#columbus ohio x reader

[silovsmenot]

Bloody Nose | Matt Rempe

SUMMARY: During med school, your dad gets you a volunteer role with the New York Rangers to get some hands-on experience. On your first day, Matt Rempe clashes with Mathieu Olivier. WARNINGS: Mentions of blood & bruises. PAIRING: Matt Rempe x f! reader. NOTES: I don't think it's possible to not be feral for this guy. I'm sure this idea will have been done a hundred times before, but I couldn't help it. WORD COUNT: 1,600 FIND PART TWO HERE

It was not a role you were expecting as you were progressing through med school, in fact you never would’ve considered it if your dad didn’t know the general manager of the New York Rangers.

You needed some hands-on experience as part of your course, under supervision but in a real setting — while most of your friends went at found volunteer roles within doctors’ offices and hospitals where possible, you joined the medical team of the Rangers.

Of course, it was university policy that they had to approve the role, and they were quick to. You were not the first to find a role with a sports team, and you wouldn’t be the last. One student on the year above you spent a season with the Mets, which presented a whole different collection of injuries.

You didn't really know much about hockey, it had only been a passing interest as a child with your dad taking you to the odd game here and there ― you were certainly not a hockey fan but you were going to approach this with interest. And with how some of your friends publicly voiced their jealousy, you were becoming somewhat excited about the opportunity.

to expect. General hockey injuries ranged from the simple knocks, cuts and bumps to concussions, and everything in between. There was a lot that could happen, and you hadn't even considered the possibility of brawls yet.

In the early morning, you dressed into the simple uniform that you’d been given; a navy sports kit with the team logo and ‘team medic’ written simply across the back. You certainly looked the part. And with your hair tied back, you left your apartment for the airport. The medical staff travelled late to Columbus, and you’d be among them.

You’d already been introduced to the team medic, whose hand rose in a short wave at the first sight of you weaving through the small crowd. Simply relieved to see a familiar face within the flood of Rangers staff. In just under two hours, you were in Columbus, Ohio with a bubbling excitement.

For the whole ride to the rink, the senior medic talked you through your role. You’d take all of the ‘small’ injuries while he would be there for the more major, and any concussion assessments.

“Just be aware, Rempe likes a good fight — always be prepared to plug a bloody nose.” He sighed, giving your shoulder a friendly tap as he finally broke into a laugh. Excitement turned to a bubbling concern as you slowly nodded.

Players began to file into the arena, none having any idea who you were, but they did not question it. Staff came and went, and your navy Rangers tracksuit was enough to tell them that you were on the team.

There was one who’s eyes lingered a little longer than the others, and you felt your cheeks burning beneath his gaze. He must have been about a foot taller than you, shaggy brown hair and a mischievous grin that put a name to a face without even needing an introduction — this was Rempe.

You took your place at the end of the tunnel with the head medic, from there you’d watch the game, and be ready for any injuries that would come your way. Your heart was pounding as the puck dropped, this was for real and you silently pleaded that this would be a nice, calm game

But less than three minutes in, your eyes snapped up at the sound of the whistle — the gloves and sticks flying in different directions as two players grappled. You made no attempt to hide the rolling of your eyes as you grabbed the nearest towel, watching closely with each punch exchanged for any signs of blood. No blood meant they’d go to the box, you’d been told that much.

As the final punch was thrown, watching as the giant body of the Ranger was wrangled to the ice, none could miss the crimson that poured from his nose.

The head medic giving you the nod as you moved toward the gate ― a bloody nose was something that you could handle with your eyes closed, and he knew that. This was your one to handle.

You watched as the massive body of Rempe was skated to the bench by a referee, his eyes caught upon you once more as his lips curved into a pained grin. The crowd were going wild, stood on their feet as they cheered and screamed. It was your arm that he took as he stepped off the ice, the various hands of Rangers teammates tapping the 21-year-old on the back as you led him down the tunnel.

“Feeling okay?” You shouted over the cheers of the crowd as soon as you'd cleared the bench. You had to cock your head just to meet his eyes, his massive 6’8 body at your side. He almost flinched at the sound of your voice, the first words you’d spoken to him.

He didn't reply, he only nodded as he grinned, a bloody thumb raised for you to see. He was proud of himself and that was written clearly across his bloody face.

“Do me a favour,” You sighed, your hand pushing open the door to the medical room with the familiar pharmaceutical smell. “Warn me next time.”

That was enough to bring a laugh from his bloody lips, a bearish hand rising to wipe the crimson with a large smudge across his pale cheek. The red liquid was already everywhere, he’d need a blood jersey and you’d need a few minutes to clean this mess up.

“No promises, boss.” He teased in a whisper, dropping upon the medical bed with a thud. “What’s your name?”

You’d turned your back to him before he asked, collecting a cup of water and a handful of towels. It was well-timed as you felt that flushing of your cheeks almost instantly at his question.

“y/n, why?”

He sat completely still as you returned with hands full of towels are cotton wool, Matt had done this enough times to know what you’d ask him to do. His hand was already out and ready for the water that you’d give to him to swill out his bloody mouth.

“I’ve just not seen you with the team before … I’m Matt.”

You nodded in a silent ‘i know’, which made him laugh again. The pained grin seemingly stuck upon his lips as he watched you closely, every movement as if it were the first time he was seeing it — like he was seriously interested in the towels and the rolled wool. It was enough to bring that fluttering to your stomach.

He leaned forward onto his legs, bloody hands firmly planted upon his knees as he closed a gap between you. His voice no more than a whisper.

“Did you like my fight?”

You could feel his hot breath upon your skin as you stood, unmoving with a heavy inhale parting your lips. You were ready for blood and for broken bones, but you were not ready for this. Whatever this was.

“Do the girls normally like it?” You finally replied as you steadied yourself, brow rising in your own tease. Two could play that game, and you intended to play if he did.

Though he would not say it, your response drove him wild — that grin deepened as he leaned a little closer, his head cocking to keep your gaze tied with his own.

“They do.”

A slow nod, your hand placing the cup of water on the table beside him, your brow rose.

“How about you ask me when you win next time?”

It was far from the answer that he was expecting, but fuck — he liked the answer. He was resisting every urge to touch you, he sorely wanted to. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the fight, but you were very tempting to him.

You both, almost at the same time, broke into a shared laughter. His massive frame straightening up as he’d collect the cup of water, swilling the clear liquid before it would dribbling from his lips into the cup with a red tint.

“I don’t think you need me to do this for you?” You spoke with towels held toward him. He shook his head, taking them from you with a nod of thanks and began to wipe at the crusting crimson.

Things were quiet for a few moments, white towels turned red as his face became cleaner with each moment. The team’s kit manager would poke his head in with a clean jersey, which you quickly handed across.

You’d help him remove the blood-splattered jersey, catching a glimpse of his bare torso beneath the pads. Eyes were stuck upon the pale skin, which of course, he noticed. He liked that you were looking. Even as you helped him pull on the fresh, white jersey, his lips remained curved in the cheeky grin.

“You should come out for a drink with us after this.” Matt muttered with brows rising and falling, giving you a little nudge as he rose for the table and, once more, towered above you.

He crossed the room first, opening the door and holding it wide for you to exit first. As you walked through, you looked up with lips curved deep. You never expected to be glad of a fight, but you’d almost enjoyed wiping away all that blood.

“Maybe I will.”

[goldfades]

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ. NHL MASTERLIST !

♡ fluff ✪ angst ✧ suggestive

𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐦 𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬

⇨ trevor zegras¹¹

soft launch ♡ instagram!au | y/n soft launches her and trev's relationship. |

friends (with benefits) ✪♡✧ | trevor had always hated your guts. you never knew what for, maybe it was your close friendship with his best friend, or maybe it was because he was jealous of you. that was until, he kissed you, of course. |

sloppy kisses ✧ | request: "CONSENSUAL recording with Trevor because they’re long distance? 🩶 " |

⇨ jamie drysdale⁶

butterflies ♡ | no one has ever made you feel the way jamie did. every day, jamie convinces you more and more that he loves you in different ways. |

𝐜𝐨����𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐬

⇨ adam fantilli¹¹

lets compare hands! ✧ | adam fantilli with a size kink |

⇨ kent johnson⁹¹

𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐣𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐬

⇨ jack hughes⁸⁶

everyone wants you, but i don't like a gold rush ✪✧ | y/n had always been in love with jack since she was a kid, but he had always chosen everyone else but her. |

in losing grip, on sinking ships, you showed up just in time ♡ | when you and jack had parted ways, somehow you both knew you'd meet again somehow. |

⇨ luke hughes⁴³

betty ✪ | a small incident at luke's draft party causes a whole lot of drama you never expected to happen. |

worst (best) first "date" [requested] ♡ | request: kind of have a specific request 🫣 im an ohio state fan so it also kinda pains me that i love luke hughes since i hate umich 😭 my request is reader being an osu student and long term devils fan, so when she goes to a devils game in columbus her friends dare her to make a sign for luke during warm ups that says something along the lines of “can i trade you a hat for a puck?” so when luke gives her a puck, she throws him an ohio state hat w her phone number on it. and he finds it really funny and actually ends up messaging her (and then you can end it how you want. fluff, smut, wtv) thank you <33 |

stress reduction [requested] ✧ | request: "shower s-x with luke hughes help" |

⇨ nico hischier¹³

olive theory ♡ | you and nico have only been dating for 6 months but both of you are convinced you've found the one, and a certain theory proves you right. |

𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬

⇨ quinn hughes⁴³

you are in love ♡ | 3 times that quinn wanted to tell you he loved you, and the 1 time he finally did. |

cowboy like me ✪ | you and quinn were destined to fail from the beginning. |

the big C [requested] ✧ | "quinn hughes x equipment manager reader smut? maybe it’s the start of the season so the reader is helping him get all his gear fitted and situated and she’s calling him “cap” and “captain” and he ends up feeling some type of way" |

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐬

⇨ andrei svechnikov³⁷

[l0v3-qu4rtz]

Cat and Mouse

Summary: you've been chasing Spencer for months and finally caught him.

Pairing: Unsub!Reid x BAU!Reader

Warning: One use of Y/N, mention of serial murder, heavy cursing, weapons and use of them, blood, kissing, small make out session, heavy romantic tension, dark romance, UNSUB REID !!! Proofread with love by me, my best friend, and boyfriend <3

Word Count: 3.7K (holy moly)

A/N: This took a whole month and a half to write. It was mainly just procrastination and my lack of commitment to things. Anyway, I hope you guys like this, it took a lot of work <3

Spencer Reid is a criminal, a serial one at that. The FBI has been investigating him for months but everytime he surprises them and goes completely against the profile. He kills dead-beat fathers who abandoned their families. He thinks they're nothing but pigs who are cowards, abandoning their families when they really need them. He's been able to outsmart the FBI for months but not this time. You were completely obsessed with the Reid case, investigating every piece of evidence to the smallest atom. Hunting him every chance you got, every tip, every body, every city, you were there to try and catch him. Unfortunately, every time you failed but not this time. You were on a case in Columbus, Ohio when the police station received a call about a suspicious man in a motel. The description matching the Spencer Reid, you jumped in excitement and rushed to your Federal car. You instructed the police to park across the road and wait for a signal to come in. You waited in an empty motel next to his room, waiting for any sign of movement. Once you heard footsteps, you quietly snuck out and stopped the door before it shut fully. Your footsteps were soft despite your racing heart beat, you finally saw the curly hair you've been longing to see for what felt like ages. 

The sound of your gun cocking and fills the room, the air instantly becoming heavy and tense. He lets out a single chuckle. "Finally, Agent L/N." He says with a smirk, his back still facing you. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever gonna catch me." He teases, he was sort of expecting you. 

"Spencer Reid, put your hands where I can see them and turn around" You command before adding, "Slowly." You said slowly, your eyes glued to his every movement with a firm grip on your gun.

He lifts his hands in the air and begins slowly turning towards you, your heart beating out of your chest as you finally make eye contact with the killer you've been engrossed in. He has a wide smirk on his face as he finally gets a good look at you, "Is that any way to greet an old friend ?" He teases as he slowly takes a step towards you, not even remotely threatened by you holding a gun right towards his chest. "I'm actually quite glad you're here, but-" He glances down at your gun and the firm grip you have on it, "we both know that wont do you any good here." He looks back up to make eye contact with you.

You take a step back as he takes a step forward, your whole body tense and your grip only growing tighter on the gun, "Shut up, and don't take another step or I'll shoot !" You threaten, the smirk on his face only growing wider and wider til he becomes a cheshire cat like smile. 

He chuckles at your response, amused by your empty threats and tense posture. He takes another step forward as your back hits the wall. "You and I both know you won't shoot me, darling" He mocks you and slowly lets his arms collapse to his sides, "You had so many opportunities and you never seized them." He looks down at you, amused by the height difference. You were like a little puppy to him.

You lunge forward and push the barrel into the bottom of his chin, effectively putting distance between you and him from fully pinning you to the wall. "This time is different." You say, quietly and bitterly.

Spencer pushes and leans forward, his face only inches away from yours. "Oh, is it now ?'' His voice is low and teasing. "you've been saying that for years and look where we are" He chuckles before leaning in closer to your ear "You can't bring yourself to do it. You love this little game we play." 

Your gun is pressed firmly against the bottom of his chin as he leans closer, "you're nothing but a big pile of unfinished work." You spit out, your voice is bitter and callous. 

Spencer gasps and puts his hand on his chest, fauxing offense. "Oh, how you wound me" He mocks and puts his hands in his pockets, still leaning in. "And here I thought our game actually meant something to you" He chuckles and adds "We both know the truth, princess. You can deny it all you want, but I know you love our game" 

You quickly bring your leg up and give him one kick to his stomach, causing him to back up from you. You aim your gun and shoot a warning shot near him on the ground. "The only game i'm interested in playing is the one where you're behind bars" You aim your gun at his head. Your voice matches your face, stern and serious. Spencer's cheshire smile turns into a look of amusual at the sharp boom of your bullets.

He raises an eyebrow and looks around, putting his hand out in mock surrender. "Come on, darling, there's no need for the violence" His voice is dripping with sarcasm as his gaze returns to you. "You can never put me behind bars. All your other attempts have been futile." He laughs bitterly and shoves his hands in his pockets again.

You scoff at his almost narcissistic confidence, "I'll do anything I can to make sure you rot in prison like the piece of trash you are." Your voice radiating venom as you speak, poison dripping out of your lips. 

Spencer smiles and laughs at your threat, taking a small step towards you. "Wow ! You've got a fire in you today !" He teases "I always knew you were feisty, but this is a new record" He laughs as his eyes focus from your gun to your face. He smirks at the determined look in your eyes. 

You take a side step so you aren't up against the wall anymore. Your gun is still aimed and your grip is still firm. "You're a pig." You throw insults to try and shatter his ego.

He turns his body and smiles at the insult, his demeanor still nonchalant and relaxed. "A pig ? Wow how original, princess." He chuckles darkly, taking small slow strides towards you. "You can call me whatever you want, baby" he pauses and looks down at the floor for a second. "But you can't hide the fact that you're attracted to me." He finally says what's been on his mind the whole time he's known you.

You scrunch your face and shoot off another warning shot, this one blasting right past Spencer's face and grazing his ear. Burning at the flesh of his earlobes, making his crimson red blossom. "You're so full of yourself, classic narcissist" You say and laugh sarcastically as he brings his hand up and lightly touches his bloody earlobe.

His face twitches as the bullet burns his ear. He smiles, assumed by the sudden blood. He rolls his eyes at your comment and continues walking his long lanky legs over to you. His grin widening with each step. "Your confidence is bullshit. You think killing fathers who do wrong makes you so righteous, when in reality you're just as bad as they are." You spit angrily at him.

He raises his eyebrows and laughs darkly. "Oh now you're tryna lecture me on morality ? That's quite rich coming from a federal agent who's been hunting me for months." He retorts and steps even closer "Your hands are just as dirty as mine" he smirks, pulling his hands out and making sarcastic jazz hands.

You flash him a fake smile, "at least I can wash mine by saving people and putting pieces of shit like you in prison." Your voice slowly raises as you continue to spit insults at him. You snarl, scrunching your face in disgust as he leans closer and closer.

He snorts slightly, ”Your typical hero complex” He steps closer, the height difference making him tower over you more and more with every step closer. “Let's be real, here darling. You love chasing me around like a lost little puppy. You don't actually want to see me in prison because that means you lose your favorite game”  He mocks you and laughs darkly.

You push your barrel into his chest, your grip tightens as he gets closer and closer. Your breath is shallow and rough. “Self projection, much ?” You respond, your tone sarcastic and disgusted, “Me putting you in prison means I win. It's not your place to get rid of bad people '' Your tone is firm as if you're getting on to a child who did something wrong.

Spencer laughs, amused by the banter filling the lone apartment. “Winning ?” He asks rhetorically “You really think you're going to win ? That you can just lock me up and put me in the past ?” He leans in and smiles, looking deep in your eyes. The gun pushed itself deeper in his chest. “You're forgetting the most important part, lovely. You've been trying to catch me for years and you've failed. What makes you think this time is any different ?” He asks, teasingly.

You gulp and try to calm your nerves by reminding yourself that a whole police squad is outside. “I've never had a gun pointed directly at your heart until now” You threaten.

“Ah yes, the almighty gun” Spencer chuckles at your mention of the gun. “You really think that's gonna stop me ? You can point a thousand guns up to my head and yet-” He raises his arms up, “Id still be alive and well.” He mocks the way your confidence hinges on a single weapon. “You don't have the guts to pull that trigger” He challenges.

“I have twice now, nothing is stopping me from doing it” You say with confidence, referring back to the warning shots.

Spencers entertained by your confidence and laughs. “ Act tough all you want, baby. We both know that deep down in that burning center of yours...” he softly points in between your breasts and laughs at your flinch. “You don't actually want to see me dead, baby. You're addicted to this little game we play” He leans closer to you, his face mere inches away from yours “You're addicted to me” He whispers softly.

You breathe hitches at his closeness. “I hate scumbags like you” You seethe.

Spencer smiles calmly, unphased by your hard head demeanor. “There it is, your usual insults. Ya know that gets tiring after a while, baby” He smiles at the way your ears flush at the contrast of his name calling versus yours. “You're just in denial about your true feelings.” 

With one swift swipe, you bring your gun up and pistol whip him. He grunts in pain as the butt of your gun makes contact with his forehead and he stumbles backward. You quickly back up more and aim your gun back at him. Spencer lays his head on the wound, blood trickling down and filling his palm. Even with a gash in his head, he still looks up at you with a mischievous smirk. 

“You could've asked nicely if you wanted to hit me, darling” He wipes away the blood and puts his hands in the air again. His cockness and nonchalant behavior only makes you more pissed off.

“The only reason I haven't killed you is because I wanna be able to watch as you age in prison and become a sad shell of a person.” You spit, hoping to crack his pride even just a little bit.

Yet, somehow all your threats only succeed to make him even more cocky. He chuckles for the millionth time. “Ah, of course...” He begins, his tone sprinkles with fondness. “The classic watch your enemy rot in prison tactics.” He takes a sharp breath in through his teeth. “It's not exactly original but i'll give you points for effort” He shrugs as he mocks all your attempts to break his image.

“You're a bitch” You spit through gritted teeth as a weak attempt to break him down as much as you possibly can. 

He only laughs at your poor attempt, not in the slightest deterred by your repeated jabs. “Such harsh language, lovely” He takes a step forward, frankly you're amazed how determined he is to get so close to you. After pushing him away countless times, he still yearns to be close to you. You find this slightly enduring but you quickly push that feeling away. “But let me ask you something” He begins, never looking away from your eyes.”Why do you keep pushing your love for me to the side ?” If you didn't know any better, you would've guessed he was hurt. 

You scoff slightly, backing away again “I'm not in love with you” You clarify plainly.

Spencer continues to get closer to you, you're like a magnet to him. A drug he has to have on hand at all times. “Oh yea ?” He responds sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at your denial. “Deny, deny, deny it all you want” He says as if it's some matra, or a sick lullaby. “But actions speak louder than words.” He says lowly, his signature smirk falling off his face. His body is now close to yours, he lightly rests his hands on your hips and his fingers hide a spot in your pant belt hoops.``Your body language, your flushed ears, the way your breath hitches as I get close” He reads you like a book before reaching up and tilting your chin up with his pointer finger. “Admit it, You're already mine” He teases softly, his smirk slowly coming back to his face.

You quickly raise your hand to strike him across the face but he blocks it by grabbing your wrist. He shoves it against the wall above your head, grinning. “Ah ah ah, Naughty darling” He softly scolds you. “You need to learn how to play nice” His voice is teasing. He moves his body flush against yours and smiles. “We both know you like this no matter how much you struggle”

You reach your hand that's holding the gun to aim it at the bottom of his chin, but he also grabs that wrist. He slams that wrist against the wall next to you, knocking the gun of your hand. Your heart drops as you hear the gun fall on the carpet floor, leaving you helpless under his grip.

“That's better, lovely” His voice is low and smooth. “Now we can talk without you waving that gun all over me” 

You struggle against the grip, your panting and your hair falls in your face. “Let me go !” You grunt.

Spencer chuckles at your feeble attempts, his grip tightening and earring a slight wince. “Don't struggle, lovely” He says, his tone bordering on mocking and reassuring. He pushes his body more against yours, pinning your whole body to the wall. “Relax, I won't hurt you… unless you ask me too” He winks.

Your breathing is labored and shallow. You met his eyes with hate. “Youre sick” You spit lowly.

Spencer continues to be amused by your attempts to defy him. He leans in closer, his face so close to yours. “Look at you. All worked up and out of breath. Your body is betraying your words” He teases as his eyes trail up and down your face. He smiles as he watches your face contorted with anger and stubbornness.

You jerk your neck and spit in his face. Your salvia landing under his left eyes and he narrows his eyes. His confidence mixes with anger but he doesnt let your wrist go, instead his grip tightens and pushes you harder into the wall.You yelp and whimper at the tight grip, sure it'll leave bruises. “You really know how to get under my skin, don't you ?” He growls as you try to push yourself into the wall to get as far as you can away from his touch.

“Let go !” You scream and try your best to wiggle out of his grip.

Spencer simply ignores your cries and pleads. He tightens his grip even further, causing you to wince. You feel your hands go numb as the blood stops circulating. You raise your gaze, your hands and see your hands have gone pale. “Ah ah ah, you're not going anywhere” His voice is smooth and authoritative. “I have you exactly where I want you” He chuckles, leaning close to your ear and his breath grazes your neck “And you're enjoying every second of this, aren't you ?” He teases.

“Fuck you” Your snarl through quick, exhausted breathes. You try to jut your foot and legs out to kick him but he quickly pins them to the wall with his knees. Keeping you completely trapped. 

Spencer smirks at your defiant language and coos. “Such dirty profanity coming from those pretty lips of yours''. He pulls away from your ear and looks between your eyes down to your lips. “That hot-headed attitude of yours won't do you any good, and I bet you know that. You know you're all mine, whether you like it or not '' He says, his breath filling your nose with coffee and subtle mint.

“You don't own me” You softly claim, feeling as if your hands have been cut off and it's making you slightly dizzy.

Spencer laughs darkly as he notices how faint you are becoming. “But I do.” He counteracts your claim. “Even your body agrees with me. You're all mine” He smirks and leans closer. His eyes flicker to your lips then back your eyes.

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to regain your composure as much as you can. You slam your forehead against his, instantly regretting it as it makes you feel even dizzier. The center of your forehead throbs with pain. He winces but he doesn't let go, much to your disappointment. He grunts, feeling the pang in his forehead then he smirks. “There's my feisty girl, the one that I love. You really know how to keep me on my toes, angel” He presses his body impossibly close to yours, pinning you tightly against the wall.”But you know what they say about playing with fire…” He leans in close to your ear, dropping his voice to a deep whisper “It's only a matter of time before you get burned’

The side of your cheek is pressed against the wall, your head turned to avoid being too close to him. Your breath is quick and shallow, feeling completely defenseless and at the complete mercy of this serial killer who was responsible for the death of several men. You dig your top teeth into the skin just below your bottom lip as your brain searches for any possible way to regain control. “Okay ! Okay..” You begin, your voice is full of defeat as you surrender. “Maybe I like investigating you and chasing you down” You admit, still very angry and annoyed.

Spencer grins at your admission, his pupils filled with mirth. “That's better, angel. It's about time you admit it. You enjoy the chase as much as I do. You love tracking me down and constantly failing.” He chuckles and you turn your head to face him head on. Your brows are furrowed and every muscle of your face is filled with animosity. “But you know what I love most about our game ?” He asks rhetorically “Is the fact that you're just as obsessed with me as I am with you” He leans in closer and his nose lightly brushes against yours. 

“You're a creep” You insult him softly, almost as if your breath is being pulled out of you as he gets closer and closer to you.

Spencer lets out a small puff of air, amused by your half-assed insult. He can sense the fact that your walls are beginning to crumble and fall. The change in your voice and the way you're out of breath fills him with amusement and a weird sense of hope. “Just give in, darling. Stop fighting it.” His voice is almost pleading and beckoning.

Without a second thought or a second to waste, you suddenly slam your lips onto his with searing passion. He's taken aback but quickly recovers, returning the action with just as much intensity. He finally releases your wrists, leaving a red and slightly purple band in its wake and moves his hands down to your sides. His fingers softly grip the just below your vest. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss and you feel the tip of his nose lightly caress your cheek. He feels your heart beating just below your chest just before he pulls away. “I knew you couldn't resist me” He mutters against your lips.

You wrap your arms around his neck and slip your tongue inside his mouth. He moans at the feeling of your tastebuds against his own. His hands roam your body passionately, then he pulls away. He's slightly out of breath and he looks deep into your eyes with animalistic desire. “You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this, love” He admits softly and wickedly.

Your lips stretch into a smile “And you have no idea how long i've waited for this.” You reach into your belt holster and pull out a taser. You push the taser into his abdomen, your finger gripping the button, sending several volts of electricity into his nerves. Spencer groans and his body convulses as he falls to the ground. You pull the collar of your shirt towards your mouth, finally giving the command for the officers to move in. You move down to your knees, placing one on his back. He doesn't struggle as you handcuff him, grunting more than resisting. “You really know how to spoil the moment, darling”

“Glad you think so.” You reply plainly through labored breathing. You secure the cuffs and stand up, watching cops take him away. He takes one last look at you, almost as if he was taking a mental picture of you in your current state. Messy hair, Smudged lipstick, disheveled clothes all make him wanna break free and tear you up. He smirks and lets out a single chuckle.

“This isn't over, love. Not by a long shot”

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Bloody Mary | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions/descriptions of parental death, implication of suicide (take care of yourselves, my loves)

Word Count: 6379

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You and Dean hadn’t talked much since the events on the plane. In fact, the two of you barely looked at each other anymore. Not out of disgust, your stomach just fluttered every time you caught a glimpse of him for reasons you couldn’t explain. You didn’t exactly like him, but you definitely didn’t hate him, either. In fact, your most recent journal drawing had been of your hand wrapped in Dean’s. You smiled at the memory.

Sam slept in the front seat while Dean drove the three of you to Toledo, Ohio. You had actually been the one to find this case. Steven Shoemaker’s eyes had bled when he died. According to his obituary, his death had been swift. He was much too young to have had a stroke or an aneurysm, and seemed to be in good health. Therefore, you concluded this was your kind of gig. 

Sam began to stir, catching your attention. You straightened in your seat as the Impala came to a halt in front of a large hospital complex. Sam’s stirring and whimpering was getting worse by the second.

Dean shook his brother. “Sam, wake up.”

He bolted straight up, confused, taking both you and Dean by surprise. After taking a second to catch his breath, he said, “I take it I was having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, another one,” Dean reminded him.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam’s faux optimism caused you to shake your head. 

“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this.” 

Apparently, Sam was choosing the latter. “Are we here?” he asked.

Dean was happy to drop the subject, too. “Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

The three of you began to approach the morgue wing of the hospital. You noticed Sam was holding the newspaper you’d circled Mr. Shoemaker’s death in. “So what do you think really happened to this guy?”

“That's what we're gonna find out. Ladies first,” you joked, holding the door to the first floor of the hospital open for the brothers. 

After making your way through the labyrinth of hallways, you found the dimly lit and vacated morgue. In the large room were two desks. One was labeled with a nameplate for Dr. D. Feiklowicz with neatly stacked packets, files, and books atop it. The other was a chaotic mess of stray papers labeled “Morgue Technician.”

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah. We're the, uh, med students,” Dean responded.

“Sorry?” the morgue tech asked.

“Oh, Doctor—” Dean gave his best shot at the name, “—Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He— uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper.”

“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch.” The morgue tech was smug, snarky, and clearly lacked people skills.

‘No wonder they have him locked up down here,’ you thought.

Dean changed course. “Oh, well, he said, uh— oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can't.” The morgue tech gave a tight-lipped smile. “Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.”

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then,” Dean tried. “Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—”

“Uh, look, man,” the technician mocked, “No.”

Dean laughed a little and turned around, mumbling. “I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear.”

You took the opportunity to try a different tactic. You leaned down on the morgue technician’s desk, doing your best to take advantage of the fact that he probably has had little contact with women. “Please?” you asked innocently. “These guys are my tutors. I’m really struggling in this class, and I just—” you bit your lip, “—I really need a good grade on this paper.” You used your arms to push your breasts together. “Please?” 

You could tell you had him on the ropes. “Uh…” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cleavage. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I guess I could do that for you.”

You smiled innocently. “Thank you so much.”

He began leading the three of you into an attached room to where the bodies were stored for autopsies. You turned around and winked at the boys with a smug smile. Dean rolled his eyes.

The morgue technician pulled the rack Steven Shoemaker’s corpse rested on out from the wall of stainless steel cells.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding,” Sam said.

The technician pulled the sheet back from over Steven’s face. “More than that. They practically liquefied.” The poor man’s eye sockets were still bloody, and they hadn’t yet been sewn shut. You could see the dried blood peeking out from under his partially-closed eyes. 

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean suggested.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone,” the technician answered.

“What's the official cause of death?” Sam asked.

“Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure.”

‘Nope, he’s way too young and in much too good health for that to have been the cause,’ you thought, but kept the thought at bay.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You didn’t like playing dumb, but with this guy, it was necessary. 

“Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen,” the tech answered. Although, he was more responding to your boobs than to your face. You fought the urge to snap in front of his face and get his eyes back on target. 

“The eyes?” Sam asked. “What would cause something like that?”

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims,” the morgue tech shrugged.

Dean’s tone was still aggravated with the guy. “Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?”

“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.”

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper.”

“I'm not really supposed to show you that.” The technician looked back at you.

You suppressed the bile rising in your throat. Before you could do anything else, Dean stepped in front of you and pulled out his wallet. He shoved two twenties at him, hoping that would be enough. You could see the technician deflate, but accepted the money anyway.

Dean’s actions puzzled you. But you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t flutter at the thought of him doing it out of protectiveness of you. 

When you had finished looking over the police report, the three of you began making your way out of the building. 

“Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing,” Sam suggested after having seen the report. 

“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean replied. 

“Uh, almost never.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, let's go talk to the daughter.” Sam started picking up his pace out of the building. You were happy to see him getting his mind off Jessica and back into the job.

“Wait, Dean.” You grabbed his arm lightly before he could catch up to his brother.

He turned to face you. 

“Why’d you do that?” you asked. 

“Do what?” He furrowed his brow.

“Give the morgue tech your hard-earned poker money,” you half-smiled. 

“I just didn’t wanna watch you prostitute yourself for information,” he replied gruffly, turning away from you. 

You took offense. “Hey, I was not—”

He turned back to you and brushed a hand over his hair. “You’re right, you werent.” He paused again, and his voice came back quiet. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you, ‘s all.”

Your heart swelled in your chest and your cheeks began to heat up. “Thanks, by the way,” you said as you continued walking. You nudged his shoulder with yours. “You’re going soft on me, Winchester.”

***

When you arrived at the Shoemaker house, you hadn’t expected to be in the midst of the funeral gathering. If you did, you would’ve dressed more appropriately. Given this fact, you felt slightly awkward when you knocked on the door. A man let you in and pointed you toward the backyard and the two daughters of Steven Shoemaker.

The two sisters were sitting with two blonde girls near the firepit. Dean addressed the older, dark-haired girl. “You must be Donna, right?”

“Yeah,” the girl responded.

“Hi, uh, we're really sorry,” Sam lamented.

“Thank you.”

“I'm Sam, this is Dean and (Y/N). We worked with your dad.”

The girl looked at her friend before looking back at your trio. “You did?” She seemed surprised. 

“Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke…” Sam trailed off.

“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now,” one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends spoke up. 

“It's okay. I'm okay,” she assured her friend. 

“Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?” Dean asked.

Donna shook her head. “No.”

The younger sister, who looked to be about twelve, turned around. “That's because it wasn't a stroke.”

You were intrigued.

“Lily, don't say that,” her sister urged her.

“What do you mean?” you asked the young girl.

“I'm sorry, she's just upset,” her sister responded for her.

“No,” Lily wasn’t having it. “It happened because of me.”

Donna placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie, it didn't.”

You got down on Lily’s eye level. “Why would you say that?”

“Right before he died, I said it,” she said softly.

“Said what?”

She lowered her voice even more. “Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror. She took his eyes, that's what she does.”

Donna interrupted. “That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault.”

“I think your sister's right, Lily,” Dean broke in. “There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?”

Lily tried to take this in. She shook her head. 

“Exactly,” you told her. “I’m sorry, we weren’t trying to upset you. We’ll just be leaving.” You pulled the boys away from Donna’s group and went back into the house. Making sure no one saw you three, you crept upstairs to the bathroom where Mr. Shoemaker passed away. 

Sam pushed the door open, and you noticed some dried blood still on the floor. “The Bloody Mary legend. Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of,” Dean replied. He walked ahead of Sam into the bathroom. 

Sam stooped to the floor and touched the dried blood. “I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’s fine everywhere else, but not here,” you suggested.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam tried.

You shrugged as Dean opened the medicine cabinet. 

“But according to the legend, the person who says B—” you stopped yourself and noticed your reflection in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. “You know what is the one that dies. But here—”

“Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah,” Dean finished for you.

Sam rose from the floor. “Right.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you-know-who scratches your eyes out.”

You considered Dean’s words for a moment. “It's worth checking in to.” You went to leave the bathroom when you noticed one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends approaching you.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked. 

“We— We had to go to the bathroom,” you answered, not believing yourself.

“Who are you?” the girl pressed further.

Dean stepped closer to you from behind. “Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.”

She shook her head with scrunched eyebrows. “He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.”

“No, I know, I meant—” 

She cut Dean off. “And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.”

Sam put a hand up to calm her. “Alright, alright, we think something happened to Donna's dad.”

The blonde looked at you three like you were stupid. “Yeah, a stroke.”

“I don’t think so,” you argued. “He was pretty young to be having a stroke. His eyes wouldn’t have liquified if he’d had a stroke. I think it might be something else.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Like what?’

“Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth,” Sam responded.

“So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead,” Dean snarked.

“Who are you, cops?” she asked, her brows still furrowed.

“Something like that,” you shrugged.

“I'll tell you what. Here.” Sam took a piece of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote his phone number down. “If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary, just give us a call.” He handed her the piece of paper before leading you and Dean down the hallway.

Your next stop was the public library. 

“Alright, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town,” Dean began. “There's gonna be some sort of proof— Like a local woman who died nasty.”

“Yeah, but this is hard. The legend is unbelievably widespread with hundreds of different versions of who she actually is,” you rebutted. “One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more.”

“Okay, then, so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean asked you.

Sam answered. “Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.”

“Well, that sounds annoying,” the older brother commented. 

“No, it won't be so bad,” Sam replied, “As long as we…”

You cleared your throat, gesturing to the only two computers in the library that had “Out of Order” signs on them. 

Sam chuckled humorlessly. “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

The three of you picked up boxes of the town’s newspapers and numerous books of Toledo’s public records and brought them back to Sam and Dean’s motel room. 

You were beginning to go cross-eyed after reading for so long. Minutes turned into hours. Dean was sitting in a chair, you were sprawled across the floor with papers and books scattered around you, and Sam eventually fell asleep.

You stood up to stretch your legs and noticed his closed eyes. “Poor fella,” you said quietly. “How’s he been sleeping?”

“How d’you think?” Dean responded, eyes never leaving his book.

You nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Maybe we should get him to take something,” you suggested.

Dean chuckled. “He won’t do it.”

“Is it just because I’m suggesting it that you’re saying that, or do you really think he won’t take it?” you countered.

He gave you a deadpan expression. 

“You Winchesters are just about the most stubborn people I’ve ever met in my life. Including your dad,” you jested. You heard Dean chuckle a little, too.

“And I wanted to tell you,” you started, “I understand why you’d suspect me in your dad’s disappearance.”

He looked away from his book and over at you. “What do you mean?”

“What you said back in Colorado? The Wendigo case? I get it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re still on that?”

“I mean, yeah, that was just about the most heated fight we’ve had. It kinda stuck with me,” you answered honestly, looking down at your stripey-sock-covered feet. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

A moment passed silently.

“And I, um—” you took a deep breath, “I want you to trust me.” You looked back at Dean who was studying you carefully.

The tense moment was interrupted by Sam jolting awake in his bed. “Why'd you let me fall asleep?”

“Cause I'm an awesome brother.” Dean’s attention was back on his book. “So what did you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes,” the younger brother responded hazily while staring up at the ceiling.

You laughed humorlessly.

“Did you guys find anything?” Sam asked.

“Oh, besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean responded sarcastically. “No. I've looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror—”

“And a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave—” you chimed in.

“But no Mary,” Dean finished for you.

“Maybe we just haven't found it yet,” Sam tried.

“I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know… eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary,” Dean said.

Sam’s phone rang just as his brother finished talking. “Hello?” A look of concern crossed his face. He was trying to calm whoever it was on the other end down.

You waited until he got off the phone to bombard him with questions. “What? What happened?”

“Charlie,” he told you. “Her friend’s dead.”

***

Charlie sobbed as she relayed the story of what happened to her friend Jill. “And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her— her eyes. They were gone.”

You had met her in a park not an hour after she had called Sam.

“I'm sorry,” the latter responded.

“And she said it,” Charlie told you. “I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?”

“No, you're not insane,” you said.

“Oh, god, that makes me feel so much worse.” You feared that might be the case.

Sam was honest with her. “Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained.”

“And we're gonna stop it,” Dean assured Charlie, “but we could use your help.”

You knew exactly where Dean was going with this. And thankfully, Charlie obliged. She snuck you and the boys into Jill’s room through the window. Dean and Sam gave you a boost into the second story room before throwing up Dean’s duffel bag.

“What did you tell Jill's mom?” you asked Charlie.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things,” she replied simply. “I hate lying to her.”

You heard someone closing the blinds and curtains behind you. “Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights,” Dean instructed her.

She obeyed but asked, “What are you guys looking for?”

“We'll let you know as soon as we find it,” the older brother responded.

Sam handed you a digital camera. “Hey, night vision!” You turned it on. You aimed the camera at Dean.

“Do I look like Paris Hilton?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing an amused smile. You walked over to Jill’s closet door and began filming the mirror on it. 

“So I don't get it,” Sam began. “I mean, the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?”

You shrugged. 

“Beats me,” Dean answered. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke,” Charlie replied.

“Yeah, well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time.”

You had made your way over to the bathroom and filmed around the mirror. You stopped when you noticed a trickle of something running from behind it. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?” He came over to you. 

“Look at this.” You showed him the substance oozing from behind the mirror.

Sam looked to his brother. “There's a black light in the trunk, right?” 

While Dean left to get the light, you and Sam pulled the mirror off the wall. When Dean returned, you could see a handprint and the name “Gary Bryman” illuminated by the black light. 

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie asked.

You looked up at her. “You know who that is?”

She shook her head. “No.”

You learned from Sam’s research and Charlie that Jill had killed Gary Bryman, an eight-year-old boy, in a hit and run accident. Dean then decided you needed to return to Donna’s house. When you pulled the medicine cabinet mirror off the wall, sure enough, there was another handprint and the name “Linda Shoemaker.” You learned from Donna that her mother had overdosed on sleeping pills. You had left Charlie at Donna’s house to comfort her friend after you and the boys had upset her with your questions about her mother’s death. 

You then traveled to Fort Wayne, Indiana to investigate the death of a woman named Mary Worthington. She had died the same way these victims were; bleeding from the sockets where her eyes used to be. You spoke to the detective who was the lead on her case. He believed she spent her last moments trying to expose her killer she was having an affair with. She went as far as to start spelling out the name of her killer in her own blood on the back of her mirror. She only got to the third letter of her killer’s name before passing away. It made complete sense to you that her spirit would spend its time exposing the secrets of other murderers. Mary Worthington’s body had been cremated, but the mirror she wrote on had been returned to her family. Now, you and the boys were trying to track down where that mirror had ended up. 

“Oh really?” Sam responded to the man on the phone. “Ah, that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror… Okay, well maybe next time… Alright, thanks.” He hung up.

“So?” you asked.

“So that was Mary's brother,” he informed you. “The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.”

Dean momentarily looked away from the road to his brother. “So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?” 

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow,” Sam responded.

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” you chimed in.

“Yeah, there is. Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped.”

Dean connected the dots. “So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit.”

“Yeah, but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?” you challenged.

“I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.”

“Yeah, I don't know, maybe,” Sam sighed. His phone rang. “Hello?... Charlie?”

***

You and the boys picked up Charlie and brought her to the motel you were staying in. You and the Winchesters were busying yourselves with covering every reflective surface in Sam and Dean’s room with sheets, blankets, jackets; anything. Charlie’s gorgeous blonde hair was knotted and messy, her eyes were puffy from crying but remained closed, and her knees were drawn into her chest. 

Sam sat on the bed next to Charlie. “Hey, hey, it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, alright?”

She looked up slowly. 

“Now listen,” he began softly. “You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?” Charlie’s voice trembled.

“No. No. Not anytime soon,” the brunet assured her. 

You sat on the floor in front of her and put a hand on her knee. “We need to know what happened, babe.”

“We were in the bathroom.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again. “Donna said it.”

“That's not what we're talking about,” Dean stated. There was something dark behind his tone. “Something happened, didn't it? In your life— .a secret— where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?”

The tears were flowing from her eyes now. “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She pulled her knees back to her chest and buried her face between them. 

You felt completely horrible for her. But there was no time for a therapy session because you and the boys were off to that Toledo antique store where Mary’s mirror was being kept.

Dean sped down the road despite the pouring rain which you deeply wanted to protest against. You remained silent anyway.

“You know, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.” Dean broke the silence.

“You know spirits don't exactly see shades of gray, Dean. Charlie had a secret, somebody died, and that's good enough for Mary,” you told him.

“I guess,” he shrugged.

“You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror,” Sam chimed in.

Dean turned his head to his brother. “Why, what do you mean?”

“Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror, so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

“Well, how do you know that's going to work?” Dean asked. 

Sam shook his head. “I don't; not for sure.”

“Well who's gonna summon her?” his brother’s tone got a little panicked.

“I will. She'll come after me,” Sam replied solemnly.

“You know what, that's it.” Dean pulled over to the side of the road. “This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night— it's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.” Sam’s voice cracked.

“Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done,” Dean responded sharply.

Sam tried to shake his emotion away. “I could've warned her.”

“About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway,” Dean said.

“No you don't,” was all Sam could muster.

“I don't what?” 

“You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything.”

You had been trying to stay out of it, but couldn’t hold it back anymore. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?” 

You and Dean were taken aback. “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.” 

“Guys, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel, clenched his jaw, and pulled back out onto the road. The air was heavy and tense in the car. You sat back in your chair with your arms crossed over your chest. No one spoke for the rest of the drive.

When you reached the shop, you picked the lock on the door to reveal dozens of mirrors. 

“Well, that's just great,” Dean grumbled. He pulled out the picture you’d gotten from the detective in Indiana of Mary’s body next to the mirror. “Alright, let's start looking.”

The three of you split up. You were an incredibly detail-oriented person, but even still, all of the mirrors seemed the same to you. 

“Maybe they've already sold it,” Dean called from across the room.

Your flashlight came to rest on a mirror you could swear you’d seen before. “I don't think so. C’mere, Dean.”

He came over to you and held up the photo to the mirror. And sure enough, it was a match. 

“You sure about this?” Dean asked his brother. 

Sam nodded and handed you his flashlight. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

You whipped your head in the direction of a light coming through the store.

“I'll go check that out. Stay here, be careful,” Dean ordered. “Smash anything that moves.” He crawled away from you and you heard him distantly say, “Crap.”

You paid no mind to Dean as you tightened your grip on the crowbar. 

You heard a whooshing sound behind you and wheeled around. In the mirror was Mary. You sprang to action and smashed your crowbar through the dead center of it. 

You could hear a distorted version of Sam’s voice coming from behind you, but before you could aid him, your own reflection caught your attention. It wasn’t quite syncing with your movements; instead looking at you menacingly. 

Before you could move to hit it, you felt an insane pressure coming from behind your eyes, your throat constricted, and blood began to ooze down your face. 

“You can’t keep running, (Y/N),” your reflection told you. “How could you? How could you be so careless?”

The blood dripping from your eyes began to mix with your tears. You didn’t have enough breath to protest. You began to sink to the floor, the crowbar clanging to the ground.

“It’s your fault that they’re gone. Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you fight to keep them alive? Why did you have to kill them? Your guilt should eat you alive. You don’t deserve another family. You know you don’t deserve to be happy again. You know your recklessness will get these boys killed, too. You are so selfish! And your brother! If you hadn’t done what you did, he would still be alive, too. You are worthless. All you bring is death and—” 

The pressure around your throat released when Dean’s crowbar went through the mirror. He barely spared you a second look before going over to his brother. 

“Sam, Sammy!” you heard from behind you. 

You clutched at your throat and began to cry. You knew Dean had turned cold once more because he heard what your reflection said.

Sam groaned in pain as you saw Dean shouldering his brother and pulling him toward the exit of the shop. 

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Sam urged you. 

You shakily stood and did your best to follow the brothers out. Your dizziness caused you to fall back down to the ground on top of shards of glass, making you yelp as they pierced your hands. 

“Help her, Dean!” you heard Sam demand. 

Dean came to your side, clearly in no hurry, and cradled you in his arms. Before he could get anymore than two steps, you noticed Mary crawling out of the frame of her original mirror. Her dark hair was matted and fell in front of her face. Her dress was tattered, and her limbs moved in an inhuman manner; cracking with every movement. You and Dean were sent flying across the floor toward Sam, and the bleeding of your eyes started again.

You looked to the mirror inches from your head. Despite your weakness, you forced yourself to grab it and turn its face toward Mary.

“You killed them!” you heard her reflection cry. “All those people! You killed them!” Mary started choking just as you had and then melted into a pool of blood on the ground. You threw the mirror you’d been holding and shattered it completely.

You dropped your head back to the floor.

“Hey Sam?” you heard Dean say.

“Yeah?”

“This has got to be like,what, six hundred years of bad luck?” the older brother joked. 

Sam chuckled weakly. You couldn’t even muster up a laugh due to the bile rising in your throat. Memories were eating away at you, and the fact that Dean had heard your reflection was only adding to your anxiety. Your breath began to quicken, but you did your best to soothe yourself.

“(Y/N).” Sam drew you out of your trance. “Can you stand?” 

You tried your best to, but couldn’t. Dean squatted down next to you. “C’mon.” He motioned for you to let him carry you. You complied. You looked up at his chiseled face. You swore he was handcrafted by the gods; perhaps Adonis himself. Your hazy mind couldn’t focus on anything aside from his beautiful green eyes. You had so much to say to him about what he’d heard. You knew he didn’t think highly of you, but your relationship had begun to get better. You didn’t want, well, you, to ruin it all now. 

“Dean, I—” you started.

He cut you off. “We’ll talk later,” he said gruffly. Despite his cold and guarded tone, he put you down gently in the back of the Impala.

You ended up falling asleep in the back of the Impala. When you next awoke, you had been tucked into your bed in the motel. Your boots had been discarded, your jacket had been removed, and your key that you kept in your jacket pocket was now on the nightstand beside you. The gesture was sweet, but your mind immediately started reeling about the conversation you needed to have with Dean. 

You checked the clock; it was ten in the morning. You were surprised how late you had slept, and figured the boys had dropped Charlie off; potentially had even left town without you. Your anxiety getting the best of you, you rushed over to their door. Dean opened it when you knocked.

“Hey,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he echoed.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded. 

You led Dean back to your room. You sat cross-legged on your bed and Dean chose the chair across from you.

“Okay, um,” you sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Who’d you kill, (Y/N)?” came his straightforward and dry response. “Why did it say you’d get us killed, too?”

You looked down at the floor, the tears beginning to well up in your waterline. “I wanna tell you, I just—”

“Look at me.” His voice was firm.

You did.

“I need to know.”

You took a deep breath. “When I was eighteen, I was coming back home from one of my first solo hunts. My dad had sent me to take out a vampire nest on the edge of the town we were staying in. There were only three vamps there at the time. I got so excited that I had nuked them all, I didn’t account for the fact that all three of them seemed like newbies. I didn’t… register, I guess, that one or more was probably missing.” You averted his gaze, struggling to keep your voice level. “And so, I left. I went back to the house we were squatting in, and, um, one of them followed me.” Tears began to roll down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart, that’s not your—”

You shook your head. “It is. He turned them, Dean. He turned my mom and my dad. I— I had no choice. I had to—” Your sentence was cut off by a sob, but Dean understood what you meant. You wiped a hand over your face and did your best to continue your story. “I sat with their bodies for a long time after. When my brother came back and saw what I’d done, he drew his gun on me. He, um, he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t let me explain. He couldn’t shoot me, though. He… He just… left. And then— And then, his best friend called me a few days later.” The tears came back. “He found my brother’s car.” You pressed a hand to your mouth. “And he was dead in it.” Broken sobs wracked your body once again. “It’s my fault that they’re gone, Dean, it’s my fault.”

You couldn’t bear to look at him. You knew how disgusted he must be with you. And then, you felt the bed dip beside you. Then, a hand on your arm. Then, he pulled you to his chest, and you melted into his embrace. Your cries still shook your body, but Dean’s strong arms held you together. He sat with you like that for a long time. 

You and the boys had decided to leave Toledo sooner rather than later after Sam told you what Dean had done to the cops in front of the antique store. Long after leaving Toledo, Dean broke the comfortable silence that had settled over the car.

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.”

The younger Winchester sighed. “Look, you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.”

Your eyes remained trained on Sam as he looked out the window at something you were passing by. His expression went from confused to scared to saddened, and you knew he was seeing Jessica. After all, you had no doubt your face mirrored his every time you saw your mom standing on a street corner or your dad’s bloodied body lying in your footpath. In time, you knew he would learn to live with it just as you had. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz

[soracities]

hey! i was hoping you and your many brilliant followers could weigh in on this. my sister is moving to columbus, ohio for med school. she's not a huge reader, but i'd like to give her a little something to get acquainted with columbus / ohio / the midwest / rust belt's literary scene. i'm thinking something by hanif abdurriqab or maggie smith but i don't know their work well enough to pick the best gift.... any thoughts?

will open this up to my mutuals & followers bc i'm only familiar with abdurraqib through some of his poetry and essays online-- if i recall correctly though a lot of his writing often doubles as a love letter to columbus so if you want literary and specifically columbus based i think he's a great bet because he loves that place and it shows deeply in his writing: his essays on music are beautifully lyrical, intimate yet expansive and so emotive and they can't kill us until they kill us has been on my list forever now.

i will leave this open to anyone else who is far more familiar with these region though x

[merrybloomwrites]

You Can Start a Family (Extra: Mitch x Reader Cockwarming)

Summary: Y/N misses Mitch while he's away on tour and can't get close enough to him when he returns home. He comes up with a solution that leaves them both content.

Previous Chapters:

Main Story: One ; Two ; Three ; Four ; Five ; Six ; Seven ; Eight ; Nine ; Ten

Sickfic Part 1 ; Part 2

Mitchrry Prequel

Fan Reactions

Holiday Blues

Mitchryy Reunion

Getting High

First Earthquake

Word Count: 2K

CW: smut, cockwarming, p in v sex

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One thing you absolutely hate is goodbyes. Whether temporary or permanent, you despise having to separate from the people that you love.

It’s been a difficult few weeks for you. Mitch and Sarah left for tour almost a month and a half ago. Harry was with you for most of that time, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t missing the other two. You and Harry went to Mitch’s show in New York City, but the four of you weren’t able to get a minute alone. You couldn’t even spend quality time with them after the show since there were paps and fans tracking you and Harry.

The next day you flew back home to Ohio, Harry flew to London for a couple weeks to work, and Mitch and Sarah continued on to the next city.

It was even worse then, being completely alone in your big, empty apartment. The upside was that it was only a few days until the show nearby in Columbus and you’d be able to see Sarah and Mitch again.

But even at that show you weren’t able to spend too much time with them. This time Mitch’s family was there so the three of you had to be careful. They don’t fully know the extent of your relationship with Mitch and Sarah, and though you all plan to tell them someday, now doesn’t seem like a good time.

You are able to snuggle up next to Sarah for a little while since that’s something you two have always done. It feels nice to have her arm around you, to smell her familiar shampoo, and it settles you just enough to get through the end of the tour.

They finish the last couple of shows, and Sarah comes home to you. Unfortunately, Mitch has to go back to LA for a couple meetings, and your separation from him continues.

You spend a few days hanging out with Sarah before she leaves for a girl’s trip with some of her best friends. For two nights you’re alone again.

Finally, it’s the day Mitch is set to arrive home. You’re excited to finally see him and actually spend some quality time with him, but part of you feels anxious. You’re not entirely sure why, but you can’t shake this nervousness.

He arrives home as you’re cooking dinner, one of his favorite meals. You hear the door open but don’t greet him at the door like you normally would. He finds you standing at the stove, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pressing against your back and saying, “Hi baby.”

You turn your head, smiling and saying a quiet hello before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Mitch is taken aback by your less than warm welcome after so long apart, but then you say, “Sorry, I have to keep stirring this until it boils or else the sauce will congeal and burn and be totally gross.” It’s a valid explanation, but there’s something just a bit off about you at the moment.

“Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes,” you say.

“Can I help?” Mitch asks.

“No thanks, I’ve got it. Why don’t you shower? I know you normally like to after flights,” you suggest.

“Ok, sounds great. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He turns and starts to walk out of the room, stopping when you call his name. “Yea?” He questions.

“I’m glad you’re home,” you say before shyly adding, “I missed you.”

His face softens and he replies, “I missed you too, so much.”

You smile at his response before jokingly saying, “Now go, wash off the germs.”

“I’ll be quick.”

“You’d better. Don’t want another minute without you.”

He steps closer, pressing another kiss to the top of your head before heading to the bathroom. While he takes a quick shower he assesses the way you’d greeted him and what might really be happening here. He hopes that maybe you really were just focused on not burning dinner. But Mitch knows you too well. He knows there’s something else there. Whatever it is, he knows he needs to fix it.

The food is ready by the time he’s dressed, and it smells delicious. The two of you sit down to eat, and though everything seems normal during the meal, Mitch isn’t convinced.

He suggests watching a movie and you agree. Before it begins you go to change into pajamas, seeing how Mitch is already comfy in his sweats. You wear an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, knowing that once you cuddle up to Mitch his body heat will keep you warm. You stop in the bathroom, deciding to do a quick nighttime routine so you won’t have to do it after the movie, but rather go straight to bed.

A few minutes later you’re ready and you join Mitch on the couch. He’s sitting on the corner of your L-shaped sofa, legs stretched in front of him. You waste no time, quickly sitting against him. Your head finds its home on his chest, where you can hear his heart, feel the rhythm of his breathing. His arm instinctively wraps around your shoulders, holding you close.

“This good?” He asks, referring to the romcom he’d pulled up on the TV.

“Yea, I like this one,” you reply, before tucking your face into the crook of his neck.

He presses play, but the movie doesn’t hold his attention. He’s purely focused on you, and your actions. You always love to cuddle, especially when you've been separated from your partners, but it’s like you’re trying to literally get under his skin. Mitch notices even the slightest movements as you continue to shift, never fully settling.

Halfway through the movie he feels your hand move to his shirt and grip the material tight. He can’t stand it anymore, he needs to know what’s going on in your head. So, he casually says, “You okay?”

“I’m good,” you quickly reply.

“Are you sure? You seem a bit, I dunno, upset maybe. I’m just not sure why.”

You’re quiet for a minute, unsure how to answer. Because he’s right, you are upset, but you’re not even fully sure what it’s about.

Finally, you reply, “I just really missed you.”

Mitch is quiet, hoping that you’ll explain a bit more.

After another moment you add, “It was just harder to be away from you than I’d expected. Don’t get me wrong, I am so happy for you and so proud of everything you’ve accomplished. But selfishly, I really missed you. And then I’d see all the pictures and videos of you hugging and talking to all those other girls.”

“And you were jealous of them? I promise, they’re just fans, baby. You and Sarah are the only girls for me.”

“I mean, I know that. And I know they weren’t coming on to you or anything. I was just jealous that they got to see you and hug you and I couldn’t. I wanted to be in your arms, and it like, physically hurt to not feel you for so long.”

“C’mere,” Mitch murmurs, pulling you so that you’re straddling his lap. He cups your face, encouraging you to look him in the eyes. “Those girls may have gotten a hug then, but you get me for life. Even if I’m gone for a while, I’ll always come back. And I’ll always hold you in my arms. Way tighter than I’d hug a fan.”

“I know,” you reply.

“But something’s still bothering you,” Mitch states, picking up on the way you continue to shift restlessly on his lap.

“I really don’t know what it is. I feel like I can’t physically get close enough to you. Like, I know you’re here, but part of me still doesn’t believe that,” you admit.

Mitch is quiet for a minute, thinking of what he can do to help you. He thinks for a minute and comes up with an idea. He’s not sure it will work, not sure if you’ll agree to it or not, but he has to try.

“You said you can’t get close enough?” he questions.

“Yea, it’s like I wish I could just merge us into one person,” you reply with a laugh.

“I mean, we kind of can,”

“Are you saying we could have sex?”

“Not exactly.”

You look at him for a second and say, “Explain.”

“Okay, you know how sometimes when we do have sex, you want me to stay inside for a bit after we finish?”

You blush and nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. You’re not sure why you like that so much, but it always makes you feel so safe and loved.

“Have you ever heard of cockwarming?” he asks, and you shake your head no.

“Basically, it’s that, but without the sex first. We just relax together but I’d be inside of you.” You take in his words and imagine doing what he described and a flush runs through your body. Mitch watches as your cheeks turn even pinker and your pupils dilate.

“Do you want to try?” he asks, needing to know exactly how you’re feeling.

“Yes, please, can we try that? How do we start?” Mitch smiles gently at your eagerness before leaning in to press a kiss against your mouth.

“Well first we have to warm up a little bit,” he says and leans back in for a deeper kiss. Your mouth moves with his, and you feel arousal building in your belly as wetness starts to seep into the boxers you’re wearing. Mitch moves his hands to your hips, and gently presses you lower so you can feel his length hardening beneath you.

He helps you maneuver out of your bottoms, and you shiver as the cold hair touches your sensitive center. Mitch then pulls himself out and wastes no time before running his tip along your folds.

“You sure baby?” He asks, checking once more for consent.

“I’m sure. I want you. I need you closer.”

At that he doesn’t hesitate. He gently slides inside of you, and you practically sob in relief. He fills you perfectly, feels so warm in you. You wrap your arms around his neck, shifting slightly to get comfortable and his arms wrap around your lower back, holding you to him.

Finally, you settle. No more fidgeting or restless movement. You’re perfectly content, physically attached to the man you love and missed.

You lose track of time, not noticing when the movie ends and another one begins. All you’re aware of is Mitch, how you can feel him everywhere. His hands gently caress your skin, his lips randomly press kisses to your face as he whispers how much he loves you.

Eventually Mitch is softly shaking you to wake you up. You breathe him in as you stir, slightly dazed, but it all comes back to you as you shift your hips and feel him still nestled inside of you. You let out a quiet moan, a new wave of desire running through you at the realization.

Without thinking, you lift your head to crash your mouth back to Mitch’s. He meets your enthusiasm with his own and what started out gentle earlier now becomes desperate. He carefully moves you so you’re laying on your back with him on top. He checks in again to make sure you’re on the same page before he begins thrusting.

It only takes a few minutes before the two of you are coming together, the feeling of him coating you making you feel even warmer inside than before. You whimper as he pulls out, feeling empty, but better than before. After a few more kisses, Mitch carries you to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

You both climb into bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. That night you sleep more soundly than you have in weeks, and Mitch knows this won’t be the last time you spend an evening with him resting inside of you.

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AN: Thanks for reading! I have one request for this story that I'm working on but if anyone has more just let me know!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz@fictionalmensblog@buckybarnessimpp

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and The Witch: Dean Winchester x Fem! reader

Description: A small town where dark secrets unfold isn’t anything new to these seasoned hunters, except when it has something to do with urban legends…apparently.

Warnings: cannon violence, mentions/talk of suicide, mentions of gruesome death, eye bleeding, Blood Mary (idk if this would be a warning but like 🤷🏼‍♀️), mentions of murder, witchy stuff

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra ,@fablesrose

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long to get out again my AP class is really AP-ing and has taken up literally all my time. I spent four days working on a 20 pages packet that took forever meaning I had zero time for this. Again so so sorry.

Word count: 7,719

Bloody Mary

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Next Chapter)

“Sam, wake up.” Dean nudges the man in question, the car in park.

Sam wakes, confused, he sits up and looks around. “I take it I was having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, another one.” Dean confirms, and I nod too a frown on my face.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam offers

“Sam” I stretch out his name, “that cannot be your positive to this.”

“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this.” Dean adds.

But Sam ignores us, avoids the whole conversation, “Are we here?”

Dean lets him avoid the whole ordeal and I have to wonder how long he will let his brother lie. Though I guess I'm no better. “Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

Sam picks up a newspaper that sat on the console of the car, the obituary of Steven Shoemaker circled.

‘The Shoemaker family is sad to announce the sudden death of their beloved husband and father Steven Shoemarker. Steven was 46. A short service will be held on Wednesday, [...] 31 at 2:00 p.m. at the Toledo [...] and cherish you [...] Your [...]’ The article read.

“So what do you think really happened to this guy?” Sam asks us.

“That's what we're gonna find out.” Dean answers, turning off the car. “Let's go.”

We exit the car, entering the large hospital building that stood in front of us walking up to the two desks that lie in the room. One of them is empty with a name tag that reads, ‘Dr. D. Feiklowicz.’ The other one however was occupied by a Morgue technician in blue scrubs, “Hey” the man greets us as we approach.

“Hey.” Dean answers back.

“Can I help you?” The technician asks, looking between the three of us.

“Yeah. We're the, uh...med students.” Dean lies.

“Sorry?” The man asks back.

“Oh, Doctor—“ Dean stammers over the name, “—Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He, uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemarker corpse. It's for our paper.”

“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch.” The tech informs us.

“Oh well he said, uh—“ Dean sighs, “—oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can't. Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.” He tells us, gesturing to the seats on the side of the room.

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then.” Dean looks at me and Sam as if queuing us to lie with him.

“Yeah.” Sam and I say at the same time, “Jinx” I mumble underneath my breath just loud enough for Sam to hear me who in return gives me a scrunched face.

“Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—“ Dena explains getting cut off by the man in scrubs, “Uh, look, man...no.”

Dean laughs a little. He turns around to face us, mumbling, “I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear.”

But I mean we can’t really blame the guy he’s just doing his job.

Sam hits his brother on the arm, taking a step in front of him he opens his wallet and pulls out some twenties. He lays a few of them, at least five, down on the desk. The Morgue Tech picks up the money, “Follow me.”

The technician gets up and leaves. I go to follow, seeing in the corner of my eye Dean grabbing Sam when he too tries to follow, forcing me to stop and go back a step to see what they are on about.

“Dude, I earned that money.” Dean complains.

“You won it in a poker game.” Sam clarifies.

“Yeah.” Dean answers.

Sam rolls his eyes, pulling away from his brother to follow the technician.

“You’ll make it back” I say, patting Dean on the back shortly to go follow the morgue man.

Dean stays back a half a second before following after us.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding.” Sam said as the Morgue Tech pulled back the sheet over Steven’s face. Revealing a pale, long faced man with dark hair, blood stained on his cheeks below his eyes as if he had cried them.

“More than that. They practically liquefied.” The tech scuffs.

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean asks him.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone.” He answers.

“What's the official cause of death?” Sam questioned.

“Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure.” He replied.

“You mean like cerebral bleeding?” I ask, wanting to clarify.

“Yeah. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen.” He responded.

“The eyes & mash;what would cause something like that?” Sam asked.

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims.” The technician explains.

“Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?” Dean scuffs.

“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.” The tech shrugs.

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper.” Dean requests.

“I'm not really supposed to show you that.” He answers, stretching out ���that.’

Sam sighs clearly annoyed, as he pulls out his wallet.

Now leaving the hospital, walking down the stairs Sam suggests, “Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing.”

“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean points out.

“Uh, almost never.” Sam answers.

“Exactly.”

“Well then, let's go talk to the daughter.” I announce”

We walk into Steven’s funeral, a picture of him on the desk.

All the men in the room are wearing black suits and the women adorned in black dresses, everyone except us. Dean points this very fact out, “Feel like we're underdressed.” I nod in agreement, my lips in a tight line, the guilt of interrupting these people’s mourning with not only us being undressed but also for not having a reasonable explanation of us being here.

But no one stops us as we keep walking through the house, all the way towards the back and outside to the backyard.

A man points us towards Donna and Lily Shoemarker, the daughters of the man we had seen on a metal table only moments before, who are standing near two people whom I can only assume is a friend or family member.

“You must be Donna, right?” Dean greets the eldest daughter as we approach the group of people.

“Yeah.” She answers sadly brushing her short brunette hair out of her face.

“Hi, uh—we're really sorry.” Sam says.

“Thank you.” She replies, and I know she must have heard that same phrase of ‘i’m sorry’ and must have answered the same ‘thank you’ over and over to each person here. As if the death of her father hadn’t broken what’s inside her enough.

“I'm Sam, this is Dean, and that’s Y/N. We worked with your dad.” He explains.

She looks at one of the adults near her and then back at us, “You did?” And I feel bad for lying to her about this to give her a connection to her father that had never existed.

“Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke.” Dean goes on.

“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now” One of the men with her say, stepping in.

“It's okay. I'm okay.” Donna says, with a sharp nod.

“Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?” Dean asks, listing out various options.

“No.” She says simply.

Lily, the youngest daughter, turns around, “That's because it wasn't a stroke.”

“Lily, don’t say that.” Donna snaps.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I'm sorry, she's just upset.” Donna explains.

“No, it happened because of me.” Lily speaks up.

“Sweetie, it didn't.” Donna tries to convince.

“Oh Lily”, I say sadly crouching down to be closer to her eye level, “What makes you think that?” I knew what it felt like to blame yourself for someone else’s death, especially your parents, especially when it happens twice and you're too young to understand why this would happen to you. I feel the eyes of the people around me bore into me, especially from the brothers behind me.

“Right before he died, I said it.” Lily answers.

“Said what?” I ask her.

“Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror.” She explains, pausing, “She took his eyes, that's what she does.” My eyes go wide, not exactly expecting that answer.

“That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault.” Donna reasons.

“I think your sister's right, Lily. There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?” Dean offers, giving the kid some logic to combat what she believes.

“No, I don't think so.” Lily answers. But I know it will take her years to really believe it wasn’t her fault, if ever.

Saying ‘bye’ to the grief rickened family we head back inside the house, but instead of truly leaving we sneak upstairs, approaching the bathroom.

Sam pushes the door open, dried blood stained to the white tiled floor, “The Bloody Mary legend...Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of.” Dean answers, him and I trailing in after Sam who stoops to the floor touching the dried blood, “I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”

I grimace, why would he touch the blood?

“Yeah, well, maybe everywhere it's just a story, but here it's actually happening.” Dean offers.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam asks and we both shrug, Dean opening the medicine cabinet.

“But according to the legend, the person who says B—“ Sam looks at the medicine cabinet mirror, it now facing him, he closes it before continuing, “The person who says you know what gets it. But here—“

“Mr.Shoemaker gets it instead” I finish his sentence.

“Right.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you know who scratches your eyes out.” Dean adds.

“It's worth checking in to.” Sam concludes, as we leave the bathroom.

“What are you doing up here?” A blonde woman stops us, the same woman who was comforting the daughters outside.

“We—we, had to go to the bathroom.” Dean lies, poorly, because it makes perfect sense for three people to be using a private bathroom all at once.

“Who are you?” She asks us, naturally not accepting the poorly down lie.

“Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.” Dean confirms.

“He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.” She counters, and we should really start researching these people before we make up lies of how we know them.

Dean tries to cover, “No, I know, I meant—“

“And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.” She tells us, leaving no more room for any nonsense.

“All right, all right. We think something happened to Donna's dad.” Sam begins.

“Yeah, a stroke.” She answers.

“But it isn’t a typical sign of stroke, it might be something else.” I say softly, ashamed for suggesting such a thing to someone who has no knowledge of our world. These people are going through so much the last thing they need is some random people questioning what they know, I wouldn’t blame her if she did scream.

“Like what?” She scoffs, crossing her arms in front of her.

Sam explains this time probably sensing my unease with all this, “Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth.”

Dean tilts his head, “So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead.” My eyes widened, snapping to look at him, and suddenly that unease I felt vanished, replaced by a burning hot feeling that rushed through my veins and brought a flush to my face. I gulped, trying to push down the feeling a simple sentence that wasn’t even directed towards me made me feel. The cockiness it held as well as the allowance in his voice…it shouldn’t have affected me, and really shouldn’t have created a burning-longing in my gut.

“Who are you, cops?” The woman questions us, but my eyes haven’t left Dean as if he was light and I a moth.

I catch Sam and Dean looking at each other, speaking without words, in my peripheral vision. “Something like that” Dean answers.

It’s then that Dean must have felt my gaze on him, my lips slightly agape as I looked at him through my lashes. His attention turned to me as Sam continued the conversation that I had long blanked out of. Dean looked me over, eyes trailing over my very being, only worsening the burning I had felt within. His eyes met mine again giving me that devilish smirk of his, I swallowed again my eyes falling to his lips.

Sam clears his throat, nudging his brothers hard enough that he knocks into me slightly. Effectively catching our attention.

“Let’s go” He tells us, the woman still in front of us this time her attention to a small piece of white paper that I assume has some sort of contact information on it.

“All right, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town. There's gonna be some sort of proof—Like a local woman who died nasty.” Dean begins as we walk into the oddly dark library, the stale smell of cleaning products surrounding us.

“Yeah but Blood Mary is a widespread legend with tons of versions of who she actually is, with no clear answer. There’s the mutilated bride, a spirit conjured to tell the future, a witch, and a whole lot more” I answer.

“All right so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean asks.

“Well in every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers—public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.” Sam adds, answering.

“Well that sounds annoying” Dean admits.

“No it won't be so bad, as long as we…” Sam trails off looking over to the table lined with computers all that say ‘Out of Order’, he chuckles “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

We quickly turned around, heading back to the motel we were staying at to do our research there. Dean sat leaning with his head on his hand on the small table in the room on his brother's laptop. The younger brother in question had fallen asleep on one of the beds, the rustling of the sheets giving away the fact he was tossing and turning. I however sat crisscrossed on the other bed Deans to be specific, not like he cared anyways, researching on my laptop trying to find any relevant info on a Mary in this town or deaths relating to mirrors.

“Why'd you let me fall asleep?” Sam suddenly speaks up, voice evident with sleep.

“Cause I'm an awesome brother” Dean scoffs, he’d never admit it was really because Sam hadn’t been able to sleep or at least sleep long for the last couple of weeks.

“And what’s your excuse Y/N?” Sam questions me, leaning on his side with one arm propped up.

“You were sleepy!” I admit simply, smiling at him. He rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh.

“So what did you dream about?” Dean asks him, though what he was really asking was ‘did you have another nightmare?’

“Lollipops and candy canes.” He answers sarcastically. So sassy and for what?

“Yum” I reply, my eyes going back to my laptop.

“Did you find anything?” Sam asks us.

“Oh besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean huffs, making Sam sit up, “No. We’ve looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror, and a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave, but uh, no Mary.”

Sam falls back on the bed, the crisp sheets making a ‘whoosh’ noise beneath him, “Maybe we just haven't found it yet.”

“Thing is, there’s also been no strange deaths in the area, no other eyeball bleeding. Nothing. Which you know is good in hindsight but not quite helpful for us.” I explain.

Dean adds on, “Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary.”

Almost as if on cue Sam’s phone rings, he answers, still laying down. “Hello?”

Charlie, the blonde woman who questioned us before, sat on the park bench slightly hunched. I sat next to her to offer some comfort, while Dean sat on the back on the bench, his leg nearly brushing my back.

“And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her—her eyes. They were gone.” Charlie nearly sobbed, having explained everything that happened with her friend Jill.

Jill, who had wanted to tease the blonde women about believing in such a legend, saying the name in the mirror and winding up dead. Her death being in the same manner as Mr. Shoemaker.

“I'm sorry.” Sam answered, eyebrows scrunched together.

“And she said it. I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?” She whimpered, using the back of her hands to clear the wetness from her cheeks.

“You aren’t insane” I tell her clearly.

“Oh God, that makes me feel so much worse.” She whines and I try to not let it hurt me, because she's griefing, even though it does.

“Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained” Sam explains. Dean adding, “And we're gonna stop it but we could use your help.”

Dean lifts me up again, this time to reach an elevated first floor window rather than a fence. His hands sliding from tight around my hips, to brushing down my thighs as he lifts me in reach of the window sill. The window wasn’t that high to reach in the first place but with my height, amidtely being shorter than both the boys, it wasn’t exactly comfortable or super easy to reach the window and pull myself up and in.

My hands grasp the cold white window sill, my rings clinking against the surface as I pull my body up. I swiftly slide my hips sideways making my butt land on the sill, in the same sort of movements you would use when you lift yourself out of a pool.

I move my legs inside the carpeted room, ducking slightly as to not hit my head on the open window. The room belonged to Jill, and as my feet hit the soft gray carpet I officially feel the disgust of intrusion creep up on me.

I slide off the windowsill moving into the room more, Sam quickly taking my place near the window to pick up the duffle Dean threw up at him. He catches it, putting it on the bed and immediately digging through it.

“So what did you tell Jill’s mom?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, the uncomfortability of being in someone’s bedroom let alone a dead girls bedroom crawling up my skin and in my bones.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things.” Charlie answers looking between us and the door nervously. Dean climbs through the window shutting the curtain behind and Sam pulls something out of the bag. “I hate lying to her” Charlie adds.

“Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights” Dean orders.

She goes over to the lights, “”What are you guys looking for?

“We'll let you know as soon as we find it.” Dean hums.

Sam hands him a camcorder on and ready, the object he got from the duffel, “Hey, night vision.” He recalls prompting the older brother to do so, his face scrunched with focus as he finds the button.

“Perfect.” Sam smiles.

The little screen of the camcorder is facing Dean, in a ‘selfie’ like mode, “Do I look like Paris Hilton?” He smiles.

I laugh, slapping a hand to his upper arm on instinct, “Sure you do, baby” I joke, the pet name not something I ever use slipping from my tongue before I could realize. His head turns to give me an amused and smug smirk. In his distractment Sam takes the camera back, going over to the closet door filming around the mirror.

“So I don't get it. I mean...the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?” Sam asks out loud.

“Beats me.” Dean answers, focusing back on the situation at hand. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke.” Charlie reasons.

“Yeah well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time.” Dean replies.

Sam wandered into the bathroom now, looking at the mirror there. “Hey!” He calls out, getting us to turn and look at him. “There's a black light in the trunk, right?”

Dean immediately went off to go get it coming back rather swiftly, just as Sam placed the mirror on Jill’s bed laying it upside down after having carried it from the bathroom. With the black light now in hand, he peels off the brown paper that’s on the back of the mirror, shining the purple light on its back revealing a handprint and the name ‘Gary Bryman.’

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie reads out loud both as an acknowledgment and also a question.

“Do you know who that is?” I ask her.

“No.” She answers simply.

Back on the bench, in nearly the same positions, Sam recalls his findings. “So, Gary Bryman was an 8-year-old boy. Two years ago he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry. But nobody got the plates or saw the driver.”

“Oh my God.” Charlie gasps, horror in her eyes as she covers her mouth.

“What?” I ask the question we’re all thinking.

“Jill drove that car” She answers. Without looking for confirmation I know the boy's eyes are wide too, but there’s no room for the talking that comes after shock.

“We need to get back to your friend Donna’s house.

Somehow, with the help of Charlie, we convinced our way into Donna’s house back up to the bathroom we were in only hours before.

Hunched over the mirror with the black light, our suspicions were correct. There’s a handprint, one I have to say looks like the one in Jill’s bathroom, but I'm no criminologist. This time the name ‘Linda Shoemaker’ is written on it.

We all look at each other, knowing it’s likely that Steven killed his wife hence why Bloody Mary went for him and not the young girl who chanted her name. But the only way to have any idea of this theory is correct is to ask the brunette teenager downstairs.

“Why are you asking me this?” Donna asks us.

“I’m really sorry, Donna, but this is important.” I try to explain, but I know it won’t make sense to her. I mean we are total strangers asking her uncomfortable questions about her dead mother.

“Yeah. Linda's my mom okay? She overdosed on sleeping pills, it was an accident, and that's it.” She fumes, eyebrows scrunched together in fury, “I think you should leave.”

“Now Donna, just listen.” Dean reaches a hand up, as if to motion ‘calm down.’ But it doesn't work. Teary eyed and a little red in the face she yells, “Get out of my house!” Swiftly she runs up the stairs, not giving us another option.

“Oh my God. Do you really think her dad could've killed her mom?” Charlie asks, finally picking up on our theory.

“Maybe.” Sam shrugs.

“I think I should stick around” Charlie announces, referring to staying with Donna, which is probably a good idea.

“All right. Whatever you do, don't—“ Dean tries to warn getting cut off, “Believe me, I won't say it.”

The crisp smell of old books and, oddly, cinnamon fill my nose as I take a deep breath, flexing my hand as I work out the cramping from writing a little too intensely in my small journal.

Dean sits next to me on the cold metal chairs in the library we decided to research in (different to the original one we were at), he’s typing away on the clunky computer the library has. Sam’s staring off at a bulletin board behind us with all sorts of things on it.

“Wait, wait, wait, you're doing a nationwide search?” He asks Dean, alerting us of him coming back to his seat on the other side of his brother.

“Yep. The NCIC, the FBI database—at this point any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me.” Dean answers.

“But if she's haunting the town, she should have died in the town.” Sam points out.

“I'm telling you there's nothing local, I've checked. So unless you got a better idea—“ Dean explains and as much as I love him I cut him off.

“Well, Mary’s victims have a pattern, which I know you guys already know so I'll just cut to the good part. Both victims had secrets relating to where people died and, here’s the good part, there’s a lot of folklore on mirrors, specifically that mirrors are a reflection of your soul. And with that your secrets and lies are revealed to the mirror.

Fun Fact! It was the Romans who believed that the soul would regenerate every seven years, so if you broke a mirror then you’d have to wait seven years until your soul was cleansed of the bad luck and misfortune.

And while I have more fun facts about mirrors I will end it there.” I smiled, satisfied with my information vomit as well as my fun fact because fun facts are wonderful.

Both boys look at me strangely, a mix of confusion and what I think is amazement (they should be amazed cause that was a really great fun fact). Dean seems to shake it off, “Right. So if you've got a secret, I mean like a really nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it, and punishes you for it.”

Sam adding, “Whether you're the one that summoned her or not.”

“Correcto!” I answer, and by correct I mean that’s what I was thinking for our working theory.

“Then take a look at this.” Dean announces, clicking a few buttons on the computer before leaning over to the nearby printer, pulling out and handing us the paper. It’s a picture of a woman lying by a mirror in a puddle of blood. He prints out another picture, this time of a handprint and the letters “Tre.”

“Looks like the same handprint.” Sam points out and I nod in agreement.

“Her name was Mary Worthington—an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana.”

“I was on the job for 35 years-detective for most of that. Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder—that one still gets me.” The detective states, unfortunately I immediately forgot his name. It's not the nicest thing to happen but I was also really focused on his country accent that’s just a little too funny.

“What exactly happened?” Dean asked, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You boys and girl said you were reporters?” Mr. Detective questioned.

“We know Mary was 19, lived by herself. We know she won a few local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress. And we know the night of March 29th someone broke into her apartment and murdered her, cut out her eyes with a knife.” Sam recalls the gruesome story.

“That's right.” He confirms.

“See sir, when we asked you what happened, we wanted to know what you think happened.” Sam clarifies for him, somewhere between a curious and condescending tone.

Mr. Detective eyes us over as if he’s contemplating something. He spins his wheely chair around swiftly getting up and going to a large file cabinet. “Technically I'm not supposed to have a copy of this” He huffs, pulling out a file and then a picture, the same picture Dean had already found on the computer. “Now see that there? T-R-E?” Detective reads out, even though unbeknownst to him it’s old news to us.

“Yeah” Dean answers.

“I think Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer.” He theorizes.

“Do you know who it was, or any theories?” I ask, trying to get any sort of new answers.

“Not for sure. But there was a local man, a surgeon-Trevor Sampson.” He pulls out another photo, this time of this Trevor guy, he has an oval face with curly short hair definitely on the darker side but I can’t say exactly what color due to the black and white photo. He’s also wearing some sunglasses.

“And I think he cut her up good.” He finishes, his accent thick.

“Why do you think it’s him?” I question further.

“Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing. She called him by his initial, ‘T’. Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell ‘T’'s wife about their affair.” He answers, and for a detective that truly means nothing.

“No offense but how does that directly correlate to Sampson… I mean there’s other people with the initial ‘T’ right?” I question him again, hoping it doesn't offend the man.

“It's hard to say, but the way her eyes were cut out...it was almost professional.” He explains.

“But you could never prove it?” Dean asks, chiming in.

“No. No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous.” Mr. Detective nods.

“Is he still alive?” Dean follows up.

“Nope.” He sighs, sitting down. “If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy's secret. But she never could.”

“Where's she buried?” Sam asks this time.

“She wasn't. She was cremated” He answers. No digging up bodies for us today.

“What about that mirror”, Dean nods towards the one in the photo, “It's not in some evidence lockup somewhere is it?”

“Ah, no. It was returned to Mary's family a long time ago.” He explains, leaning back in his chair.

“You have the names of her family by any chance?”

We drive down the roads, the sun setting behind us. Sam’s call dictates where we go, either to whatever location he gives us or back to the motel.

“Oh really? Ah that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror. Okay, well maybe next time. All right, thanks.” Sam hangs up, pocketing his phone.

“So?” Dean asks.

“So that was Mary's brother. The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.” Sam stated.

“So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?” Dean raises.

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow.” Sam simply puts it.

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” Dean asks.

“Yeah! People would cover up the mirror when someone died so that their spirit/ soul wouldn’t get trapped.” I explain, happy to spew some more of my fun facts.

“So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit” Dean works through the facts.

“Yes! But I don’t know how she’s working through various mirrors” I admit.

“I don't know either, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.” Dean proposes.

“Yeah, I don't know, maybe.” Sam gets cut off by his own phone, “ Hello.” A look of concern washes over his face, becoming pale “Charlie?”

The motel room is colder, the rain outside causing that meek fact. Charlie’s sitting on Sam’s bed, her head on her knees, after we picked her up from school all terrified. All the curtains are drawn shut, all the mirrors and reflective surfaces are covered with sheets or turned aquas towards a wall or the floor there will be no bloody mary getting in here.

Sam sits next to Charlie, “Hey, hey it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, all right?” She looks up reluctantly and slowly, “Now listen. You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?” Her voice wobbled, fresh tears running down her cheeks.

“No. No. Not anytime soon.” Sam comforts, but I don’t think it helps.

Dean sits on the bed too, “All right Charlie. We need to know what happened.”

“We were in the bathroom. Donna said it.” She answers simply, rocking herself slightly.

“That's not what we're talking about. Something happened, didn't it? In your life...a secret...where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?” Dean pushes.

She looks around uncomfortably, swallowing she begins, “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know?” She looks over at me for confirmation knowing without any previous conversation about it that I would understand. And she was right. It was as if bad boyfriends were sewed into the fabrics of being a woman, it would be a little strange if you hadn’t had one.

I nod and she continues, “And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She cries harder, going back to her previous position.

I move towards her, Sam getting up to allow me to sit close to her. I hug her, holding her close despite her awkward position. “That’s not your fault” I told her simply, and I meant it too. She uncurls herself, quickly wrapping her arms around me and stuffing her face into my neck. I hold her tighter. “You did the right thing, leaving him” I mutter.

Dean huffs, gripping the steering wheel slightly tighter, “You were right back there Y/N, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.”

“You guys should know as well as I do that spirits don't exactly see shades of gray. Charlie had a secret, someone died, that's good enough for Mary.” Sam reasons.

“I guess” Dean sighs.

“You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror.” Sam suggests.

“Oh, what do you mean?” I ask with a tilt of my head.

“Well Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.” Sam explains.

“Well how do you know that's going to work?” Dean questions.

“I don't, not for sure.” Sam shrugs.

“Well who's gonna summon her?” Dean follows up.

“I will. She'll come after me.” Sam states as if it’s the most obvious answer and with no care for himself.

“You know what, that's it.” Dean nearly shouts, pulling the car over quickly and roughly making my body shift nearly knocking into the door.

“This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night—it's gonna kill you.” Dean fumes, not quite yelling but also not quite talking.

“Now listen to me—It wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.” Sam answers plainly, almost in defeat

“Well you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done.” Dean adds.

“I could've warned her.” Sam sighs, and the pain in his voice makes me want to cry.

“Sam…you couldn’t have known that would happen.” I chime in, though it doesn't quite feel like my place.

“And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean we know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway.” Dean exclaims.

“No you don't.” Sam states, no further explanation given.

“I don't what?” Dean asks.

“You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything.” Sam shrugs.

“What are you talking about?” Dean questions, face full of confusion.

“Well it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?” He replied sassily.

Dean looks surprised, “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.”

“Dean, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this.” But Sam doesn't get any answers, with a roll of his eyes Dean drives off. Conversation over.

Sam is trying to pick the lock on the shop's door, somehow without any word he became the designated lock picker. The dark oak door opens and all around the store are mirrors, mirrors of all shapes and sizes and varieties. Truly the worst place to be in this situation.

“Well...that's just great, '' Dean sighs, pulling out the photo of Mary’s corpse to look at the mirror, the one we’re looking for being a wooden frame. Not very helpful considering our location where there are countless mirrors that look exactly the same. “All right let's start looking.”

I nod in agreement handing both boys their crowbars. I shifted my baseball bat in my hand, there wasn’t a third crowbar and there was no reason for it anyways, a baseball bat is just as good at smashing.

We enter the dark store, flashlights on, splitting up we look for our specific mirror.

“Maybe they've already sold it.” Dean suggests, from some part of the store.

“I don't think so.” Sam says, stopping in his tracks. Dean and I walk over on either side of the taller man, Dean pulls out the picture again comparing the two. It’s our mirror.

“That's it.” Dean sighs, “You sure about this?”

Sam hands over his flashlight and sighs, “Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.” He looks between the both of us, “Bloody Mary.”

A light shines through the store windows, illuminating the room.

“I'll go check that out. You guys stay here, be careful. Smash anything that moves.” Dean shuffles away.

I grip my bat tighter as a breath that isn’t mine nor Sam’s surrounds us. He turns around quickly but I keep my back towards him, “Nothing?” I ask and he hums in confirmation.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Mary in one of the mirrors, I step forward swinging my bat back and then forward hard. The glass shatters falling to the floor around my feet. Then Sam hits a mirror behind me, before swiftly turning back to her mirror.

“Come on. Come into this one.” He mutters underneath his breath.

He tilts his head watching his regeneration weirdly when suddenly he starts breathing heavily grabbing at his chest.

“Sam!” I shout, grabbing his arm. His eyes begin to bleed, blood trickling down his cheeks. He drops his crowbar, the metal clinking against the floor loudly.

“It's your fault. You killed her. You killed Jessica.” A voice rings out, one that sounds like Sam’s though I know it’s not him speaking. I help him to the floor carefully as he grabs his chest harder.

“You never told her the truth—who you really were. But it's more than that, isn't it?” The voice fumes.

I get up leaving Sam to the floor, “That’s enough of you” I mutter, gripping my baseball bat tight. I hit her mirror, the glass shatters around me.

I hear Sam take a deep breath in, when I look down at him he’s no longer holding his chest. He holds a thumb up to me, weakly.

But for some reason the voice didn’t stop, Mary was no longer hurting Sam but her accusations wouldn’t stop.

“Those nightmares you've been having of Jessica dying, screaming, burning—You had them for days before she died. Didn't you!?! You were so desperate to ignore them, to believe they were just dreams. How could you ignore them like that? How could you leave her alone to die!?! You dreamt it would happen!!!”

I smash three more mirrors, anything to get it to stop by it doesn't.

“SAM, SAMMY!” Dean shouts, rushing into the room and crouching down to his brother.

“It's Sam” He answers meekly.

Dean holds onto his brother's face gently, eyeing his face and the blood on it, “God, are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam replies, a little unsure though considering the circumstances I get it.

“Come on, come on.” He pulls Sam up, bringing his arm around his neck with a nod of his head towards the door. I follow the boys towards the exit.

A sudden crunching noise forces us to turn around. Mary crawls out of the frame of her mirror, her long black hair covering her face, she walks over the broken glass with no care, her head tilting to the side as she crawls towards us. Her dark nearly black eyes bore into us, somehow she forces us to the floor.

My chest feels tight as if someone was squeezing my heart, I try to crawl backwards on my hands like a crab walk when a sharp pain surges through my hand followed by my eyes. I bring my hand in front of me, a large slash runs through my palm, a piece of glass sticking out of it. The ache in my eyes I know is not caused by glass but by Mary, I reach my gold hand up to my cheek blood trickling down my face. I suck in a breath, the pain not helping the already pain I was feeling. I look over to the boys on the left of me nearly on top of each other as blood runs down both their cheeks.

Mary stands approaching us with a head tilt and a limp. I grumble holding up a shaky hand, waving my hand once, slowly, making long mirrors form in a line in front of Mary acting as a wall between us.

“You killed them! All those people! You killed them!” A female voice cried out, Mary’s voice.

She looks at her reflections scared, when she begins to choke. She grabs on to her throat and her chest, crumbling down to the ground she shrieks, turning to a puddle of blood

With another wave of my hand the wall of mirrors shatters, glass falling to the floor loudly.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?” I hum feeling a little defeated.

“This has got to be like...what? 600 years of bad luck?” He asks me and I can’t help the big smile that falls on my face.

“Mmm I can’t wait” I laugh, the sarcastic comment coming to me with ease.

The sun rises in front of us, gleaming on the Impala. Our faves are cleaned up, ridden of blood and the event that unfolded. The only proof of it happening being my hand that’s carefully wrapped in white gauze, the glass now out and the cut cleaned.

Charlie sits next to me in the back seat as we pull up to her house, it's odd having someone else back here with me.

“So this is really over?” She asks us, her eyes puffy from her night of crying.

Dean looks at her through the rearview mirror, nodding, “Yeah, it's over.”

“Thank you.” She says, Dean reaching back to shake her hand. She turns to me next, arms open in a hug. I close the gap between us and give her a good squeeze.

She smiles a little sadly at me, getting out of the car.

“Charlie?” Sam calls out, stopping the woman in her tracks. She turns around, “Your boyfriend's death...you really should try to forgive yourself. No matter what you did, you probably couldn't have stopped it. Sometimes bad things just happen.”

She smiles faintly, turning back around to go into her house.

Dean hits his brother's arm gently, “That's good advice.”

We drive off the car falling silent for a beat before Dean talks again, “Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?” He answers.

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.” Dean tells him, looking between him and the road.

“Look...you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.” He admits with a sigh, looking out the window.

The car falls silent again.

Healing isn’t easy. It's not something you can put a bandaid on and expect to be fine, and maybe all that Sam shared will be enough for now but that’s not something we can gauge.

That is times doing, and time isn’t something we can control.

God knows i’ve tried.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

hellooo again!! i loved what you did with the dun!reader x tyler fic, it was exactly what i had imagined thank you!!:3 i’ll definitely be a regular here, you’re writing is TEWWW good not to be one 😁 id also love to be 🦝 anon if that works??

anyways id love to see an angsty fic, where reader & tyler are at an party or some sort of event and reader is spending a lot of time talking to her old childhood friend. and while tyler knows the reader would never hurt him, and that there was nothing going between reader and this guy. blurryface gets the best of him. so when they leave the party early because tyler has a “headache” and when the car ride home is nothing but silent, reader speaks up about it. and blurryface tries to argue with reader, paint her out to be this villain. but reader knows how to help tyler, she knows exactly how to save him from himself. i even if blurryface’s words hurt at first.

i hope i explained that correctly ☝️ but yeah just a angsty argument moment & once reader realizes she just has to save tyler from blurryface, she just reassures him until he’s safe.

again thank you so much for writing my request!!:) i have sooo many random ideas that id love to share with you, i truly enjoy your work soo much <3

- 🦝

Jealous - Tyler Joseph x Reader

Relationship: Tyler Joseph × Reader

Warnings: Blurryface, strong language (I did use swears lol), and Tyler being jealous - angst

Word Count: 2734

A/N: Hello 🦝! I'm glad you enjoyed the Dun!reader fic and thanks for coming back and requesting :) This was super fun to write bc I have an event with my guy best friend this weekend and lots of people that are going to be there haven't met him so I was able to take inspiration – hopefully it doesn't end up like this! Hope you enjoy!

We’d been planning this festival for months, 17 youth bands from Columbus, Ohio were set to play in a medium sized local venue over Saturday and I couldn’t have been more excited. Tyler had promised to  come as a guest and watch the bands. I’d asked him to have a chat with a few of the kids who I knew were fans and genuinely interested in taking their music further and into a professional sphere. 

“How’s this?” Tyler stepped out of our closet wearing a black hoodie, black jeans, and a baseball cap, doing a little spin. 

“Perfect,” I smiled, finishing my makeup in the mirror with my favorite music blasting from the speaker Tyler had installed in the ensuite bathroom for us. He fell back onto our bed, spreading out into a starfish position and staring up at the ceiling. “You look tired,” I laughed, looking at him through the mirror. 

“I am,” he responded, pulling down one of his pillows from the top of the bed. I grabbed my bag and slipped in my phone, keys, lip balm, and a comb. 

“Well you’re gonna need to wake up if you’re going to be speaking to these kids,” I said. Tyler sat up, letting out a loud groan that echoed through the bedroom. He opened his arms out to me, welcoming my presence between his knees. Resting his head against my chest, he pulled me in close enough that he was practically breathing me in. “I’m excited,” I smiled, knowing my hard work was finally paying off and that all of the kids I’d gotten to know over the last few months were getting the opportunity to showcase their art in front of people who truly understood them. 

“I’m excited for you,” he mumbled, his voice muffled through my shirt. His body heat felt comforting and the last thing I wanted was to step away. It was going to be a stressful day and any minute away from him would just make me more stressed, he was my own personal stress reliever. “We should get going,” I pulled away from his embrace and helped him onto his feet. Normally Tyler drove us places because I took control of the aux to play our shared playlist. We got into the car and almost immediately music started to flow around the car, the two of us singing as loud as we could and shimmying back and forth with the bass. The venue was about half an hour from our house and I’d gotten a couple text messages from the crew to let me know they were loading things in including camera equipment and the shared drum kit each band was going to use. We turned the corner and drove in through the back entrance, parking just to the side of the loading bay. Everywhere I looked there were people running back and forth carrying equipment and talking to the bands. It felt like just yesterday that Tyler and I were setting up for twenty one pilots’ shows together while Mark filmed everything. I missed it, I missed having a camera shoved in my face by one of my best friends–it was fun. Tyler jumped out of the car and ran over to my side, offering a hand for me and not letting go once I was down. We walked into the venue, music playing over the radio to keep everyone entertained during the long waiting hours. That was when I saw him–Luke. I stopped right there in the middle of the walkway, my breath caught in my throat. 

“Y/N?” he paused, his eyes meeting mine for the first time since high school. My heart was beating in my ribcage, the feeling vibrating throughout my body and straight into my hand, which Tyler gripped tightly. His brows furrowed as he looked at me with concern. 

“Luke?” Tyler tilted his head slightly. I let go of his hand and ran straight into Luke’s arms. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?” I gasped. 

“I thought I’d fly in and surprise you! I’ve been helping a bit behind the scenes with promotional stuff,” he looked down at me with a grin. 

“How long has it been?” Tears of joy started to well in my eyes. Luke was my best friend in elementary school, middle school, and even high school–our friendship lasting longer than 10 years. 

“Eight years Tink,” he said, ruffling my hair. ‘Tinkerbell,’ the nickname I’d adopted in middle school. I remember it like it was yesterday, the summer when our families went to Disney World together. Luke and I grew up on Disney movies and when we finally saved enough money to go to the parks we were so excited. Like the amazing friend I was, I forced Luke to stand in an hour-long line with me to meet Tinkerbell only to get heat stroke and have to step out of line. I cried and cried about how bad I felt about wasting his time but the whole time he sat by my side waiting for me to feel better before dragging me off to Walt Disney’s Haunted Mansion and forever cementing my name as ‘Tinkerbell’. 

“Sorry, Tink?” Tyler interrupted. I stepped back from Luke who chuckled. 

“Short for Tinkerbell. It’s a long story. You must be Tyler, I’ve heard so much about you,” Luke beamed, reaching a hand out to Tyler who shook it firmly. 

“Interesting, because I haven’t heard anything about you,” he mimicked sarcastically. Luke’s face dropped looking at me with confusion. He’d never come up in conversation, Luke moved out of state after high school, going to New York for business school. 

“We were friends at school,” Luke explained before looking back at me. “The kids are already here if you want to come say hi, they’re all super excited to meet Tyler.” I nodded, following him as he walked ahead. Tyler reached down and grabbed my hand strongly. Something was off, he was standing taller and felt more serious than he normally was. 

“Are you okay?” I whispered into his ear–he had to lean down to properly hear me. 

“Yep. Fine. Absolutely fine.”

“Tyler if you feel sick or something you can go home, I can stay here with Luke,” I began, rubbing the pad of my thumb against the back of his hand. 

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted. As we entered the backstage area where all the kids were he turned on a smile and went to greet everyone. The room instantly filled with cheers and squeals as he was quickly swarmed and disappeared from sight, leaving Luke and I alone. 

“Do you need any help with setting stuff up?” I asked, turning away from Tyler and trying to make myself useful. 

“Actually yeah, you could help me put together the gift baskets for the bands,” he nodded, leading me further down the hall into a dressing room full of brightly coloured baskets, bags of candy, drum sticks, guitar picks, and more gifty things. I jumped over the covered floor to a small square of carpet which was clear enough for me to stand. “So, what’s up with this Tyler guy? You told me he was chill but he was anything but that,” Luke spoke, kneeling down and grabbing a basket. He was right, Tyler was generally relaxed with the exception of a few work things with the band when he really locked in. 

“I don’t know Lou,” I ran a hand through my hair, “he normally is.” 

He shrugged and let out a sigh. “Maybe he’s jealous of my amazingness,” he bragged, fitting a pack of guitar strings next to the box of chocolates in his basket.  

“As if,” I scoffed, throwing the ring of ribbon to him. “I’m dating the frontman of one of the biggest bands on the planet and you’re… you,” I laughed as Luke placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. As Luke and I continued to fit each gift into the baskets we began to talk about the past. We reminisced on the make believe games we used to play, the popular girls in middle school who thought they were ‘all that’–who apparently these days were working at gas stations and malls–and that one time our math teacher talked about his couples therapy in class. I could barely breathe as Luke mimicked the teacher’s voice, clenching my stomach and gasping for air. 

“Oh my god, remember when he got on his knees in front of Kate and started praying for her to pass the exam?” I laughed as Luke gasped, continuing his perspective of the story. I could hear the thumping and humming of the bands playing as they started to roll out on stage–I couldn’t have been more proud. 

“What about Dylan, do you remember him?” Luke asked. We’d moved closer together as the empty baskets became perfectly full and were placed on the table I’d decided needed to be covered in pink paper.

“Shit that breakup was the worst. I was the a fucking mess,” I scoffed. Dylan was my high school boyfriend and for most of our relationship I was deeply in love with him–except for the day I caught him making out with Kathy from biology. It took me months to get over it, months of watching Disney movies and scoffing ice cream on Luke’s couch. It was so bad that our parents actually let us stay at each other’s houses. 

“I know, I was there,” Luke laughed, cutting the end of the ribbon he was tying. “I’m glad you’ve found your person though, he’s lucky to have you Tink.” Finishing another basket, I placed it on the table, finally able to move around the room as we’d finished about half of the job already. Just as I was about to go back to my spot I saw Tyler standing in the doorway. 

“Hey,” I smiled, opening my arms to him as he weaved his way around the baskets towards me. “How were the kids?” I looked up at him noticing he was picking at his hands–an anxious habit he’d formed. 

“Good,” he responded. 

“Are you okay man?” Luke asked, looking up from the bow he was tying. Tyler’s fists clenched. 

“I’ve got a headache, you know?” he gestured to his head. “I think we should head home Y/N.” I didn’t want to go home, I wanted to watch my hard work pay off and hear the music. 

“Oh I can give her a ride home after is she wan–”

“No. I–I–no,” Tyler interrupted. I stood up and interlocked my arm with his but he shrugged me off. I mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ at Luke who flashed me a sympathetic look. I hated having to leave him, I’d missed his company more than I thought I had–all of the memories flooding back in a manner of hours. 

“Okay,” I nodded, placing the basket I had just finished on the table and smiling sheepishly at Luke. Tyler walked stiffly to the door and out to the car without a word. 

“See ya Tink,” Luke waved, “I’ll text you.” 

I ran out after Tyler towards the car seeing him already sitting in the driver’s seat with the engine running. His posture was perfectly straight and expression blank. I climbed into my seat and turned to him, placing a hand on his thigh. 

“Are you okay to drive?” I asked, genuinely concerned about what was happening to him. Either he was telling the truth and had a headache or something much worse was about to happen. 

“It’s fine,” he snapped, driving out of the lot. I reached for the aux cable to plug my phone in, hoping some music would help him feel better–it usually did. “Don’t. Please,” he spoke, his hands gripping hard onto the wheel. I nodded and sat in silence the rest of the way home, staring out the window. As each building passed us I felt worse and worse, an ever expanding pit of anxiety forming in my throat. Tyler didn’t say a word but as we got closer and closer to home he would occasionally let out a groan or wince of pain. We wheeled into the driveway and came to a stop, Tyler jumping out of the car and running into the house. Immediately I chased after him, catching the front door as he attempted to slam it. 

“Tyler!” I shouted, causing him to stop and look at me. His eyes were red–bright red. Fuck. 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he snapped, raising his arms to cover his head. He was trying to hide Blurryface from me. 

“Blurry come on. Talk to me,” I said. 

“I don’t need to hear you talk about him. I don’t want to hear you talk about him. You ditched me the whole day to hang out with him,” he started a path of no return, we were going to have that conversation.

“Tyl–We–He’s…We’re not…” I tried to explain it but couldn’t get my words out.

“Save it Y/N. I saw the way he looked at you, the way you hugged him. God you’re such a slut,” he seethed. My jaw dropped. The same words high school bullies spat at me were coming from the mouth of the person I love the most–the person who I’d decided to spend my life with. 

“You’re awful,” I sniffled. 

“And you’re not?” he continued to push, his eyes glowing brighter than before. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to unleash hell on him but it wasn’t Tyler speaking and I knew anything I did to Blurryface would just hurt Tyler more than he already was hurting. 

“He’s gay,” I blurted. “He’s gay, there is nothing going on between us and there never has.” I wiped the tears falling from my face. It wasn’t my thing to tell him, Luke was out and everyone who knew him knew he was gay–in fact even those who didn’t know him could seem to tell. Almost instantly Tyler’s eyes turned from the flaring fiery red to a bloodshot brown, his shoulders falling. 

“What?” I could tell he felt awful, the buildup of guilt obvious on his face. 

“I said, he’s gay, and there isn’t and never has been anything going on between us. He’s my friend Tyler.” He held his hand in front of his mouth, shaking violently. 

“Oh my god. I’m awful, I–I called you a–” he started to bawl and I pulled him in close. 

“It wasn’t you Ty. It’s okay, it’s okay,” I hummed, rubbing my hand up and down his back and tears streamed down his face. Tyler buried his face into my shoulder, his body trembling with every sob.

 “I didn’t mean it. I swear, I didn’t mean it,” he choked out, his voice cracking.

“I know, baby. I know,” I whispered softly, keeping my arms wrapped tightly around him. My heart ached seeing him like this, so consumed by Blurryface’s anger and his own self-hatred.

“I can’t believe I let him do that… I can’t believe I said that to you. I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating, guilt lacing every word. I pulled back just enough to see his face, placing my hands gently on either side of his cheeks. 

“Tyler, listen to me. That wasn’t you. I know you, and you would never say those things. I’m not angry at you. I just want to help you through this.” His eyes, still red and puffy, searched mine, like he was desperately trying to believe my words but couldn’t let go of his shame. 

“But I hurt you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. I shook my head gently. 

“I’m okay. I’m here, aren’t I? I love you, Tyler. Nothing he says, nothing Blurryface does, can change that.” He let out another shaky breath, his forehead resting against mine. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that. You deserve all the love in the world, and I’m going to keep reminding you of that until you believe it,” I said, my voice firm but gentle. For a moment, we stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of everything starting to lift, even if just a little. Tyler’s breathing slowly steadied, his tears drying as he leaned into my touch.

“We’ll get through this, Ty. Together.”

He nodded, his voice still raw. “Together.”

//

Requests open!

[paracosmenthusiast]

Sundays

Just a quick Keanu x Reader fluff <3

WC: 700

~~

The smell of earth after rain.

You were strolling across the tennis court, shoes wet from running across the wet grass in the dark. The face of your watch reflected the time—a quarter past midnight—as you passed by one of the brilliant overhead lights.

It was well-lit, like any place on a college campus should be. But somehow you still felt encapsulated by darkness, a sheath of night slipping over your shoulders and down your spine all the way to your toes.

Arriving at your destination, you shrugged your bag to the ground and unzipped your racket. Ordinarily you wouldn’t be out here by yourself. You would be accompanied by at least three or four of your friends, bored after dark in Columbus, Ohio, with absolutely nothing better to do on a Friday night than hit the asphalt and kill some time.

Yet, here you were.

Thwack.

A bright green ball shot off into the darkness, turning oblong for a moment when it rebounded.

You adjusted your wrist, sent another one off. Watching the motion of your feet more than the motion of your racket was screwing with your grip, but you were more concerned by your still-healing knee.

“Hey.”

You whirled around, heart beat on the high line, the sudden motion straining your knee and nearly bringing you down.

“Oh—I’m sorry!” The newcomer rushed to help you, resulting in you awkwardly clasping his forearm but successfully avoiding eating asphalt. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

Trying to restore your heart to something below cardiac arrest, you looked up at the stranger. He was tall, lean but not skinny, with the most magical brown eyes you’d ever met and thick, dark hair falling into his eyes. Already flashing his teeth in a wide smile, half-sheepish.

“You’re fine,” you said, waving him off, righting yourself and smoothing a hand down your leg until it met your weak knee. Squinting up at him in the bright lights of the tennis court. “You’re so fine! I’m just—thank you. I have a bad knee, that’s all, so when I turned, I must’ve put too much weight on it...”

You were still distractedly pressing down on your knee, even though it didn’t particularly hurt. Trying to find somewhere, anywhere, to look. Because you were feeling a heat in your cheeks that wasn’t from your solo tennis session.

“Hope I’m not interrupting. Nobody’s usually out here this late, it gets lonely. I was on a walk when I saw you over here.” He was grinning again. You heard it in his voice, deep, husky, but still quiet. Your eyes made contact with his shoes—he was wearing black motorcycle boots, laces lazily knotted, a vivid green stem caught and snarled in the mess.

Now you were smiling, staring at a brightly colored flower stuck in his shoe, and then you were staring at his well-fitting pants, and then you were taking in how his black t-shirt hung off his very nice shoulders...

Oops. You redirected your gaze at once, meeting his eyes.

“Wanted to say hi,” he said, not that he needed to explain anything. “Uh—my name’s Johnny.”

“Johnny,” you said, unable to stop the smile spreading on your face. Rocking back and forth on your heels, smiling at him smiling at you, squashing down some odd, warm feeling in your chest.

He cleared his throat and looked around the court. “D’you come here a lot?”

You nodded, folding your racket under your arm so you could cross your arms, warming your chilly fingers. “Yeah, sure do. Normally some friends and I—I mean, we just play doubles. No real score. Just for fun.”

“Just for fun,” he repeated. “Maybe I haven’t been coming around often enough.”

“Yeah,” you nodded enthusiastically, “you sure haven’t.”

Grinning. Wow, you loved that grin. You might do anything to see that grin again. You swallowed, mouth almost uncomfortably dry, and gestured with your head back at your bag. “Wanna play?”

Surprise flit over his face. Then he was smiling, and nodding, tilting his head back so you could see the column of his throat as he laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

[cwritesforfun]

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader: One Bed One Heart

Prompts: "Person A cannot believe Person B is actually scared after watching a horror movie." & "Reader/Character can't sleep, but heard that cuddling with a loved one makes it easier to fall asleep"

prompts from @imagining-in-the-margins - thx!

Y/N - Your Name & I Do NOT Own the Criminal Minds characters**

Spencer's POV

To say I have a crush on Y/N is an understatement. I genuinely think I am in love with her. She's like the perfect girl - the perfect balance of talkative, passionate, quiet, understanding, intelligent, driven, beautiful, and witty. She's drawn me into her life and made me want to learn every possible thing about her. Penelope and Derek know about my crush, so basically everyone on the team, but Y/N knows.

I spent the plane reading next to Y/N who napped on my shoulder, and then we were squished in the back seat of the SUV together. She joined the team one year ago and because she’s only 1 year older than me, we tend to gravitate toward each other and have a lot in common. I spend time with her in most cases because she’s great with other authority figures and piecing things together with the police or victims. I don’t mind spending time together one bit especially because JJ is usually occupied and it gets lonely at the station.

We just arrived at the hotel because we all needed to change before heading out to the police station and the homicide site. We were recommended to be ready to run and blend in. Hotch passed out the keys and told me that I was sharing with Y/N because Derek is slightly contagious with some sort of flu. My opinion is that Derek shouldn’t be on the case, but he’s at the end of his flu. He will be masked up for the first day or until Hotch approves it.

As I tie my shoes in the room with ONE BED, I almost combust from nervous energy. 1, I have to share a room with Y/N. 2, I have to share a bed with Y/N. This trip is shaking my world up too much right now.

Y/N exclaims, "So, are you excited to be in Columbus, Ohio?" I answer, "Not really since it’s for work, I wish we were here for fun. Did you know the Columbus Museum of Art has The Mediterranean by Monet and Picasso's Still Life with Compote and Glass?" She answers, "I did not know that. Did you know that the Columbus Aquarium can fit 90,000 gallons of water?" I answer, "I did and they have a 76-year-old Aldabra tortoise there." She replies, "That's amazing."

We continue to talk to the cars.

Y/N's POV... 1st Night in Ohio

We just got back from working on the case and I'm so tired. I just got out of the shower and Spencer is standing near his suitcase.

I exclaim, "You know I don't mind you sleeping in the same bed as me, right? I don't know how you and Morgan decided who got the bed, but we can share. We're both pretty small and can fit." He laughs and says, "Morgan always put me on the couch, so I appreciate this." I laugh and say, "Imagine sharing with Prentiss and JJ. It was the ultimate sleepover every night, but it simultaneously made me crave my own bed even more. I want and need alone time sometimes.” He lays down, laughs, and says, "That is completely understandable."

We talk for a bit and we go to bed when we both yawn.

Next morning...

I stand next to Morgan and sip the coffee that Spencer just handed me before he went off with Prentiss to cross-check their notes. Morgan asks, "So you and Reid, eh?" I ask, "What about it?" He answers, "He's been watching you a lot this morning like more than usual. He made you coffee the way you like it. You two seem happy and we're on a case, so something has to be off." I ask, "So people aren't allowed to be happy?" He answers, "Yeah they are, but not on a homicide case." I wait for him to put his cup of water to his lips before I say, "We slept together." That causes Morgan to choke on his water and start coughing. Hotch asks, "Everything okay, Morgan?" Morgan answers, "Yes. Water just went down the wrong pipe." Hotch replies, "Morgan and Y/N, behave and get ready to check out the first site. You head out in 5." I'm never picked for checking out the sites. According to Hotch after a month of working with the BAU, my skills lie in working with authority figures or victims' families because I seem in charge and also empathetic. Hotch either trusts me a lot today or just needs to get rid of me. THAT NIGHT

We just got back to the hotel and I'm so damn tired. I hear my name and see Hotch. I walk over and say, "Yes sir? You called my name." He exclaims, "I just wanted to talk with you about today before you went to bed." I nod and he continues talking, "I don't know what you did with Reid and Morgan today. But, they were on top of everything whenever they were with you and we made huge progress on this case, so thank you. I have no idea what gave you that productive push today, but it was great to see… When you joined the team and throughout this year, I know you’ve asked me a lot about how you can get closer to the team and how you can be the best agent you can. I know being a part of this team, you feel like you have to make sure everyone is okay and that they are okay at all times. But it’s okay to not solve other’s issues for them. I also don't want you to neglect how you feel to try to fix them. I see you downing coffee in the mornings and holding back in conversations with us recently. Everyone on the team likes having you on the team, so it’s okay to just be yourself and to open up to someone you are comfortable with. I know it can be hard to open up to others and to be your authentic self, but I just want you to be okay. I also have to ask, are you okay?" I answer, "I am okay. Frankly, sir, I thought you were going to reprimand me for how I acted today. I got Reid talkative and filled with coffee, and then I caused chaos at the police station with Morgan. I felt horrible with how I acted today." He replies, "You and Morgan were loud, but it was not chaotic. Reid was talkative, but I've seen him talk a lot more. It was manageable. Neither acted unprofessionally, so no I don’t mind how they acted. You acted professionally and were a hard worker today. I have nothing about your work ethic to complain about.” I reply, “Okay. Well then thank you for checking on me and I will try opening up to someone on the team.” He half smiles and says, “Good then that’s where I’ll leave you for tonight. It looks like Reid is waiting for you by the elevator.” I nod and tell him good night.

I make my way to Reid and say, “Thanks for waiting for me.” Reid says, “Yeah of course. I didn’t want you to have to walk to the room alone, especially after an intense conversation. I know conversations with Hotch can make me feel overwhelmed, I don't know about you. There is also a serial killer on the loose targeting young women. Enough about that, is everything okay?”

We get in the elevator and I answer, “Yeah Hotch was just worried about me. He said that for me to be the best I can be and improve my job, I should trust the team more and be myself. I know I should, I just get scared sometimes. He also said that today was very productive and I was on top of my work." He replies, "You were... if you ever need to talk to anyone, feel free to talk to me. I'm here for you, if you ever need anything." I reply, "Thank you, Spencer."

TIME SKIP... END OF THE CASE - Spencer's POV

Team Dinner has been something that I either dread or love. We've been out all together for 2 hours and I'm tired. Morgan, Emily, and JJ are going out after this. They're trying to convince everyone else to go out too. Another reason that Y/N is my dream girl. She does not want to go out tonight with the rest of the team to drink.

After dinner, we decided to come back to the hotel and watch a movie. She said there were Halloween movies on Freeform every night until Halloween this October. We both shower, change into pajamas and turn on the hotel tv. The first movie is Hocus Pocus, which is very fun. We switch around station to find another movie and we find some horror movie.

As we watch the horror movie, Y/N cuddles into my side, which I don't mind. I actually really like it. I feel like I'm keeping her safe. I exclaim, "I'm personally shocked you find this movie scary." She jokingly hits my arm and says "Well I am. I don't like the reality of it. I prefer horror movies that feel like they wouldn't happen. We see real-life horrors during work and it makes you look at movies differently." I nod, and reply "I can turn it off, you know?" She answers, "But I know you love Halloween and I don't want you to miss out on the movie. I can tell how into it you are, so we can watch until the end." I smile and say, "Okay, only if you keep cuddling with me." She smiles and I pull her closer.

When the movie finishes, I see that Y/N fell asleep. I flick off the lights and lie there thinking. Honestly, the ending of that was a little sad. The main character's love interest survived the whole movie only to die by natural causes a week after the story was resolved. I know I haven't told Y/N about my feelings for her, but what if she were to die? What if I never tell her? I have to now.

I feel her move on my chest and she moves off my chest to her pillow. I whisper, "Could we cuddle tonight?" She whispers, "Oh I thought you would get too uncomfortable." I whisper, "No I was fine. Besides, Did you know that the heart rhythms of co-sleeping individuals not only do independent heart rhythms appear in the same relative phase for prolonged periods, but also that their occurrence has a bidirectional causal relationship?" She moves off of me and asks, "Spencer, it's way too late. I have no idea what any of that means. What are you trying to say? I answer, "I ... uh I was trying to say that when people sleep in the same bed, their heart beats sync up. So... kind of like this one bed has one heartbeat... The end of the movie kind of made me sad and I feel safe around you. So I thought if we cuddled, I would feel safe and my heart would feel as calm as yours to sleep." She replies, "I see. Then before I lay down to cuddle, are you in a comfortable position?" I answer, "Yeah I am." She then lays down and I wrap my arm around her. We soon both fall asleep.

Sources (it's a Spencer fic... yeah there are sources):

https://www.columbuszoo.org/animals/aldabra-tortoise

[fizzing-imagines]

Carrie Part 2 | Gareth Emerson x Girly! Cheerleader! Reader

Notes: Did I loosely make reader like Elle Woods? Yes.

Warnings: Pregnancy

Words: 877

Gareth and you have been together for nine years now and married for five. The two of you remained high school sweethearts, you even convinced him to go to prom with him, and ended up moving to Indianapolis first where the two of you did your bachelors. While you got your bachelor in law, Gareth did his bachelor in teaching. He aspired to be a elementary school teacher, something even you were surprised by when he told you. But you supported him regardless, just how he supported you in becoming a lawyer. When the two of you finished, you moved up to Massachusetts to go to university. Gareth went to Lesley University for teaching, while you actually got accepted into Harvard law. You could believe how you got into Harvard, but Gareth reassured you that he knew. How could they not? Before moving to Massachusetts, the two of you eloped in a courthouse on your way. He didn't want a big, fancy wedding - just you and him.

You finished after three years and started your career as a lawyer, while Gareth had another year to go. But now that you earned money, at least neither of you didn't have to work nightshifts at a shitty diner anymore. A year later, Gareth graduated as well and the two of you moved to Columbus, Ohio to settle down.

And that's where the two of you were. Gareth just got back from work at his elementary school while you had a day off and were relaxing on the couch. To be fair, you had some big news to tell your husband and were still thinking of how to tell him. Today, you found out that you were four months pregnant - and no, you didn't suspect it. You didn't suspect a thing, actually. Of course, you knew how it happened, but you still got your period, had cramps, all the good stuff. It was a sheer accident that you found out during your routine checkup at your gynecologists. Gareth and you have talked about kids in the past, both of you wanted them, but haven't planned anything yet. And that's what terrified you. "Hey baby, how was work?", you said to him while looking up from the TV. He walked over to you, gave you a quick kiss and then sat down next to you. You lifted up your legs so he could scoot closer and you could put your legs on his lap. That's just what he did, and he started caressing your leg up-and-down. "Nothing spectacular, really. Although one of the kids said he'd like to meet my wife." You giggled at that and smiled at him. His face showed a big grin, it always did when he addressed you as his wife. Up until now, even after five years, he grinned like a lovestruck teenager. "Maybe I can pick you up some day, yeah?", you suggested with a smile. Happily, he nodded. "Oh, and another student asked why I don't have a child of my own yet.", he added. Now that struck a nerve with you; you didn't know which one though. "Did they have a theory about that?", you asked. Sometimes, the kids in his class came up with the funniest things. "Nope, just asked straight up. Honestly, I didn't know what to say." Nothing that he just told you made it any easier. Maybe you could just tell him tomorrow? No, you can't do that. "Well, maybe we could change that.", you mumbled, so quickly that Gareth almost didn't hear. "Are you serious?", he asked. All this made you so nervous that you couldn't even look him in the eyes. "We can get started right now, hm?" His hands travelled up your legs, but stopped abruptly at your following words: "We don't have to, it's already done...like, 4 months ago." Your husband looked at you in disbelief. "(Y/N), don't joke about this.", he said, trying to grasp what you just said. "I'm not joking, Gareth.", you replied. He was fumbling for his words before getting out a "How?". It made you laugh. "You know, when a Gareth and a (Y/N) get really frustrated about work, they let it out by-" He interrupted you. "No, I mean...shit, (Y/N), why didn't you tell me?" You started chewing on your bottom lip. "I found out today. Look, I understand if you don't want it, or want a divorce-" Once again, you were interrupted by him. "A divorce? Are you mental?" He pulled you up by your shoulders and placed you on his lap. "This is the best fucking day of my life, (Y/N). I'm just surprised. But I'm gonna be a fucking dad! How awesome is that?" You giggled before kissing him on the lips, a deep, passionate kiss. Once your lips separated, he was grinning at you like an idiot. "Shit, (Y/N), I'm gonna be a dad.", he said again. His eyes got watery, clearly close to crying. "Do we know what's it gonna be?" You shook your head No. "We can find out next month.", you said with a smile. "Great, I already got an idea for a girls name." You raised an eyebrow at him in disbelieve. "Already? Which one?"

"Carrie."

[jacketsoutsider]

Chicken Tendies - Nick Blankenburg x Reader

Nick Blankenburg x Reader - Karaoke, ft. Chicken Tendies by Clinton Kane

wc: 820

“You're full of love and wild and free”

You had known Nick for years, and dated for a long time during your college years, but after he signed to Columbus and you graduated from Michigan, you decided to travel the world while he stayed in the states during training camp and making adjustments to move to Ohio.

“Chasing every dream and possibility”

You got your masters degree while studying remotely through multiple countries in Europe, working small internships and jobs in sports and marketing to make your keep, keeping an eye on the NHL and the work that Nick was doing there. 

“You're more than I could ever be”

When you returned to Ohio, you began working in sports again, getting involved in photography, and had been seeing a finance guy for a couple weeks when he invited you to an event that was super small, mostly for those working in the Blue Jackets organization. You agreed, even though you knew there was a high chance of seeing Nick. 

What you hadn’t expected was a karaoke bar, and so many of the team members getting a little too tipsy and singing their songs. You stayed in the back corner with your date, watching and laughing along. What you didn’t expect to see was Nick going to grab the microphone and the opening sounds of one of your favorite songs turning on.

His voice was familiar, as he was known to spend a lot of time with his guitar and singing during college, but something about it struck different in your heart. The song was a ballad of sorts, from the perspective of a heartbroken man who saw his former lover with a new man. The reality of the situation hit you as you looked to your date, knowing that it wouldn’t last long if you heard Nick sing any longer.

“I hope he treats you better than I ever could”

You stood to leave, clenching your purse with your hand nearly in a fist, and leaned down to whisper to your date it was over. As you made your way out, though, KJ stopped you and turned you around, nearly forcing you to stay and listen to Nick. 

“He’s been heartbroken, knowing you were in town but not with him. He was singing this in the shower, Y/N.”

Your shoulders slumped, and you nodded. “It’s my favorite song.”

“Stay and talk to him, just give him a chance.” 

“'Cause you deserve the world times two, and our simple Sunday afternoons”

So you stay, listening to him sing your favorite song, holding his eye contact when he finally found you in the crowd. KJ wrapped his arm around you in support, and you were thankful. By the final chorus, your knees were close to buckling, and it nearly broke you to see the tears in Nick’s eyes as he sang about you deserving the world, when you knew that he was your entire world from day one. 

“I hope he's home for you even though I had to lose you”

Nick pushed the microphone back into the stand, pushing through the crowd of his teasing teammates. Before he could completely get to you, you recognized Boone, the captain of the team, as he stopped Nick fifteen feet away from you. With strong hands on Nick’s shoulder, his back blocked your view of Nick and his view of you. He talked to him for a few seconds, but soon stepped out of the way, and you saw Nick rubbing his hands down his face, clearly trying to hide that he had been crying. He took a breath and started walking toward you, but KJ pushed you forward and you stepped into Nick’s arms.

“For you to find who fills your heart”

“I didn’t know you were going to be here…” Nick mumbled, pulling you into a hug against his chest. 

You wrapped your arms around him, holding yourself to his body. The tears were starting to pool in your eyes. “I missed you.” 

He pulled back slightly, tilting your head to make eye contact. “How long are you in town?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he looked down at you. 

“I’m working with Ohio State doing sports photography. I’m here for a while.” 

His smile widened greatly. “You don’t know how happy that makes me.” His hands gently held your waist. “Can I see you again?”

“That depends on one thing…” 

“Even if I'm not the one you choose”

“I’ll do anything, baby, what is it?” his forehead dropped closer to yours. 

You smiled. “Will you kiss me?” 

He immediately dipped his head, his lips pressing against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against his. His teammates all cheered as you pulled back slightly, smiling up at him. “You’re the one I chose, Nicky.” 

“Thank God.”

[astars-things]

Hi bestie! In my Nick feels as always. Imagine being Quinn's twin sister and meeting Nick when you and Quinn go to Mich. You and Nick have feelings for each other but never act on them until Nick's about to go pro and Nick's like come with me to Columbus even though we've only been together a few months.

Hope this is okay?

Pairing Nick Blankenburg x Hughes!sister reader

Growing up as Quinn's twin sister, I've always been in his shadow. It was never intentional, but he was always the center of attention. Quinn was the star athlete, the one everyone looked up to. But when we were both accepted into the University of Michigan, I saw it as an opportunity to finally break free from his shadow and make a name for myself.

It was during our sophomore year when Quinn introduced me to Nick. He was on the hockey team and was instantly charming. We hit it off right away, and I found myself looking forward to seeing him every time I tagged along with Quinn to his games.

But I knew I couldn't pursue anything with Nick. After all, he was Quinn's teammate, and I didn't want to risk causing any drama. So, I kept my feelings to myself and enjoyed his company as a friend.

It wasn't until our senior year when Nick approached me after a game and asked if I wanted to grab a drink with him. I hesitated at first, but something inside me told me to take the chance.

That night, we talked for hours and laughed until our sides hurt. It felt like we had known each other for years, not just a few months. And as I walked back to my dorm that night, I knew I was in trouble. I had developed feelings for Nick, and I didn't know what to do about it.

Over the next few weeks, we started spending more time together. We went on dates, watched movies, and explored Ann Arbor together. I felt like I was on top of the world, but I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that I was dating Quinn's teammate.

It wasn't until the end of our senior year when Nick dropped a bombshell on me. He had been offered a contract to play for the Columbus Blue Jackets, and he wanted me to come with him.

"Dude, you're dating my sister," Quinn said when Nick told him his plans. "I love her," Nick replied simply, as if that explained everything.

I was torn. I had just graduated from Michigan and had no idea what I wanted to do next. But the thought of going to Columbus with Nick was tempting. We had only been dating for a few months, but it felt like we had been together forever.

I remember sitting down with Quinn and talking to him about it. He was surprisingly supportive, and I could tell he saw how happy Nick made me. He even joked that I was finally escaping his shadow and making a name for myself.

In the end, I decided to take the chance and go to Columbus with Nick. It was a huge risk, but I knew I couldn't let my feelings for him go to waste. And as we settled into our new life in Ohio, I knew I had made the right choice.

Nick and I have now been together for three years. He's still playing for the Blue Jackets, and I'm working as a journalist for a local news station. We've talked about the future and what we want for ourselves, and I couldn't be happier.

Looking back, I realize that taking a chance on Nick was the best decision I ever made. I could have let my fear and guilt hold me back, but instead, I chose to follow my heart. And I'm so grateful for that.

[cuttergauthier]

Who I Write For

Hey everyone this is a list of who I write for.

If you have someone else in mind, send me an ask and i’ll let you know if i want to write for him. I’m not picky

Also if anyone would want me to start an AU let me know!

How to request

I DO NOT WRITE SMUT

New jersey Devils

Jack Hughes

Nathan Bastian

Dawson Mercer

Luke Hughes

Nico Hischier

Timo Meier

Brendan Smith

Vancouver Canucks

Quinn Hughes

Brock Boeser

Elias Pettersson

Cole McWard

Anthony Beauvillier

Dakota Joshua

Toronto Maple Leafs

Mitch Marner

Auston Matthews

William Nylander

Matthew Knies

Morgan Reilly

Buffalo Sabres

Owen Powers

Tyson Jost

Devon Levi

Erik Johnson

Jeff Skinner

Tage Thompson

Dylan Cozens

Casey Mittelstadt

Carolina Hurricanes

Michael Bunting

Andrei Svechnikov

Jack Drury

Pittsburgh Penguins

Pierre-Oliver Joseph

Ryan Graves

Ty Smith

Columbus Blue Jackets

Nick Blankenburg

Kent Johnson

Cole Sillinger

Adam Boqvist

Zach Werenski

Adam Fantilli

Vegas Golden Knights

Brendan Brisson

San Jose Sharks

Thomas Bordeleau

Tristen Robins

William Eklund

Henry Thrun

Luke Kunin

Anaheim Ducks

Trevor Zegras

Mason McTavish

John Gibson

Frank Vatrano

St Louis Blues

Jake Neighbours

Colton Parayko

Ottawa Senators

Josh Norris

Brady Tkachuk

Mathieu Joseph

Jakob Chychrun

Zack MacEwen

Tim Stutzle

Thomas Chabot

Minnesota Wilds

Matt Boldy

Brock Faber

Brandon Duhaime

Los Angeles Kings

Alex Turcotte

Quinn Byfield

Brandt Clarke

Pierre Luc Dubois

Alex Laferriere

Florida Panthers

Matthew Tkachuk

Sam Bennett

Mackie Samoskevich

William Lockwood

Aaron Ekblad

Josh Mahura

Brandon Montour

Colorado Avalanche

Cale Makar

Bowen Byram

Nate Mackinnon

Miles Wood

Detroit Red Wings

J.T. Compher

Dylan Larkin

Joe Veleno

Jake Walman

Boston Bruins

Mason Lohrei

Johnny Beecher

Jeremy Swayman

Jake Debrusk

Charlie Mcavoy

Montreal Canadiens

Cole Caufield

Arber Xhekaj

Kirby Dach

Christian Dvorak

Alex Newhook

New York Islanders

Noah Dobson

Mat Barzal

Philadelphia Flyers

Morgan Frost

Cam York

Jamie Drysdale

Joe Farabee

Tyson Foerster

Noah Cates

New York Rangers

Alexis Lafrenière

Adam Fox

K’Andre Miller

Braden Schneider

Chris Kreider

Zac Jones

Arizona Coyotes

Logan Cooley

Dylan Guenther

Clayton Keller

Nick Schmaltz

Chicago Blackhawks

Lukas Reichel

Seth Jones

Alex Vlasic

Connor Bedard

Tampa Bay Lightnings

Brandon Hagel

Anthony Cirelli

Seattle Kraken

Brandon Tanev

Jamie Oleksiak

Philipp Grubauer

Will Borgen

Dallas Stars

Wyatt Johnston

Jake Oettinger

Rope Hintz

Craig Smith

University of Michigan

Luca Fantili

Rutger McGroarty

Nick Moldenhauer

Phil Lapointe

Jacob Truscott

Tyler Duke

Marshall Warren

Frank Nezar

Ethan Edwards

Michigan State University

Red Savage

Isaac Howard

Maxim Štrbák

Ohio State University

Joe Dunlap

Cam Thiesing

Davis Burnside

Caden Brown

Matt Cassidy

Minnesota University

Luke Mittelstadt

Jimmy Snuggerud

Ryan Chesley

Oliver Moore

Brody Lamb

Boston College

Cutter Gauthier

Will Smith

Ryan Leonard

Gabe Perreault

Drew Fortescue

Jacob Fowler

Will Vote

University of Wisconsin

Cruz Lucius

Charlie Stramel

Zach Schulz

Random Teams

Nick Granowicz

Jay Keranen

Colton Dach

Nathan Gaucher

+ more

AU’s 

Nick Granowicz x Msu Reader

Josh Norris x Tkachuk sister

Trevor Zegras x Hughes sister

Cutter Gauthier x Hughes sister

Matthew Knies x Matthews sister

Jack Hughes x Mercer au

[plus-size-reader]

Rule Number 2

Columbus Ohio x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2921 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Columbus finding you, hiding in a gas station, and feeling like he needs to keep you safe...which technically breaks his rules

—————————————————————————————————

You had been holed up in that storage room for what felt like forever.

When everything went to shit, you had been at work, and going anywhere else didn’t really feel like an option. You gave it a shot once or twice, but there were only so many times you could almost be attacked before you moved on.

It wasn’t worth the risk.

Besides, it wasn’t as bad as it may have seemed to an outsider looking in. You had plenty of food and drink, even if the quality was a little iffy and it was basically secure.

You had put a deadbolt and chain on the door, and it would have taken quite a bit to get to where you were, often huddled up in the back room behind a second locked door.

It was safe from all manner of intrusion.

When the lights were off, which was most of the time to keep the generator from running, the zombies didn’t really come around too often. Every once and a while, you’d have to kill one off but not too much happened other than that.

It was peaceful, all things considered.

Until he came through.

You weren’t sure who he was at first, or why he was here. All you knew for sure was that if he didn’t stop making so much noise, he was going to bring an entire swarm of the dead down on you.

Which wasn’t alright by you.

So, you stood from where you had been, content to just sit on the floor and wait for him to leave, hoping that you could figure something out. What you had gathered from peeking out the windows hadn’t given you much to go off of.

Of course, it would have been far better to just wait it out but it wasn’t like you could stay here anyway.

Everything that was safe about this place would be gone after this little stunt.

There was silence there for a moment when you first opened the storage room door, but not for very long. The banging and yelling from outside returned shortly after you exited your safe space, solidifying your suspicions.

Somebody had to do something, and it wasn’t like there was anyone else around here other than you.

“What are you doing?” you whisper-yelled, unlatching the padlock and yanking the chain away from the door to peek outside, finding a lanky male standing there in a cold sweat. It didn’t make any sense.

What kind of person just stood around and waited for death?

Columbus jumped at your intrusion, shocked that you were even there in the first place. After all, he hadn’t exactly been expecting you.

There were no signs of outside life to be seen, which you had done very much on purpose.

The less attention you drew to yourself, the better.

Evidently, he had been trying to get in but it wasn’t until you opened the door that that plan actually started to seem like a viable option. Especially because in his attempt to get in, Columbus had drawn a bit of attention.

“Hi, I’m Columbus. Can I come in?” he tried, leaning against the side of the building in an attempt to get as close to safety as he could, without intruding on your space.

You didn’t look super dangerous, outright, but that didn’t mean anything in this world.

You could have been just as dangerous as anyone else, adn to be fair, you were thinking the same thing about him.

Of course, you weren’t overly thrilled at the idea of letting anyone in, not that Columbus could blame you. There was no reason you should have trusted him and stuck your neck out for a stranger.

Though, just when he thought you’d close the door and leave him there to an inevitable death, you opened the door just enough for him to slide past you into the gas station.

The room was quiet for a second as the male settled against the checkout counter, trying to catch his breath while you focused more on relatching the doors. It might not have done much against a huge horde of the dead, but it was better than nothing.

At least, it gave you some peace of mind.

“Who are you?” he asked, the first to speak between the two of you once you turned around, seemingly content with the state of your security.

If you turned off the generator and everything inside, eventually the Z’s would get bored and leave this place alone, just like they always did.

You were understandably guarded at the appearance of a stranger but you couldn’t help but be slightly offended at his question.

Who were you?

You were the only person who had been here since the start of this, and you were the person that just saved his life.

If anyone got to ask any questions, it was you.

“Why should I tell you?” you countered, crossing your arms without hesitation.

You weren’t armed, like he was and if he wanted to kill you, they certainly could have. However, he didn’t seem to be all that aggressive in nature, and you didn’t see him as a threat.

If anything, he was just being cautious, something you could respect.

Besides, you had no reason to be afraid of him. In a world like this one, you never expected to live one day to the next and you weren’t afraid of dying anymore. You weren’t really afraid of anything, within these walls.

You had lived this long, and you weren't about to get taken out by some random guy who looked like a strong gust of wind could take him down.

There was a lot more you still had to do.

“I just figured we could get to know each other. I told you my name” he shrugged, not entirely sure what the big deal was.

Sure, you may have wanted to keep your distance from people on the outside but if you were sticking to that, you would have left him out there.

You sort of agreed to smalltalk when you opened that door.

“It’s Y/N” you sighed, finding yourself far less inspired to keep doing this as the minutes ticked by. Clearly you weren’t going to get out of this whole thing without having at least one conversation.

There was no reason for this whole thing to go bad if it didn’t have to.

Besides, you both seemed to be perfectly reasonable people. It wasn’t like a couple of words shared could be any more life-or-death than anything else.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you” Columbus hummed, offering a hand to you which you took slowly, still not sure what you were supposed to feel about him.

This whole thing was just really weird.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, fully aware that he was talking too much but not caring enough to keep himself from doing it. It was obvious you’d been holding up here for a while, and you seemed to be all alone.

Which was strange.

Columbus had been alone for a while himself, of course, but he didn’t think a lot of other people were around doing the same.

“I’m not exactly sure. The whole time?” you shrugged, thinking back to those early days when you realized that something was wrong. The news outlets and internet were exploding, but you didn’t know what to do.

Locking yourself in the storage room seemed to be the best option you had, and while it wasn’t ideal, it had kept you alive this long.

“Wow, you’ve been alone that long?”

Columbus spoke in a way that made you realize just how upset about it you should have been. You weren’t dead, that much was true, but you hadn’t exactly been living all these months either.

All you did was get up, eat something packed full of preservatives and wrapped in plastic, and then sit around for a few hours before it was time to do it again.

It was no life of value, something that the male in front of you surely understood. After all, he hadn’t done a lot in this time either but at least he’d done some exploring, and had seen some things.

It had to have been better than being locked up in the dark all the time.

“Yeah, I guess I have” you sighed, deciding that it was no big deal even if it was. You did what you had to do in order to survive, and that was just what it was.

Still, there was something about it that really stuck with Columbus and while it might not have been the best idea, he knew what he had to do.

There was no way they were going to leave you here, anyway.

“Well, not anymore. You can come with me, if you want” he offered, the words meant to be more of a question than they were, but you didn’t really mind.

As you’d already decided, being alone wasn’t going to work forever.

The best chance you had at surviving and living a life worth anything would be if you accepted his offer.

It was either go him or get back into the storage room and do what you were doing before. He may not have been what you would have wanted as far as company but they were better than the rats.

You had really underestimated how lonely it was, being alone all this time.

There weren’t that many more people left alive anymore, and sticking together didn’t seem like too bad a deal.

You had definitely done worse since this whole thing came about.

...and it wasn’t lost on you that there was a lot of bad out there, and being in here had kept you from it.

You had no idea what you were dealing with, not like he did.

“Yeah, okay. I guess we should probably pack a bag and get out of here” you decided, finding yourself more and more unwilling to stay here as the minutes passed.

In all the months that you’d been here, it had been a big deal but now that you weren’t alone, you felt like you were suffocating.

You had to get out of here, and you definitely needed Columbus to help you do that. After all, he knew a lot more about this than you did, and you were sure that there was quite a bit he had to tell you.

There were plenty of rules Columbus had, and it was going to take some time to learn them.

Thankfully, you had all the time in the world and a new companion to spend it with.

~

“You okay?” Columbus checked, catching the way you faltered as you tried to cross the threshold of the convenience store.

It had just been so long since you had set foot outside and you weren’t entirely thrilled at the idea of having to do something so out of your comfort zone. Still, you knew what you had to do.

Columbus was right.

You couldn’t just stay here.

If you did stay, there was no telling what kind of person could stumble across this place, and there was no guarantee that they would be as friendly and non threatening as Columbus was.

You had no way to know that you weren’t in danger.

It wasn’t uncommon for other survivors to move through here pretty often, looking for supplies, and while the padlock was a good option to keep out the dead, it wouldn’t be so effective against other living people.

You knew that you had to go, as uneasy as it made you.

“Yeah, just a little nervous” you allowed, a new honesty blooming between you and Columbus as you decided to fully trust him. If you were going to travel together, you knew that you had to trust each other.

There was no other way.

Columbus nodded, taking all the things you must have been feeling into account. He should have assumed that this would be hard for you, given the circumstances.

You were panicking, and he couldn't blame you.

He wanted you to be as comfortable as you could be during this whole thing, but you also couldn’t spend too much time out here in the open.

The more time you spent here, the more danger you were in.

“Do you think this is enough?” you hummed, digging through your bag which was now full of discarded water bottles, stale potato chips, and granola bars. All this time, you had everything you needed to survive.

What if you left and that all went away? What if you couldn’t find any other food or supplies after you moved on?

What would you do now?

“It’s enough. I promise” Columbus tried, looking around every once and a while to make sure that the two of you hadn’t been spotted by anyone else, whether that be the dead or other humans.

It was clear that you were struggling and Columbus couldn’t blame you. 

Of course, you had been locked away in your storage room for all this time and it couldn’t have been easy to leave that space in favor of the unknown.

He knew what that felt like.

After all, he’d had to leave everything he knew behind when the world fell apart too. Eventually, you would adjust and living out on the road would become second nature.

You just had to give it time.

“You’re sure? Should I go get something else?” you questioned, further stalling in a desperate attempt to try and keep from having to go out there. It was pitch black outside, with no telling what was out there.

How were you supposed to be comfortable going out there without any preparation? It was horrifying.

“Y/N, do you trust me?” Columbus asked, interrupting you out of necessity, the distant groans and sounds of the dead setting alarms off in his head.

You really had to get going.

His words stopped you, giving you pause. Did you trust him? By all accounts, you barely knew him but he was the first person you’d seen around here in several months, and he was trying to help you.

In short, the answer seemed to be yes. If you could trust anyone right now, it had to be the man in front of you.

Slowly you nodded, taking the hand he offered you just as slowly, so that he could lead you out of the building fully. 

There was no going back now, no matter how much your brain was trying to convince you to run.

This was terrifying.

Still, you did your best not to think about it as you let Columbus lead you out into the parking lot, where a car, his car, was parked.

“I’m going to put some gas in the car, just stay here” he suggested, putting all of your bags and supplies into the backseat before handing you the shotgun that had been slung over his shoulder.

It wouldn’t take too much time, and then you could both get out of here.

...or at least, that was the plan.

As if this situation couldn’t get any more traumatizing for you, sometime between Columbus rounding the front of the car and beginning to pump the gas, you had managed to catch the attention of a single Z, stalking toward you in the dark.

Which, naturally, made you panic.

“Ohio! What should I do?” you called, absolutely horrified. You hadn’t encountered any of these things face-to-face before and it was much more frightening up close than you could have imagined.

Not that Columbus was any more prepared, really.

“Shoot it” he suggested, hoping that you would be able to do this so that the two of you could get out of here as soon as possible. As much as he wanted to help you, he needed to get this gas first.

Where there was one, there was always more and you didn’t have time to do both.

You did as he asked, your fingers fumbling with the trigger before you finally aimed at the shambling corpse in front of you, pulling it with slight hesitation.

By some miracle, the bullet found its home between the Z’s eyes, which earned a cheerful chirp from you. You had actually done it!

“Columbus, I did it” you hummed, celebrating slightly over the small victory. You had never felt such a rush in your life and frankly, you were proud of yourself.

The man on the other side of the car, however, wasn’t nearly as willing to throw a party yet. 

After all, you hadn’t learned the rules yet and until you did, he was going to have to make sure to teach you.

“Do it again! Rule number 2, you have to double tap” he called back, looking at you over the hood of the car but not bothering to join you at your side. You had already done it once and it was much harder to hit a moving Z than one that was down.

You could do this.

...and thankfully, he was right.

With the one remaining shell in the shotgun, you shot the Z in the head one more time, now putting it down for good.

Now you did it.

You had learned your first rule, and killed your first Z, all in one day. All thanks to this new stranger, who you only knew as Columbus Ohio.

[merci-bitch]

Nobody Knows Where We Might End Up, Nobody Knows

Addison Montgomery x fem!reader

Warning(s): angst, blood, cheating, just pure sadness

A/N: Ok, here it is. And it was just as hell as the other episode. But I do hope you all like it, you all seemed to like the first part ! Thank you ! Xx

Tag - @woderfulkawaii

“Still don’t think it’s fair, Addison.”

“Boho Y/N.”

“Very funny Addison. Very funny.”

You heard Addison laughing on the other side of the phone.

“Suck it up buttercup.”

You could almost hear Addison’s smirk on the other side of the phone.

“You ain’t never had a woman like me.” Addison practically purred.

“Don’t start Addison.”

“Start what?”

[Pager beeps]

“Thank god for Bailey.”

Addison chuckled on the other end of the line and made a kiss sound and wished you a good day.

-

[Derek]:

The human life is made up of choices. Yes or no.

[Gunshot]

In or out. Up or down. And then there are the choices that matter. To love or hate. To be a hero or a coward. To fight or to give in. To live or die.

[Gasp]

Derek took a deep breath as the sudden pain raddled through him. He looked down himself and saw his light blue blouse turning dark. Derek touched the dark stain and felt his fingers getting sticky with something. That something being his own blood. Derek looked up and saw April standing above him, holding her hands up in defence.

“My name is April Kepner. I’m 28 years old. I was born on April 23rd, in Ohio.” April started rambling as she was held at gunpoint.

“I’m from Columbus, Ohio. M-My mum’s a teacher and my dad is a farmer…” April stuttered. “Corn. Corn, he grows corn. Their names are Karen and Joe. I have three sisters.” April said as she held up three fingers. “Libby’s the oldest, I’m next and then there’s Kimmie and Alice.”

The shooter didn’t lower his gun, but his eyes flickered between April and Derek.

“I haven’t done anything yet. I haven’t…I’ve barely lived. I’m not finished yet. No one’s loved me yet. Please, please. I’m someone’s child.” April choked on her own sobs as she spoke. “I’m a person. I’m a person.”

“Run.”

The shooter made eye contact with April as he gripped the gun tighter. April’s body started shaking and it took her everything she had to run.

[Derek]:

Live or die. That’s the important choice. And it’s not always in your hands.

-

“Why are they only getting civilians out? Where’s the staff?” Richard asked the police officer.

“Policy is to clear visitors room by room, floor by floor, and remove them before removing any nonessential hospital personnel.”

“Did they get the shooter? Do you know where the shooter is? Do you know who the shooter is?” Richard asked again.

“No sir.” The officer responded as he started walking away.

“Do you know anything?” Richard grabbed the officer’s arm. The officer gave him a weak glare before turning on the radio.

“Dr. Owen Hunt from Seattle Grace…”

“Commander, I’ve got sound.” Another officer said.

“We are coming out with a critical patient.”

“Dr. Torres. I’m up on peds, we’ve got a kid with a ruptured appendix.”

“Dr. Miranda Bailey. I’m on five.”

” He shot a doctor. In the ICU.”

“There’ are two dead security guards…” Miranda’s voice was trembling.

“This guy. Six-one, greying hair, moustache…”

“Dr. Y/N Y/L/N has been shot…”

“He shot a nurse up here, Karev…”

“Please come, we need help.”

“We’ve got a GSW to the chest, I need a way outta here if he’s gonna make it.” Mark explained through the call.

“He was looking for the chief, specifically the chief. He shot him. He shot Derek Shepherd, right in front of us. We need help.” Richard heard Cristina’s voice over the radio. He turned his eyes towards the hospital as the radio continued to sound. He heard his people cry for help, heard his people die. He would never be able to forgive himself. Never.

-

“How much further?” Mary asked as she continued to hold up the liquid in her hand.

“We’re almost there.” Bailey responded as she continued to drag you across the floor towards the elevator. “We’re gonna get her on the elevator, and then we’ll be right at the OR floor. We’re almost there.”

“We’re almost there, OK Y/N?”

“We’re almost there?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“Just a few more minutes.”

Bailey pressed the button, but nothing happened.

“Dr. B?” Mary asked quietly.

You looked up and saw how Bailey continued to press the button. It didn’t matter how many times she pressed it, nothing seemed to happen. Bailey leant forward, pressing her ear against the doors of the elevator.

“There’s a hum elevators make when they are on. There’s a hum. There’s no hum.”

“What does that mean?” Mary asked.

“It means the elevators, they’re off!”

You heard Bailey run to the other side of the small hallway, towards the other elevator on the other side. Bailey continued to press the buttons, but nothing happened.

“The elevators aren’t working! The elevators aren’t working!”

You heard Bailey start to shout and how Mary tried her best to calm her down. Bailey clapped her hands as she yelled out,

“We need to get to the OR! Turn the elevators back on! Turn them back on!” Bailey shouted as she continued to press the buttons. “Oh, damn it!”

You squeezed your eyes tightly as Bailey started screaming. How her voice was raw with tears.

“Turn the elevators back on!”

Tears were streaming down her face.

“Please! The man is still here somewhere. He’ll hear us!” Mary tried as Bailey kept screaming out. It hurt. It was like a knife in the heart as Bailey screamed for help, she knew wouldn’t come. It was one who kept tearing around. One who couldn’t move. As if the gods above were looking down and laughing.

“Please, stop. Please, Dr. B!”

“OK. OK.”

“What are we gonna do?” Mary asked Bailey once she stopped screaming.

You made eye contact with Bailey. Both eyes were filled with tears. Bailey’s hands were covered in blood, your blood. The colour of your skin was draining. The sheet you were lying on had turned from a bright yellow colour to a deep dark red stained. You were lying in your own blood. “What are we gonna do?” Mary whispered when Bailey turned her back and took a few steps forward.

“Dr. B, what’s the plan?” Mary asked again. “You have a plan, right, Dr. B?”

Bailey was a wreck. She was crying silent tears. Her whole body was shaking at this point. She had to be cursed. She was going to lose another one of her interns. She was going to lose you. First George, then Izzy and now you. Why was this happening? Miranda took a deep breath and tried her best to fall on the ground again, to grip herself. She grabbed her shirt and wiped her face clean from the tears. She turned around again and took off the gloves she’d been wearing and slowly made her wat towards you.

“We can’t get to the OR, but she has to get to the OR.” Mary rambled. You made eye contact with Bailey again.

“Miranda. We should be on a first name basis.” Miranda sat down and pulled your head into her lap. You pulled off the oxygen mask with the help of Miranda, and asked,

“I’m dying, right? Am I dying now?” You said so softly, as you looked up at Miranda.

“Yes. Yes Y/N, you are dying. But I don’t want you to worry. I don’t want you to be afraid.” Miranda started tearing up again as you started crying. “Cause I…Am not going to leave you, OK? Mary. Mary. Mary and I, are gonna be with you, the whole time.” Miranda said as she’d grabbed Mary’s hand in hers and took a hold of yours.

“You are not alone. Do you hear me? You are not alone.”

You nodded your head and tried your best not to choke on your tears. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying your best to relax. To just be there. You opened your eyes again and looked up at Miranda, and asked weakly, “Addison?”

-

Addison walked out of OR with a smile on her face. Feeling relief wash over her as the surgery was successful. The new member of the practice, Anna, walked up to her with her phone.

“Dr. Montgomery, your phone was ringing for quite a few times. I think they left a voicemail.”

“You didn’t listen to it, did you?” Addison raised an eyebrow at Anna, a small grin on her lips.

“Of course not!” Anna flushed.

“I’m joking.” Addison waved her off and checked her phone, seeing 5 missed calls from you. You’d left a voicemail. She pressed play and lifted her phone up to her ear.

“I-I know you slept with Mark.” Addison’s face dropped.

“Lexie told me, when he was in LA with Sloan.”

Addison heard you choke on your sobs and felt her heart drop.

“W-Why couldn’t you answer? I-There’s a s-shooter in the hospital.” Addison lost the colour in her face.

Naomi walked to Addison, holding out a hand. She looked like she was going to faint.

“I-I’ve been shot.” Addison heard you laugh in shock.

“He shot me Addie. I couldn’t be quiet. I’m s-so sorry.” She heard you let out another pained sob.

“I made Bailey promise to tell me the truth. No matter what would happen. Will you still love me tomorrow? I-I lost the baby.”

Baby.

“I-I was planning to tell you when you came home. But I thought I-I’m not going to be there. I’m dying, Bailey told me I’m dying. Please tell me you’ll love me tomorrow.”

Addison couldn’t move.

“I-I’m freezing. But it doesn’t h-hurt anymore. That’s good, right?”

Then, Addison heard a faint sound of a gun being fired in the background and flinched.

Then, the line went dead.

-

It had been a week since the shooting, or more. She couldn’t remember. Addison had lost count of the days that passed. She couldn’t look at you without seeing you in that bed, with tubes down your throat and a scar from the wound in your lower abdomen. The words from Bailey still rang inside her head.

“She was dead, Addison. What the hell went through your mind?!”

“She was carrying your child!”

“Normally I would mind my own business if it wasn’t my intern that nearly died in my lap.”

There was a distance between the two of you, Addison knew that. She saw how you tried to remove that distance but how something held you back. She knew you hadn’t forgiven her yet, or if you even would. It pained her even more to see you struggle to forgive her when she knew damn well, she didn’t deserve it. In those small weeks Addison had gotten her job back at Seattle Grace, now called Seattle Grace Mercy West. She had yet to become somewhat friends again with Miranda. She knew it would take time, but this time? She was willing to be patient.

Addison stepped through the door and noticed how quiet it was. You still weren’t back yet; the wound was still healing. She knew you still suffered from the trauma but there would always be some small sounds when she arrived home. It was never just quiet.

Addison called out your name but got no response. Addison walked further into your home and saw the bathroom door slightly ajar. She stepped inside and saw you sitting in the water with your clothes on, mumbling to yourself as you shivered. Addison took quick steps over to the bathtub and went down on her knees, grabbing your arm. The water was ice cold, and your lips were turning blue.

“Hey, Y/N. you need to get out of the water.”

Addison said as she tried pulling you out, but you didn’t move. You were crying. Your sobs becoming louder as Addison continued to try to get you out.

“I-I don’t…I don’t want it.”

“Y/N- “

Addison continued to try to pull you out of the water when you turned to her, eyes red from crying and your voice hoarse.

“No, I didn’t want it! I don’t want you!” You nearly screamed at her.

Addison looked down into the water and saw your wound, you’d scratched at it. Addison stood up as you let out another heart-breaking sob to take off her shoes. She then stepped into the bath behind you. She grabbed your hands and pulled them up to your shoulders and made you lean back against her.

“Okay, listen to me. You’re not alone. OK? I’m right here with you.” Addison put her head on your shoulder as she spoke. She put her hand on your forehead, making you lean back against her as you tried to pull away. “Okay? You’re gonna breathe.” You took a deep breath with her, trying to fill your lungs with as much air as possible. Addison’s grip on your hands tightened with every deep breath you took. Breathing in and out with you.

It took you a while. Perhaps an hour or two? When Addison pulled you up and wrapped you in a towel, it was unclear what happened to you. You let her lead you. The next thing you knew, you were cuddled up close to her. Your hands having a tight grip on her shirt, being afraid she’d disappear if you let go. Addison wasn’t going anywhere. She was right where she wanted to be. With you.