#class and supernatural

[shallowseeker]

Don't you love that when Zachariah throws classist, fetishistic bullshit at Adam, it spectacularly backfires?

///

Zach almost LOSES Adam with this line. Why?

ZACHARIAH: So you know you can’t trust them, right? You know Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other, right? ADAM (looks suddenly steely, staring through Zachariah): I don’t know. They said a few things about you. ZACHARIAH (becomes visibly angry): Really?

///

Zach has misread Adam's sense of class. That nice home that Adam and his mom have together came at a huge sacrifice: their time together.

Adam is, at his core, the son of a single mom. His whole childhood is colored by it, and he's well-acquainted with the inevitably rude/incestuous "mama's boy" taunts it comes with.

This was telegraphed and set up earlier in the episode:

ADAM: You see, it was me and it was my mom. That's it. She worked the graveyard shift at the hospital. I cooked my own dinners. I put myself to bed.

Yeah, Adam "read" Zachariah's taunt for the filth it was.

[ruushes]

companions re-classed part 3 - shadowheart 🌌🌚🌝

*shadowdancer isn't a 5e rogue subclass, it's a 3.5e rogue-based prestige class, but it suits her so well and when i played 3.5e as a kid i thought it was the coolest thing ever lol so i wanted to use it

karlach 🔥 wyll ⚔️

[mischieviem]

That natural soup show or whatever

[kipkiphoorayy]

[paunchsalazar]

[verrcina]

i couldn’t get this out of my head i fear…

twitter art trend meme thing but with 𝓈𝒶𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓁 !!

[saltcxrcle]

twitches ⊹ s. winchester

summary: you noticed that sam twitches in his sleep

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x gn! reader

word count: 974

warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', fluff, mentions of nightmares, teasing, one suggestive comment

a/n: wanted to write a little blurb about sam twitching in his sleep because my headcanon is that he does and i saw a video about it on instagram LOL

enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog! your feedback fuels me <3

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

You exhaled sharply as your eyes snapped open, breathing slightly heavier than usual as you tried to blink away the images that were burned into the back of your eyes. The room was shrouded in darkness; your eyes could barely make out the dresser that was across the room. Your body was wound up tight before the arm that was wrapped around your waist reminded you where you were, and you sank into their arms. 

Sam’s arm tightened around you, his warmth reminding you that you were safe and sound in the shared room with him in the bunker. You took some deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. 

You didn’t know the details of the nightmare, the images slowly disappearing from your memory as you calmed down. Drowsiness riddled your mind, and you felt your eyes begin to flutter shut, your mind slowly slipping into unconsciousness. But before you could, you felt Sam’s body jerk against yours, his arm flexing against you, making your eyes open again. 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Sammy?” You whispered softly into the near-silent room, save for the low whirring coming from the small vent in the ceiling. 

All you got in response was a soft snore that escaped his lips as he continued to sleep. You huffed a small laugh through your nose before shifting closer to him, feeling his chest against your back as you let the comforting embrace of your boyfriend lull you back to sleep. 

Your eyes closed and you could feel yourself teeter on the line of consciousness and sleep, but Sam’s body almost violently twitched against you again, making your eyes open again. You let out a low groan before slowly moving further into Sam’s embrace, shoving your face into his chest, wrapping an arm around him, and nuzzling into him, hoping that his body wouldn’t twitch again. 

Another soft snore left Sam, and his arm unconsciously wrapped around your waist even tighter, bringing you closer to him. Your legs tangled together, not knowing where he started and where you ended. You finally were able to go back to sleep, letting the familiar scent of Sam flood your senses and sleep. 

“You twitch when you sleep.” You told Sam as you stood at the stove cooking lunch for the two of you. 

You could see out of the corner of your eye that Sam was whipping his head from cutting the tomatoes on the cutting board to you. 

“What?” He asked, confused. You could imagine the crease that probably had formed in the middle of his brow, but your eyes were trained on the chicken that was cooking in the pan in front of you. 

You turned off the burner, took the chicken off of the pan, and grabbed another cutting board so you could chop them up for the salad that Sam was prepping for the two of you. 

“Sam, you twitch when you sleep.” You repeated, beginning to cut up the freshly cooked chicken. 

“No I don’t.” 

You chuckled lowly at Sam’s indignant tone. You threw the cut-up chicken in the spare bowl to be tossed into the bigger one that held all of the vegetables with the dressing. You quickly placed the cutting board and knife in the sink before turning to Sam, smiling to yourself when you saw the furrowed brow and pout on his face. 

“Trust me you do.” You gave his ass a light slap as you walked past him to grab the dressing from the fridge. 

You heard a huff and a mumble come from Sam as he continued to chop up the last few tomatoes and threw them in the bowl. The two of you made the salad in silence before you guys sat at the table and began to eat lunch. 

“Do I really twitch when I sleep?” Sam questioned after taking a bite of his salad, breaking the comfortable quiet that had settled between the two of you, save for your forks clinking against the porcelain bowls you were eating out of. 

You looked at Sam, who was sitting across from you. You nodded. “Yeah, I never noticed until last night.” 

“Last night?” 

“Mhm, I woke up last night, and when I tried to go back to sleep you twitched pretty violently against me.” He didn’t do it violently, but you wanted to tease Sam a bit. 

Sam scoffed. “I don’t think I twitched against you violently.” 

“You sure about that? I mean you weren’t the one who felt it.” You raised an eyebrow at him. 

Sam looked at you unamused, making you laugh gently at his expression. 

“Okay, maybe it wasn’t violent, but the matter still stands, you twitch when you sleep.” You tell him as you take a bite of your lunch. 

Sam shook his head. “Whatever.” 

His reaction made you smirk. “ It’s completely normal, I just wanted to tell you that you do since it kept me up last night.” 

“You sure it wasn’t the fact that I had fu-” 

“No! It was after that.” You cut him off, feeling the heat rise on your cheeks at the almost mention of what the two of you were doing before your nightmare woke you up. 

It was Sam’s turn to smirk at your flustered state. “It’s cute when you blush.” 

You pretended that your stomach still fluttered at his compliment and rolled your eyes. “Shut up and eat your lunch.” 

Sam chuckled, and the two of you ate in relative silence. Once you guys were finished eating, you put away the leftovers and worked together to clean the dishes. 

As you were drying your hands, you felt a damp hand on your shoulder before you felt Sam’s lips near your ear. 

“If I twitch in my sleep, then I’ll admit I hear your little moans when you’re having a good dream.”  

[here's my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]

[lonely-moons]

♡୭something good | sam winchester x reader

title: something good

pairing: stanford!sam winchester x socially anxious!reader

warnings: lotssss of overthinking, reader is awkward and a nerd but also lowkey a little cool, social anxiety, sam winchester being a cutie patootie, references to fandoms i'm not in rip lotr fans and dnd players my bad

summary: when you're forced to tackle a group project, you briefly debate throwing yourself in a pit of fire - you're not much one for working with other people. but maybe this is something you needed after all

wc: 2,412

when your professor first mentions the words 'group project,' you have to physically bite down on your tongue to avoid groaning. they're the bane of your existence, and you allow yourself a moment of wondering whether education is really worth all of this. but you force it down as your class ends and make your way to where the list of names has been tacked to the wall, a sigh crawling its way up from deep in your chest.

you find your name next to one you can't place a face to. it's not surprising - you don't really have any friends in college, something that's followed you through from school even after you'd tried so hard to evade it. the college emails of each student are in a column beside the names, so you take note of it and hope to god that whoever sam winchester is, he's at least going to pull his weight.

you get the email from him before you're done with classes for the day, a simple one asking you when you'll be free to discuss the work. you both decide on tomorrow evening in the library, you moreso hoping to just get this over with rather than being particularly eager.

the time rolls around quickly, and at 7 p.m. the next day, you're heading to the library with a dread roiling in your gut. it's not that you hate meeting new people - you're just bad at it. you never quite know what to say, and even if you think you do, it always seems to come out wrong. like the words somehow scrape along the sides of your throat as they crawl their way up, get tossed about on your tongue until they're coming out completely unrecognisable from how they started. it's something you've always dealt with, but it seems to get worse as you get older, while everyone else prances ahead and you're left behind in the dust.

you don't have much hope as you're greeted with the musty smell of the library, your eyes scanning around for someone who looks like they could be there for a group project. you spot three candidates, three guys on their own, but two of them you vaguely recognise from classes.

it's a brief moment, but the panic sets in so entirely that the seconds seem to stretch on for minutes. you're so desperate to escape the embarrassment of going up to the wrong one that you consider leaving, sending sam some message about an emergency coming up and hoping that this goes better next time. but then one of them turns around, his eyes catching on you, and he smiles in your direction.

he shifts in his seat to face you a little more, his hand raising into small wave. your panic flushes out entirely, and you mentally chide yourself for being so dramatic. you're okay, you tell yourself as you head for the seat at table. you don't need the adrenaline levels of someone being hunted for sport.

"hey," he says when you're close enough, slinking your bag off of your shoulder. "y/n, right?"

"yeah, hey." you send him a smile that you hope looks okay. in your head it's still tinged with the remnants of some of your previous panic. "sam, i hope?" you wince; who the hell else would he be at this point?

but his smile remains intact. "yeah. it's nice to finally meet you. i mean, i've seen you around in classes and just on campus, but you usually look pretty busy."

you've slid into your seat, the uncomfortable wood making you want to shift around, but you remain still. if you were on your own, you'd probably have your feet up on it by now, shimmying around to find some kind of position that works. but you are not alone. "busy time of year." you shrug, knowing that he probably hasn't seen you around and is just being polite - maybe he has, but you're positive he wouldn't remember. you've never been one to make much of an impact.

"hey, i get it," he says. "sometimes it feels like they expect us to just give up on sleep entirely."

you think of the dark circles under your eyes that you'd half-heartedly tried to cover with make up. "tell me about it."

he perks up a little, remembering something. "by the way, speaking of, i got us some fuel." with the pen in his hand, he gestures to the share bag of m&ms that's beside his water bottle. "apparently chocolate helps with concentration levels."

you look at the bag, and somehow your simple comment of thanks turns into - "isn't it dark chocolate that does that?"

sam doesn't miss a beat. "yeah, well dark chocolate would make this even more miserable."

your lips twitch slightly. "fair."

"so, anyway, you wanna get started on this?"

you begin to look at the project guidelines, silently reading over the instructions even though you've done it about ten times today alone. but you appreciate the minute to gather your thoughts, trying to keep your eyes on the paper and not glancing at sam.

he's sweet, is the first thing to come to mind. you've witnessed plenty of college boys who act as though they run the place, who treat anyone different than them as lesser creatures. you thought people were meant to grow out of all that crap after high school, but evidently they had missed the memo.

you think that sam would be a nice friend to have, if only you knew how to go about doing that. the entire future of your interactions play out in your mind: you'll meet up a couple more times to do this project, maybe say something to one another in the class where you submit it. at most, any passing greetings will last a week before he manages to shake you off, and then you'll be back to another face in his class once again. even if you did ask for his number under the guise of project work, you know you'd never be able to text him after it was submitted. he wouldn't text you either. not only would you be a forgotten name, but also a random set of digits in his phone. the thought feels heavy in your head, refusing to budge.

"hey, are you okay?"

you blink, startled slightly, and find sam looking at you. there's a small crease between his eyebrows that makes it look like he genuinely wants to know.

"yeah." you clear your throat, wondering how you'd managed to zone out for so long. not for the first time, you wish the ground would swallow you whole. "yeah, i'm good. sorry, just got lost in thought."

"no, don't worry about. have you thought about which sections you want to cover?"

you spend the next few minutes dividing up which of you will cover the different topics of the paper. he's sweet about that too, always letting you have the first choice and triple-checking that you're okay with what you've landed with. by the time you're getting ready to move onto the next step, he's opened the packet of m&ms.

you worry that he's noticed your glance in their direction, because he takes a few for himself and then nudges the bag in your direction.

"concentration myth might be a bust, but they do taste pretty good."

you let a reluctant smile crawl up your face and grab one to pop into your mouth. turning it down would feel mean and, besides, you do really want some.

"so what classes are you taking?"

you glance at sam, not that surprised. the typical round of polite questioning has happened before, mostly during the first weeks, but they still pop up occasionally. especially when you don't have your crowd and every exchange is with someone new.

you list off your modules like second nature. "and for extra credit this semester i'm doing occult studies."

his eyebrows raise, like he's a little surprised at the fact. "occult studies, huh? like supernatural stuff?"

your polite smile turns a little sheepish now. "yeah. i've always kinda been into that kinda thing and they had space, so..."

he nods a little, like he finds it interesting, like it answers something he's been wondering. "oh, i get it."

"get what?" you ask, taking another m&m if mostly just to give yourself something to do.

"you're a nerd."

you crunch down on the shell in your surprise at his words. but they're not laced with mockery or any kind of insult. if anything, they're just a little teasing, interested, and the grin on his face makes you believe he doesn't mean any harm.

you look down at your outfit on impulse. "was it the spider-man shirt or occult studies that gave you that impression?"

you hadn't noticed that his grin was a little tight, but now it loosens completely. he seems glad that you're leaning into this. "actually," his eyes flicker down to your backpack, "it was more the 12-sided dice key chain."

"technically it's a die because it's only one -" you cut yourself off at the amused look on his face, wondering why you were becoming so free with trusting your mouth to open. it's all his fault, stupid sam winchester and his stupid smile. "never mind."

"no, tell me about it. you play, uh..." he thinks for a moment, "dungeons and dragons?"

it's the first time you've given in to shifting in your seat. you know how people view the game, how often people make fun of it. your small group in high school hadn't even lasted two years before disbanding. you'd kept it up as a solo hobby ever since, even if it'd been way more fun with the extra three people.

"... a little." you hate that it comes out almost defensive, like you've been conditioned into having to explain yourself. you wait for a follow-up comment, something you'll dissect late into the night as you look from every angle at how it's further ruined his perception of you.

"what's it like?"

your pre-prepared wince isn't needed. "the game?"

he nods.

you wonder if he is genuinely curious or just that good at acting. "oh, um... it's fun, i guess. kinda like an interactive book or something, you know?" now you get to use that wince.

"you like to read?"

"you've already called me a nerd, i think you know the answer to that."

his laugh comes out as a huff of air. "i'll join the club, then, i like to read too."

"what kind of stuff?"

"oh, you know, just the classics. i don't really go near anything written after the nineteenth century."

"oh." you clear your throat, any hope of relating vanishing. "that's, um... cool."

"i'm kidding," he says lightly, eyes flickering to your hand that's still clutching the pen you haven't even used in fifteen minutes. "i like lord of the rings."

your hand clenches, the ring on your finger suddenly feeling heavy. for your last birthday your parents had gotten you a replica of the one ring. you wore it almost every day. you're surprised sam had noticed.

"you like fantasy?" it comes out more bewildered than you'd like, but you really wouldn't have guessed it to even be in his top three genres.

"yeah, i've read a lot of it."

"huh."

"what?" he raises an eyebrow, amused.

"didn't take you for a fantasy guy."

"why not?"

you know your real answer, the one that remains firmly locked inside your head: he's attractive. annoyingly so. and, yeah, you know that looks don't dictate what's inside and all that crap, but from your experience, people who look like him don't go for that kind of stuff. then again, lots of people who look like him aren't generally so nice either.

you shrug. "you're a law guy. that usually means pretentious."

"we take the same classes, you know."

"which means i've witnessed all that pretentiousness first hand."

he releases a small laugh and something about it warms your chest. it hits you then that you're really just having a normal conversation. maybe it's sad, but it's been a while since it's come this easy. you blink and go for another m&m so that you can tear your eyes away from his face.

"you're something else," he says.

your hand pauses for just a second in the bag and you ask, as though the answer doesn't even matter to you, "is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"good," he answers, like he hadn't even considered the alternative. "it's definitely good."

you grow a little uncomfortable under how genuine he sounds, and it certainly doesn't help that his stupid smile is still there, still directed right at you.

"you'll take that back once i've eaten all your m&ms." you steal another for good measure.

"well, what chocolate do you not like? i'll bring that next time."

the dig is what registers first, which you're glad for as your body automatically releases a mock gasp. it's a much better reaction than being surprised he wants to meet up again, which is what sinks in now. this project doesn't focus too much on the group aspect; you easily could've gone your separate ways and just emailed one another if you needed to check anything. one more meetup, max, if any problems came up, but nothing long enough for a study snack. you half assume he just said it for the joke - you usually would - but there's something that tells you he means it.

"and here i was thinking you're not half bad."

his smile is more of a smirk now. "is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"bad." your expression half matches his. "definitely bad."

the conversation keeps up until before you know it, the librarian is ushering you out for closing time. you don't even know how it happened, but somehow underneath those fluorescent lights and across from sam, you actually enjoyed meeting someone.

sam asks for your number before you head your separate ways. you try not to act surprised, but something about the way his own smile widens at the light in your eyes makes you think that he knows you'd been hoping for it.

you go to bed that night the lightest you've felt in weeks, with sam winchester's number in your phone and his stupid smile ingrained in your mind's eye.

[miiishha]

heart eyes

[lochyard]

Scrolling wincestblr in public is like playing a weirder version of russian roulette bcs its just

pretty normal sam post

wincest post

more sam post

random picture of ethel cains tits

bottom dean discourse

tumblr recommending me a photo of some dudes ass

even more sam

wincest mpreg

wincest ai blogs that get blocked immediately

[an-android-in-a-tutu]

if during drunk driving discourse people were allowed to say don't way in if you don't drink then I'm gonna need everyone who doesn't work in trades to stop talking about blue collar Dean Winchester

[otaku553]

Need to write a 4000 word essay and take a neurobio final before I’m done with the term and both are due Thursday so we’re going back to the procrastination doodles again

[the-mpreg-guy]

giggling and kicking my feet every time i remember the winchesters are blue collar coded

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 1

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: "Smoke eater": a self-appointed slang term for a firefighter.

Happy Hispanic Heritage Month!! 🥳❤️‍🔥 You guys really warmed my heart with all the excitement for this story. I'm very happy to bring you the first chapter. I hope it doesn't disappoint! 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4,000 Warnings: Tense situations, brief mention of claustrophobia, and a good old-fashioned meet cute.

Part 1: "Class and Style"

Come on, come on, come on!

The toe of your heeled foot tapped on the floor as you, once again, waited for the elevator to make its slow climb back up to the 22nd floor.

In your hand was a tray carrying two steaming lattes: one small, plain hazelnut, and the other a venti caramel frappe with all the sugary bells and whistles. Complete with extra whipped cream, because your boss was a goddamn child.

I shouldn’t even be getting his coffee, you thought sourly. This is his assistant’s job!

And if this elevator didn’t climb any faster, having to stop at Starbucks during your meager lunch break for your boss’s morning fix would make you late for a very important sales meeting.

“Let’s go, Betsy. Come on,” you muttered. “You can do it.”

Yes, you’d named the contraption that usually managed to carry you all the way to your correct floor. When she wasn’t broken down for maintenance. 

The four walls of the narrow elevator shook and creaked as it cleared the 20th floor. You inhaled sharply, but resisted the urge to grab the inner guardrail. This thing was old, just like the rest of the building.

But then, Betsy screeched and made an abrupt stop.

You were woefully unprepared. You slid in your heels and gasped—both at the jolt, and at the hot lattes tipping out of your hand and down your blouse and skirt.

Shit!

You didn’t even have time to wince at the scalding hot coffee, as you nearly rolled an ankle in the spillage. Luckily, you were able to grab at that guardrail. You sucked in relatively even breaths as you realized what happened…

The elevator stopped, but not on your floor.

“Oh, God…” you uttered, staring up at the red, digital “21” above the metal doors. It was blinking, but not moving. Just like you weren’t moving. Which meant…you were stuck.

Okay, not a big deal. You’re fine, you thought, trying to calm yourself. All you had on you was your phone, your ID, and your credit card. You’d decided to leave your purse in your desk, since you were just walking across the street.

But that was okay! Because you still had your phone…

“No service. Of course,” you muttered, raising your phone high to try and get a bar. This elevator was a dead zone, and it always had been. Fucking hell…

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You shouted for help.

You pressed the emergency alarm, several times.

You could hear it blare and echo outside of the chamber of the elevator, but no one seemed to hear you. Your work building was huge, made up of several departments and hundreds of employees here at Savage & Co. There was always plenty going on, especially in the middle of the morning.

Maybe no one could hear you.

“All right. Don’t…don’t panic,” you told yourself. Even though your heart was beginning to pound.

You finally pressed the “Call” button outlined in red. You didn’t know if it worked; half the floor buttons on the console didn’t even light up anymore.

But to your relief, the sound of a phone line ringing echoed through the small speaker. After a few rings, someone answered.

“Fire Department.”

“Oh, God. Yes!”

With a hand on the rail, you managed to kneel down next to the speaker. Your free hand brushed a strand of hair away from your dewy face. There was no AC in here, and you were starting to sweat. Thankfully, the rest of your hair was pulled up into a clip.

“I’m stuck in one of the oldest elevators known to man,” you told the disembodied voice.

“Sorry to hear that. What’s your name?”

You gave them your name, along with the address of your company’s building. The voice promised that they were dispatching a until to come and get you out soon.

“How soon is soon?” you asked.

“…About forty-five minutes, give or take.”

Jesus Christ.

You baked inside Betsy for close to an hour. While your makeup slowly melted, you found a corner of the ground that wasn’t covered by a coffee puddle, and you pressed the alarm button at random intervals. Still, no one seemed to hear it. You used the empty coffee tray to try and fan yourself.

Your phone was also useless. You tucked that along with your credit card into your bra for safe keeping. You’d definitely missed your meeting about the prospective Zimmerman account—one you and your coworker Josh were competing to nail down, as the top performers in the sales department. You couldn’t even catch up on your emails.

Damn it, Nick’s gonna chew my head off, you thought. But then you frowned, your brows furrowing. Well, it’s his fault for not maintaining this damn building. And for ordering a damn caramel frappe! What is he, a 12-year-old girl?

Your skirt was still sticky on the side. With a sigh, you leaned your head back against the metal wall and closed your eyes. Ah, well. At least I’m not claustrophobic.

“Fire Department!” called a man’s voice from above. “Can you hear me down there?”

You gasped and opened your eyes. Your gaze raised heavenward, and you called out to the voice.

“Hello?!”

“Ah, we found you. You okay, ma’am? Are you hurt?”

“Y-Yes…” You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see it. “I mean, no. I’m not hurt.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “You’re stuck between two floors, but we’re gonna get you out, all right?”

“Okay.” You sucked in a shaky breath and grabbed the rail so you could get back onto your feet. “I’m stuck on the 21st floor right?”

“Well, in between 21 and 22. Hold on one sec.”

 You stood there with bated breath, just waiting for something to happen. You heard tools whirring, felt the elevator shutter for a moment, but it didn’t budge. Until you heard a thump on the roof. You looked up, but of course you couldn’t see what was happening.

Until a square patch in the roof was unscrewed and drawn back, revealing a firefighter in almost all his gear: wearing a gray shirt tucked into navy pants, red suspenders, black boots and gloves. All he was missing was a jacket and a hardhat.

He did wear a harness, and he held another one in his gloved hand, as well as a charming, almost boyish grin on his face.

“There you are,” he greeted.

You didn’t know if it was the lack of AC, or his ridiculously handsome features, but you felt your face heat up further.

“Uh, hi,” you said, very eloquently. You offered a smile back. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Well, we haven’t gotten there yet, but we will,” he said, still with that grin as he lowered the second harness down to you. “I’m Dean. What’s your name?”

You gave it to him as you took the harness.

“Nice to meet you, despite the circumstances,” he said. “I’m sure you didn’t have this on your bingo card today, did ya?”

You snorted in response. “Not even in my fortune cookie.”

It earned an amused look from him. Then he proceeded to instruct you on how to put the harness on around your waist and shoulders and clip the straps together.

“Okay, good. Now tug it, make sure it’s tight enough,” Dean said, motioning with his hand. You obliged him.

“Perfect.” He nodded, before crouching down and lowering his hands through the compartment. “All right, now. Just take my hands. I’m gonna pull you up.”

You looked up at him, then and at the narrow escape hatch with uncertainty.

“It’s okay,” he said, noting your reluctance (and your white-knuckle grip on the guardrail). “It’s perfectly safe.”

“Yeah, I doubt anything about this situation is safe,” you replied wryly. You glanced at the elevator’s metal walls. Even now, they groaned under Dean’s shifting weight.

“I mean, I’m sure you’re strong and all,” you said, with a vague gesturing hand at him. You couldn’t quite tell from your limited vantage point, but Dean could barely fit his broad shoulders through the hole he’d opened up. He was probably a big guy.

Still, you didn’t like the idea of your legs dangling in mid-air. 

“I’m a woman, but I’m still a full-grown person,” you said, your brows beginning to furrow in worry. “People are heavy, and this thing is rickety as hell, and that’s a really tiny window…”

“All right,” Dean gently interrupted. He looked like he was trying hard not to chuckle, and you didn’t appreciate it…even though you were biting your lip, trying not to smile too (more in embarrassment).

“I promise you, the line’s got you,” he said. And he tugged on the sturdy rope that connected to your harness.

His eyes met yours directly, firm and assuring. They were green, you noticed, even in this fluorescent lighting.

“More importantly, I’ve got you. And there’s no way I’m gonna let you fall,” he said, with what seemed like every conviction in the world. “Just take my hands.”

He leaned in further so you could reach him.

…And damn it, you believed him.

Staring into his eyes, you found the courage to suck in a deep breath and release the guardrail. You reached up and let his hands curl tightly around yours. You gripped him right back.

“All right, pull up!” he called back over his shoulder.

You couldn’t see them, but you heard the voices of other firefighters as they slowly retracted Dean’s harness line as well as yours. When he was able to plant his feet on the roof of the elevator again, you held your breath as he pulled you all the way up as well.

You lost a heel along the way though. It fell off your foot and hit the bottom of the elevator below.

“Woops,” Dean said. His arms wrapped around you, and he held you securely against him when your heel (and bare foot) also met the elevator roof, a bit awkwardly. You both peered back down through the square hole.

“Want me to get that for you?” he offered, with another one of those grins.

Now you knew you were blushing. Stop it!

You shook your head as you clung to his arms. You felt the strength in them, and it steadied you, along with the easy way about him that said he was more than comfortable with the perils of rescuing trapped women from old-ass elevators.

“Don’t even worry about it,” you told him. “I just want to get the hell out of here.”

Dean chuckled then. “I hear ya. Let’s go, then.”

He glanced up and called out to a “Benny” and a “Gordon.” You assumed they were the men securing the harnesses that held you and Dean.

“Okay. You ready, sweetheart?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” you replied with a nod, even as you bit your lip again at the endearment. Usually when men called you sweetheart, (like your boss), it was like nails on a damn chalkboard.

But somehow, it didn’t seem so sleezy coming from the charming fireman.

You craned to looked up at his face. He was much taller than you, even with half your heels. Dean met your eyes again, and for a moment, you were tense. The elevator shaft was dark and cold, but the light from the open doors of the floor above allowed you to see his face, decorated lightly with stubble, and his brown hair that spiked to one side.

Your mouth parted, though you didn’t have a clue of what to say next…

You were saved when the lines went even more taut, and the firefighters on the floor above brought you and Dean all the way up to the 22nd floor. He helped you reach out to a bearded fireman, who supported your arms and carried you out of the elevator shaft, onto solid ground.

A small crowd had formed in the lobby. Zachariah the CFO was there, along with the building manager, and your friend Andréa, who looked both worried and relieved to see you. And even your boss, Nick, came forward to meet you once Benny and Dean helped you take off the harness.

“You’ve had a busy morning,” Nick drawled.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “You could say that.”

Technically, he was everyone’s boss: Nick Savage, CEO of Savage & Co. He’d inherited the company from his father. However, Nick believed his one sad year of college business classes made him an expert on running your sales department with a firm hand.

“Well, it’s good to see you’re all right,” he said. Though his eyes glanced down your stained, white blouse, down to your bare foot. His gaze made your spine prickle. And not in a good way.

You crossed your arms on reflex. “I know I missed the meeting—”

“We recorded it. You’ll be able to watch it later, take notes, all that good stuff,” he said, his head tilting in that lazy way of his. He gestured at you with a finger. “But, uh…once you’re done cleaning up, think you could nip back out and get me that coffee? Since, you know, you’re kind of wearing it.”

Behind you, the team of firefighters discreetly watched the scene while packing up their gear—some with curiosity and bemusement, others (namely Dean) with a subtle frown.

You were livid.

But you managed to keep it down, just beneath your skin, as you bent down and took off your remaining heel.

“I’m requesting the afternoon off as personal time,” you informed him with (mostly) all due professionalism. There was a fire in your eyes, however, that not even you could tame.

“But don’t worry,” you said. “I’ll still land the Zimmerman account by Friday.”

You turned and dropped your shoe into a nearby garbage can. You didn’t want to be reminded of your boss every time you saw the coffee stains.

Before you left, you stopped in front of Dean and the other firefighters.

“Thank you very much for all your help,” you said, giving them all a smile. Your gaze lingered on Dean, who smiled back at you and nodded, his hands resting on his belt.

“You got it, sweetheart.”

Your lips twitched. Then you continued on your way towards the exit door, to the stairwell. You shoved it open and walked bare-footed up to your office to get your purse. 

You’d left Nick silently fuming in the middle of the hall. You knew there wasn’t too much he could do with an entire crowd of witnesses.

He soon huffed and let your behavior roll off his back, as he became distracted by Zachariah and the building manager asking about the last time the elevator was properly serviced.

Meanwhile, Dean and Benny shared an amused look as their team rolled out.

Damn, Dean thought, remembering how you’d stopped in your little storm out, just to thank them. And how you’d held your head high as you walked away on bare feet.

He could admit, you had both class and style.

“Really, Grandpa. I’m fine,” you insisted.

Now in the comfort of your own home, and in your pajamas after a nice hot shower, you stirred a pot of chicken soup for your Grandpa George. He eyed you from the kitchen table with a measure of suspicion.

“Well, it’s lucky for you we’ve got a responsive Fire Department,” he said. “In the sleepy little town I grew up in, you’d be lucky if the whole damn building didn’t cave in before somebody got to ya.”

You shot him an amused look.

“Thanks. Makes me feel better about stepping into an elevator ever again.”

George seemed to consider the prospect, but he soon waved a vague hand.

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” George said, waving a hand. “Even if one of the cables snapped, you’d have three more holdin’ you up. And it should only need one cable to support the compartment, make sure the whole thing doesn’t fall to the damn ground.”

Your grandfather had been a technician for sixty years, so he knew a little thing about commercial building maintenance. However, right now, he wasn’t making you feel any better about your somewhat perilous experience. You paled a bit at the thought of cables snapping, leading to a long, Tower of Terror-style drop.

Except there’d be nothing to catch you at the bottom.

“It’s okay. I’ll just start walking up all 22 floors up to my office every day,” you said, smiling wryly. “I’ll finally have thighs like Wonder Woman.”

George laughed, though it soon ended on a cough. You eyed him with a frown as you ladled out a bowl of soup for him. You went over to him, both to set down the bowl in front of him and rub his back.

“Still with that cough. I don’t like it,” you said. “I’m making an appointment with your doctor.”

George shook his head and grabbed his glass of water.

“Just something caught in my throat.”

“Mhmm,” you replied. He was the absolute king of downplaying. It used to drive your grandma nuts.

You sighed and raised a hand to your forehead. An ache was building behind your eyes. Or maybe it had been there since you left work early today, and you were just now realizing how tightly wound your spine was.

“You okay?” George asked. You read the concern in his eyes and tried to relax your face from its scrunching.

“Yeah. Just a tension headache.”

“Hmm. Maybe you should spend less time worrying about me, and more time taking care of yourself,” he pointed out. “You had a stressful day. Why don’t you go relax? Or better yet, go out! Go see your friends. Get in a bar fight. Something productive.”

A grin curved your lips as you raised a brow.

“A bar fight would make me more productive?”

George grinned up at you. “Well, at least it’d get you out of the house.”

You pursed your lips. There was a reason you didn’t go out very often, and your grandfather knew it. You were the only one who could watch out for him now, even if he didn’t think he needed it. Your mouth opened to reply, but before you could, your cell phone rang through the house.

For a moment, the two of you stared at one another. Until George raised his brows.

“You should get that, huh?” he said.

You narrowed your eyes at him, despite your small smile, and you raised a finger as you went to get your purse over in the living room.

“We’re not done, old man,” you said over your shoulder.

“Oh, believe me. I know,” he grumbled, delving into his soup with a spoon.

Meanwhile, you fished your phone out of your purse and answered. A genuine, if tired smile graced your lips. It was your best friend, Andréa. She worked with you at Savage & Co., over in Marketing as a graphic designer.

As fate would have it, the two of you were hired on the same day five years ago. She’d invited you to lunch that day, and from then on, you two had been rocking through corporate life like Thelma and Louise—if Thelma had been a Greek artist and Louise had been a sarcastic saleswoman. 

“Hey, Dre,” you greeted.

“Hello, my love. Congratulations for surviving your near-death experience, and getting to serve Nick Savage a bit of humble pie,” she teased. “I thought you were going to lobby your Prada heel at his head.”

You huffed and plopped down on the couch with your feet up on the coffee table.

“First of all, let’s not be too dramatic. I was stuck in an elevator, not a Chilean mine shaft,” you said wryly. “Second, you really think I would throw away Prada? Even if it was coffee stained… Those were just my $30 Steve Maddens.”

And yet, they had been your most comfortable heels. Maybe you should just find some sensible flats in the back of your closet and be done with it. But you liked the height and confidence that a nice pair of heels gave you—especially in that office filled with “Mad Men” wannabes.

Every male on your sales team thought he was Jon Hamm in a room full of George Costanzas.

Nick Savage was the worst out of all of them.

You dealt with it, however, and sometimes even thrived on being the only woman on the team. Mostly because you needed your job.

It paid well enough, but most of it went into the upkeep of your grandparents’ old house, and for the past few years, their extensive medical bills…

“Still, at least you got a Mission Impossible-style rescue out of it,” said Andréa. Her tone turned both leading and flirtatious. “Tell me you got that fireman’s number. Dear God Almighty, what a Grade-A Hottie.”

You chortled through your blush at remembering Dean, the firefighter who saved you. You could admit, he’d been one fine specimen of a man.

“Grade-A Hottie. What are we, in middle school?” you retorted. “Besides, he was just doing his job.”

“Ugh, you’re so pragmatic it hurts,” your friend lamented. “You really need to live a little, while you’re still hot and firm.”

You laughed fully at that one. “Yeah, I think taking the stairs from now on will help with the ‘firm’ bit.”

Just like the strength of the firefighter’s hold had been. You’d felt entirely secure after he’d pulled you up on the elevator roof. His arms had reassured you even more than the harness, if you thought about it. (And your face heated up further at said thought.)

“I do wish I could say thank you again, somehow,” you mused out loud, not really thinking about who exactly you were talking to.

“Oh, yeah?” Andréa said. You could practically hear her mischievous grin. It made you slightly nervous. “Well, it’s not unheard of for a grateful civilian to stop by a firehouse. You could bring him lunch or something!”

“Ah, I don’t know about that,” you said. Your instinct was to withdraw inward at the thought of putting yourself out there like that. Besides, you didn’t want to bother him while he was at work.

“What’re you talking about? Firefighters love food! Believe me, my cousin Meg is a paramedic,” Andréa said. Then she gasped. “Oh, girl. I have the perfect idea for you. Why don’t you bake something for the whole firehouse? That way it takes some of the pressure off, but you still get to see him.”

You became more contemplative then.

Bake something, huh?

Now, that you could do. Andréa knew all too well that the one thing that could get your gears turning was getting your apron on, as baking was your ultimate hobby. It made you feel creative, and damn-near stress free…

And her idea wasn’t too shabby, the more you thought about it. It was something kind that you knew you could do. And more than anything, you really did just want to say thank you, one more time.

You smiled.

“Okay. I think we have a plan.” However, your smile soon fell. “Wait, I have no idea what firehouse he works at.”

“Hmm, my cousin might know,” Andréa said. “Let me reach out to her…what’s his name again?”

“Dean,” you replied. Another small smile reached your lips, against your will.

“His name was Dean.”

AN: Ah, the first chapter! Launching a new story is always so exciting! 🥰 What did you think of the reader and Dean's first meeting?

Also, feel free to imagine Mark Pellegrino's "Nick" for this (I am). He didn't have a last name on the show, so I created one for this story, as he's going to be an important antagonist throughout.

And just so you guys know, my knowledge of the inner workings of fire departments and law enforcement will largely come from my own research and being a huge fan of procedurals, like Chicago Fire, Chicago Med, Law & Order, etc.

Yes, aspects are fictionalized on those shows, but a lot of it is rooted in real-life protocol and stories. All the love and respect for creator/executive producer Dick Wolf. 😂

...Oh, and the elevator scene was inspired by true events. (Yes, I've been stuck in an elevator before. 🫠 Two ridiculously hot firefighters pulled me out, but by then I was melting from the lack of AC, had no makeup, and was dressed like a female!Dean, plaid and all lmao.)

Anywho...

Next Time:

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled a bit. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you.

Keep Reading: PART 2

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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Series Tag List:

Due to Tumblr's dumb 50-only tag rule, I'm tagging the rest of you in a reblog. 😘

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[elizabethzoopzoop986]

It’s such a Minamoto brother thing to stand in the foreground in black and white while their school mystery bf stands in the back in color

(I love how these shots parallel each other (if someone has an idea why they do let me know because honestly I don’t get why the anime did this or why there in black and white))(if you look lose enough it’s literally the same camera shine across both shots)

[sonnenreich]

[⠀    ⠀  𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐂𝐇⠀    ⠀  ]   .   .   .   a  private  &  selective  portrayal  of  the  witch  in  the  woods,  𝖟𝖊𝖊𝖛  𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖊  𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖑𝖊, 𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒𝐄'𝐒  𝐒𝐎𝐍. 

born   as   the   promising   heir   and   only   son   of   the   solar   coven,   zeev   was   known   to   be   loyal,   diligent   and destined   to   lead  his  family  when  time  is  right.   however,   faced   by   great   danger   of   those   who   did   not   welcome   their   kind   and   driven   by   desperation   and   a   desire   to   protect   his   family,   zeev   delved   into   the   depths   of   dark   magic.  leading to being branded   a   pariah   among   his   own   kind,  exiled  with  no  option  to  return.   the   sting   of   rejection   cut   deep,  leaving  Zeev  with  a  hole  for  which  there  seems  to  be  no  cure.  his  destiny,  however,  seems  to  be  greater  than  what  he  formerly had  assumed. 

⠀         ⠀     (            𓆩☼𓆪            )   “  In  his  hands  doth  rest  the  shaping  of  end  or  beginning,  and  upon  his  choice  shall  this  be  tended—or  broken  forevermore.

 ⠀         ⠀  ⠀         ⠀  ⠀   ⠀   ⠀         ⠀🜂  🜃

𝖆  𝖘𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖞  𝖎𝖓  :  magic  comes  with  a  price,  devotion  and  obsession,  harbinger  of  change,  a  child  of  prophecy,  fear  of  abandonment  and  rejection,  the  urge  to  be  needed,  the  wish  to  belong,  ancient  blood,  the  breath  of  earth,  light  will  always  win  over  darkness.

⠀         ⠀       ❝ 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖉.       ❝   𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙.      ❝   𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘.       ❝   𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙.

⠀         ⠀  ⠀         ⠀  ⠀       ⠀  𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊  𓋼  𓍊𓋼𓍊*;  (  indie &  original  witch  based  on  neo-pagan  beliefs  and  modern  witchcraft  aesthetic,  selective  &  mutuals  only,  activity  varies,  21+  p&mdni,  conjured  by  cherry,  runs  on  a  queue!  )