had left. You, your weapons, and the faith that you’d get lucky enough to live another day.

You were living on luck, really. Luck and grit and hustling drunk guys at pool or poker. Always on the road, never sticking around, and never letting anyone get close. You’d tried it once with Dean, and all it got you was heartache. Hunting was the only thing left, and after all, violence was your preferred method of distraction. You remembered one of your first hunts after you and Dean had broken up — a particularly rowdy vamp nest in southern Oregon, hell bent on wreaking havoc on an entire town just to quell their bloodlust. You’d been too blinded by the idea of releasing your anger on them that you failed to see how big their nest truly was. All of them younger, more energised vampires than you were used to. They were quick, but you were far more skilled, and you’d almost had them all when one of them sideswiped you with a knife of its own, jamming between your ribs and leaving you nearly too weak to finish the rest off. But you’d done it anyway, before collapsing in the dirt outside. You thought you were going to die that night, bleeding out under a beautiful canopy of bright, white stars and a silver moon. And you would’ve gone willingly, with Dean as your last thought. Your last, heart wrenching, regretful thought. And then, with all the anger and willpower you could muster, you got back up. Because if there was one thing you would not do, it was die so young. So young and so unaccomplished and so unloved. And you would not let your last thoughts be of the man who so willingly pushed you out of his life to succumb to his grief, when all you had wanted to do was help him through it.

The cut of the engine turning off pulled you from the depths of your mind, darkness enveloping you as the headlights ceased. Turning to the window, you glanced at the distant, towering factory. It was decrepit; all shattered windows and crumbling brick. Graffiti covered almost every surface, and you could see how it was the perfect space for a shapeshifter to lay low.

Stepping outside, you re-checked all your weapons. The silver knife, still tucked in your sleeve. The gun, its magazine still loaded with silver bullets. Another knife, made of regular steel, tucked into your boot. It was an old switchblade, and had seen its fair share of kills over the years. One of the few things from Dean that you refused to part with, mostly due to how well it had served you in tight spots.

The walk into the factory, armed to the teeth with knives and flashlights, was silent. You all knew the plan, what was to be done. Nothing else needed to be said. With a few nods and nudges, Dean directed you all to different areas of the sprawling, decrepit building. The top floors were mostly gone, and you could see right through the holes in the concrete above. It was mostly a maze of heavy machinery and different rooms, and before you knew it, you were walking carefully, all on your own, toward the backend of the building. You could no longer hear either of the Winchester brothers’ footfalls, and the lack of noise within the building put you on edge. You kept your eyes and ears sharp, ignoring the chill in the room and the way your heart hammered behind your ribcage. The last thing you needed was to slip up. To let the shifter get the jump on you in some way.

Your movements were precise as you swept through each room, gun in hand and flashlight sweeping across the dark factory, searching for any clue that could lead you closer to the shifter. It felt like hours had passed until you stumbled upon a mound of flesh and liquid, gagging as your light glinted off it. It seemed fresh, too, and you briefly wondered if the shifter was off torturing someone else in the city and this plan was now a bust.

Then something scraped behind you, and you turned quickly, only to meet Dean’s squinting eyes. He was in different clothes, lacking a flashlight.

“What happened to your clothes?” You asked, tone tight.

“Covered in shifter juices. I had to change.” He huffed, already fed up.

“Your flashlight?” You asked again. “Where is it?”

“Battery died. I went looking for you when I got back inside. You were right, we should stick together.” Dean relented, and wearily, you nodded and lowered your gun, your grip on it still tight. You didn’t want to trust him, but it was Dean.

“Let’s go find Sammy and sweep back around. I think this thing’s bedroom might be nearby. If these things even have bedrooms.”

Beside you, Dean scoffed a laugh. “Doubt it.”

You eyed him again, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. “Since when are you so chipper, Winchester? I thought you hated the sight of me.”

“I don’t,” Dean shrugged simply, eyeing you quizzically when he caught your gaze. “What? I may not like you, but you’re right. Shifters ain’t fun going after alone, especially in a group.”

“I know.” You said, your voice tight. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. But you kept yourself level. “That’s why I didn’t want either of you coming with me. But you just had to be persistent, didn’t you?”

“Well, you know me,” Dean shrugged casually, turning down a hallway.

“Yeah, I do know you.” You said, walking a bit faster to stop Dean in his tracks. Your eyeline lined up perfectly with his chest, and you did your best to remain calm as you gripped your gun tighter. “And I know damn well you wouldn’t go anywhere without your necklace. Not even if you changed your clothes during a hunt.”

Dean looked down at you as though you were crazy, a hand coming up to grasp gently at your bicep. “What are you talking about? I left it in the car, I swear.”

“Yeah, right.” You snipped, glancing down and finding the ring you gave him to be missing as well. “And your ring? The one you promised me you’d never take off? Where’s that?”

Not-Dean’s grip tightened on your arm, almost unbearably strong. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Now why would I keep wearing my ex-girlfriend’s ring after not seeing her for two years, hmm? Did you really think you meant that much to me, sweetheart?”

This wasn’t Dean. You knew it wasn’t. But the look in his eye was eerily similar to the one he gave you the day he forced you out of his life, and the words he spewed twisted the knife you didn’t know was still lodged in your beating, bleeding heart.

In an instant, you raised the gun and attempted to step back, trying to aim and shoot as quickly as you could. But it got the jump on you, first, gripping the pistol’s barrel and striking your forearm, wrenching the gun from your grip and tossing it down the hall behind it. Immediately, you slid the knife out of your sleeve and into your palm, raising it to strike. The shifter blocked that movement, too, grabbing at your wrist as it began to arc downard, squeezing so hard that the knife clattered to the ground. You tried to fight back, but with its grasp on your raised arm and now the hand twisting painfully into your hair — a familiar feeling, now tainted with fear and pain and panic — made you practically useless.

“Oh, sweet thing, I am just gonna love tearing you to pieces.” Not-Dean snarled, its sadistic smile churning your gut. You inhaled sharply, about to cry out, when it tugged on the roots of your hair, forcing a whimper from you, instead. “Not so fast, darling. We’re gonna have a little fun, just ourselves, before either of your boys can join in.”

His voice was what you couldn’t comprehend. Sure, that last fight before you broke up was brutal; shouting and cursing each other out and saying things you weren’t sure either of you had meant to say, but this? Hearing him so easily speak about hurting you, like it was nothing, that was what you couldn’t bear. Even if it was the shifter.

You looked around, finding quickly that you were in a rather secluded part of the building. The far right corner, judging by the window placements. There were beams and trolleys and pieces of equipment laying everywhere, coated in rust and god knows what else. Not-Dean guided you easily to an oddly clean chair in the room, and you sat down willingly, hoping and praying that one of the brothers would stumble upon you sooner rather than later.

“Tsk, you’re such an obedient girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Not-Dean smirked.

“Don’t call me that,” you growled, watching him lean down beside you and grab a long rope.

“Right, because Dean was the only one you let use that nickname,” he nodded sarcastically. “Does it bother you? That I’m in his head, that I know what he thinks. That I have his face.”

You shook your head as he wrapped the rope tightly around your wrists, pinning them behind the chair. “No. You’re just as big of an ass as he was. But you probably know that already, don’t you?”

“I do,” not-Dean chuckled, tugging on the rope with the final knot to secure it before heading to your ankles. “In fact, I know everything he’s ever thought about you, sweetheart. And boy, you should hear some of the things he used to think about you.”

“I’m good, actually. Thanks.” You grimaced, meeting not-Dean’s eyes as he smirked. He placed both hands on your knees, the warmth spreading through your jeans as he pushed himself up and dragged a trolley over to you.

“Are you sure?” He asked, skimming over the items on the table. “He’s had some very naughty thoughts about you, Y/n. And recently, too. The things he wants to do to you…” Not-Dean tsked and shook his head, finally picking up a knife.

“Gonna cut me up with that little thing?” You smirked, watching the shifter consider it for a moment before putting the knife back down.

He smirked and walked the short distance to come and stand before you, crouching to meet your eye level as he said, “I had something a bit more… tantalizing in mind.” Reaching into your boot, the shifter pulled your switchblade from where it hid. “Now this seems like a much better weapon, don’t you think?”

You stared at the folded switchblade, your heart thumping rapidly in your chest. Even after you and Dean broke up, that knife made you feel safe, tucked away in your boot. It had seen a lot of action since then as well, effectively protecting you from both monsters and drunkards on more than one occasion.

The shifter opened the blade slowly, sliding it into its final position with an echoing click. He ran his finger across it first, examining its sharpness before turning his — Dean’s — emerald eyes to meet yours. Something sinister brewed among those sharp irises, teeming with hatred and some sick, twisted kind of pleasure.

“Dear old Dean gave you this, didn’t he?” The thing smirked. “I’m sure you know why, right?”

“To protect me.” You growled, shifting helplessly beneath the ropes. “From things like you.”

“This?” He scoffed a laugh. “No, this won’t hurt me. But I can’t wait to see what it does to you.”

Not-Dean dug the tip of the knife into the space above your collarbone, hard enough to draw blood and drag it down your chest. You struggled to bite back a scream as he worked the metal down your skin, leaving behind a stinging gash when he finally pulled it back, his eyes shining with some sick sense of pride as he stared at it, at the blood dripping down into the valley of your chest.

“I know you wanna scream, sweetheart,” Not-Dean taunted, his voice syrupy sweet and dripping with sadistic joy. He dipped his head closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. “From what I’ve seen up here in this pretty little head, you’re quite the screamer, aren’t you?”

“Go fuck yourself,” you spat, face hardening as the shifter pulled back and stood to his full height.

He wore the same, simmering rage that Dean often had before he ended things with you. The face he wore when you confronted him about his behavior, the one he wore before he punched Sam for bringing John up in the first place. It sent a strike of fear through your chest, barely concealed behind your hardened features.

You watched it turn into a smirk as he twirled the blade expertly between his fingers, lips pursing and eyes squinting as they raked over your form, as though deciding what to do with you next. Like he had all the time in the world to figure out how to hurt you the most.

“You wanna know something?” Not-Dean asked suddenly, throwing you off. “Something… secret?”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me no matter what I say?” You glared.

Not-Dean laughed. “Smart girl! Right on the money.” He smiled, resting his palms on his knees as he bent slightly to reach your eye level. “See, I know something you don’t,”

You remained quiet, hard eyes watching his every move.

“Remember all those naughty little thoughts I said Dean has about you?” He didn’t wait for a response as he sighed and straightened up. “Well… he has them all the time. In fact, he pretty much thinks about you 24/7. It’s… well, it’s pathetic.”

Not-Dean spat, his face turning hard and angry again as he sighed. “It’s like you’re on a loop in his head. Everywhere poor Dean looks, there’s something to make him think of you. Such a shame he was the one to push you away, isn’t it? I mean, you are quite the looker.”

You growled as he whistled lowly, his grip tightening on the knife as he stalked closer to you. He brought it to your cheekbone this time, smirking to himself as it dug into the flesh and sliced quickly. You hissed at the sting, feeling the blood trickle down to the corner of your mouth, the cool air of the factory soothing the cut slightly.

“It’s quite a shame that I want to ruin that pretty face of yours so much,” the shifter pouted mockingly, rearing back and landing a punch to your already injured cheek, throwing your head completely to the side. It took you entirely by surprise, a small grunt falling from your lips as you clenched your jaw and tried to hide the pain.

You swallowed hard when you hung your head and saw your blood staining his knuckles — Dean’s knuckles. And then he laughed, the way Dean used to when you’d make some corny joke that caught him off guard, and your throat went dry.

“Tired already, sweetheart?” Not-Dean chuckled, gripping tightly to the hair at the back of your scalp and pulling hard, forcing a yelp from you as he forced your gaze to meet his. “Better make this quick, then, shouldn’t we? After all, those Winchester boys can’t search this building and not find us. And I want you looking nice and broken when they do.”

You swallowed down as many of your cries as you could for the following beat down you received. Slashes with your own knife across most accessible expanses of skin, punches and hits everywhere else. Your lip was split open, tinging your spit with the never-ending taste of copper.

“If you’re gonna kill me,” you gasped, chest heaving as blood trailed down the side of your neck. “Just fucking get it over with.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Not-Dean pouted with a shrug. “Besides, it’s not just you I want to hurt.”

Hurt pulled at your chest as your eyes met his, the realization swimming behind your wide eyes. He didn’t just want to hurt you, to break you however else you could still be broken after everything else you’ve been through. The shifter wanted to hurt Dean. It wanted to break him.

“Hurting me won’t do anything to him.” I scowled despite my bruised and bloody face. “He’s the one that pushed me away, remember? You saw that, didn’t you? In his head?”

“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said?” The shifter scowled back, his voice low and rough, the way Dean usually sounded during hunts. “Dean still loves you. Hell, he never stopped, sweetheart. He’s too headstrong to admit it, but he is. And seeing you like this, all broken and bloody because he didn’t listen to you, because he just couldn’t stay away… that’ll kill him from the inside.”

“You’re wrong,” you rasped, swallowing your tears with a pained gasp. “Dean Winchester doesn’t love me anymore. And killing me sure as shit won’t do anything to hurt him.”

The shifter growled, the sound low and deep in his chest as he gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him as he inched closer. For a moment, his attention was caught by something else, and then his lips upturned in that sadistic smirk. “Looks like we’re about to find out, sweetheart.”

With swift movements, the shifter cut your ties and hauled you from the chair by your forearm, his solid, familiar chest pressed to your back and his own forearm pressing you to him by the neck. Your hands came up to claw at his arm immediately, digging in but getting nowhere as you squirmed against his tight hold.

Almost instantly, Sam and Dean charged into the room from the door you stood parallel to, guns and knives drawn, pointed at you and the shifter.

Dean’s wide eyes looked from the shifter, the spitting image of himself, then to you. He hoped you could see how sorry he was. The plea to forgive him for not listening to you, for letting you get hurt because of his stubbornness filling his beautiful green eyes to the brim.

And you did. You forgave him the moment he first pushed you away, even if you didn’t want to admit it for a very long time. You made sure to tell him that with a single nod, just as the shifter adjusted his hold on you and smirked.

“Well, well, just in time, boys,” he said, pressing his arm a little further into your neck and forcing a choked sound from your throat. “So glad you could make it for the main event of the night.”

“Let her go.” Dean barked, adjusting the hold he had on his gun and aiming it right at the shifter.

Not-Dean scoffed. “Please, Dean, put that thing down. I know you’re not gonna shoot me when I have her in my way. She’s very useful, you know. Human shield, a fun little plaything… I can see why you kept her around for so long.”

When no one spoke, not-Dean hummed approvingly. “Exactly. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with.”

Your mind didn’t process what happened until it was already over.

A small flash of steel below you, cutting into your tank top and piercing up through your ribs, digging deep into your flesh. The release of your body from the shifter’s hold, and the way your body immediately crumpled to the floor. One shout and three shots ringing out above you, the shifter falling in a heap no more than five feet from you.

You coughed, sputtering, as you lay there on the concrete. Something dug into your torso with every breath, filling your chest with pain and warmth and something you couldn’t breathe through.

Dean was at your side in an instant, one hand cupping the back of your head as he pulled you into his lap, shushing the pained groans and whimpers that fell from your lips with a shaking voice.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes flicking to the knife — the knife he gave you — wedged under your ribcage, blood already pooling out of the wound. “Hey. You’re gonna be alright, okay? We’re gonna get you some help.”

“Dean,” you choked out, breaths rasping and wheezing and taking more effort than they ever have before. Something copper coated your lips, your teeth — it was everywhere. You knew what it meant, and from the look on Dean’s face, he did, too. “I’m s— I’m sorry,”

“Hey, hey, don’t,” Dean shook his head, his beautiful emerald eyes filling with tears. “Don’t say that. This isn’t your fault. You’re gonna make it out of this.” His head snapped up for a moment, eyes catching on something you couldn’t see. “Sammy! Help us!”

“D—” you cut yourself off with another cough, blood pooling in your mouth and splattering all over your lips. Glancing down at the knife, you reached with shaking fingers to grasp at it, to press your hand over whatever part of the wound you could reach, coating your palm with blood. “Dean,”

His eyes snapped to meet yours in an instant. “Yeah? Sweetheart, what is it?”

Grunting, you moved your hand to the handle of the switchblade, Dean protesting above you as you shakily removed it with a pained sound, the metal clattering to the floor beside you. Dean’s hand covered the wound as it poured blood, the liquid coating his hand almost immediately. It stained the hem of his jacket sleeve and spilled between his fingers as they clamped over the wound, tinging his silver ring red.

“‘M gonna be okay,” you wheezed, nodding slowly as you kept your gaze on Dean.

“I know,” he nodded back, his voice tight with emotion as he locked eyes with you. “I know, sweetheart.”

“I…” you gasped, finding words harder to speak, your body harder to move. Your mind swam, and you knew your time was limited. “I love you.”

Dean made a choked sound as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, tears sliding down his cheeks, and all you wanted to do was wipe them away.

With the little strength left in you, you reached your bloody palm up to his cheek and did exactly that. The featherlight touch forced Dean’s eyes open, his body shuddering as he breathed in and you forced your hand to stay on his warm cheek.

“This isn’t…” you choked, and Dean shushed you.

“Save your energy, sweetheart. Help’s coming any minute now,” he nodded softly.

You pushed, anyway. “This isn’t… not your fault,” you shook your head, the movement jerking and slow as you practically forced breath into your lungs. Each new breath was unsteady and wheezing, harder to take in than the last.

Dean choked out a sob, leaning over your body and pressing a kiss to your forehead as your hand fell from his face. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You can let go now. You’re safe.”

“I…” you rasped, the words dying on your tongue as the last of your fight dissipated, leaving Dean on the floor of the factory to cradle your limp body close to his as he finally broke, his sobs and cries echoing around the room.

Sam arrived moments later, his shoulders deflating and his heart aching at the sight of Dean. He’d never seen his older brother so broken, so willingly displaying his emotions as he held you, your body cold and pale in his arms as he rocked you.

The shifter had, in the end, succeeded. Part of Dean died with you that night, hatred and regret filling the gaping hole within him. He knew nothing else would ever try to fill it again, and a large part of him never wanted it to be filled. He wanted to sit with the hurt for the rest of his life, because it was what he believed he deserved.

You had gone willingly in his arms, a final admission of love dying on your tongue, leaving behind an ache Dean knew would never be soothed. Because, despite everything he’d done to you, somehow, you still loved him.

If there was one thing Dean Winchester was full of, after all, it was regret.

everything taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

dean winchester taglist: @theweasleyslut @johnmurphyisqueer @thanossexual @dryyoursaltyoceantears @prettypychoinpink @whitemanshoe19 @allinfangirl @sunsetcurvej @killerqueenfan @justthatfangirloverthere @cadencebeat2662 @jamespotterslover @yagorlemmalyn @mariecoded @aunicornmademedoit @bloodyxheaven @weasleystwinswife @mrspeacem1nusone @jessimay89 @supernaturallydc @navs-bhat @xoxabs88xox @unic0rntaking0ver17645 @adhdhufflepuff @erospecies @imabee-oralizard @ellablossom @ajordan2020 @lunepoesie @multitasking44 @alexxavicry @avabh12

(taglists open!)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester angst #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader

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magniloquent-raven · 3 months ago

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I'm getting distracted from my current projects by someone else's post again someone tell me to stop going on tumblr while I have WIPs lmfao

@rosetterer this isn't EXACTLY what you posted about but it does get there in the end

Twenty-four hours has never seemed like such an insurmountably long time.

Buck's had long shifts before, the boring ones when he'd stare at the alarms on the wall, willing them to go off—he can picture Maddie's disappointed scowl if she ever found out about that, but he swears he was only hoping for something small and harmless to break up the monotony—and the busy ones. Ones that leave his ears ringing with phantom sirens by the end. Those days only ever seem long in retrospect, when he's bone-tired and trying to remember all the names he asked for.

But now every shift seems to find new and shittier ways to be gruelling. Eddie's miserable and trying to act like he isn't. There's this weird, uncomfortable tension brewing between Hen and Chim. Ravi got himself transferred to B shift—probably to get away from Gerrard, and Buck can't exactly blame him, but he sort of does anyway and their new probie is terrible, and... then there's Gerrard.

Like, Buck already knew he was a piece of work, but. Knowing and experiencing are two very different things. He could barely stand keeping his mouth shut at the medal ceremony when he met the man for five seconds, and now he has to put up with him making smug, belittling comments towards all his friends, all the time. Constantly needing to remind himself he doesn't want to get fired is actually killing him.

It doesn't help that every so often he'll remember Tommy's offhand Captain Gerrard was like having the dad I already had, with a pang as he wonders what exactly Tommy grew up with. What parts of Gerrard's condescending tyranny were familiar to him. Phillip Buckley may not have been father of the year, but maybe never being looked directly at was better than being raised neck deep in toxic waste.

Every time he remembers he gets the urge to pull out his phone and call Tommy up just to... he doesn't even know. Just to hear his voice, maybe. Know if he's doing okay.

Another reason work days seem so long now, if he's being honest. He's always counting down the hours until he can see Tommy again. Like a kid on the last day of school, watching the clock tick closer and closer to summer vacation.

So, of course, right near the end of a particularly busy shift, Gerrard gets them all lined up for a lecture about how sloppy that last save was. Everyone did something wrong, and everyone needs to hear about all the ways they could have gotten someone killed, like they don't all know how risky the job is already.

By the time he's finished telling Chim it's a miracle he managed to convince anyone to let him out on calls, Buck is clenching his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache.

"I'm sure Captain Soft-Touch loved telling you all it was okay to be mediocre, and that you were trying your best," Gerrard sneers at them all, waving a dismissive hand at very idea of Bobby's captaincy. "But the coddling ended when he retired. Sparing your feelings is going to get people killed. Diaz!" He shouts, abrupt, turning on his heel towards Eddie. Eddie doesn't flinch, but Buck does.

"Yes, sir?" He's coolly polite, and his face is carefully blank, but his posture is tense.

"If I ever catch you checking your phone at a scene again, I'll make sure you're mopping floors for the rest of your life."

Eddie's expression hardens. It was a fender-bender and Eddie didn't even touch his phone until everyone was accounted for and packed into the ambulance. "It was a text from my son. Sir." His tone veers a little to the left of polite.

"I don't care if it was from the goddamn Pope, when you're in the field your focus stays on scene. Next time your brat needs something tell him to go cry to his mother about it."

This time when Buck flinches, everyone else in line does too. Hen bites down on a grimace. Chim hisses quietly through his teeth.

"I can't do that," Eddie says flatly. "What with her being dead and all."

The firehouse is silent for a long, horrible moment. That might've taken the wind out of any decent person's sails, Buck thinks. At the very least most people would've retreated into awkwardness and ended the lecture entirely.

Gerrard's brow pinches angrily. "Don't get smart with me, Diaz."

Buck's not sure it's possible to hate someone more than he hates their new captain right now.

"I don't care about your little sob story excuses, I care that you're sloppy and distracted. If you can't handle the job and the kid, drop one of them."

Oh, he was wrong.

He hates this man so much he's choking on it, it's clogging his throat like bile and he's running out of strength to care that he shouldn't spit it out, spew it everywhere and ruin everything just for the chance of hurting this man in the process. He feels like his skin is bursting at the seams.

Eddie's biting the inside of his cheek, rage and sorrow warring silently on his face.

And Buck breaks. Bursts. "Hey, Captain, that's—"

"Can it, Buckley," Gerrard cuts him off before he can even start. It's not angry, it's not anything, he brushes Buck off like he's an annoying fly buzzing in his ear, barely worth glancing at for the two seconds it takes to tell him he doesn't care. "You're all dismissed. Get out of my sight."

Some of them flee, scurrying to their lockers, the kitchen, anywhere but here. A couple of people throw backwards glances before they walk away. Hen and Chim exchange grim looks. Eddie disappears out the back door in an angry haze. And Buck...

Buck feels. Empty. Small. Like he cut himself open trying to relieve the pressure and now there's just nothing left. No one to patch up the wound, and no reason for any of it, he didn't make an impact, he didn't help anyone, he stood there listening to his friends get degraded, and now—now he's feeling sorry for himself?

It's stupid. He's stupid. He feels like shit because, what, because he didn't get yelled at? Because his piece of shit captain took a break from implying he's a disgusting pervert?

He thinks himself in circles about it his whole way home, the pit in his stomach getting a little deeper every time he tries to will it away.

He's wallowed himself halfway through a six-pack, staring sightlessly at his TV, by the time his front door opens.

"Evan?"

One of the knots in his chest loosens. "Yeah," he calls out, not bothering to sound less pathetic than he is. "In here."

"Hey." Tommy's stopped next to the stairs, eyeing him. His gaze is assessing, but his tone is soft. He's always so careful with Buck. "Bad day?"

Buck takes another sip of his beer. Shrugs.

"Ah, one of those."

The couch cushions dip as Tommy takes a seat next to him. He's close enough that Buck doesn't have to look at him to know he's there. There's warmth radiating off him. The woodsy scent of his aftershave. Buck presses their knees together, and exhales properly for the first time in hours.

He knows he could talk about whatever he wants and Tommy would let him. He's waiting for Buck to take the lead here. Buck could avoid the issue entirely and decide to talk about anything. The fact that he can't really tell the difference between the fancy beer Tommy insists is better than the crap Buck's drinking right now. The documentary about bees he's pretending to watch. The goddamn weather.

What comes out of his mouth is a quiet, "I feel like an idiot."

Tommy pulls the beer bottle out of Buck's loose grip, puts it down next to the couch, and then takes Buck's hand in both of his. "Why?"

Buck scrubs at his eyes. "I..." He catalogues the tiny scars on Tommy's knuckles. Two, three, little dots on his index finger. A lopsided vee on his thumb. "Something happened at work."

"Did Gerrard say something to you?" There's an edge to Tommy's question, something sharp and flinty. It makes Buck's heart do dumb little somersaults.

"No." He stops, shame burning his cheeks. "Not. Not to me. That's... He was lecturing everybody, and I..."

"Evan." Tommy grips his chin, firmly, gently, guiding Buck's face until he looks him in the eye. There's a sympathetic twist to his mouth. "Tell me."

He does. As best he can when it feels like what's didn't happen is more important, and he can barely put into words why that is. But trying helps, a little. Trying to whittle it down into an explanation forces him to look at the whole of it, and realize it's not looming over him anymore.

Maybe it's just Tommy's hands on him, soothing the hurt away.

"I dunno. Feels like I could have done something differently, maybe"

Tommy hums, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "You could've."

Buck winces.

"But it wouldn't have turned out any better."

Oh.

A flower blooms on the TV, purple and white petals reaching for the sun. Buck toys with Tommy's fingers, and shifts his leg closer, hooking their ankles together.

"It felt so shitty," he mutters.

"I know."

He would, wouldn't he. Buck gets that pang in his chest again, and he pushes the rest of the way into Tommy's space. Tommy wraps his arms around him, and drops a kiss into his curls, seemingly content to let Buck situate himself however he wants.

He kind of wishes Tommy wasn't still wearing jeans, but asking him to take his pants off might send the wrong message.

"You don't think I'm, like...a bad friend, right?" He cringes his way through the question.

"No." Tommy responds matter-of-factly and without hesitation. Then the corner of his mouth twitches. "I think you're a very good boy."

Buck's entire head feels like it's on fire. A grin starts to creep across his face. It might be the first time he's smiled all day. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

Maybe he should ask Tommy to take his jeans off after all.

#911 abc #911 show #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #dailykinley #evan buckley #a raven's writing desk #this got away from me a little bit

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ereardon · 7 months ago

Text

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Eleven

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child?

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: Ducky deals with the fallout of Jake's bar kiss; Bob interrogates Jake and asks a big question

WC: 1.5K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

You grabbed Natasha’s arm. “We have to go.”

She frowned. “What’s going on?”

You shook your head, trying not to alert anyone else. “I saw Jake in the hallway by the bathroom. Kissing some random girl.”

Natasha’s brown eyes went hard. “I’ll kill him.”

“Please, no,” you whispered. “Can I just stay at your place tonight?”

“Of course.”

“Also I’m going to piss my pants.”

“Come with me.” She took your hand and led you out toward the back of the bar onto the deck. Your eyes automatically flocked to the place where you had stood the night you first met Jake. Instead, Nat pointed to the edge of the deck. “Pee on the sand.”

You laughed. “You’re joking.”

“It’s that or go back and risk seeing him again.”

“I hate you,” you muttered, wobbling over to the edge of the deck and hiking up your dress, squatting down over the dunes. “This is a new low for me.”

The door swung open and your mouth dropped in shock as Bradley barreled outside. “What’s going on?”

“Oh my God!” you yelled, pee running down your leg.

Bradley’s eyes went wide. “What the?”

Natasha grabbed him and whirled him around until his back was to you. “Bradshaw, shut up. Y/N, finish your piss so we can get out of here.”

“I hate my life,” you muttered.

Bradley laughed. “So this is what girls do at bars? Pee outside.”

“Only when Seresin is making out with random bitches by the bathroom,” Nat said.

Bradley’s face pivoted into a frown. “What?”

You stood up, stepping over the wet sand. “Let’s just not talk about it,” you whispered. “Can we go home now?”

Natasha nodded. “Do you want to just leave?”

“I need to say goodbye to Bobby or he’ll worry.” She nodded and you eased the side door open, shoving through the crowd to get to where Bob and Sena were sitting in the corner. “Bobby,” you whispered in his ear and he turned. “I’m not feeling great. Nat is going to take me home.”

He frowned. “Do you want Jake to take you?”

“I really don’t.”

His eyes, ice blue, hardened. “What does that mean?”

You sighed. “I just need to go home, it’s been a long night. I love you.” You leaned in and kissed his cheek then smiled at Sena and gave her a hug around the shoulders. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“You too,” she said softly. The two of them watched as you walked out of the bar toward the front door.

A moment later, Jake reappeared at the table. “Hey. Where did Y/N go?”

Bob shook his head. “Home with Natasha.”

“Why?”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know, Hangman. Why?”

Jake gulped.

***

Natasha’s apartment was girlier than you had expected. Pink pillows on the guest bed, monogrammed towels in the bathroom, a gold french press in the kitchen.

In the morning, you wandered into the kitchen, wet hair hanging down your back. “I didn’t peg you for a gingham bedspread.”

She grimaced. “My mother decorated. Can you tell?”

“Just a little.” You looked around. “It’s very … pink.”

She sighed and sat down on the bar stool next to you. “Don’t remind me. Listen, about last night.”

You shook your head. “Going to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“And what about when he brings that girl home?”

“I told him he could date,” you whispered. “I told him that he should.”

“Are you on drugs?”

“Yes, I’m high as a kite while five months pregnant.”

Natasha took a sip of coffee. “I’m not saying it’s great but you might have to be the adult here.”

“He’s thirty years old,” you countered. “He knows what he’s doing and he knows what he wants.”

“What that man wants is you.” You turned to her, mouth hanging. Natasha nodded. “I mean it. I see the way he looks at you. He wants you, despite what he might do or say.”

“Only because he thinks he has to.”

“Jake Seresin has never listened to a word of advice that he didn’t want to,” she replied. “If he wants you, it’s because he really does, not because he thinks it’s the right thing to do.” Nat paused. “The only question is, do you want him, too?”

***

The doorbell rang. Jake rushed out of his room, no shirt, wet hair dripping onto his shoulders and frowned. You had a key. If it was you, and he hoped it was, you would have let yourself in.

Which could only mean it was someone else. And he didn’t want to see anyone else. He thought about ignoring it when there was a knock. Hard.

He flung the door open. “What?”

Bob stepped inside. “Hangman.”

Jake frowned. “Floyd.” He paused. “She’s not here.”

“I know she isn't. That’s why I’m here.”

Jake felt his heart speed up. You were leaving. A part of him had dreaded it from the first moment you stepped through the doorway of the new apartment. That you would decide to leave him before the baby arrived, or even after. That you would see he wasn’t fit to be a dad.

Bob paced in a tight circle before training his eyes on Jake. “I know you and I, we have a history. We don’t even really like each other. But you’re having a baby with my sister. My only sister. And she means more to me than anything.” Bob paused. “She means more to me than my own life. So trust me when I say, there’s nothing you could do that’s worse than hurting her in any way.”

“I’m not going to–”

“You already have.” Bob cut him off. “This cat and mouse game or whatever the two of you have going on? It stops today. She’s hurt and you’re hurt and you’re both fucking stupid.”

“I don’t know what your deal is Floyd, but–”

“Do you love her?”

Jake stopped in his tracks. His eyes lifted to meet Bob’s. The two men stood in the middle of the living room, squared off.

And then the door opened, and you appeared with Natasha right behind you. You frowned. “Bobby? What are you doing here?”

His eyes lingered on Jake before crossing the room and looping his arm over your shoulder. “Came to get you, Duck. Thought we could grab some lunch.”

“Um, sure.” You looked at Jake who had a pale sheen to his skin. Like he was going to be sick. “I’m going to change real quick. Wait for me by the car?”

Bob nodded and slipped through the door. But not before you saw the glance he shared with Natasha. “Y/N? I’m going to head out, too.”

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you said softly and she smiled, filing out behind Bob.

You closed the door to your room, emerging a few minutes later in a fresh dress, hair twisted up in a bun and a pair of sunglasses over your tired eyes. Jake sat on the couch, staring at his feet.

You walked past him, grabbing your bag off the table where Natasha had placed it. As you opened the door, Jake’s voice floated across the room.

“Are you coming back?”

It was quiet. Too quiet. Practically a thin whisper. You resisted the urge to turn around and look at him.

“Yeah,” you said after a moment, one hand on the door handle. “But it would be great if you weren’t here when I did.”

And with that, you pulled the door shut behind you, putting a wall up between you and Jake.

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@blue-aconite @withahappyrefrain @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @gigisimsonmars @xomrsalliej4787xo @myfaveficrecs @mycobrakai1972 @sio-ina-bottle @joaquinwhorres @justanothermagicalsara @je-suis-prest-rachel @shanimallina87

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castiwls · 7 months ago

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who's afraid of little old me? -s.w

Paring; sam x reader

Prompt; 'I want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me. You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.'

Requested;@nix-rose

Notes;so sorry this took so long exams are kicking my ass

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Laughter rang out through the air as children ran happily around the small playground. It wasn’t often you got much free time in the towns you visited so when the occasion arose you were quick to snap up the chance.

“I miss being this carefree.” You leaned forward leaning on your knees. Sam looked at you from the corner of his eyes an unreadable look on his face. “What do you mean?” He asked taking a sip from the cup in his hand.

“I mean…I miss being a kid you know. Your biggest issue being who gets which swing or what snack your gonna have before your dinner.” You shrugged. “Simple things.” As your gaze fell back onto the small playground Sam continued to watch you.

He sat for a moment, mulling over his thoughts. He sometimes forgot that you’d both been raised very differently. While his childhood had been anything but carefree you’d seemingly spent your formative years like most children and part of him envied you for that.

He envied how normal you were. The fact that you could look at a playground and be hit with a sense of nostalgia he could only imagine in his wildest dreams. Sam let out a quiet hum before sitting back on the bench.

You were both quiet for a moment before you turned your head to face him. You watched his expression for a moment, noticing the slight longing in his eyes. Sucking in a breath you spoke. “Your childhood wasn’t like this.” You sent him a bashful smile before placing your cup down beside you.

Sam shook his head wrapping an arm around you. “It’s alright.” He shrugged before turning his attention back to the playground.

It had surprised you at first when Sam and told you the details of his childhood. You’d honestly been slightly horrified when you’d first found out. The thought of growing up in that type of life had sent a feeling of nausea running through you.

It seemed a miracle that Sam had turned out the way he did.

Though you knew that was only partly true.

“You’ve never been to a park?” You asked suddenly. “Surely either Dean or Bobby would have taken you.”

Sam thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Nope. Not even once.” His gaze hardened for a moment. “I wasn’t the type of child who went to a park.” He said simply before standing from the bench. “We should probably head back.” He offered you his hand.

Standing from the bench you took his hand and followed him from the park. You both walked in peaceful silence, slowly taking in the small town.

As you walked Sam could feel his brain working overtime as he thought through his whole childhood. Or lack of childhood.

Situations like this made him feel cheated. Made him feel angry that he’d never been a normal child and that he’d spent his childhood dealing with things most children only saw in nightmares.

He’d always felt on the outside of society and things like this only cemented that in his mind. He couldn’t even talk to you about basic childhood experiences because he’d never had them and that thought left anger bubbling in his stomach.

“Sam.” Your voice broke through his thoughts. Pausing in the street you turned to fully face him. “I can feel you getting tense.” You frowned slightly concerned at the look in his eyes. “I know what you're thinking and you need to stop alright? I know it sucks and I'm sorry if I could change your childhood I would.”

You squeezed his hand. “You're not the outsider you make yourself out to be.” You smiled up at him. He watched you for a moment, letting your words settle in his mind. He let out a sigh running his free hand through his hair.

“I know. I know.” Sam frowned before shaking his head. He knew deep down you were right, that the small voice in his head wasn’t his voice of reason. You were.

Taking a breath he smiled pressing a kiss to your head. “Thank you.”

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lewmagoo · 1 month ago

Note

Hi lovely! For the blurb day, could I please request Bob Floyd + 35) "tell me what you want me to do to you." from the smut part 2 list please 🥰

so sorry it took me so long to get to this!

for bob, foreplay didn't just begin in the bedroom. he'd been warming you up all day. you'd woken up to a gift card to your favorite coffee shop and a romantic note on your bedside table that morning, well after bob had left for work. and then he'd sent you several texts throughout the day, telling you that he loved you, how beautiful you were, how he couldn't wait to see you later that day. and when he came home, he walked through the door with his hands full of takeout bags from your favorite restaurant. of course, he didn't stop there. he let some candles so you could enjoy your dinner by candlelight.

and then of course there was the touching. periodically, his fingers lovingly caressed your cheek, your arm, your back, so on and so forth. and the way he looked at you? it set you on fire. by the end of the evening, you wanted him so badly, it made your head spin. there he was in his sweatpants and naval academy shirt, smelling of body wash and cologne from his post work shower, but also that natural musk that could only be described as bobby. god, it was intoxicating. he was so good at stoking the flames of your desire. he'd performed all of these romantic gestures throughout the day to make you feel special and adored, and that alone made you wetter than anything else could.

it was why you found yourself straddling him on the living room floor, grinding against him, mouth open and hot upon his as you kissed him. you could feel his cock through his sweatpants, already beginning to harden. but he didn't want to have you on the living room floor. no, when he made love to you, it would be in the comfort of your own bed. "sweetheart," he moaned, "let me take you up to bed."

"i want you here," you whined slightly. he leaned back, brow raised, a commanding glint in his eye that made your pussy clench. oh. he meant business.

"i'm not going to lay my wife out on the living room floor. let's go up to bed, where i can get you comfortable before i have my way with you." his tone trembled, barely checked need in his voice. he left no room for argument, so with a weak nod, you allowed him to ease you off of his lap before he stood and pulled you up with him. he tugged you close, kissing you languidly before he took your hand and led you upstairs. the whole time, you were buzzing, eager, excited. he made you feel so alive.

and when he finally did get you into bed, he made a show of removing your clothes, stripping you bare, exposing your beautiful body to him. and then, as he moved to hover over you, he spoke again. "tell me what you want me to do to you." his eyes narrowed. his mouth parted, and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. he looked as if he wanted to devour you.

"i...i..." suddenly you were so hot, warm all over. he wanted you to speak these things into the air between you. salacious things. you knew what you wanted him to do to you, because you'd been thinking about it all day. but now that he was staring you down, expecting you to speak the words, you felt so shy.

gently, he tucked his finger beneath your chin and tilted your face so you were looking at him. "it's just you and me, darlin'. please, i want to hear you say it. tell me how you want me to make love to you."

you took in a ragged breath, closing your eyes for a moment before you replied. "i want you to kiss me all over." that was a start. "and then i...i want your mouth on my pussy first. and your fingers inside me." couldn't forget those glorious fingers of his.

"like this?" he asked, as he slowly began to trail kisses down your jaw, over your neck, past your collarbone. when you confirmed it with an affirmative hum, he smiled before he continued his descent, mouth hot and wet against your skin as he worshiped you. "keep going, my love. what else?"

you bit your lip as you watched him push your thighs further apart and settle between them. he was so close to where you needed him most. "then i w-want you to make me come on your tongue. and when i'm still twitching from it i want you to put your cock inside me and fuck me until i'm crying." a sense of boldness washed over you as your anticipation mounted.

bobby hummed, lashes fluttering before he ducked forward to leave a kiss against your soaked pussy. "there, that wasn't so hard, was it?" then his tongue darted out, laving against you, tasting you. "i'm going to do all of those things to you, i promise. but i'm also going to do so much more. i've been thinking about you all day, and now that i have you all to myself..." he trailed off for a moment, eyes falling shut as he swirled his tongue around your swollen little bundle. "just lay back and let your husband take care of you, darlin'. i'm going to make you feel so good."

let it be known, bob floyd always keeps his promises.

#asks #bob musings #bob floyd x reader

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whipitgod · 8 months ago

Text

Totally Normal, Non Romantic Bro Moment

Dean x Castiel

oneshot - wc: 2k

summary: Dean is the only one who doesn’t realize he’s dating Cas

warnings: blatantly and boldly ignoring canon, a little crack-ish as per usual, some light swearing and little bit of spice (they kiss but that’s it)

a/n: Thank you for all the support on the last few oneshots!! this is the first time i’ve ever written for destiel or supernatural so it might be a bit ooc! If you like this remember to leave a like/reblog! maybe even follow me :D! Happy reading!!

!!!!REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!!

“Sammy!” The sound of his brother calling his name makes Sam sit up quickly, having dozed off whilst trying to finish a book he had started ages ago but could never manage to find the time to complete. He pushes himself off his bed with the intent to meet the older Winchester in the kitchen where he heard him yelling from. Before he even has a chance to reach for the door handle the door flies open, Dean entering the room with a startling amount of aggression.

Sam puffs out an irritated breath at the man's behavior, “Of course you can come in-” he pauses slightly taking in the flustered nature of the hunter now pacing back in forth and grumbling quietly to himself; a look of concern crosses Sam’s face, mouth turning down slightly, “Are you alright, did something happen?”

Dean’s head snaps towards him then, looking at him for the first time since he had burst into the room, “Yeah, i’m fine man,” he gets a look on his face like he tasted something bitter before rushing out an agitated, “no actually i’m not fine.” Sam tilts his head slightly at this urging Dean to continue with a wave of his hand; Sam notes that the man has yet to stop pacing.

“Bobby said someth’n weird earlier that's got me thinking,” Dean hesitates for a moment almost like he’s second guessing even bringing it up, “he uh,” another slight pause, brows furrowing, “he seems to think i’m dating Cas.” he takes a deep breath after he says this, a common action when he gets too worked up over something.

The younger Winchesters' brows crease in confusion at this, Dean taking this as a sign that his brother finds the notion absurd lets out a relieved breath. His relief is only short lived, Sam shaking his head slightly before questioning, “Is that it?” Dean's expression hardens, agitation returning and causing his shoulders to tense.

“The hell do you mean ‘is that it’, this is a big deal!”

Sam lets out a small laugh at his brother's frustration, “Was he not accepting?”

The anger leaves Deans features, a look of confusion taking it’s place, “The fuck does that mean?”

“Was he not accepting of your relationship with cas?” Sam now wears a look of confusion mirroring Dean’s. The older man stops pacing at this question, brows furrowing even further than Sam thought possible.

“What relationship?” The anger gone from Dean’s voice, tone now mired in confusion.

Sam looks at his brother like he’s lost his mind, “The relationship you have with Cas,” he searches Dean’s face for any sign that the man is joking, not finding any he pushes on, “You guys have been dating for months.”

Dean seems to short circuit at this, blinking several times before letting out a disbelieving scoff, “I am not dating Cas,” a nervous laugh escapes him, “That’s insane, I knew you were crazy but not that crazy.”

Sam stares blankly at him and Dean rushes to continue, “I mean the idea of Cas and I dating is laughable,” another nervous laugh accompanied by a growing redness in his face, “Why would you even think that?”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief at the question, a sharp bark of laughter leaving him before he can stop it. He tries again to find any sign that his brother is joking but the man's expression is steely, jaw clenched in frustration, “Oh wow, you’re serious.” At this Dean lets out an angry huff opening his mouth to start speaking before closing it again, teeth grinding together.

“For starters, you guys act like an old married couple all the time,” Dean opens his mouth to disagree but Sam cuts him off, “you guys also frequently gaze into each other's eyes for extended periods of time.”

“We do not!”

“Just last week you guys had a whispered discussion before staring into each other's eyes for five minutes,” Dean’s expression turns contemplative, “five minutes might not be accurate actually,” Sam thinks for a moment, “It was probably longer, I didn't stand around to time it.”

Dean releases an irritated noise before rushing to defend himself, “We were having a moment!” Sam’s expression turns amused at the sentence and Dean jumps to amend it, “A bro moment! A totally normal, non romantic bro moment!”

Sam quirks a brow at this, a teasing smile threatening to overcome his features. Dean lets out another frustrated sound, “It’s a normal dude thing, it’s what pals do!” Sam kind of wants to let Dean continue floundering, if only to see how many synonyms he can find for the word ‘bro’; he decides against it, deciding to put Dean out of his misery.

With a gentle sigh the younger man pushes himself up so he’s sitting fully upright, “Bobby and I aren't the only ones who think you guys are together,” He thinks for a moment, “Actually, I'm pretty sure you are the only one that doesn't think you guys are dating.”

Dean is quiet at this causing him to continue, “I don't know man, it's something you should think about,” Sam stands and walks over to the door with the intent to find something for dinner, “maybe you should talk to cas about this.'' With that he pulls the door open not waiting for the other man to respond, and without sparing another glance in Dean’s direction he walks down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Dean stands motionless for a few minutes before managing to snap himself out of the daze the conversation had left him in. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, he makes the short trek to his own bedroom; Closing the door behind him and letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, he lets his mind wander to memories of all of the interactions he and Cas had had recently.

Sure they were close, their relationship probably closer than most other mens, but that didn't mean they were together! Sure they had kissed a few times when they were both a little too drunk but that didn't mean anything! It was normal to kiss your bro when you had a few too many. This line of thinking does nothing to quell the internal turmoil he was feeling; his mind now stuck on memories of the kisses they had shared on rare occasions that were never discussed once they were sober.

Dean huffs a bitter laugh, “I don't even like men.” The phrase feels wrong as it leaves his mouth. He had never really given much thought to whether or not he liked men, but now that he was thinking about it he’s met with a startling realization, “Oh god, do i?”

He thinks back to all of the men that he had ever found attractive, the ones he was a bit too fascinated by; having written off the fascination as a friendly interest at the time, he finds himself realizing that some of the interest really wasn't all that friendly.

His mind wanders to cas, remembering all of the things they had done together that had, at the time, seemed innocent and friendly; now that he’s looking back on them they seem to be a little bit too intimate to be friendly. There was also that one dream he had a few weeks back that had made being around cas very awkward for a few days, the memory of the dream alone making his face heat up. He loses track of the amount of time he stays lost in thought, his mind spinning in circles as he thinks about the dynamic he has with the angel.

He reaches a conclusion that makes him suck in a sharp breath, “Oh god, i'm in love with cas.” It comes out as a disbelieving whisper. He doesn't know what to do with realization but now that he’s said it outloud it feels like the most obvious thing in the world.

A Few Days Earlier

Dean can’t help but watch Cas's side profile as the man takes another swig from the almost empty bottle of whiskey; Dean had tapped out before the bottle had even been opened, the angel needing way more alcohol than Dean could stomach to even get a buzz. The hunter isn’t quite sure how many bottles of assorted liquor cas had drunk at this point but it was clear the man was feeling the effects of them, his eyes a little droopy as if he was struggling to see clearly. Dean wasn’t in much better shape, his eyes struggling to focus as he watched the angel’s Adam's apple bob as he drank. Without realizing that he was even moving he reached up and grabbed the bottle from Cas's hands, taking a quick drink of it before setting it down in front of them.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Dean's tone is light when he says this, almost teasing. Cas meets his eyes with a dazed smile and Dean’s eyes get stuck on the curve of his lips.

He wants to kiss him. The thought doesn't scare him like he thinks it should, he supposes it wouldn't be the first drunken kiss the pair had shared; alcohol acting as a cover for the real emotions at play that Dean really didn't want to deal with.

Before he can think better of it he leans in, cas letting out a surprised noise as their lips meet before melting into the kiss. The thought that they shouldn’t be doing this crosses Dean's mind but he stamps it down quickly when he feels cas reach up and tangle his fingers in his hair. They stay like that until dean pulls away slightly to suck in a few panting breaths, their foreheads stay touching as they stare into each other's eyes. Dean remembers, bitterly, that tomorrow this would become another one of the little moments that he's too afraid to discuss. With that floating around his head he leans back in with a little bit more force than necessary, their teeth clacking together as their mouths meet.

Present Day

He blinks away the memory, shaking his head slightly and digging in his pocket for his phone, he finds cas’s contact and hesitates for a moment before hitting the call button. The sound of the phone ringing does nothing to calm the anxiety he’s feeling but before he can second guess himself cas picks up.

Cas answers the phone with a soft, “Hello?” and dean feels his heart in his throat.

“I think I'm in love with you.” He had not meant to blurt it out like that, and he curses quietly to himself as he waits for Cas's response.

“I mean it would be kind of weird if you weren’t given that we’re dating.”

Dean pauses at this, a flood of emotions hitting him and causing him to let out a sound reminiscent of a gasp, “What?”

“We’re dating,” there's a pause from cas and the rustle of papers being moved, dean briefly wonders what he’s doing before he realizes what the man had said. Dean's mouth opens and shuts a few times as he struggles to find the appropriate words.

Cas continues speaking, seemingly oblivious to the internal struggle that Dean is having, “We had a date a few days ago,” more rustling, “we got pizza and then got drunk and made out.”

Dean is at a loss for words, he lets out a choked sound before starting to laugh, the kind of laugh that makes your sides hurt. It takes him a minute to regain his composure, wiping a tear that had escaped during the laughing fit he takes a deep breath before responding, “Yeah i guess we did.”

“Are you feeling alright?” The question sounds so sincere it almost causes Dean to spiral into laughter again but he manages to hold it in.

The hunter pauses for a moment thinking about the question, “Yeah,” he’s smiling so hard his cheeks are starting to hurt, “i’m great.”

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welcometomytrashcan · 3 months ago

Text

Before the Dawn: Chapter III // Logan Howlett

Logan Howlett x f!mutant!reader Chapter 3/4 Read Chapter 2 here Word Count: 1369

Background: You are a mutant with hydrokinetic abilities (think Percy Jackson meets the mermaids from H2O), and arrived at the X-Mansion 4 months before Logan. You started dating Logan after the events of X-Men but before he left for Alkali Lake. You are both in love with each other but have yet to confess it. Takes place within the events of X2, Canon violence, pre-established relationship

With adrenaline pumping through your veins, you and Logan sprinted through the collapsing base. The roar of the dam’s crumbling structure echoed through the metal corridors, water already starting to flood certain sections. But that wasn’t your focus. Right now, you had to find Stryker and stop him—once and for all.

As you stepped outside, you spotted Stryker near a helicopter, preparing for takeoff. Logan moved fast, grabbing Stryker by the throat and slamming him against the helicopter, driving his claws into his sides.

Stryker screamed in agony.

"How does it feel, bub?" Logan growled.

Stryker gasped, "Why did you come back?"

"You cut me open. Took my life. You tried to take Y/N's too," Logan snarled.

Stryker managed a twisted smile. "You make it sound like I stole something. You volunteered for the procedure. As for Y/N... I wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity."

Logan's claws dug in deeper, and Stryker winced.

"Who am I?" Logan demanded.

Stryker smirked. "You're a failed experiment. If you knew your past—the kind of person you were, the work we did—you’d know people don’t change. You were an animal then, Wolverine. You still are."

Stryker glanced at you with a cold grin. "He’s still an animal now."

He turned back to Logan. "I just gave you claws."

Suddenly, an alarm blared from the distance. The ground trembled as the sound of metal screeching and concrete cracking filled the air.

"What the hell is that?" you asked, alarmed.

Logan pressed his claws deeper into Stryker, demanding, "What is it?!"

"The dam’s ruptured," Stryker said through clenched teeth. "It’s going to flood the spillway. It’s too late. In a few minutes, we’ll all be underwater."

You and Logan exchanged a tense look. Stryker glanced between you both, sneering. "You can’t save your friends. They’re as good as dead."

He turned back to Logan. "You’re a survivor. Always have been."

Logan’s face hardened. "I thought I was just an animal—with claws. If we die, you die."

Without hesitation, Logan ripped his claws out of Stryker and shoved him against the helicopter’s wheel, securing him with a chain. You stepped forward, melting the snow beneath him and freezing it again, pinning him to the ground.

"We have to find the others," you said urgently, pulling Logan’s attention back to the base. The rumble of the dam breaking grew louder.

As you started to walk away, Stryker shouted after you both. "There are no answers that way!"

Ignoring him, the two of you raced back toward the base. Jean, Scott, Storm, the students—they all needed to get out before the dam collapsed completely.

The base was shaking violently by the time you reached the others. They were about to head down a pathway that would’ve led them to certain death. Logan thrust his claws into a control panel, slamming a door shut.

"You don’t want to go that way," you called out. "Follow us!"

You helped guide the group back outside, everyone moving as quickly as they could through the snow. But when you reached the spot where the helicopter had been, it was gone.

"Damn it," Logan muttered, scanning the horizon. Panic started to creep in, but then, through the clouds, you saw it—the jet. Rogue was at the controls, with Bobby helping her.

The jet descended, wobbling dangerously as Rogue struggled to keep it steady.

"She’s not going to make it," you said, fear creeping into your voice.

Rogue managed to land the jet roughly onto the ground.

"Go help them onto the jet!" Logan ordered, his tone sharp but firm. "I’ll catch up."

"What about you? What are you—"

"I need to take care of something," he interrupted. "Go."

Reluctantly, you nodded and ran toward the others, helping them board the unstable jet. Despite the chaos, you kept it together, focused on getting everyone to safety.

Once everyone was aboard, you glanced back and saw Logan confronting Stryker again. Stryker was chained up, thanks to Magneto, and Logan stood below him.

"Who has the answers, Wolverine?" Stryker taunted. "Those people? That creature you’re with?"

Logan didn’t reply. He glared up at the man who had ruined his life, the man who had turned the woman he loved into his own weapon. “I’ll take my chances,” Logan spat, tearing off his dog tags and dropping them at Stryker’s feet before turning his back on him.

As Logan walked away, Stryker shouted after him. "One day, someone will finish what I started, Wolverine! One day!"

Logan jogged back to the jet, leaping inside just as the ground shook violently beneath you. The dam was about to burst.

"Are you okay?" you asked as he rejoined you, your hand brushing down his arm in comfort.

Logan gave a small nod. "I am now."

He planted a firm kiss on your forehead.

"Come on, get us out of here!" he called, strapping himself in.

Storm and Scott scrambled to start the jet, but the engines sputtered and failed. The cabin filled with tension as everyone realized that the water was coming fast.

“Why isn’t it working?” you yelled, fear rising in your throat as the water rushed toward the jet.

And then, in the chaos, Charles’ voice softly called out. “Jean?”

You looked around, suddenly realizing Jean was missing. Panic gripped you, and you shot a glance toward Scott, who was frantically looking around as well.

“She’s gone,” Scott muttered, his voice strained. “Jean… where is she?”

You bolted to the back of the jet, searching for any sign of her. Your heart pounded in your chest as you screamed, “Jean! No! You can’t do this!”

But as you reached the door, it slid shut in your face. Through the window, you saw her standing outside, her eyes glowing with power, her face set in grim determination.

“No!” Scott yelled, banging his fists against the glass. “Jean! Don’t do this!”

You felt a pang of guilt slice through your chest. You could’ve helped. You could’ve used your powers to manipulate the water, to do something. But your leg was still weak from the earlier fight, and you weren’t strong enough to control the water currents. You hadn’t been at the school long enough to master your abilities. I could’ve helped her…

Outside, Jean’s powers surged, and she lifted the jet with her telekinesis, guiding it into the air. The water from the dam swirled around her, bending to her will. She was holding back an entire flood.

You pressed your hands against the glass, tears streaming down your face as you tried to reach out with your powers. “Jean!” you called, but your voice was lost in the roar of the flood.

Scott’s voice broke, trembling with anguish. “Jean… please.”

But it was too late. With a final, heartbreaking glance at Scott, Jean guided the water around the jet, holding it at bay just long enough to save you all. The jet soared into the air, leaving Jean behind.

You searched desperately for her in the water, your hydrokinesis pushing you to the limit. But with the blood loss from your leg and the overwhelming force of the current, you couldn’t sense her. You weren’t strong enough.

As the jet ascended higher, the reality of what had just happened sank in. Jean was gone. And it was your fault. You should’ve been able to do something. You could’ve saved her.

The silence in the jet was deafening. Scott collapsed into his seat, his face pale and stricken with grief. You sat down, staring blankly at the floor, guilt clawing at your insides.

“I could’ve helped her,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. Tears streamed down your face, and the weight of Jean’s sacrifice pressed heavily on your chest.

Logan placed a hand on your shoulder, his voice low. “It wasn’t your fault.”

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was. You’d failed her. You’d failed Logan. And now Jean was gone because of it.

The jet flew through the sky, but the atmosphere inside was heavy with grief and guilt. The battle wasn’t over, but as you sat there, surrounded by your team, you couldn’t help but feel that you’d already lost.

Tag List: @spacemacandcheese @oscarissac2099

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