#he may not have made it to halloween but i know he is swatting at us all in spirit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uncouth-the-fifth · 3 years ago

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pythia - a supernatural rewrite. pilot.

read it on ao3. masterlist.

words: 20298 (she's a big'un).

notes: Is the fandom dead? Am I speaking into the void? I have no clue. Do I persist? Yea.

I recently got back onto my spn train after like sixish years of not being obsessed with the show, so I'm going in bald to pretty much all fandom and canon elements that came after 2017. (By that I mean that my brain shorts out sometime after season six). This is utterly indulgent, and is mostly for my fourteen y/o self who couldn't write for shit and desperately wanted to be in the backseat of the Impala. I was circling through rewrites that my friend had sent me (thank you gracie!!) and none of them were scratching my particular, Dean-and-Sam-both-have-earrings-and-are-30%-more-affectionate itch. At present I can't decide which brother I'm leaning towards more for this, probably Sam, but for that reason, things are slow burn and split pretty evenly for the boys!

Season 1 is a period piece, in good and bad ways, so I try here to squash out most of the bad to leave some room for... well, us. All I ask is that u go through this imagining yourself with a flip-phone w little charms on it, as well as cute late 90s/early 2000s fashion.

Enjoy!

next part: wendigo, p1.

EAU CLAIRE, WISCONSIN - OCT. 29th

Dean didn’t need to call ahead. He wouldn’t anyway—both because he was shit with phones and he liked to test you—but the moment you saw his headlights, you planned to gripe about it in the car.

The faintly sweet smell of dead leaves hung in the late October breeze. Your dark street was illuminated by two-story inflatable ghosts and pumpkin string lights, which threw an odd orange glow along parts of the road. One of your neighbors had gotten ambitious this year and decked out the side of his house with a massive spider web. You’d been forced to stare at it while you waited for Dean, and after too long it made you feel… detached. This time of year always felt like a bit of a joke; what was real for you every day was real for them for just one, and they mocked it.

All over, Halloween felt like a bad omen. It was a bad omen—or maybe you were just bitter you’d never been able to go trick-or-treating.

The Impala stole a spot on the curb, lighting up the whole street with sound. Dean popped the driver’s side door, his silhouette, as always, doubled by his leather jacket. You raked your eyes over him from where you sat on the stoop, suitcase at your side and a hand on the old duffle bag Dean had lent you years ago. He looked drained. The parts of his face touched by the gory orange light made him look almost sickly with nerves, until he passed into shadow again and all you could make out was his grin.

“Howdy,” Dean greeted. You didn’t need the light to know he was checking you over, too.

“Y’know, usually when you’re picking someone up you warn them first, Dean.” You dramatically flopped your hand against your forehead, almost tipping back into the concrete, “Oh, you never call, you never text! God, you may as well throw me in the old folk’s home—”

“Shut your trap, since when do I have to call ahead?” Dean tilted into a jog to meet you, “I missed you too, blah blah. It’s only been a week. You’re real clingy, you know that?”

You threw up a very graceful middle finger. Dean swatted at your hand, and you let it drop as you soaked each other in. When he was close enough, you rose and slid your hands under his jacket in a quick embrace, and Dean returned it by dropping his brow once to your shoulder.

Seeing you packed and ready when he hadn’t even called—hadn’t even told you he was coming—endeared him in some way, but there was a pinch in his brow that wouldn’t let him show it. Things must’ve been worse than you’d predicted. His jacket, which had been blown up, shot through, and repaired all over with fabric and patches, had a new repair on the right cuff. It looked like he’d patched the hole with faux snakeskin.

“So…” Dean tapped his temple, “how much did your weirdo-psychic stuff tell you?”

At this, you took up your duffle and Dean leaned across you to grab your suitcase. When he was close enough to meet eyes with, you knit your brows together. “Not much. I woke up from a dream half n’ hour ago, and all I knew was that you were on your way and needed me.”

Dean exhaled a laugh, flustered, and moved to turn around a little too sharply. But you stopped him by the arm, and by some miracle he listened.

“What’s happened?”

Up close, it was much easier to count the expressions Dean went through before he landed on tense. “Dad…” he said, “I was… I was in New Orleans, waitin’ on him…”

He paused, at a loss for words, so you did the only thing you could think to do and offered your free hand to him. The old ritual made Dean appropriately hesitant—using your gift to peek into his mind was cute when you were kids, but as much as he trusted you, at present it could be invasive. Dean only accepted when he was too tired to speak or had too much to say. By the look of him, this seemed like one of those times.

“Go on,” he pushed. Dean didn’t snap or grunt about it, and turned his cheek for you to connect.

You laid your knuckles on his cheekbone. His skin was chilled, but warm compared to the night air and coarse where his stubble started up his jaw. It took a breath, but you calmed your surprise and focussed on your powers.

They’d developed around your twelfth birthday, which was expected. The Gift ran in your family, from mother to daughter and so on, and with it came a responsibility that started long before you were born. Your mother had been guiding hunters for as long as you could remember. Just as she helped John Winchester, you’d been dragged across the country by his boys since Dean was old enough to drive. In all honesty, you doubted you’d be half as competent with your powers if they hadn’t been there to encourage you. (Or in Dean’s case: pester you constantly).

“Dean…”

His emotions came to you like nails out of rotted wood. Dean was terrified, so terrified, but before you could blink those feelings were yanked out of your reach. Instead, Dean presented you with a careful picking of his memories: hunting alone, checking his phone so much the screen never slept, and voicemail after voicemail after voicemail. All of it blurred together with burning anxiety. John’s last words to him hung hard over his head, and now over yours. We’re all in danger.

“Your dad’s missing,” you repeated.

Dean whipped around, embarrassed by the exchange, and rushed over to the Impala. “Yeah. For a couple weeks now. You heard anything from him? Or, y’know… felt anything?”

You were tempted to wonder if this was another one of John’s regular disappearances, but Dean was so rattled you were compelled to listen to him. His question made you pause. “Not recently, no. This time of year always messes me up, you know that—the veil thins, everything’s louder—”

He threw your suitcase into the backseat with a bang.

“Wouldn’t that make it easier?” Dean snapped. The heat in his voice flickered out as fast as it’d come, “...Y’know, to feel for him?”

The line of his shoulders was hard-cut with tension. You watched him drop both hands to the door of the car, dragging in a breath through his nose. Sympathetically, you set a hand on his shoulder. Dean flinched, like you were moving to reach into his mind again, but melted sideways into the touch when it warmed there to comfort.

“I wish it did,” you sighed. “But that’s why I’m coming with you, okay? Three heads are better than one dumb Dean one.”

He lifted his head, squinting. “Three? How’d you know we’re getting—” A slow smile grew on your face, and the bigger it got the harder he rolled his eyes. “...Nevermind. Stupid question.”

You tossed your duffle into the passenger’s seat (ready to bask in it before Sam inevitably called shotgun), reveling in the strained sound Dean made when you picked up his box of tapes and relocated them to the back. As Dean started the engine, you fished around for the headphones you’d dropped under the bench the last time you were with him.

“We got a thirty-somethin’ hour drive ahead of us,” Dean warned. “You got everything? Gonna be able to keep yourself entertained?”

You gave his closest knee a nudge with yours, shrugging slyly. “I brought coloring books.”

Dean snorted. Before you clicked your lap belt on, he threw an arm over the bench and nodded to the back almost shyly, “Pick something from the tapes.”

The motor rumbled. You hadn’t questioned why Dean had grabbed you before he grabbed Sam, since you were a closer drive, but it struck you that he’d still chosen you to help. John certainly hadn’t asked him. If anything, you made the old man nervous. Dean wanted you here. In your dream, that was all you’d felt—Dean needing you. It didn’t matter if his father was missing or if he just needed a beer. Either way, he would find you waiting with your suitcase. You hoped he knew that. He seemed to want you to know the same was true vice-versa.

After your long gloating silence, Dean threw back his head and groaned, “Sometime this year, please?”

Smugly, you bent over the backseat and felt around in the dark for what you were looking for. The music tapes shined in the streetlight like obsidian, but you only needed touch to find the peeling edge of the Led Zeppelin boxed set.

“You’re letting me pick the tape, and you said please? Man, you really do miss me.”

You predicted that he’d swat you on the ass, but he wasn’t fortunate enough to have your Gift when you swatted him on the back of the head too. Dean cursed, “S’ my music. Everything in there is good. That way you can’t pick something stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” you replied, and Dean took the bait, starting a train of no yous that lasted well into Iowa.

PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA - OCT 31st, morning.

It was as close to fall in California as it could get. Humid night-time air gushed through the open windows of the Impala, covering whatever chill the weather could manage. The parking lot of Sam’s apartment rung with a pregnant silence, so even the tiniest noises seemed loud. Four times your head had shot up, ears prickling for the twin sound of bootprints, but the front gate never rattled and the boys never emerged. You were unsure if you wanted Sam to come out or not—he’d given up hunting for good, and dragging him back just felt cruel.

Picking a thread in the seat, you sighed. Maybe it would’ve been smarter to go with Dean. You didn’t want to intrude on their reunion, but he’d been dead quiet for the last day, the silence of the car unfilled even by half-assed jokes. Trying to worm one out of Dean was pointless, anyway. It was obvious he was sobering himself for Sam. If their Dad really was missing, he had to be the strong, unflappable big brother that Sam could take example from. As sweet as the sentiment was, watching Dean quietly reassemble himself in the driver’s seat put a bad taste in your mouth. You knew you wouldn’t be seeing that Dean—the one who tenderly dropped his cheek into your hand because he was too wrecked to speak—for a while.

And Sam… It’d been two years for all of you, but you’d at least kept in touch with him over the phone. Seeing his stories come to life was bizarre. He’d called you about everything: dating Jess, getting the apartment, his score on the LSAT. It was weird, knowing the walking supernatural encyclopedia you’d grown up with now lived on this cutesy little road. The Sam who’d help you set up psychic rituals in your mom’s basement now bumbled along with the normies. Well, if it was going to be any of you… He probably studied in the museum gardens in town, drinking those caramel lattes he pretended not to love and listening to punk music and Cyndi Lauper covers. Freely enjoying all the little things John would give him shit for.

You dared to glance again at the front gate. Yeah, cursing John Winchester sounded pretty good right about now. You weren’t here for him—you were here for the boys.

As a result, you tried not to see all of this as a bad omen. Even if Dean was always on your couch between hunts, and even if it’d been two years since you’d last seen Sam in person, being with them again always tripled the output of your Gift. Just being in the Impala fed you visions of your memories with them. They had, in a way, grown up with your powers just as much as you had, and as a result you were a compass constantly pointing North. Sam and Dean were your (very stubborn, but very lovable) North.

And that—that was a good omen. Being split two ways between them like this had been messing you up. Maybe here, being with the boys you’d grown up with after so long, you’d gain the power to find John.

An electric pulse raced through your chest like you’d caught something right before it hit the floor… and two seconds later, Sam and Dean’s arguing carried out into the night air.

Dean’s tone was an inch away from cutting. His and Sam’s boots thudded down the concrete in tandem, like the beat of a racing heart. “—so what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?”

Sam’s softer voice chased his, almost pleading. “No. Not normal. Safe.”

Dean swung around at him so he and his brother were eye to eye. He scoffed. “...And that's why you ran away.”

“I was just going to college.” Sam hopelessly shook his head, “It was Dad who said if I was gonna go I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing.”

You winced. Yeah, maybe another explosive argument wasn’t what you needed.

This was when they came into view for you. Growing up without siblings, you’d been the sum total of your parents' genes. Because of that, it was fascinating, cute even, to see how John and Mary had been distributed among the boys—pretty evenly, too. They only looked like brothers from a distance. The cut of their shoulders and jaws were identical in silhouette, and without meaning to they set their hammer-knuckled hands on their hips in the same bracing way. But Dean had Mary’s everything: her mouth, her lashes, her hair, and visions had taught you that he’d taken her scowl too. John was clearer in Sam’s face, but without the coarseness of grief. The cedar brown that’d snapped at you for crying about the kickback of a shotgun was Sam’s now, and Sam had rubbed your back while explaining how to hold it after John had stormed off.

Dean breathed deep through his nose, only to snap back: “Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now. If he's not dead already. I can feel it.”

The Impala’s door closing behind you made Sam jump, cutting off the argument. You stalked out from Dean’s shadow, saving whatever mixed feelings you had for later—his arms were already halfway open at the sound of the racing footsteps, and you ducked into them to squeeze him hard around the belly. Sam gave a satisfying oomf when you came in for landing, giving you a moment to enjoy your relationship with gravity before you were scooped up and spun in a circle so wide your legs flailed. You did your best to squeal with dignity when he set you down.

Sam breathlessly said your name. He smelled like good laundry detergent (that meant he had a washing machine, a working stove, and a dozen more luxuries they’d never had as kids) and something faintly woody, like cedar.

“Nice stud earrings, stud. Black is classy,” you snorted. Sam flicked you on the cheek for the remark.

From where your face was pressed into Sam’s shoulder, Dean scowled and mouthed: “Help me out here.” You ignored him to give his brother another good squeeze, and Dean deflated like a kid forced to share his favorite stuffed animal.

“S’ good to see you,” Sam half-grinned at you, rubbing his freshly bruised ribs. The Kansas twang was still in his voice a little. That, at least, remained the same. “You doing okay?”

“Halloween,” you winced by way of explanation, which earned an understanding nod. You’d complained about it to him for two hours over the phone.

“Do you still want to… even if you’re overloaded…?” Sam gestured to his face.

When you nodded, Sam tilted his cheek in your direction like he was offering his palm to shake hands. You set your knuckles easily on the side of his face, a friend taking his temperature, and like every time you reunited Sam opened himself up to you. This was not Dean’s massive wave of emotion. Subdued, Sam caught you up: on his anxiety for his interview on Monday, on how Jess was doing, the nightmares he’d been having. Even his own uneasy feelings about Halloween for your sake. But king above all of it was his frustration and his concern, for Dean and for John.

He poked at the connection, trying to get something out of you too, but you dropped it. Sam had caught one glimpse of your insecurities about your powers when he was twelve, and now he was hell-bent on convincing you they were normal. They weren’t, but you were fine with that. It was like Dean always said: s’ all part of the job.

The moment only lasted a second, but Dean slouched and grumbled like he’d been waiting for an hour. “Ladies, please, we can catch up in the car—we’ve got a hunting trip to take.”

Sam’s shoulders squared. He turned his pleading frown from Dean to you, and Dean did the exact same thing, imploring you to back him up. You could’ve sworn you were standing between two full-grown men, but instead you were being puppy-dog-eyed into taking sides. They knew what they were doing.

You took in each of their faces, then apologetically shuffled to stand beside Dean.

“He’s right, Sam,” you murmured, “We just can’t do this alone.”

“But you’re not alone!” He gestured snappishly between the two of you. “You and Dean can find Dad just fine together, and you have before! Why is it selfish of me to just want to live a normal life?”

You closed your eyes. That burned.

“It isn’t—” you said, just as Dean rumbled, “You owe Dad—”

Before he could finish the thought you put a silencing hand on Dean’s chest, whose jaw snapped shut into an immediate pout. He at least had the sense to know who had the better shot at convincing Sam. Dean stepped out of the dark and into the streetlight behind you, hovering at your shoulder. The shadows of moths tinking against a light flitted across his face. When Dean set his hand on your shoulder, you knew what you said next was for the both of you.

“Let me rephrase,” you spoke, carefully. “...We don’t want to do this alone.”

Sam hunted your expression for honesty. There was something so different about him, an edge that had peeled, a crack that had opened. His whole body felt like a scab so close to healing over. A part of you prayed that the scab was further healed than you thought—that maybe you were a week or a day too late, and Sam’s threshold for coming back to hunting had already passed. But between your involvement and Dean’s clenched teeth, the steel in his face gradually melted.

Sam ducked his head and sighed. “What was he hunting?”

The hand on your shoulder fell to your back and lightly fisted your jacket, giving it a little shake where Sam couldn’t see. Thank you, Dean seemed to say.

In unison, you and Dean spun on your heels. You tossed him the keys to the Impala, and he lapped you to jam a key into the trunk. Before he opened it, he looked at you, and you paused to close your eyes and feel around the area with your gift. “We’re alone,” you confirmed, and Dean hiked open the trunk.

The inside was unassuming until you opened the spare-tire compartment. Rows of weapons lined the inside, hatchets and firearms and ammunition of all kinds, gleaming in the low light. It was more jammed than usual, since your own hunting equipment was carefully organized alongside Dean’s clutter. Sam noted the differences himself, eyes keen, and heat prickled up your neck when he smiled slyly at a shiny new set of brass knuckles. Dean? He mouthed to you, and you pointed to yourself with a shy shrug, For my birthday. Sam’s grin was too knowing for your comfort.

Dean propped the hatch open with a shotgun. “All right, where’d I put that thing…?”

You plucked the file he was looking for right where it was laying on top of everything, clearly where he could see it. Idiot. Dean took it from you, mystified, like you’d pulled it out of thin air. “How do you do that?”

“Magic,” you replied. Dean seemed to believe you.

“All right, here we go,” He shuffled through the papers. “Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy,” he gave one of the pages to Sam, “they found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA.”

Sam glanced at the article. It was from the Jericho Herald, headlined Centennial Highway Disappearance, and dated for this September. A man’s missing photo was halfway covered by Sam’s thumb, who shrugged, “So maybe he was kidnapped.”

“Sure,” you mirrored his shrug, “and so was the guy in April,” Dean slapped down each corresponding article for you, “and December 'oh-four, 'oh-three, 'ninety-eight, 'ninety-two—ten guys in the past two decades.”

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting closer to read them over. “You had a vision of this?” He guessed.

“Nope,” Dean answered for you. He had his elbows on the edge of the trunk, posted up like a cowboy—and shit, watching him try to play the cool big brother was endlessly entertaining. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a hunt. Besides, she c’n always pick something up while we’re on the job, right?”

“Yes,” you tapped the paper in Sam’s hand with two fingers, “especially if it’s been going on this long in the same place. All of it happened on the same stretch of road.”

“It started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough.”

Dean reached behind you for another bag in the trunk, and quickly fished through it for a handheld tape recorder. He raised his prize to the two of you, and Sam tried not to snort at the ghostbusters sticker on the side. You both sobered when Dean said, “Then I get this voicemail the other day.”

He clicked play. John Winchester’s rough voice was clear on the first word, then it descended mostly into static, punctured occasionally on the recording. “Dean...some—ng big—starting to hap—n...I need—try and fig—out what's… appen’ing. It may… Be ve—areful, Dean. We're all in danger.”

Sam’s expression was pinched with curiosity when Dean silenced the recording. Just hearing the feedback made your head feel fuzzy and cold, like you’d been dunked face-first into icy water and inhaled a lungful. Since Dean had needed to put a coat on you the first time he played the recording, you could feel his gaze sliding over your figure in search of more shivers. You gave him the most reassuring smile you could, but his face was still vigilant.

Sam was too deep in thought to notice. “You know there’s EVP on that?”

Dean’s grin lit up his entire face. Like you, he seemed to notice how far into normalcy Sam was—but unlike you, it worried him. “Not bad, Sammy,” he praised, “Kinda like riding a bike, ain’t it?”

Sam looked to you for a companion in his exasperation, and you shook your head in solidarity. Maybe, if you were lucky, this would just be one hunt. Maybe John wouldn’t drag you and Dean on another wild goose chase, and Sam could return home not totally upset with his family. With that in mind, you shifted deeper into their bubble and tried to enjoy this for what it was on the surface. The three of you were back together again. Two years suddenly felt like a million.

“Alright—I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got.”

Dean jabbed another button with his thumb and hit play. The cold, chilling voice of a woman echoed in the recording hollowly, like she was trapped in a place with air too thick to speak through. “I can never go home…”

You and Sam exchanged a thoughtful glance, repeating the phrase in unison: “Never go home…”

With a sigh, Dean tossed the recorder back into place. You stepped back so he could shut the trunk and everything in it, pressing your elbows into your ribs even if you could go swimming in the Palo Alto weather. Dean noticed, and quietly nodded behind him, “M’ spare jacket’s in the backseat.”

Taking the cue to give them even the illusion of privacy, you squeezed Sam’s arm and disappeared behind Dean. His green coat was right there on the bench, but you pulled open the door and slid into your new home to “look” for it, grabbing your bag from the front seat. Maybe they just needed a second to talk. The heater in the Impala was admittedly shit, so you slid into Dean’s jacket just in case and pretended you weren’t listening in.

“You know, in almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing.” Dean cleared his throat.

Sam sighed. You put your cheek on the backrest of the front seat, indulging in the familiar earthy smell of Dean’s jacket and Dean’s car. It was selfish, but you crossed your fingers in the sleeves. What you were hoping for, you weren’t entirely sure—at the very least that Sam would be okay after all of this.

“All right. I'll go. I'll help you find him.”

Dean’s relief was so potent you could feel it without touching him. It echoed oddly against the cold iron in your gut. He didn’t say anything, but you could sense the thankfulness settling hard into his joints. You’d both been prepared to go into this with only each other, but there was no way you couldn’t find John if Sam was in that passenger’s seat.

Sam’s shoes scraped against the concrete. “But I have to get back first thing Monday. Just wait here.”

The weight of the car shifted—Dean was sitting on the trunk. “What's first thing Monday?”

Sam bit his tongue. “I have this...I have an interview.”

“What, a job interview? Skip it.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you fell back against the seat. It was a good thing Sam was going inside to grab his stuff, since you needed some time to give Dean a good smack.

“It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate.”

That’s putting it lightly.

“Law school?” You could hear the questioning smirk in Dean’s voice.

Sam swatted at him, exasperated. You began to wonder how Dean had gone in there and woken him up. “So we got a deal, or what?”

A minute later, Dean slid into the driver’s seat. He stared straight ahead for a concerning amount of time, then was possessed by the urge to do something and started cranking the windows shut. You watched him, and he felt you watching, but the lot was small and the buildings around it cast long shadows. Neither of you could make out each other's faces well, so you pressed your brow into Dean’s arm, and he flopped back into the seat to knock his head on top of yours.

“Thanks,” he said, finally. “I know you want Sam safe. I do too. I think he’s…” Dean sighed through his nose, “he’s safer where we can see him.”

“I don’t know how I survived that,” you snickered. It was better to just let Dean thank you—any earnest reply you could give him would just make him squirrely. Your voice was muffled by the fabric, but Dean was close enough to hear you anyway. “Sam’s puppy face should be legally classified as a weapon.”

Dean snickered too, until it died in his throat and you both just breathed in the silence. It was comfortable. He’d been making you nervous all day, but this eased it at least a little.

You flicked his ear. “Slut.”

Dean didn’t flinch. He just smiled, a little less exhausted than before. “Dick.”

NAPA COUNTY, CALIFORNIA.

The way to Jericho was filled mostly with wine country, so Dean drove with the windows down so you and Sam could smell the grapes on the wind. You found out that Dean had broken into Sam’s place, and between berating him, you tried to goad Sam into describing his apartment. That conversation kept you busy for most of the drive. The only homes Sam and Dean had ever known were Bobby’s house in Dakota and the antique shop where your mom gave her readings. Having a place that was purely your own was the hunter-kid dream, so you ate up visions of Sam’s breakfast nook (with cute coasters!) and Dean’s future megamansion with a jacuzzi-water bed.

“I don’t think it’s physically possible for something like that to exist,” Sam snickered.

Dean flicked the turn signal and wheeled into a gas station lot. “I said this was the future. They’ll invent it.”

You gave Sam a look from the backseat like, wait til you get a load of this, then asked: “Okay… and how are you gonna afford all that?”

“My sex tape’ll go viral,” Dean snorted. He took an empty pump, parked the car, and gave you an offended glance in the rearview mirror. Right, cause he was the one who could see the future. “Duh.”

Sam watched him bounce out of the car and into the convenience store, a half-fond, half-frustrated look on his face. You studied his profile down the line of his nose, and Sam caught you looking with a shy smile. He was still so smiley—perhaps even moreso than when you all hunted together.

You nodded to Dean, who’d been stopped at the door by a couple of girls complimenting his car. “I’ll bet you missed that, huh?”

“Weirdly enough?” Sam raised his brows, “Yeah, a little bit.” A beat later, he turned halfway in his seat to squint: “You stuck me up here in the front with him on purpose, didn’t you?”

With a dramatic whirl, you spread your arms across the width of the backseat and kicked up your feet by Sam’s face, spreading out as much as you possibly could to stake your claim. If you were going to be back here all weekend, you were going to be comfortable, that was for sure. Your blanket and pillow were waiting on your left for emergency backseat naps, and your snack bag crinkled on your other side. You gestured to your treasure pile with glee, as if to say, this is the lap of luxury.

“Yes,” you flipped down your sunglasses, “Yes I did.”

Sam gave your socks a friendly shove and shook his head. “Very clever. Do you know where Dean keeps his tapes?”

“Yeah! Here,” you disappeared under the bench, and hefted up the box by the bottom since its handles were broken. “He usually keeps em’ up front, but I knew you’d need all the leg room you could get.”

Soon, Sam was elbows-deep into his rifling, muttering and scoffing at the selection. You got back to reading the lore book you’d opened an hour ago, and ended up re-reading the same paragraph over and over until a plastic bag appeared through the window. It was followed by Dean’s smug face.

“For the lady,” he said, giving the bag a little shake.

You took it with a squeal of delight, wrestling it open to find your breakfast of choice. At the bottom of the bag there was also a small carton of plump, inky blackberries, and seeing it prompted you to turn out the window and coo, “I love youuu, Dean. Thank you.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered. The moment you opened the container, his open hand shoved through the window. At your possessive frown, he winked, “Dean tax. Hand some over.”

You reluctantly put a couple into his palm, filling out your Dean tax for the day, and he chewed around them as he spoke to Sam. “Hey,” he offered him a sleeve of mini donuts, “you want some breakfast?”

“No, thanks,” Sam scrunched his nose, polite as ever, and then very impolitely reached back to wiggle his open palm at you. Making a big show out of sighing, you split your ration with him too—finishing off your Sam tax as well.

There was a clinking sound as Dean started refilling the Impala’s tank. While you started to dig into what remained of your breakfast, Sam stretched his legs out the open door, the tapes still in his lap. “So how’d you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?”

Dean must’ve gotten into the donuts already, because his voice was muffled. “Yeah, well, huntin’ ain’t exactly a pro ball career. ‘Sides, all we do is apply. It’s not our fault they send us the cards.”

Sam chuckled, disappointed but unsurprised. He must’ve hoped that something had turned over while he was gone, that there was more than Dean’s mopey eyes to prove he’d left, but most things hadn’t changed. Almost nothing had except for him. When Sam had wondered what you two were doing for the last two years, he pictured the open road and the Impala chasing the shadow of John’s truck. Isn’t that what you were doing now? That was one of the main reasons why Sam had wanted to leave—the hunt was just one big, endless circle.

“Yeah? And what names did you write on the application this time?”

“Uh, Burt Aframian.” Dean plucked his own breakfast off the top of the car and reclaimed the driver’s seat. With him, Sam brought his legs back into the car and shut the door. “And his son Hector. Scored two cards out of the deal.”

“Sounds about right…” Sam raised his brows. He ran his finger over a line of tapes in the box on his lap, “I swear, man, you've gotta update your cassette tape collection.”

“What? Why?” Dean wiped powdered sugar on his jeans, and when he wasn’t looking you slunk forward to sneak a sip of his soda. He clearly noticed, but all you got from him was a playful smile when it appeared back in the cupholder.

“Well, for one, they're cassette tapes. And two…” Sam returned to surfing the box, which was brimming with more than two dozen albums, half of them labeled with masking tape and your and Dean’s handwriting. “Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock.”

As Dean plucked the Metallica tape from Sam’s hand, Sam shot you a pointed look. You tried not to flush when he tapped one of the newer additions, which was a little too lovingly labeled, for Dean <3. Letting his smirking silence say it all, Sam flipped the edge so you could see the subtle scrapes on the side—evidence of how many times it’d been played. Detective Sam missed nothing. Given time, he could probably even figure out the tracklist.

“Well, house rules, Sammy.” Dean pushed the Metallica tape into the player, all too proud of himself, “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

Sam’s side-eyed you, like it was necessary to stare at his true victim before going for the low blow. “Unless shotgun is ____, of course—”

The engine roared to life, and so did the music. Just in case that wasn’t enough to drown Sam out, Dean threw back his head and yelled, “Cakehole!” then slammed on the gas until the tires squealed.

For good measure, you found a lock of Sam’s hair and gave it a mean little tug. While Dean got the three of you back on the road, you leaned by Sam’s ear and hissed, “Never forget—I know your biggest weakness.”

“And what’s that?” Sam lazily grinned.

You clapped your hands over his eyes, pulling him back against the seat like you were strapping him into a torture device. In a sharp whisper, you cackled against his cheek, “...I know where you’re ticklish.”

Sam jolted out of your grip so fast his seatbelt caught. Out of the kindness of your heart, you released your captive, and he scrambled away to slouch low in his seat and protect his vulnerable sides. Sam was still nervously giggling half an hour later, so it was safe to say that the lesson had been learned.

CENTENNIAL HIGHWAY.

You and Sam took calling duty, checking the hospital and the morgue respectively for a man matching John’s description. He wasn’t at either place. Sam had always been uncomfortable with the lying aspect of the job, which was understandable, but regardless he was a champ at it. Dean was right: hunting was as all too easy to pick up again. Skill and instinct had overlapped a long time ago for all three of you.

“Check it out,” Dean said, and you and Sam raised your heads.

The bridge ahead was flocking with local law. Two police cruisers were aimed at an abandoned car, diagonal on the road and plastered with a whole night’s worth of leaves. You couldn’t see much more than that from here. Dean parked, and then reached across for the IDs in the glovebox. At least a dozen of them jostled forward, Dean’s dumb smolder in every single one. Your favorite had to be the wildlife service ID, though, since he’d forgotten to take his cartilage piercings out. Every time you were carded, somebody always asked.

Right on cue, Dean hooked them out of his ears and dropped the small pile of metal into one of the cupholders. Why he bothered, you didn’t know—he didn’t remove the rings or the bracelets he wore, so he looked like a goth football player anyway. Expectantly, he held out his hand to the backseat. You dropped a fistful of your warding and good luck rings into his palm, feeling Sam taking note of the routine. That was definitely one thing that had changed in the last two years: you and Dean were a tad more comfortable with each other than he remembered.

“Good?” Dean asked.

You waved your own fake ID at him. “All good.”

Dean’s grin moved from you to Sam, and as cheeky as ever, he nodded to the scene. “Let’s go.”

You lingered at Sam’s side, trying to gauge how he felt about this, but your concern quickly became unreasonable. In unison, their shoulders squared and their faces neutralized. It was eerie, how easy it was for them to become two different people—your mother trained you to protect yourself and others when you could, sure, but she was no John Winchester. You’d seen yourself what he’d done to the boys. The result was impressive, but… You slowed down until you were walking behind them, keeping the way your gut twisted to yourself.

Two deputies were inspecting the car when you approached, but you broke off early from Sam and Dean to float around the bridge. This was routine for you and Dean—he was always the rough-around-the-edges bad cop, and you played his head-in-the-clouds partner. It made it easier for Dean to get intel, while you felt around with your powers in case there was something to sense. This was the only time all weekend you regretted having Sam there. How long had you and Dean spent, goofily giving your FBI personas tragic backstories and coming up with their impressive exploits? Sam would be good cop now, there was no doubt about that. For a selfish breath, you wondered where that would leave you.

You heard Dean flash his badge and introduce you. “Federal Marshals.”

“Three of you?” One of the deputies—Jaffe—questioned.

“Uh,” Sam smoothly nodded in your direction, his voice full of humor, “she’s our trainee.”

Oh, you were going to eat him alive later. Not one tickle spot would be spared in your wrath.

“Oh, yeah—academy’s shootin’ em out like baby rabbits…” Dean agreed. He quirked his head and began to wander around the abandoned car, and since your cover was clear, you parted further from the boys to scope out the bridge.

The two continued to inch information out of the deputies, but you let yourself float into a headspace where you wouldn’t hear them. It was cold on the bridge, and just standing close to one of the railings made you feel like you were being sucked into a black hole. The drop to the river below was just barely far enough to kill. More cops were gleaning it for bodies, but you could sense that they wouldn’t find any. You walked down the length closest to the car, eyes closed, letting the rugged texture of the wood railing fall under your hand.

A hot rush of anger roared over you all at once—and you swore for an instant that Dean was yelling at you over your shoulder, telling you to get back to the car—that he can Sam could handle this without you—that he didn’t need you, that he’d never needed you—never loved you, had cheated on you for some useless girl—

“Sam!” You hollered. The black wall that had descended on you fell hard, like a sheet of glass shattering at your feet, and suddenly Sam had a hand on your arm and was ducking down to look at your face.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low, “Feel somethin’?”

You kept your eyes squeezed shut, chasing the void and the memories it’d given you. For a moment you were boiling with so much despair and rage—pure, throat-tearing rage—that you wanted to take him by the shirt and throttle him. Sam set his hand on your back and began to rub with his thumb, which made things so much worse and then slowly better. You blew a breath out of your nose, reminding yourself that you were needed here. That you were wanted. No one had cheated on you or lied to you—it was okay.

You made a grabby hand at the air and breathed, “Pen. I need a pen.”

Sam pat down his coat and handed you what he found. Taking the random coupon and an old ballpoint in hand, you spun Sam around to use him as a temporary desk. The name ended up sloppy from how fast you’d written it, but it was readable, and that was all that mattered.

“You did get something,” Sam smirked, and then turned around—only to pause and soften all over. “Woah, what happened? You’re crying…”

“I am?” You wiped your face on your sleeve, and Sam shielded you from the other officers while you gathered yourself. He was right; your sleeve was wet. But you didn’t feel like you were crying. “I don’t… I don’t think these are my tears.”

Before Sam could say anything about that, Dean gave the signal to leave, and automatically you both twisted to follow him. One of the deputies was there when you turned around, and paused at the sight of Sam’s arm around your back.

“Is she okay?” He spoke from below his hat.

“First crime scene,” Sam winced, which may have been less strange if you’d even glanced at the car—and if there was blood or a body to see. He steered you away, and you followed mostly to keep up with the lie. Whatever anger and sadness you’d had disappeared. Those weren’t your feelings, and neither were these tears.

You regrouped with Dean away from the cops. He stood more rigidly than usual, hands in his jacket, and whatever he planned to snipe about seemed to fall off his train of thought.

His brows jumped up his forehead. “Woah,” Dean said, “You get something?”

“Dean,” Sam chastised, but you waved him off.

You were almost surprised at how scolding he sounded, especially when Dean was barely concealing that closed-mouth, wide-eyed face he made when he was worried. It reminded you of your mom when you got the flu as a kid, and how she could always tell you were going to throw up—she’d slide the trashbin over in the nick of time. Dean’s shoulders were tensed in that same way, like at any moment he was prepared to get the bin under you.

“I’m good. Really. I think she was… projecting onto me.” With two fingers, you revealed the paper you’d written on, “S’ definitely some kind of vengeful—”

Sam cleared his throat. In tandem, you and Dean followed his gaze to Sheriff Pierce and a pair of (real) FBI agents stalking onto the bridge. They paused just outside the ring of your little meeting, your figures glittering in the Sheriff’s dark sunglasses. He managed to reflect the midday sun generously into your eyes.

“Can I help you kids?”

“No, sir,” you smiled pleasantly, “we were just leaving.”

Schooling the rigid stress in your frame, you willed the agents to find you unsuspicious and casually held the paper out behind your back. Sam took it, and with all the ease in the world you led the boys back to the car. The agents brushed past you, and again you willed nothing to happen—

“Agent Mulder,” Dean nodded to them each in turn, “Agent Scully.”

Well. That was three Winchesters for you to scold, then.

JERICHO, CALIFORNIA.

Constance Welch. That was the name you’d “heebie-jeebied” (Dean’s words) out of the spirit on the bridge. After only a little bit of fighting, it was agreed that you’d do some research at the local library while the boys followed a lead on the missing owner of the car. Separating made you uneasy—who knows what trouble those two idiots would get into without you there to keep them alive.

The Impala turned a few heads rumbling down the main street of Jericho. You couldn’t enjoy it like you usually did, since Sam was still in hovering mode. He’d even gone so far as to join you in the backseat. You generously allowed it, even though he took up most of the legroom, leaving you a very generous corner to yourself. Jessica was a lucky girl.

“Really, Sam, I’m fine,” you insisted, but you could tell by the way his brow twitched that he was skeptical. “S’ something I’ve picked up in the last year. I’m gettin’ to the point where I can do that seance thing that my mom does, letting the ghosts speak through her… I don’t think Constance was speaking through me, per se—most vengeful spirits are too angry to get a word out like that, anyway.”

Sam gave a little shake of his head. The Impala rocked a bit as Dean rolled into a stop, and you let the rhythm of the movement soothe you, an elbow out the window. On the next turn the public library loomed into view haloed by the midday sun, so you reached across Sam for your handbag. He passed it to you with a concerned smile.

“Are you sure?” Sam drummed a hand on his knee, almost vibrating with suspicion. “The spirit took over your mind, n’ that’s usually not a good thing…”

“Oh, hush, Sammy, the girl can handle herself,” Dean chided. “Yeah, maybe some normal loser couldn’t handle a ghost in their brain, but in case you haven’t noticed, it’s kinda her thing. You’d know that if you—”

You cut Dean off with a firm glare through the rearview mirror. “Enough of that, c’mon. It’s not his fault.”

Sam wilted in your peripherals, and seeing it instead of hearing it in his voice made your gut feel slit hip-to-hip. It wasn’t anybody’s job to make you feel good about your powers. You had them and there was nothing you could do about it—no special ritual to magic them away, no benevolent higher power that could take the Gift from you. If anything, complaining about it was just wasting time. But that didn’t mean you wished it was easier.

And Sam… he’d tried every day to make it easier for you. You remembered how ruthlessly protective he’d been as a kid, even being a year younger than you. Supernatural anything made hunters uneasy, even the mediums they visited, so it wasn’t like you hadn’t taken a couple jabs about your Gift growing up. Fuckin’ weirdo psychic… Wonder what’d take to hunt somethin’ like you… Does iron hurt you, freak? Just a muttered insult from some random hunter would have Sam spitting with rage. It was worse as you grew, when you could sense their unease at the sight of the women in your family, like each and every one of you was a bad omen. Some of them doubted that you were fully human.

But often, they were scared straight and were thrown out of your mother’s antique parlor with bloody noses. Or worse.

You remembered being seventeen: a pair of newcomers had come to your mother for a reading. Now that your powers were mostly off their training wheels, she’d had you sit in, to follow her example and to do some reading yourself. The new hunters had been antsy the whole time. Itching, like they’d planned to do something, eyeing you in your scooby doo shirt and flared jeans like they’d glare down a vamp right before the kill.

You remembered how your mother’s face had lost all color the moment she reached over to read them… the tremble in her voice when she explained that they’d made a mistake, that two simple mediums weren’t monsters to hunt… You remembered the absolute savagery in Sam’s eyes when he’d come into the back room and saw you held at gunpoint. And above all else, you could still see Sam wailing on one of them on the floor until two of his fingers were broken, the wet, bloody thud of his fist into bone echoing inside your head even now.

He’d sat on the bottom of the steps to your apartment above the dark shop all night, a shotgun in his lap. On guard. You’d been too nerve-wracked to sleep, apologizing to him over and over again for his messed-up hand. John’ll kill me, you’d babbled, and sixteen-year-old Sam had smiled with blood on his lip and assured: S’ not your fault. Besides, he’s been trying to get me to practice aiming with my left hand for months…

You stared into Sam’s face now, the broken thud of his fist still clear in your mind. The jab from Dean about being gone had already cut into him a little, like it really was important to him that he was caught up with the ins and outs of your powers. Like he really cared. His expression opened, full of earnest understanding, like he could reach into your mind just as easily as you could his.

Dean coasted the Impala up to the curb, giving you time to hop out onto the sidewalk. Sam followed you out of the backseat to reclaim his seat up front with his brother, eyes still dark with vigilant concern, so you stopped him by the arm. When he was on his feet and in front of you, you dragged him low enough to kiss the side of his face.

“Psychic shit later?” you said, and prompted him with your pinkie.

Playing at being annoyed, Sam hooked your pinkies and you both shook on it. “Later,” he agreed with a beaming eye-roll and rounded the car.

You turned your eyes on Dean, gleaming with dangerous intention. He paled with recognition. Desperate, he grabbed the crank and put his whole body into rolling the window up, but Dean wasn’t fast enough—you captured him by the cheeks and smushed a noisy one into his hairline. He gagged, he choked, he coughed, and when you dropped him he melted and steamed like the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Kill me,” he said, flushed up to his ears. It was only fair—you had to give them equal treatment, or Dean would get jealous.

“I did. With cooties.”

You met eyes with Sam through the window, since Dean was mostly incoherent, and jerked a thumb over your shoulder at the cutesy small-town library. “Looking up this Constance chick will take me two hours, at most. First one to the motel buys?”

He gave the okay sign, and Dean drove off in such a hurry the Impala’s back wheels spit up dust. You watched them go, Dean still fake-hacking out the window like you’d given him influenza, until they’d turned the corner and disappeared. Boys.

You put on your warding rings as you melted into a crowd of pedestrians, just an inconspicuous girl arriving to research an unassuming name, with no strange intentions whatsoever.

Not more than an hour later, you were making the walk to the motel you and the boys had settled on. As much of a pleasure it was to dork around with Dean all day, you’d come to enjoy the quiet moments that were born out of splitting up. Unlike John, separating on a hunt was the last thing that Dean ever wanted to do, so these moments were few and far between. There was a beautiful sort of novelty in walking a strange new place alone. After a childhood spent shrouded under your mother’s roof, the world seemed even bigger than it should’ve been.

Your reflection floated in the displays of all sorts of little odds-and-ends stores, each one more fascinating than the last. There was a bookstore and a real estate office and a pretty little bakery, which you knew Dean would want to hit before you left. He kept a “pie-diary,” rating all the pie in the different places he went, and for some reason it expanded his palate so far beyond burgers and fries that he could talk about it for hours. You took note of it as you passed the beginning of a neighborhood, where a fenced-in backyard was spilling over with rusted classic cars. It was charming. For the millionth time in your life, you were glad most people didn’t know about the hunt—that way, you could still have your small towns and your pie diaries.

Black Velvet by Alannah Myles started chirping from your flip phone, so you flipped it open and put it to your ear. “Dean?”

“Headin’ over now,” he said, “We talked to the girlfriend of the victim, this guy named Troy—she was putting up missing posters downtown, n’ her friend told us about this local legend…”

You waited until a group of chatting girls walked past you to reply, kicking up dead leaves as you went. “Lemme guess? A woman found her children dead in the bathtub, and out of grief committed suicide on Centennial a few years ago. Now she haunts the bridge—”

“And whoever she hitchhikes with gets juped,” Dean finished. He sounded a little tense, and you got the feeling he and Sam had ripped each other up a bit in the, what? Ten seconds you’d been gone? Sigh. “You sense anything about my dad yet?”

“No. Were you and Sam fighting?” You dared to ask.

Dean blew a breath out of his nose, then immediately changed his tune. A smirk jumped into his voice. “...I’m only a couple roads over from the motel. Race you?”

You squinted down the street at the little beige and blue dot that was your destination. Out of superstition, you paused to listen for the Impala’s engine, but blissfully it didn’t come around the corner going sixty in a thirty.

“...You’re fuckin’ on, Winchester.”

You were gasping for breath so hard that your nose felt like it was gonna start bleeding, but it was worth it. The Impala pulled sourly into the lot, and with a slimy victory grin you watched Dean park just a few feet in front of you, hands on your hips. His eyes were dead cold with betrayal, like it was his god-given right as the eldest of the three of you to win all immature contests.

You had all of two seconds to bask in Dean’s loss before you were on your ass, on the concrete, with Sam and Dean’s worried faces blurring in your vision.

With a jolt, you sat up and blinked away your dizziness. Dean had you by both wrists, like you’d dropped right in front of him and they were the closest thing for him to reach. Sam looked significantly less calm. The brothers exchanged a look.

“Did you just faint cause you’re shit at running…?” Dean joked, and Sam filled in: “...Or was that a vision?”

You let Dean help you up onto your feet, took in a breath, then turned tail and booked it for the first floor of rooms. The buildings that made up the place were a baby blue color aged by the sun. A vintage sign at least three stories up promised vacancy and continental breakfast, and a rush came over you when you recognized its shadow under the sharp midday sun—the circle shape of it elongated onto a door almost exactly like it had in your vision. You noted a stain on the wall. This was it; this was the room your vision had shown you.

“Here,” you said, still shuddering for breath, now bent up with your hands on your knees. “Tuh—ten,” you jabbed the door number, “John was here.”

The boys didn’t even have to look at each other. Sam took a knee and rolled out his lock-picking kit, and with the same fluidity, Dean posted up against the wall and used the width of his too-big jacket to cover him. It only took Sam a moment to get it open, but immediately you were swallowed by the memory of what you’d seen: John drawing some kind of huge pentagram over the bed, every inch of the floor, wall, and tables laden with papers. John at this door, eyes dark with resolution. John roaring out of the parking lot in a hurry.

Sam took Dean’s shoulder and yanked him inside, and you bumbled in after them. It was exactly as John had left it in your vision. The normal, rustic-style hotel room had been massacred into a hunter’s den. Books poured from every surface, the unmade bed was hosting an open trunk of weaponry and a hazardous materials box, and any leftover space was used for warding purposes. John had an authentic dreamcatcher above the headboard and some kind of massive sigil on the ceiling… No wonder the do not disturb sign was still on the door handle—the cleaning lady would’ve shit herself.

“Woah…” Sam muttered.

The two paused by the closed door like John would come storming out from a crevice at any second, their shoulders stiff and ears perked. When Sam’s voice didn’t summon him, they deflated, and crept deeper into the room to investigate. You hung back to let them take the lead. Though you could sort through the clues just as well as they could, the dust hung in the air like it would in a mausoleum, and you certainly weren’t family.

Dean was thankful to get any trail he could, however, and perked up, giving the back of your head a rub as he floated over to the bedside table. “Atta’ girl,” he said, “gettin’ faster and faster every day.”

“Not fast enough,” you said, giving the empty room a dispirited once-over. “Who knows how long ago he left. Your dad hasn’t been here in days.”

To confirm, Dean flicked on the bedside lamp and gave the lopsided burger there a sniff. “Guh,” he recoiled, “no kidding.”

Sam was already stepping across the floor like he was navigating a laser grid. He stooped to finger the salt circle around the bed, checking it for breaks, and rose with pressed brows. “Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation where the connotations of that hung over you. The boys had never told you about the thing that’d killed their mother outright—your mom had explained their history to you, leaving the rest to be filled in by Dean’s haunted silences and Sam’s what-ifs. We are so lucky that we were in this from the start, your mother had said to you, some of us don’t have that luxury. Some of us are dragged into the hunt and can’t escape.

You hoped that the “something” John was chasing (or escaping) was easy to kill.

“What have you got here?” Sam said.

You followed his eye to Dean, who was examining a line-up of newspaper articles and missing posters pinned to the wall across from John’s bed. “Centennial Highway victims,” he said.

The names of several men were labeled all in John’s handwriting, and connected by long strips of paper with quotes or red string. Some overlapped each other in circles on the wall. To a civilian, it looked like the ravings of a mad-man. But to you… You hated John, but you had to admit that Sam and Dean had to have learned their prowess from somewhere.

“I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities…” Dean thought to the room. He tilted his head, listing his weight to one side and catching a square of golden light on his jaw. “There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?”

You drifted behind his shoulder to get your own look. “On the bridge, when I looked over the railing… I felt ice cold, like a bucket of water had been dumped over my head. Then all at once I could’ve sworn you’d… you’d…”

Dean turned his gaze on you, and of course when you were already at a loss for words the light hit his eyes just right and made them a sort of crystal green. There was a thought in your head about green apple candy in sunlight and then Dean was tilting closer, brows raised expectantly. “...Yeah?”

“This is gonna sound weird,” you winced.

Sam gestured generously at the hotel room you were in, which was chock-full of occult items and plastered all over with demonic symbols and supernatural lore. “S’ okay,” he chuckled dryly, “We are well past that.”

“I could’ve sworn for a second that… Ugh. That Dean had cheated on me?” You anxiously twisted your carnelian ring around your finger and spat out the words. “I knew in my right mind that I’d rather eat my boot than date him,” (“Thanks.”) “...but when it hit me I was overwhelmed with this mind-numbing rage. Almost throttled Sam, it was so powerful. Constance was putting all her emotions on me, that’s for sure.”

Dean’s grin was ear-to-ear. “I cheated on you,” he echoed, and you immediately leaned forward and pinched him on the arm. “Ow!” Dean whined, “Jesus, how old are you?”

Across the room, Sam’s nose was a couple inches from a spray of articles on the wall. One of them in particular had caught his eye, and when he honed in on it, his expression cleared of all doubt. The sound of everything clicking together in Sam’s brain was so loud you turned to him to get the verdict.

“That’s what the link is. Adultery,” he breathed, “and look here—Dad figured it out too.”

Sam flicked on a desk lamp to get a better view, lighting up the underside of his face with a handsome orange glow. You followed his eye to the article you’d found on Constance at the library. “That’s the one!” You read John’s label for the two of them: “She’s a… woman in white?”

Dean shot the wall of men a shit-eating grin. “You sly dogs.”

At your confused look, Sam filled in: “They’re female spirits associated with tragedy. Stuff like accidental death, murder, or suicide, but mostly some kind of betrayal by a husband or a fiancé.”

“That explains what I felt,” you sighed. “Man, it’s been so long since we’d hunted one of these, I’d almost forgotten. Had to be… what,” you shrugged at Sam, “my third or fourth hunt ever?”

“Yeah…” You could hear the smile growing on Dean’s face. He snapped his fingers, trying to recall, “yeah, that chick in Sedona. I got heatstroke from being out in the desert all day.”

You rocked back your head and groaned at the mere memory, playing up your annoyance for them, “I had to shove a bag of ice down his pants. And both armpits. Both! He’d sweat off all his deodorant, Sam! Fuckin’ unbearable. Never met anybody half as stubborn. Or smelly.”

Dean spun around, spread his arms to the room, and bowed at the waist like a humble prince. “What can I say? I’m a ladies' man.”

You were glad that, at least on the surface level, that was a happy memory for Dean. The two of you and John had been out in the desert all day, searching for where your woman in white had been buried, John barking at you to force something out of your gift and you barking at Dean to go back to the motel. You still carried the vivid image of his neck shining red in the high noon sun, the back of his shirt dark with sweat as he staggered along. John was no help in trying to convince Dean to take a break. After you’d snarled at him with an impressive amount of disgust for a girl your age, John had ordered you—and a swaying, incoherent Dean—back to the motel. Dean must’ve been too comatose to remember that part, but at least he remembered the better half: laying in your lap on the motel bed, while you dipped your hands in ice water and ran them through his hair. You’d put on Terminator 2 for him and fed him cold ice cream cake, mind flushed with unchecked fantasies of loading him into the Impala and driving as far away as you could.

You hadn’t even had your license, but the way Dean had been prepared to chug on for another four hours if you hadn’t tormented John into sending you back… and John would’ve let him…

Now, Dean swung around to turn off one of the lamps, giving you a glimpse at the spray of freckles on the back of his neck. You looked guiltily away from the result of the sunburn. “All right,” he said, “so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it.”

Sam was still looking at the article. “She might have another weakness.”

“Or something else keeping her here,” you added, carefully picking at the emotions you’d felt on the bridge. They seemed separate from you, now, less like something you’d felt and more like the lingering emotions of an argument you’d resolved or a weird movie you’d watched.

“Well, Dad would wanna make sure.” Dean started to pry off his jacket, the buttons on the collar jingling against each other, “He’d dig her up. It say where she’s buried?”

You shook your head. “No. Or if she was cremated.”

“If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband.” Sam tapped the article, drawing your eye to a picture of Joseph Welch. Whatever lingered from the spirit’s tap into your mind made your stomach clench just seeing his face. “If he’s still alive. This article’s from 1981.”

Dean scratched his chin. “All right. Why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address, and I’ll go pick up some food.”

The promise of lunch was so alluring that you and Sam groaned in mutual starvation, and Dean went out of the room blowing kisses and humble of courses, in typical Queen of England fashion. You already had half an order formulated via text by the time the door shut. It was a good thing he’d escaped on time too, because Sam’s stomach was making the room shudder.

“Could you go grab us a room?” Sam asked, rubbing his stomach, “Use the cash Dean gave me. I think I’m gonna…”

He stopped. Concerned, you rotated carefully around the salt circle on the floor to join him by the mirror on the wall. At first you thought the rosary hanging from it had grabbed his attention, but the sag to his shoulders indicated the small picture stuck in the frame instead. Sam plucked it free, holding it in one shaking hand and sinking a few inches into the floor.

You gave him a moment, then braced his trembling wrist with a squeeze, teasing. “I wonder who those two cute little rascals are.”

In the photo (which must’ve been more than ten years old), John, Dean and Sam were sitting on the hood of the Impala, the youngest in his father’s lap and grinning that toothy grin that you hadn’t seen Sam wear in years. Dean wasn’t trying to look cool or sly; he just leaned in with his cheek on John’s jacket, freckled and just… tiny. So tiny. You could hardly believe any of you had been that young.

“I think your mom took this picture,” Sam murmured. He stuffed it into his jacket, and you didn’t comment on it or the hollow look on his face.

“I have whole bins of photo albums back home, brimming with pictures like that…” You smiled to yourself. “I haven’t looked through them in forever. Sometime, you should bring Jess up for the weekend and I can embarrass you with all the cute photos of us as kids.”

Sam tilted back his head, giggling, “Maybe, yeah. I dunno if Jess needs any more ammo against me. And some of them, uh, might be incriminating…”

You’re sure he means the random occult objects and the like caught in the background, but you can’t help but bump your hip against his and snort, “Oh, I agree. Those pictures of you and Dean dressed up as Batman and Robin are so adorable, they’re illegal.”

Now that he’s softened up a bit, you’re tempted to ask him what he and Dean had argued about earlier. For Sam, that wouldn’t be an out-of-line question to ask, and if you did then he’d likely give you at least the short answer. But the more you learn about John’s reasons for leaving… the longer you’re realizing this trip is going to take. The longest Dean could usually stand you was a month, then you toed the line a little far with your Gift and he’d drop you off to take a hunt by himself. It was normal for people in close quarters to get itchy after a while, but the armor Dean would slowly build up when you’d finished his sentences one too many times could hurt. It wasn't his fault or yours—Dean was protective of his privacy, and the boys always softened you so much you forgot about stifling your Gift altogether, the way you did with your mom. You shouldn't have to hide and Dean shouldn't have to have someone glimpsing his thoughts. Still… it hurt more than it should.

You don’t know what it’d do to you, if Sam was the one needing a break from you that way. Sometimes you couldn’t help your Gift. But if you wanted to last more than three weeks with the boys, you would need to learn how. Maybe it’d be best to use it only for the hunt, and give Dean and Sam some room to get used to each other again. Yeah. That sounded workable.

Like he could sense you resolving to stay out of things, Sam hefted up the trunk on John's bed and made room for the two of you to sit. “But hey, before then, we've got a little time…” He plopped down. “Catch me up on your psychic stuff?”

You winced when he moved John's trunk, but his inviting, careful smile made the room feel less like a mausoleum that shouldn’t be disturbed. Careful not to break the salt line on the carpet, you took the spot next to him and tried to think.

“You don't talk about it much over the phone,” Sam commented.

“It makes it seem silly, I guess,” you rubbed your palms down your knees. You tried not to talk about hunting on the phone with him too, because someone could overhear and talking about hunting usually meant talking about Dean. It surprised you that they were already on the road to making up—but then again, they’d been attached at the hip for so long… “And I'd rather tell you in person. It's… hard to explain.”

“Well, here I am, live and in person,” Sam folded his hands in his lap, giving your shoulder a playful nudge and you a shy smile. “Hit me.”

Suddenly having your powers under the spotlight like this made you totally blank. Searching for a place to start, you asked him, “...What do you remember my Gift being like?”

Sam tilted his head, bangs waving to one side with the direction of his thoughts. He played with the bracelet on his wrist. “You could pick up… vibes, I guess, is the word I'm looking for. Sometimes you saw apparitions when we went hunting. From the start you could touch people and see things—their memories, or their feelings and thoughts.”

And if you hadn't been raised with him, you would've never noticed how hard he was playing subtle, adding, “And dreams. You had dreams of things… happening.”

Okay. Pushing that weird reaction into the back of your mind for later, you abandoned the bed and immediately started to pace. “Damn—well, a month or two after you… left, everything started... doubling. It wasn't triggered by a hunt or anything, I was just at home, n’ Dean was over making dinner. Those awesome fuckin’ chili bowls he makes—anyway, I went to bed and Dean couldn't wake me up the next day. We were halfway to the hospital when I woke up in the car, completely fine, and after that my Gift was… bigger. Broader.”

Sam's frown made his entire face look jagged and worn. “Dean never told me about that.”

“I mean, it was nothing. I wasn't hurt, there wasn't any lasting damage…” You shrugged, gut dropping into your toes. Shit. He looked hurt you hadn't called. “You know if it was anything serious I would come out of a coma to make Dean get you, right? But it wasn't serious. He took me to my mom's, and she said that I barely felt different. My powers had just… matured really fast.”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, eyes wide, and stared into the middle distance in thought. “Psychic puberty?”

You stopped putting a trench in the floor and set your hands on your hips. “I dunno. Part two?”

For a long moment, Sam drew in a cavernous breath and stared through the wallpaper. You deflated a little. This seemed like Sam’s normal heavy, thought-filled pauses, just heavier. “I mean, when we were kids, it wasn’t exactly that. You just… had it. You used to faint, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s normal,” you said, and Sam shot you a look that made you add, “—for us. My mom fainted when her powers were developing, and so did my Grandma before that. But neither of them ever had a black-out episode like mine.”

Sam had moved into Stage Three of Deep Sam Thinking, which involved a hand on his chin and a hard squint. He rubbed his jaw, and you were struck by the fact that he was here, next to you, after two years of only his voice. Whatever had brought on the nostalgia urged you to sit next to him again, and Sam shuffled back so it was easier for him to look at you.

“But that’s just when I started noticing things—” you said, just as Sam built up the courage to ask, “Did you dream about anything?”

You stared at him. He stared at you. “During my episode? Yeah, how’d you know?”

Sam didn’t answer your question. “What did you dream about?”

“Oh,” you balked, and any attempts to hide it were useless against him—Sam’s eyes were big and soulful, like your response to his interrogation would make or break him. That kind of hyper-focus from him made tougher hunters than you melt. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. A nightmare or some kind of vision. But I don’t really remember it.”

Sam exhaled through his nose, realizing you were getting suspicious of him. “Sorry,” he ran a hand through his hair, eyes creasing with apology, “I interrupted you. That was just the start?”

You put a hand on the back of his arm, like it would be possible to coax out whatever he was thinking with a little affection. Then you remembered: you already had. Sam had shown you before, the moment you’d reunited, and the memory of just what he’d been worried about rattled through your skeleton like a cold wind.

“Your nightmares,” you sat up, holding tighter to him, “you’ve been having nightmares too. About—?”

The hand you had on his arm was covered by Sam’s, which was twice as big and twice as warm. It came with twice as much warning, too. Drop it. “I’m okay. Just, uh, just a stupid thought. Your blackout was just the start of everything, you said?”

You blinked at him, and Sam did an excellent impression of Dean avoiding the subject. Two years apart had done nothing to their similarities, then. You knew it would take nuclear warfare, an apocalypse, and the weight of Mount Rushmore to make Sam even consider not emulating his big brother. If it hadn’t been two years and you weren’t a little scared of where the boundary line stood, you might have pushed it.

But Sam looked so anxious. You let it go.

“Yeah,” you swallowed, “Yeah. That happened, and then I could do so much more. Everything that my mom had to struggle for and learn, I stumbled on overnight. The things she can do: reading people without touching them, getting visions when she’s awake, n-not always fainting when she gets them… I can just do them now. This never happened to her, my grandma, or anybody else. A-and I don’t know why.”

Sam’s brows ticked up with concern, all gooey and understanding. It was awful, how good he was at throwing his own feelings under the rug and stomping right over it for others. “I don’t know about you, but this doesn’t necessarily sound like a bad thing. You’re not fainting anymore, you’re getting stronger… This just means you’ll be able to protect yourself more.”

“And other people,” you added. That must’ve been your impression of Dean, because Sam scoffed through his nose the way he did when Dean said something too in character. You were all caricatures of each other, sometimes. “I dunno. I’m just… I don’t like what this could mean, me falling out of pattern…”

“Whatever it is,” Sam’s hand closed on top of yours, “we’ll figure it out together, okay? You don’t have to worry.”

Your heart picked up like a starting gun had fired, taking off on racing hooves too fast for you to catch. Just as quickly as it’d pitched up, it slowed in realization. Sam still had his interview. This promise, if it lived past this weekend, would be a long-distance one. As soon as disappointment starts to settle in your stomach, you remind yourself of all the little things you imagined Sam doing in the last two years: studying in the library and falling asleep in his coffee, staying up late with Jess to watch Criminal Minds, floating through all of his classes, in his element. He could be safe. Far away from here, but safe. How long had you been wishing that for him, anyway?

Sam followed you down to the front desk, where you got the three of you a room with two queens. It was easy for him to find Welch’s address, so Sam spent a few minutes listening to Jessica’s messages from the night before and making one of his own, guest-starring you. He was so bubbly just thinking about her. You’d seen plenty of the boys’ dates come and go, but Sam had always been a little too nervous to get too invested. Even if it was only once or twice, you’d kill to meet Jess—she seemed to represent everything that had changed about Sam.

Dean shouldered open the door just a minute later, towing some takeout bags and bringing with him a chilled swell of fall air. He was doing an impressive balancing act, eating a burger as he walked, cradling your food and Sam’s, while fighting to shrug off one of the sleeves of his coat. You were already on your feet to relieve him before the door was fully shut.

“Find it?” He asked, still chewing. You dropped the plastic bag on one of the beds as Sam rattled off the address. “Good! I’m poppin’ in the shower, then we can head out,” Dean scooped up his open tray bridal-style, “n’ your coming with me, pretty girl.”

Your brain stalled, heat crawling up your neck—until you saw the intimate moment Dean and his burger were having. The words you planned to say fell right out of your mouth, and thankfully, Sam picked them up for you: “Hey, man, ____ was thinking that Joseph might be a little skittish, by the looks of his address—maybe he doesn’t need three ‘reporters’ hounding him. She and I can leave to talk to him now, and meet up with you later about what we find?”

Halfway through his burger already, Dean winked. “Sounds like a plan. M’ gonna check Dad’s room, see if there’s anything in there I missed. You two crazy kids be careful.”

“Who you calling kids?”

In slow motion, you and Sam fell into the front seats of the car and shut your doors in unison. A thoughtful silence filled the Impala. The fields outside Joseph Welch’s house were alive with fizzing cicadas and other chirping bugs, the tall, blonde grass swaying in the wind. It was sunset now, so the front windshield was a whiskey color in the light. Evenings like this brought you back to when you’d walk the woods around Bobby’s house with the boys, eating off the blackberry bushes and throwing them at each other. Remembering something so innocent at a time like this made your chest swell with guilt.

“You didn’t have to go so hard on him,” you murmured, trying to be playful.

Sam’s version of hard was very different from Dean’s, who you were used to playing alongside as the good cop. However, you realized now that you’d never seen Sam work a suspect before, and like everything else, he was unfortunately good at it.

“I needed to get a reaction out of him, see if he was lying about his and Constance’s perfect marriage.” Sam frowned to one side like he wasn’t all that pleased about it either. He jammed the key in the ignition and shot you a look, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged a shoulder and ran your hands down your pant legs. “Yeah. Just, some jobs get to you more than others. Can you even imagine? Being so heartbroken that you drown your own children?”

Sam put the car in reverse, frowning into his dimples. “No, I don’t think I can… Just think of it this way: soon, Constance will be put to rest and everyone can finally move on from what’s happened. All of this will be over, n’ everyone will be safe.”

You couldn’t conjure anything to say to that, so you accepted it with a nod and dissolved into your thoughts. It was natural at this point to roll down your window and lean out to clear your head with a little breeze therapy. The sunset wouldn’t last for long, so you tried to enjoy it to smooth yourself over for what was ahead. Joseph Welch had cheated on his wife, and his wife had in turn killed their children and herself for what had happened. She was, without a doubt, a woman in white, which meant that you’d have to salt and burn her. You didn’t always get so mushy on a hunt; maybe it was Sam’s influence.

Once you were off the back-road that led to Joseph’s property, Sam slid his cell out of his coat and shook his head, brow worried. “I just don’t understand why Dad hadn’t salt-n-burned her. If he was here, n’ he’d talked to Joseph, then the first thing he would’ve done was take care of the body.”

“Maybe he did. Maybe that’s not what she’s attached to,” you offered, one elbow out the open window. “Or he could’ve skipped town halfway through, right where we’ve found ourselves. Did Dean get anything?”

Sam gave his phone to you. “Can you check for a text?”

You blinked slowly at him, forgetting for a moment which brother you were talking to, and accepted the phone with a vicious smile. “Of course Sam Winchester doesn’t text and drive. You’re adorably responsible, you know that?”

Sam blew his bangs out of his eyes, pouting. “What? It’s dangerous,” he said, and you knew instantly by the tone of his voice that he hadn’t been marked off once on his driver’s test. “Don’t look at me like that, ____. Just because I do monster-dangerous doesn’t mean I do driving-dangerous.”

You barely subdued the cheek-aching smile that little line gave you as you checked his messages. “No text from Dean, Mr. Driver’s Ed.”

Just to prove how very cool and very non-responsible he was, Sam tipped his head to check the rear-view, then the road ahead, and once it was clear he gave the entire car a very bold swivel in and out of your lane. Once his stunt show was over, he put on a smooth face and waited for you to be impressed.

“Yeah, yeah, you Winchester men are all born-again street racers,” you snorted, patting Sam’s knee, “M’ calling Dean and telling him how wild you’re getting with his car.”

You heard Sam mutter something like, I ain’t scared a’ him, but the motor was loud and the nearly-dead sunset was playing on his profile like it only did in the movies, so you forgot all about it. When Dean picked up your call, you stalled for a moment on the line.

“Sam?” He questioned.

“S’ me, he’s driving,” you spoke. “We talked to Welch—just like we thought, Constance is a woman in white. Their story follows the normal bits of the legend. He said she was buried behind their old house, so that’s where your Dad must’ve gone. Don’t know why he didn’t dig her up, though.”

“Cause he booked it,” Dean snapped. At that, you turned on speakerphone and moved it between the two of you to listen. “Dad did leave Jericho, just like your vision-crap said. And I know where to.”

You glanced worriedly at Sam, who sighed through his nose. “Really? How do you know?”

There was a subtle smack on the other end of the line, then the familiar sound of rifling papers. Dean scoffed, “I found his journal in the motel room.”

Plenty of hunters you knew kept journals, all for the same reasons: necessity, practicality, and then sentiment. Back when all of you had been fighting evil in corsets and buckle shoes, information—like how to kill a werewolf or the signs of demonic possession—was not commonplace. And in a world where your body had to be burned and no literal piece of you could remain on this planet, a hunter’s journal was her will, her body, and her legacy. It was how your generation of hunters had any idea how to do shit. The information had been noted by one perceptive hunter back in ancient times, then a thousand years later dug up by you or Dean or Sam researching on a hunt.

Along with being the entirety of a hunter’s own personal legacy, journals contributed to the greater history of hunting as a being. In simple terms, beyond being resourceful, it was an old hunter tradition—and doing a job as lonely as this one would make anyone want to be a part of something bigger. Hunting often felt like swimming an ocean alone, so participating in an old practice was a reminder that you weren’t alone. All of you were a piece of a community.

You knew that John didn’t care much about the whole brotherhood thing, since he rarely hunted with others. Still, the significance wasn’t lost on you. A hunter’s journal was his body, his legacy. And he’d passed that body, by force or willingly, onto his sons.

“Holy shit,” you said, just as Sam’s shoulders sank. He muttered, “He never goes anywhere without that thing.”

Dean exhaled through his nose. “Yeah, well, he did this time.”

You’d only seen a few select pages of John’s journal, but you suspected it was probably his fifth or sixth, since twenty or so years of hunting definitely filled up more than one book. He’d probably gotten the first one from an older hunter, also per tradition. You’d received yours as a gift from your mom after your first hunt. John had done the same with his boys, and Bobby had made special leather-bound ones for you, Sam, and Dean when you filled up your firsts. The antique shop had a mini-library of them on display, but not for sale, a dozen legacies from people you’d never known. Dean had you convinced to this day that every single one was haunted.

To get—to earn one of those journals was the mark of a real hunter, so you and Dean had been geeking about it long before your first hunts. You’d cleared out the entire sticker bin at the record store for the cover of his book, which was written in an unreadable Hill cipher (and his already eligible handwriting). If the Black Sabbath and AC/DC logos didn’t ward civilian readers away, then the inner contents certainly would. Sam’s was inviting by comparison. Everything was written in his perfectly printed script, on lined paper, with annotated, color-coordinated sticky notes you’d bought him yourself. You’d never seen Sam as enthusiastic about hunting as he’d been writing in that thing. In turn, you’d filled your own notebook with colorful glitter pen (from Dean) and a planetary bookmark (from Sam).

Thinking about John’s journal made you realize that, somewhere down the line, you’d stopped writing in yours. In fact, your current journal was probably shoved in your sock drawer. Sam had definitely dropped his somewhere on the way to Stanford. Dean hadn’t touched his in a while, either. It made your chest ache with a curious wistfulness. You knew your body as it was now would never be buried with the Winchesters, but maybe your journal would be in between Sam and Dean’s on an archive shelf someday. That didn’t sound half bad.

“What does it say?” Sam asked, and you blinked your way out of your thoughts.

“Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going,” Dean grouched, “Coordinates, I think.”

Your mouth became a flat line. The sky was dark now, and Sam flicked on the headlights as you asked, “Where to?”

Dean let out a long, frustrated sigh. You could imagine him bent over the table back at the motel, scratching his head and running a careful hand over his father’s words. “...I'm not sure yet.”

The phrase made you clam up. Feeling suddenly cold, you started cranking the window shut and turned on the heat. The airflow didn’t start. You tried it again, but the damn car was messing with you.

“I don't understand,” Sam scowled. He jerked into the next turn a little harsher than usual, coasting you fast around a wide curve in the forest. Despite how fast you were going, the wind seemed to go silent. “I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going on?”

Sam’s knuckles on the wheel turned white. You studied it, and as the entire dash began to double and sway in your vision, you grabbed the edge of the bench with a free hand. A picture flashed in your mind.

“Sam! The road!”

He jammed the brake. The figure on the blacktop didn’t move. For a breathless, soundless moment, the two of you floated off your seats as the car’s momentum hurtled you forward, straining against the lap belts and covering your faces with your arms—you could hear the tires squeal—smell the rubber burning—the figure was bigger and bigger in the headlights—

The car skid right through her.

You came to a brutal stop, and the Impala heaved forward and then settled back on its wheels. Sam’s arm thudded into your chest, pinning you to your seat instead of letting you hit the dash. His phone had spiraled somewhere by your feet. You had a fistful of his shirt in your nearest hand, like you could physically pull him back into safety. Dean was screaming on the other end of the phone. The two of you startled back to life at the same time, gasping for breath and sharing a wild-eyed look—

Constance Welch was in the backseat.

“Take me home.”

The sweet, picturesque woman captured in the newspaper was gone.

Constance’s face was now gaunt and gray, when it wasn’t whirling and flickering the harder you tried to focus on it. Staring at her face for too long put that dragging feeling in your gut, like you were hanging over the edge of an endless fall, and Constance would be there to push you over. It didn’t feel right to call her by her old name, either. She was someone else now. Something else.

“Take me home!” She said again. Her voice punctured the heavy silence like it was coming from the inside of your mind.

Sam found his voice, gasping, “No.”

Her glare turned your blood to ice. All at once, the doors locked with a resounding chk, chk, chk, chk, sealing you and Sam inside. The air turned brittle and cold. You and Sam lurched for the doors anyway, trying to pry them open, but it was no use—

The Impala’s gas pedal depressed, and the wheels stampeded ahead.

When Dean had first gotten the car for his eighteenth birthday, he’d sworn up and down that he’d treat her carefully, and then immediately took you out for a joyride. You remembered how different the car had felt, even if the boys had grown up in it; now that it was Dean’s car, you were twice as excited to see it pull up to your house. He’d driven until you had five miles of straight road between you and the rest of the world. Your heart still fluttered at the memory of him taking your hand, his face close enough to scratch his stubble on your temple, and the rumble of his voice as he told you to count to ten. He’d gunned it. Through shrieking laughter you’d counted, and at ten you were whipping down the road at a hundred miles an hour.

This felt faster than that.

The Impala flew off its tires, the power of the engine vibrating through the entire car. Sam scrambled to get a hold of the wheel as you hurtled toward a turn, but it was whirling back and forth so fast that he recoiled. He hissed at the new scrapes on his hand. Between yelling, gripping your seatbelt for dear life, gripping Sam for dear life, and trying to keep your head from slamming into something, you watched Constance’s form in the backseat vanish.

You whipped to look at Sam, and he glanced at you, the fabric of your furthest shoulder fisted in his hand like that alone could save you in a crash. You could feel the panic in his body turn his grip to steel.

“The house!” You screamed over the roar of the car, “She’s taking us to where she’s buried!”

You almost wanted the drive to last longer—maybe it would give Dean more time to reach you.

Even if he couldn’t, you’d rip her to shreds to protect Sam. You could feel your blood pumping more than anything else, could feel the hot, unpiloted rage Constance had given you before overclocking your mind. Her tears were pouring out of your eyes so hard it felt like your skull was going to explode. The Impala suddenly hurled to the side and thundered fast over a thicket of bushes, flattening them until the overgrown path she’d taken you to looked more like it would’ve years ago. All you could see through the windshield was a wild spasm of snapping branches and twigs, then the shape of a house loomed out in front of the sky.

As sharp as a gunshot, the Impala surged in front of the house and jammed itself to a stop. The engine shut off, and the headlights went with it.

You and Sam could finally hear your strangled breathing again, and your eyes fixated on the steam climbing fast out from under the bonnet, trying to focus. Salt. Iron. Was Sam okay? How close was Dean?

You hate him, Constance’s voice flushed through your mind. Kill him, she begged. He did this to you, he lied to you, she urged.

And for a moment it worked. The hand cupping Sam’s arm over your chest turned into nails, pressing hard into his skin—he cried out, and with a shock you dropped the grip. I hurt him! The realization surged oily guilt through your body, and the overpowering emotion, the complete impossibility of you ever hurting Sam, forced Constance to unshackle the hold she had on your mind.

“Don’t you touch her!” He snarled, which was right when Constance shattered the passenger’s side window with your face.

You came to only a few seconds later, your vision filled with bubbling, constellating black dots. It was so dark without the headlights that you couldn’t see either way. But you could hear Sam roaring with pain, and without thinking, powered by instinct and rage, you jammed your foot under the glove box, hooked the crowbar hidden there up into your hands, and batted Constance into a cloud of smoke. You were only sure it had iron in it once it was over, thanking whoever was out there that Dean was consistent.

An instant later she was in the backseat, and you were swinging again before you could double-check. The faceful of deathly smoke that came afterward confirmed it.

“Come get some, fucker!”

You whirled around, kneeling on the seat and crazed with adrenaline, catching her going for Sam again, and again, whenever she appeared, and then a sluggish arm hauled you into the shield of Sam’s bloody chest—

“I’m taking you home,” he sneered, and the Impala kicked forward.

You woke up pinned between the wheel and Sam’s ribs, the crowbar clutched still in your sweaty grip. The air reeked of rotten wood, metal, and sawdust, which you hacked up, sputtering and coughing as you dragged yourself off Sam as best you could. You managed to get onto your knees, stabilizing yourself with one hand and trying not to sway. Sam’s seat was pushed back. You blinked at him in the dark, coughing wetly. There may have been bits of glass in your face, but Sam...

His hoodie was open. He was bleeding. A sudden cold flushed down your spine—Constance, she was here still, you needed to protect Sam—

The passenger’s side door wrenched open, spraying broken glass across the seat. Every muscle in your body tensed, and on instinct, your grip tightened on your weapon and you blindly swung behind you, snarling like an animal.

“Jesus!” Dean yelled. His hands were raised in surrender, “It’s me, s’ me! You’re okay, I’ve got you—c’mere, we’ve gotta get Sam out—”

The familiar image of Dean, shaken and opening his arms to you, ripped you back to the present. You instantly flew into his hold, letting him haphazardly pull you from the wreckage with your hands scrambling across the back of his jacket. You could care less how he'd gotten here, whether he'd stolen a car or fuckin' ran, blinded by adrenaline and relief at the sight of his face. The sight of yours made him wince. Constance introducing you the window must've looked worse than it felt. He propped you against the side of the car, cooing reassurances, and once he was sure his pretty face wasn’t going to be rearranged, trusted you with the crowbar again.

Standing there as he gave Sam a hand out, you clutched the iron like a bat and scanned the room. The Impala had shoved the ragged dining room into the kitchen of the first floor, which now had an open floor plan. Pieces of fence, porch railing and the front door hung on the hood of the car. The only thing that had survived the house’s decay and Sam’s greeting were the stairs.

At the base of them, more solid than you’d ever seen her, was Constance.

There was a heavy photograph in her hands, and her back was turned to you. Immediately, you pushed off the car, stormed forward and heaved the iron over your head. A hand on your arm reeled you back.

“Wait,” Sam warned. His weight was almost entirely on Dean’s arm, but he was okay. Both of them were. You felt the raw muscles in your hands relax, almost dropping your weapon in the process.

Constance looked up at the word. In the swirling void of her face you could almost make out something that surprised you. Beside the burning, world-shattering rage and all-consuming grief that she’d been showing you for the last day, there was something new which Sam had recognized: fear.

She threw down the portrait with silent disdain, and the second it shattered a bureau flew away from the wall and pinned you to the too-hot bonnet of the Impala. Dean and Sam were forced apart as the bureau crammed you in between them, wedging the heavy wood against your hips and burning the bases of your spines on the steaming car. You screamed as the boys hollered in pain, which began a desperate but short-lived struggle to break free.

Constance’s figure closed in, her image stuttering and doubling like a technical glitch. This close, you watched the human piece of her melt away, and then she looked indescribable—like grief, like loss, like malice, like regret. She was featureless. Bodiless.

Her hand raised, reaching. Then, like a fire being lit, the sconces in the stairwell began to flicker.

Constance turned to meet them, slowly, hauntingly, written all over with fear. There was the squeak of a faucet turning, and you paused your struggle at the sound of flowing water. Dean reached across you to fist Sam’s shoulder, bracing you close to him. Each of you forgot how to breathe.

Ushered forward, by her own will or something stronger, Constance turned to face the glow billowing from the top of the steps. From here, you could only make out the shadows of their stringy wet hair and soaked clothes. Constance’s face, her human face, explained everything else. You flinched; the two children were suddenly behind her, and before Constance could take them in, apologize, or speak for what she’d done, a ferocious white light struck the room, expanding out with the pressure of a sonic boom. A scream ripped so viciously through the air that your ears rung.

It cleared. The bureau tipped back and crashed to the floor. Everything went dark, but heat glowed beneath your eyelids from the sudden burst of light.

You wobbled on your feet. Somewhere along the way your crowbar had thudded aside, but your first instinct wasn’t to reach for it. Instead, your hand felt around until it was closed around Dean’s sleeve, and the other cupped the top of Sam’s back. It took a full minute for the pins-and-needles feeling to begin to pass, but you knew you’d be feeling it for several days afterwards. You imagined it was how all spirits felt, intangible yet overloaded with sensation.

“Holy shit,” you spoke for the three of you.

Dean was working his jaw and blinking furiously, no doubt trying to force some feeling back into it. He peeled his boots off the floor and teetered around to Sam’s other side, tilting one way to peer up the steps. “So this is where she drowned her kids…”

Sam did his best to nod, but it looked more like he was dipping in and out of consciousness. “That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.”

Seeing as it’d been two years since Sam had been in the game, you felt your heart fill with quiet pride and terrible pain. None of you could ever escape this. Dean, of course, held a different opinion, and dipped to support Sam’s other shoulder with a blazing smile. “You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.”

“I just drove,” Sam mumbled, smiling dryly, “____ was the one taking a swing at Casper half-conscious.”

“You animal,” Dean’s eyes gleamed up at you in the dark, “Almost took my teeth out with that thing. Remind me not to mess with you, Mean Swing.”

You shrugged a shoulder, warmed all over with relief, love, and probably a little blood. “I’m useful beyond being eye-candy and team morale, y'know,” you smiled, and the boys dropped their heads to snicker.

Team. The word, even as a substitute for something else, was familiar and welcome. When Sam had conspired with you four years ago to do pre-law online, you’d urged him, practically begged him to do it, even if it’d felt like a crossroad’s contract. You knew that the time you had with him would be cut short. That was only four years to treasure your childhood with him and Dean, which had turned into two after John found out. It’d been like watching yourself bleed out, knowing Sam was going to leave—and he’d taken your youth and everything that made it worth surviving right along with him.

You never thought you’d see those golden summer days again; learning to hunt with the boys, saving people with the boys, storytelling and dreaming and growing with them. Each of those rose-colored memories had a padlock on them now. Good things like that never lasted long in this world, not for you. Sam would graduate to be some big top lawyer with an innocent, happy family, and you and Dean would watch from afar but never come close enough to infect. Your path had forked a long time ago.

But here, it’d connected one last time. Maybe as a parting gift. One last hunt with your boys, before Sam was safe from it all and you and Dean drove off without him.

It was supposed to give you closure.

Yet here you were, selfishly yearning for more time.

PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA - NOV. 2nd, night.

The rain died out a few miles out from Sam’s apartment.

You tried to stay awake through the drive, knowing they’d be your last moments with Sam for a long time, but the soft coo of their voices in the front seat, combined with the rain on the car, knocked you out hard. The Impala’s backseat was still curved to your shape. After the most comfortable sleep you’d had in months, you woke up slowly and apologized to Dean; right now was about when you’d switch off. He could drive Baby forever, but you had a rule about being at the wheel with such little sleep, and Dean hadn’t even thought about a bed since before he’d picked you up. It seemed he didn’t want to miss his time with Sam, either.

Unfortunately, the ride to California flew by, even with Dean avoiding interstates and going the speed limit. Since the way to Sam had dragged, his stories about Jess and “home” (not Bobby’s, not your mom’s, not even the Impala) stole the time. You’d also looked into the coordinates John had passed on, which would take the three of you—the two of you up to Colorado.

You pretended you were glad. But it was hard to be glad about Sam living the apple pie life when all you could focus on was how you were going to say goodbye to him. Worse: none of this felt final. It would’ve been easier if you couldn’t imagine you and Dean picking up Sam again next weekend, and finding some other small way to save the world before Monday. When had you gotten so selfish?

At around two or three in the morning, Sam started to recognize street signs. The Impala put a Herculean effort into pulling into the lot, a pregnant silence filling its interior, and it was barely parked when you flung yourself out of the backseat. Sam stepped out too. Dragging his feet, Dean left the key in the ignition and trudged into the circle of amber light cast by a street lamp outside Sam’s building.

You tried to compose yourself, but the corners of your lip burned with the effort. The street was dead quiet and cold, so your shaky breath was seen and heard to both brothers, who sagged in tandem. You just stood there, trying to summon something to say, but all you could think was, it’s over, it’s over, why aren’t I happy for him?

But of course, these were the boys you’d grown up with. You and Sam had shared cribs as toddlers, for god’s sake, and Dean himself had taught you how to drive and bought you your first drink. There were no two men who knew you better in this world, so you didn’t need to say a single thing.

Sam drew you into a deep, leeching hug, and that was enough to get your shoulders hitching with your sobs. At first it was gentle, a hug for you, then one of his breaths came a little too sharp and Sam’s hold became near-bruising, for himself and no one else. One of his palms cupped the back of your head. The gesture was small, but for whatever reason it almost made you lose it—so with the last of your rationality, you peeled yourself away from him.

You looked to Dean. He was trying his hardest to be nonchalant, even awkwardly half-smiling as if he had any will to joke left in him, and like Dean always did when he needed you, he gently clutched the back of your jacket. The familiar weight settled warmly on your shoulders. At least you still had him. For that reason, you spoke for him now.

“We love you, Sammy,” you sniffed into your sleeve, “Don’t worry about me and Dean, okay? I’ll take care a’ your brother and he’ll take care a’ me. Get some sleep, have a big breakfast, give Jess a kiss for us, and then go destroy that interview. Okay?”

Sam nodded. The line of his mouth was hard and he wasn’t letting you see how wet his eyes were, his shadow crossing with yours on the pavement.

You tried to laugh, but it came out delirious and tear-soaked. “If one of us goes to jail, we’re gonna need a really good lawyer.”

To your surprise, his eyes heaved away from the concrete and looked past you to Dean, a smile on his face. “I’ll be the best,” he swore, “...and we’ll meet up later, okay?”

Sam took two steps forward, crossing a mile-wide chasm to open his hand to his older brother.

“Call me if you find him?”

John. Right. This was all because John was missing. That had never left Dean’s mind like it’d left yours, though, because he gave a stiff nod and found the strength to take Sam’s hand. You thought that they would shake on it, but Sam could read the grief in Dean even better than you could. They embraced, and after that first touch, without any reservation, Dean returned it.

“Yeah,” Dean cleared the frog in his throat, “Yeah, alright.”

Sam adjusted his bag on his shoulder, then leaned down so you were eye to eye with him. Your brain stalled, but it caught up when Sam gave a teasing dip of his cheek in your direction.

Immediately, you laid the back of your hand against his face, and for once allowed the connection to have equal input.

Just as you were greeted with Sam’s regret, his gratitude, and his love, you greeted him with something of your own. You showed him a memory from before all of this had started, when Dean had parked in front of Sam’s apartment and stared up at his window for hours, praying for the first time in his life—praying that his brother, his kid, wouldn’t push him away. It was a plea: Please. Call him. Talk to him, like you talk to me.

You turned your hand over to stroke Sam’s cheek, and he nodded into your palm, face too deep in shadow to read. “I promise,” his voice broke.

You stepped back to Dean’s side. Sam gave you both long, wet looks, putting on that sweet, toothy grin only his younger self knew, and disappeared into the curling shadows behind the front gate. The rattle of the metal on its hinges as it closed played through your mind on loop.

In the same breath that Dean slid a finger through one of the belt loops on your hip, you ran your hand under his jacket and scratched gently at his undershirt, pulling each other closer.

You didn’t look at him, and Dean didn’t look at you. You’d already had to watch Sam cry.

Somehow, the two of you managed to load back into the car. You took your old spot in the front seat, still warm from Sam’s body heat, and wallowed there as Dean shifted the Impala into drive. The streetlight cut the edges of all shadows sharper, which turned the bone-deep exhaustion on his face into a scythe. It struck you then how young Dean was. Having his experience and his influence above you for long, you forgot often he was only two years your senior. You forgot how young you both were, despite what you were dealing with.

You wanted to reassure him, but the future hadn’t given you anything yet. He needed proof, real proof, that everything would be alright, and right now that wasn’t something you could give to him.

Before he pulled out of the lot, Dean ducked his head and stared into his lap, one hand on the wheel. “So…” he cleared his throat, “where to?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but paused at the weight in his expression. This was not a, where are we going next? But a, are you coming with me? It honestly made you wonder what kind of friend you were if Dean didn’t know the answer to that question—and he did, but after all the bad luck he’d had, Dean couldn’t believe that anyone would stick around. Even you. That, at least, was something you could prove to him.

Scooting closer to his side of the car, you gently turned his chin so he was facing you. Sighing through his nose, Dean’s dewy eyes flickered from the dash to you, more brown than green, and in exchange you made it obvious you were admiring him. A little humor came back into his eyes. Maybe boosting his ego wasn’t the smartest way to cheer him up, but you were both stupid. You wished you had the strength to say it, but there were upsides to this: Sam would be safe, doing something he loved, and you and Dean would be on the road together again. That was better than anything else you’d been stuck with, anyway.

“A motel, definitely a motel. We haven’t slept in forever, Dean. Then? Colorado,” you relaxed back in your seat, giving him some time to compose himself while you fought with your seatbelt. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Winchester.”

Dean finally stopped taking you in like this was the last time he’d ever see you, and finally started to drive. He pulled out to the right and then spurred out of the parking lot. Between keeping his eyes on the road, you could feel him stealing looks at you, admiring you as you had him—realizing you were the last thing the other had.

“Card’s nearly dead, you know. Are you prepared to share a single with me? I haven’t showered in, like, a week.” Dean rumbled.

You snorted, swiping the tear streaks out from under your eyes. It was nothing short of impressive how ready he was for you to bolt. “And you think I have? We’ll suffer with each other. Snuggle and rent Terminator or something.”

“T2?” Dean suggested. He almost sounded excited.

Maybe if you could make this next week good for him, you could both scrape through your Sam withdrawals without burning up inside. You could make it for Dean. You always had, before.

Feeling a headache coming on, you bent forward, rubbing circles into the pressure at the center of your forehead. “Gah,” you complained, “I can’t wait to go to… to, uh… sleep...”

When you opened your eyes again, you were in a vision.

The apartment was dark but warm, the air flush with sticky summer humidity, thick enough that a match might set the whole apartment alight. You welcomed the contrast to the chilly parking lot and padded down the hall in your socks, wondering why Jess was in the shower so late at night. You paused outside the bathroom door… She had probably just waited up for you. The hunt and Dean and ____—they’d all set you on edge, that was all. At least she wouldn’t see you crying.

Tossing your travel bag down by the bed, you let the texture of Jess’s signature cookies melt in your mouth and collapsed face-first into the mattress, still chewing. The clean smell of laundry detergent in the sheets still surprised you, after so many years in shitty motels—

Something wet dripped onto your neck. You startled up onto your hands, feeling the hot liquid slide down your skin and into your shirt.

Turning onto your back, you flinched as another droplet hit your cheek.

Then, you saw her.

Every streetlight on the block had burst. Without them, the only light to be found was the unnerving flash of red and blue police cruisers, firetrucks, and an ambulance. You doubted you could ever think of this night outside those two frames. There were the deep blues of Dean’s haunted silhouette among the crowd of observers, then the deeper reds outlining the stillness in Sam’s shoulders. You felt like the lightless void in between them, swallowed whole by what you’d seen in that apartment—by what Sam had seen now, and what Dean had seen when he was four.

Your hands were still shaking, but you hid it by turning your rings around your fingers in one hand, feeling stupid for wearing them. They were supposed to bring good luck. They were supposed to ward away evil. But you’d never felt anything eviler than that thing inside that apartment, the thing that’d killed Jessica Moore. Mary Winchester. God knows who else.

And you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d seen that vision before.

Sam’s face was soot-stained, soaked with tears, and yet harder than you’d ever seen it. Nothing about the soft baby-face you adored had changed, but something behind it was hollowed out and ransacked, a violated grave. He’d spent the last hour rifling ceaselessly through the trunk of the car, searching for the imaginary weapon that could finish this. Every once in a while he paused to scrub at his neck. You stood behind him, mindlessly rubbing his back and watching the too-black smoke whirl into the moonless sky.

Dean emerged from the crowd of on-lookers soon after, face somber and cold. Without a word, he filled the empty space at Sam’s other side, and together you watched his younger brother throw a shotgun into the trunk and shut the spare tire compartment. He grit his teeth.

For the first time in hours, Sam spoke:

“We’ve got work to do.”

NEXT PART: wendigo, p1.

#supernatural #uncouthspn #sam winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you

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talesofstyles · 4 years ago

Text

The Law of Attraction

buckle up my little ballsacks you’re in for a treat. this is pure lawyer harry filth. honestly i’ve got no excuse.

massive massive thank you to @smokeinherperfume for letting me ramble about lawyer harry 24/7 and @for-fucks-sake-h for allllll the knife emojis FGHSHSGSGH ILY 🥺💛

p.s. all of my fics about lawyer harry are standalones so you don’t have to read them in order. but just fyi technically this one happens after Quid Pro Quo. hope you like it! xx

An orgasm crashes through YN’s body, causing her back to arch in her chair and her fingers to tug hard at the hair of the man who’s working his tongue between her legs. It’s half three on a Wednesday, and instead of skimming through stacks of her clients’ contracts trying to find loopholes or go through the first set of Interrogatories once again before she sends it to the opposing counsel later today; she’s got her former-nemesis-turned-best-friend kneeling before her chair, her skirt hiked up around her waist and her knickers haphazardly pulled to the side. She lets out a groan, which only eggs him on, and he lashes his tongue against her even harder.

“Enough,” she mutters weakly, her voice barely audible and she’s not even sure if he even heard it. She pushes his head away from her, but the stubborn sod only swats her hands away while growling and doubles up on his efforts. She can feel him shaking his head as he licks and sucks away, slipping his finger deep inside her the second she closes her eyes and proceeds to bring her to another shattering orgasm in just under two minutes.

She slaps her hand over her mouth as she reaches her high again, and Harry looks at her with a satisfied smile, before licking his shiny wet lips without breaking eye contact. The sight alone is almost enough to make her want to shove his head back to where it was half a minute ago. “Feel better?”

“Mhm,” she hums happily and Harry’s lips quirk into a gentle smirk. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he replies as he stands up, before leaning over to button their lips together in a quick kiss.

“I think the pleasure’s all mine, but let’s rectify that,” she mutters as she pulls away. “What do you want? You tell me and I’ll give it to you. Do you want me to get you off slowly or do you want to fuck my mouth?”

“Fuck,” he groans in frustration. “You’re gonna kill me here. I’ve got a deposition in- shit, two minutes. I’ve got to go now. Catch ya later doll.”

She shakes her head, chuckling as she watches him rushing out of her office. “Later, shithead.”

Isn’t it just funny how the universe works sometimes? Six months ago they couldn’t even be in the same room without having a scream-whisper match, but here they are half a year later, happily handing each other orgasms like sweets on Halloween. Harry didn’t even know exactly what was bothering her today. He just sensed that she was in a real mood when he swung by her office, so instead of splitting a packet of KitKats right on the dot at three o’clock like usual, he closed the door and switched on the panel by the door so the transparent glass wall turned translucent to give them privacy, and then he went down on her without saying another word.

The perks of being friends instead of foes with Harry is that she gets to find out that Harry’s oral skills are not limited to advocacy and sarcasm. And not to mention that he’s a very generous man. Sure, it’s not a trait particularly needed in a best friend and colleague, but fuck if that’s not something that is much appreciated. At first, obviously it wasn’t easy for YN to hang the white flag above her head. Her ego was badly bruised when the firm made Harry Senior Partner instead of her in the beginning of the year, making her feel that all the long hours and the all-nighters she’d pulled were all for nothing. She felt like she gave up her social life for nothing, basically put her life on hold for nothing and gave her all to her firm for nothing. She felt unappreciated, and the easiest target to channel all her anger and frustration was Harry. Because come on, who else was she supposed to be mad at? Her boss? It’d be like being mad at Gandhi.

It definitely got much easier when she finally let the resentment go, the fact that he was the one being promoted. Especially knowing well the reason was only because he came from a bigger law firm, and that he came bearing gifts—the gifts being five huge clients from his old firm—when he came into her firm earlier this year. She’s accepted the fact that him being promoted instead of her doesn’t mean that she’s not a damn good lawyer. Hell, she’s got a hundred percent win record to prove that. It was easier to hate him when she didn’t know him, but as they began working on cases together and she got the chance to get to know him more, she knew he deserved it.

If you ask YN, she’d most likely tell you that having a work husband surely beats having an enemy in the office. She loves having Harry as her best friend, her most trusted legal confidant when she needs to strategise on a case and well, as an occasional lover on a bad day. He is her number one ally and advisor, the person she can laugh with and be stressed with, have politically incorrect conversations with, and give her bone-deep honest opinions to. He supports her and helps her with her cases—not that she needs help because again, she’s one hell of a lawyer, but it’s surely nice to have an extra brain in the case sometimes.

Fuck, she really does owe Harry a good one tonight for giving her a nice distraction.

A ding sound from her phone brings her back to reality. She darts her eyes at her phone for a second, and she lets out a heavy sigh when she reads the name on the screen. It’s a text to confirm the dinner meeting tonight at The Berkeley, definitely one that she can’t avoid since he’s a huge client, but more importantly, one that she dreads to meet.

You see, there’s a large part of life that we call normalcy. Eat, sleep, take a shower. Wearing underwear inside our clothes instead of outside like Batman and Superman. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Most people drink coffee in the morning. Thirty minutes of cardio three times a week.

As pathetic as this may sound, pining for Luke, that said client who also happens to be her ex-boyfriend has been YN’s normalcy for the past two years. Luckily, his company is her client and not the man himself so she got away with keeping contact to a bare minimum. Meeting him only about two to three times a year and only when it’s absolutely necessary and cannot be handled by his General Counsel. But apparently, his step-father decided to retire and pass his hotel business to him—honestly, as if he’s not bloody minted already—and he needs her now more than ever because even though he knows his way around the business world, this whole thing is a new territory for him.

This is the second time in a week that he’s arranged a meeting and only God knows how many more meetings with him she could take. Because, as always, his presence means the absence of her sanity. And she hates it.

Welcome to YN’s fucked up life.

***

“I still don’t know why you want me to go with you,” Harry says, turning to look at her when they stop at a red light. Even though it’s dark outside, the neon-blue lights from the interior electronics cast the angles of his face handsomely.

He’s driving both himself and YN to The Berkeley where they’ll be meeting Luke for a dinner meeting to discuss his new business and his plan to merge with another hotel group. Which is an absolutely terrible idea and YN plans to talk him out of it tonight. It’s probably easier said than done though, because she knows Luke and she’s definitely familiar with how stubborn he can be.

There are a lot of things about Luke that she still remembers. He pretends to hate those mini chocolate muffins but he actually loves them. He drinks his coffee at six thirty sharp every morning, yes, even on the weekends. He loves jogging and sometimes he wishes he’s an athlete so that he can get paid just to run and play football all day long. Even though he’s rich as sin—and God, fit as fuck too—he’s humble and definitely not flashy, so if you see him without his suits, you’d probably never guess that he doesn’t actually need to work a day in his life because he comes from old money. But Luke is different. He never touched his trust fund and he was determined to create his own business from scratch.

He’d just started his business around the same time YN started working in her firm as an associate, so she saw it right before her eyes how hard he worked during those first few years as he nurtured his business. His company was one of the first clients that she’d been assigned to work on, and when she got promoted to Junior Partner, her mentor gave her The White Company as her first official client. The timing couldn’t be more brilliant since she and Luke just broke up two days prior, but she knew there was no way she could turn down such a big business.

Fuck, she’s thinking about him again. She immediately makes a mental note in her head to ask Harry for an extra orgasm tonight to keep him out of her mind. But now she can’t help snickering at the thought because she makes it sounds as if she’s asking for extra ketchup.

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks and she turns to look at him. He gives her a tiny smirk before his eyes get back on the road, but he reaches his hand out to her bare knee to give her a squeeze. “Still haven’t answered me, doll.”

“Sorry- what did you ask?”

“Why did you want me to go with you?” He asks again. “He wants to merge, right? That’s totally your thing. You don’t need me.”

“You helped me with his crisis a few months ago,” she reminds him. “Just thought we could do his business together again. He’ll be happy he’s getting two partners, the firm will be happy because they can charge double. It’s a win-win, really.”

“Bollocks that,” Harry laughs. “Worst bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s all, honest,” she feigns innocence.

“Honey, I didn’t go through law school for nothing, did I?” He replies without moving his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “You’re using me as a human condom, aren’t you?”

“What the hell does that even mean?” She drops her jaw in shock at the fact that he calls her out on the carpet just like that.

“You’re afraid you’ll catch feelings again if you’re left alone with him, so you bring me as a shield. Am I right?” He asks her with an accusatory eyebrow raise. “You know what, no need to answer that. Of course I’m right.”

“I told you, he’s just a client now,” she insists, trying to ignore her heart pounding in her chest as Harry’s hand inches its way up her thigh. It’s incredibly arousing, but she also finds it a little disturbing since they’re having a conversation about a man she’s head over heels for. She almost want him to stop but fuck if she’s going to ask him.

“Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on here,” he says, and it’s really hard for her to concentrate on what he’s saying since he’s squeezing her thigh. His fingers pressing deep into her muscles and she can only wish they’re a few inches higher. “But if in any way you want to get him back, just say the word and I’ll back away, yeah?”

“There’s nothing going on, Harry,” she reassures him. “You’ve got to trust me on this. He’s just a client now.”

“You sure?” Harry asks again. Turning to look at her briefly before he pulls into a parking space and puts the car in park, but she can tell by the tone in his voice that he doesn’t buy a single thing she’s said.

“I’m sure,” she nods reassuringly.

Harry grins as he reaches up and tweaks her on the nose. “You’re cute when you lie.”

“Shut up, shithead,” she mutters as she pulls on the door handle. It opens and she steps out, taking a moment to smooth down her dress. Leaning back down, she looks inside the car to look at Harry and give him a wink. “Now let’s go. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can reciprocate.”

***

“You have it bad for him, don’t you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow at her accusingly, not even bothering to wait until Luke disappears past the lift to take a call.

YN blinks in surprise at his accusation, but instead of denying it for the second time tonight, she finally concedes. “Is it that obvious?”

“Holy shit,” this time, it’s Harry’s turn to look at her in surprise. He definitely wasn’t expecting her to admit it, but fuck if he believed that bullshit she told him in the car. “No, it’s not obvious. But I know you better than anyone in this room.”

She chuckles, before taking a swig of her Chardonnay. “True.”

“I meant what I said earlier in the car,” Harry reminds her. “Just say the word and I’ll back away. He’s probably still into you too.”

She just stares at him for a second. She’s obviously contemplating something, he can tell. He braces, wondering if she’ll finally tell him to back away. He has to remind himself to be cool, to just nod and smile if she actually does say that. They’re not exclusive, and as amazing as this last six months has been, he knows all good things come to an end. He has no absolute reason to be upset, he knows that. And as her best friend he only wants the best for her. If she thinks Luke can make her happy, then so be it.

He’s ready for her to tell him to back away. He does. Not saying that he’ll be happy, but he’ll accept it. So imagine his surprise when she gives him a smirk and says, “let’s go all the way tonight.”

Harry’s head shoots up, and he narrows his eyes at her. “You fucking with me?”

“I was hoping you’d be the one doing all the fucking,” she murmurs, still smiling coyly at him and somehow has the audacity to dip her eyes in a completely fake showing of shyness.

Harry’s eight-inch piece of equipment that had been jumping and twitching like an excited puppy now goes to full mast, pushing hard against his zipper. He drains the rest of his drink in one big gulp, not wanting to waste any time. “Stay here and wait for him to finish that sodding call. Make up an excuse for me and distract him while I go and try to get us a room upstairs.”

“You do realise that my flat is literally ten minutes away from here right? And your place is like, what, twenty minutes tops?”

“Upstairs is closer,” he lowers his voice huskily. “They have beds too.”

Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “Beds, huh?”

“What? Don’t fancy shaggin’ on a bed?” He says with a smirk, sitting straighter as he smooths his tie. “I’ll see if they’ve got anything with a balcony then.”

“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?” She mocks, rolling her eyes. “Does the word indecent exposure mean anything to you?”

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

“I did,” she challenges him with a spark of defiance in her eyes. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Do that again and you’ll get the palm of my hand,” he tells her ominously.

“You’re all mouth and no trousers, Styles,” she taunts him.

“Good luck trying to sit tomorrow.”

***

In less than fifteen minutes, YN is standing in a lift with Harry’s lips roaming her neck and his finger sinking deep inside of her.

She didn’t have to make up an excuse when Luke went back to their table after taking the call. Apparently, there was some emergency and he needed to get back to his office as soon as possible for an emergency meeting with the boards. She assured him it was fine and that they could easily arrange another meeting to further talk about his plan to merge with another hotel group.

Harry doesn’t waste much time as he pushes the button to their floor and the doors close. He stalks towards her, cupping her head to bring her mouth to his, and his other hand going directly between her legs. She slips her tongue into his mouth and touches it against his, the vibe of the kiss turning a bit dirty. It’s a thrilling turn on, causing waves of pleasure to pulse through both of them. His tongue ends up dominating hers in the most searing, sexually explosive kiss she’d ever been given.

His hand softly fondles her for a moment, and then he’s inside of her, curling his finger in a way that has her knees buckling. He immediately saves the day by pushing one of his legs in between hers to hold her steady. He knows he doesn’t have time to get her off before they reach their floor, so he breaks the kiss and roams his lips along her neck lightly, moving his finger in and out of her leisurely but so very deeply. Her hips flex against him, trying to demand more, but she’s just going to have to wait.

When the lift starts to slow near their floor, he calmly removes his hand, smoothes her dress down, and gives her a light kiss on the nose.

He’s smiling at her as he closes the door behind them, in a completely relaxed, but thank fuck we’re finally doing this and I’m here to fuck you senseless kind of way, and it manages to show the two dimples he sports on either side of his full lips.

Their lips meet again as he leans in, softly at first, just a taste to whet the appetite. His arms tighten around her, and he increases the pressure, urging her to open up and let him in. He’s a force to be reckoned with in a courtroom, and fuck if she’s not thanking her lucky stars that he’s just the same in the bedroom. He moves his lips against hers, making delicious little thrusts and flicks with his tongue, teasing and tantalising, all while stroking her back in the most incredibly sensual way that makes her tingling from head to toe.

He loves how she just melts against him when he rubs her back, and how adorably dazed she looks just from a kiss. Grinning at her, he reaches a finger out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. The blood in his dick thumps, eagerly demanding to move things along, but he’s determined to take his time with her.

Her mouth waters as her hands work at his belt buckle. His cock is thick and hard when she pulls him free of his boxer briefs, and she drops to her knees with her hand wrapped around his girth. It’s standing straight up before her after she releases it for a second, and she melts at the sight. There’s one perfectly thick vein running straight up the middle, but then it veers off at an angle. And although this is certainly not the first time she sees it, she can’t help but cock her head to the side just to see where it goes.

He palms the side of her head with one hand and holds her hair in a ponytail at the back of her head with the other. Looking up at him, she can see his jaw is locked tight and his chest is rising and falling rapidly.

She squeezes him hard, just the way she knows how he likes, and strokes up and down a few times, making him groan. His head falls back, eyes squeezed shut. “Please, sweetheart.”

“Ssh,” she shushes him before she murmurs low in her throat. “I’ve got you.”

She finally opens her mouth, bares her teeth slightly, and then scrapes them lightly over the tip. A long, deep groan rumbles out of him, his eyes remain shut tight. Exhilaration and victory swells within her, knowing that just that one tiny touch reduced him to utter helplessness.

He opens his eyes, gazing at her. His voice is thickened and gruff when he says, “you’ve got no idea how beautiful you look while on your knees before me.”

She responds to him by leaning in, and without hesitation taking the tip of him into her mouth, making him groan in relief. He grips her lightly, his fingers pressing into her scalp as a means of holding her steady and not to force action. She licks and sucks, squeezing and stroking him with her hand. He’s watching her from above with lust on his face, and she’s savouring every little groan she drags out of this normally stoic man. She flutters her tongue on the sensitive underside just below the head of his cock, her hand gently squeezing his balls as she works his shaft.

“Been dying to get that cherry lipstick on my cock,” he mutters softly, she can barely hear him. He grits his teeth as he slowly pulls out of her mouth. “Knew that red lipstick would look good on me.”

Her eyes slide to his cock, and she has no clue what her mouth looks like, but she’s absolutely sure most of her lipstick is gone since it’s smeared beautifully along the length of his shaft. She tries to take it back into her mouth, determined to bring him into completion that way, but his hand immediately covers her, holding her still while his eyes pin her in place. “Wanna be inside you.”

He helps her stand on her feet, and the next thing she knows, her dress pools around her ankle. His hands come to the back of her bra, flicking it open and pulling it from her. Then he drops to his knees before her. Fingers going under her knickers, he pulls them down just enough to gain access and runs his tongue up her centre.

He had fantasised about her naked before him more times than he could probably admit that he has to blink twice to convince himself that this time is real. And fuck if it isn’t much better than his dreams.

“Bed,” he commands, and she crawls on it with the intent to lay in a sexy pose as she turns over to face him, but he’s on the bed with her, quick as lightning, and flips her to her back.

Her eyes go up to find him staring at her tits, and she can’t help but joke. “They don’t bite, you know.”

His gaze comes up to meet hers, and his lips curve slightly. “But I do. It’s probably going to hurt a little.”

A shudder ripples through her, and her nipples harden. His eyes flick back down to her breasts. She swallows hard at the anticipation, the thought of him getting a little rough with them is thrilling, but there’s something else she wants more right now.

“I’m fucking dying to be inside you right now,” he whispers in her ear. His admission elicits a deep moan to escape from her lips. “Last chance to change your mind, doll.”

“Please just fuck me already,” she whimpers, her hands roaming his body. Every glide of her fingers over his skin fills him with a fullness he’s never experienced before. “I’m losing my mind.”

With one hand pressed into the mattress, Harry uses the other to take his cock in hand. He dips his hips, pressing the tip right into her entrance. Blowing out a breath, he brings his eyes to hers and holds her captive, finally thrusts deeply into her. She screams, not in pain but in pure fucking ecstasy, as he fills her up. Harry bottoms out, his pelvis pressed hard into hers.

Baring his teeth, he mutters, “fuck… that feels good.”

“Would feel better if you move,” she suggests with a smirk.

Harry stays completely still inside of her. He breathes in deeply, closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them up again, he gives her a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid to move. Afraid I might embarrass myself and blow my load in about two nanoseconds.”

She lets out a giggle, pretty sure that’s the one and only time in her life she’s ever done something so girly. Harry laughs huskily and kisses her hard. He doesn’t move an inch from his waist down but just kisses her deeply with thorough possession. When he pulls away, he tentatively circles his hips, grinding into her.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and drops his forehead to hers. “Yeah… definitely not gonna last long.”

Her hands go into his hair and she massages his scalp, incredibly touched and turned on over his reaction to her. She tugs on his hair, pulling his face away from hers. “Harry?”

He moves reluctantly and looks down at her with that same abashed look. She tilts her hips, clenches her internal muscles around his cock, and then rubs her thumbs into his scalp.

“Let go,” she commands him softly. “Fuck me hard and come as fast as you want. We’ve got all night.”

***

Harry’s hand reaches out, tapping the screen on his phone to turn the alarm off, laying silently in the predawn gloom pondering about his situation at this very moment.

There’s a naked, beautiful woman on top of him, and fuck if he can remember when was the last time he woke up with someone else in his bed. It’s not that he’s averse to cuddles; if the woman wants a cuddle with him after sex, he’d give it to them. The act of intimacy like that doesn’t scare him whatsoever. But normally he’d be out of their hair long before the sun is up, leaving them to wake up alone and him to start his day as if the night before didn’t happen.

He always tells himself to forget whoever he shags the night before no matter how great of a fuck she was, although he’ll allow himself to bring forth the memories when he jerks off if needed.

YN fell asleep a few hours prior, spread-eagled over his body right after she collapsed from the most recent fuck-fest. She came, he came, then she fell forwards onto his chest and was out like a light. And he left her right there all night. Letting her lie on top of him, calling it a day well completed and went to sleep himself.

His hand slides down from her stomach right between her legs, his fingers swiping through her folds which become slicker with desire the more he plays. She softly moans in her sleep and her lower body starts to squirm. Her breathing hitches, and the second she cracks her eyes open, she gives him that happy, sleepy, please fuck me again smile.

He gently eases her down from the top of his chest to lay beside him, rolling her to the side so her back is facing him. Then he pushes her outer leg up, sliding his body down just a little bit, angling his cock to slip into her from behind.

Harry moves slowly as he’s spooned around her and she moans in pure bliss as he fills her up. The arm that her head is resting on comes up to curve across her chest and hold her tight. His other hand grips the back of her thigh firmly to pin her in place.

“More,” she whispers on a forced exhalation.

“Fuck me,” he mumbles against her hair. “My girl wants more.”

And he gives her more. Fucking her exquisitely and with no doubt that neither of them has ever had it that good. He takes her higher and higher, the sweet words that he’s whispering in her ear is the complete opposite of the kinky shit they did last night.

“Balcony?”

YN didn’t hesitate, following right behind him as he pushed the doors open. A light breeze filters in but it’s still muggy outside. They’re on the seventh floor, and they can still hear the rumble of engines and the honking of horns below them. The quiet darkness of Belgravia stretches out beyond.

Harry walked up to the edge of the balcony, which was made of stone and concrete, sitting about three and a half feet high. He pulled her into his arms and gave her a searing kiss. She moaned, slipping her tongue in his mouth and gripped onto his shoulders. The kiss was deep and wet, and honestly, the best kind of kiss.

He pushed her up against the wall, laying a palm over one breast. Squeezing, plumping, testing the weight in his hand. He rubbed a thumbnail over her nipple, eliciting the softest sigh from her.

He brought his other hand south. Straight shot, right to her centre. Her head dropped to his shoulder as his fingertips continued to circle and rub against her. Within minutes she had his fingers deep inside her and his thumb working her hard. He wanted nothing more than to just line up and push his way in, but he waited. He waited until he saw her trembling became a little fiercer, her body tensed, and when she sucked in a large gulp of air, he knew that was his cue.

He quickly removed his fingers, bracing his hands on her hips and slammed forward. She took him all the way in and he cursed under his breath as he felt her spasm all around him when she came. For a second he thought about hitting it hard, chasing another orgasm, but then he decided against it, wanting to relish the scenery and listen to the sounds of the city.

“Let’s just quit our jobs and fuck all day,” Harry jokes as he drops her leg back down into place.

“Sounds good to me,” she laughs as she reaches around him, grabbing the complimentary bottle of water on the nightstand, taking a sip before she hands it to him and he finishes it in a couple of long swallows.

“Thirsty?”

“Starving too,” he replies in a way that doesn’t make her think he wants some bacon and eggs.

Within seconds, he has her on her back again as he slides down her body, roughly pushing her legs apart. Her hands shoot out, grabbing the sides of his head before he gets the chance to descend even lower. “No.”

“What?”

“Let me get cleaned up first,” she says lamely, pretty sure she’s killed the mood. “I mean… I’m filled with-”

Harry ignores her, cutting her off by dropping his mouth right between her legs and begins sucking. She shrieks from the warm contact, surprised by how sensitive she is, and as he lifts his gaze to hers, he murmurs. “That’s you and me together, and we taste fucking delicious.”

Her body trembles from his words, and through a dry and parched throat she croaks, “then by all means.”

“Thank you,” he says with a wink, then proceeds to bring her to another shattering orgasm that totally wrecks her.

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles ff #harry styles fanfiction #lawyer!harry #harry styles au #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fanfics #harry styles x y/n #harry styles one shot

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couldyouspeakmyname · 3 years ago

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I posted 2,193 times in 2021

1314 posts created (60%)

879 posts reblogged (40%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.7 posts.

I added 897 tags in 2021

#sleepover saturday - 336 posts

#halloween asks - 96 posts

#thirsty thursday - 91 posts

#beastars imagines - 85 posts

#beastars imagine - 73 posts

#beastars - 51 posts

#long post - 50 posts

#anonymous - 39 posts

#ibuki x reader - 38 posts

#ibukixreader - 38 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#i get why but it seems so much elss dramatic with all those people around? where as the manga she would have died alone with no one watching

My Top Posts in 2021

Legoshi,jack and bills reaction to finding a Hicky on there neck from there female wolf (reader)

Legoshi

Mortified. He’s so embarrassed. He wears a turtle neck or something to cover it. No, it doesn’t matter that it’s hot out. He doesn’t want anyone to know

He talks with you, he’s not trying to be mean but his sweet little heart can’t handle people knowing he does that kind of stuff with others

You can do it where people can’t see though.

Jack

Poor Jack. He’s really embarrassed. He covers it up but, he’s not mad about it. He kinda likes that you’re willing to do that, but...please don’t do it often. He has things to do and can’t take the teasing

Like Legoshi, it’s okay for you to do it places normal people can’t see

Bill

Proud. This guy, he’s so proud of it. Boast about it

You may have given him a kiss mark, but you bet your ass that he’s given you five times as much

He may make it a competition. I hope you’re ready for the storm

202 notes • Posted 2021-04-25 05:10:50 GMT

I've been kinda stalking you blog and your writing is fantastic, I really enjoy it. I saw that request were open and was wondering if I could request! If so, here's what I have it mind. a Gouhin/fem rabbit (I hope that's ok with you :D) s/o. I was thinking that perhaps you could do a short headcanon of s/o who craves affection and loves it whenever Gouhin scratches her ears, to the point we're the reader starts to thump her foot loudly. (Irl that's usually a sign of aggression but uumm...let's just pretend it's not 👀) and really likes to do the same to Gouhin, like rubbing his ears, or just nuzzling against him whenever she can. Overall just a very affectionate s/o. if this is a little to weird then by all means, ignore, and have a great day! ✨(Also I hope this made sense, Im horrible at explaining things)

I’m surprised that this is my first Gouhin ask!! I’m so excited! There’s actually this super cute bunny x Gouhin art I always see, so I’ve been waiting forever to get to this!!

Thank you so much, I’m so glad you like my writing ;-;

Gouhin leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head and allowing miniscule pops along his back. He made a noise of satisfaction and began exercising his hands in an effort to prevent carpel tunnel. His chart pile was still impressive, but he got through the bulk of them done. Living in the black market meant that Gouhin had no shortage of patients.

“Need anything?” Gouhin turned, looking over. He shrugged and shook his head. He reached out his hand and scratched his girlfriends head, doing it just right to get her foot thumping out of reflex. He smirked when she tried to swat him away when she realized what he was doing.

“I can get it, I gotta stretch my legs anyway,” She followed close behind him to the kitchen, where she already had hot water boiling. She knew him well, and he quickly made himself bamboo tea.

“Gouhin, maybe you should take a break?” He quirked a brow, trying to hide the knowing grin.

“A break?” She nods, and hugs him from behind. resting her forehead against his back.

“Mm...maybe just for a little while”

---

Gouhin works a LOT. He needs his s/o to understand that he’s a doctor, and his patients come first.

He can’t have you help with his work, for your protection and theirs. HOWEVER, if you do your own work next to him, he’ll reach over and scratch your head while he’s thinking with his non dominant hands.

Makes up for it. Since you’re so much smaller than him, he likes carrying you around when he’s just going around the house

Big spoon. Likes to hold onto you

If you crave affection, he kisses you whenever he passes you by, usually on the cheek.

Sits you in his lap when he’s just reading or relaxing

If he’s dating you, he’s in it for the long haul. He will make time for you, even if it means his charts pile up a bit and he has to pull an all nighter.

Loves that your foot does the thing, and will go out of his way to try and make you do it

When he works out, has you sit on his back or spot him

When you snuggle and he falls asleep, really hope you’re not thinking of going anywhere. You’re stuck. You’re his now.

Dating a small herbivore makes him very protective. Part of his snuggling is to make you smell a little like he does, Legoshi knows IMMEDIATLY who you are based on your scent alone. It’s like a giant shadow Gouhin is behind you, even when he cant be there physically

220 notes • Posted 2021-04-04 02:14:59 GMT

Hi there! From what you’ve written so far I’m a huge fan of your writings! Are you comfortable writing polyamory? For example, a head cannon about a reader dating Louis and Legosi? If not, that’s totally fine!

Thank you! I’m so glad to hear it!

I am! I love this idea tbh, they both got two hands. Poly relationships can be wonderful as long as everyone consents, so I’m very okay with it!

It got kinda long so...under cut (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Being in a relationship with both of them is great, for the most part. Just like any relationship there’s a few pitfalls, but nothing serious enough that any of you have any big problems.

The most difficult thing is the lack of communication on Louis’s end. It’s hard for him to adjust to the idea of not only going against his father by dating someone outside the female he was arranged to, but dating TWO animals at once? Huge deal for him. He’s just not used to allowing himself to be emotionally vulnerable period.

He’s emotionally constipated be patient with him

Legosi couldn’t be happier. He didn’t have to choose, he didn’t want to choose. Having both is the perfect option for him. Honestly, when you three came together to discuss it, and settled on it, Legosi pinched himself. He actually pinched himself. He thought he was dreaming.

“Legosi stop!”

“Stop pinching yourself you dumb dog!”

“But there’s no way! I have to make sure I’m awake if I don’t and I’m dreaming, I’ll be heart broken!”

He’s usually is kind of in the middle when you three go out. He adores both of you equally, so it’s ideal for him to have equal ability to hold hands and make eye contact

Louis is VERY uncomfortable letting people know you three are together (he’s not ashamed, he just doesn’t know how to act in ANY relationship) so he tends to walk a little behind you two. Legosi is always worried he’s walking way to fast, being so big, so eventually he hangs back until you three are side by side (until someone else walks, then you adjust. You’re polite and share the sidewalk...I hope)

If you three go out to eat Louis is usually close to the wall, so he can observe everyone else without having to worry about being exposed. Legosi will sit wherever, but again, he likes being in the middle if possible.

If you sit next to Louis he wont pull away if you grab his hand. He may actually end up holding it a bit to tight if he gets stressed.

You and Louis both have to stand up for Legosi if someone is giving him a hard time. Legosi can handle it, but he just really likes seeing you two ready to throw down for his sake (but don’t actually, if you get hurt he wont forgive himself)

In private Louis is a very different male. He’s still awkward, but away from prying eyes he relaxes. He tends to become more affectionate, and will hold hands at the table, lean on you or Legosi on the couch, and wont pull away if you cuddle him (please do, he needs it)

Legosi and you have to remind Louis to take care of himself, he gets so in his head that he may forget to eat or drink a good amount of water. Don’t nag him, just bring him a snack casually. He’ll realize he hasn’t eaten and just feel loved knowing you two have his back

Legosi needs lots of affection, snuggle him when you can. He’s big and worried he’ll hurt you, so take initiative. Once he knows what’s okay, he’ll be all over you.

Louis always gives you and Legosi a kiss goodbye when he leaves.

Legosi texts you and Louis pictures of bugs he finds, and uses far to many emoji’s when he texts about anything else.

Sleeping arrangements depend on your preference. Sometimes two of you sleep in one a bed, sometimes all three of you squeeze in. No matter what Legosi is always the big spoon, and is a snuggler. Louis pretends he doesn’t want to snuggle, but if you hold him he will feel SO LOVED. If he’s in the middle of both you and Legosi...HEART EYES (keep a fan on, or the AC, it gets hot with three of you in a bed)

Louis makes sure both you and Legosi are comfortable financially. He worries, even if he’s not good at showing it until he gets to the breaking point.

It’s hard to find anything cheesy and romantic when there’s more than two in a relationship, but Legosi buys you three mugs with different colored hearts on them. He thought about doing initials, but he and Louis both have L’s. At least the hearts match!

Legosi’s screensaver is a picture of you and Louis taking a nap on the couch, with one of those cheesy heart stickers on it

Louis and Legosi tend to try and handle problems as individuals, and it takes you and your other partner (whoever currently isn’t in crisis or doing something stupid and impulsive) to talk sense into them.

That being said, if YOU are in crisis...well, whatever is troubling you is going to get fixed and FAST. Between Louis’s brains and connections, to Legosi’s strength and determination, there is very few things that would ever seriously pose a threat to you.

ALSO! While Louis is awkward and many people may not know he’s part of your relationship, you bet that he’ll come out swinging if someone starts talking bad about you and Legosi. He may not be as physically strong as Legosi, but his mind is a lethal weapon, it only takes one jerk to say something for it to QUICKLY spread not to mess with you three. With everything he’s been through, you two are his world and he’s not going to tolerate people talking shit about you two.

While Louis’s father may not initially be supportive, he’d come around...slowly. It takes a lot for him to do so (even a few years) but at the end of the day he does love Louis, in his own way. He chose Louis as his son, Louis didn’t choose him. He decides as a parent, he needs to be supportive, even if it confuses him a little. On the plus side, now Louis has even more people to keep him out of trouble.

The Shishigumi are happy when Louis is happy. They’re just not happy that Legosi is a canine (why not a big cat huh? They’d even take a leopard but NOOOO! Louis had to pick a canine) but they accept it because they care about him. They still tease Legosi though, but nothing malicious.

See the full post

254 notes • Posted 2021-03-07 02:03:30 GMT

Can I request Legoshi, Jack, and Bill reacting to a herbivore coming to their all carnivore school? (Bonus points if the reader is a red panda)

I just answered a very similar ask, but I’ll try to specify this one for a red panda. Legosi • Legosi LOVES small herbivores. You’ve scored tons of cuteness points for him just by existing. You’re perfectly his type! Even though red pandas aren’t ‘technically’ carnivores, you’re a big novelty in an all carnivore school and thus he can’t take his eyes off you. • He’s a bit scared to approach you at first, so you’ll have to do the initial talking. He doesn’t want to scare you off by being too eager to get to know you. • He buys you bamboo for lunch. Jack • Jack is fascinated, and wants to learn all about you. He’ll even write things down. • “Not many animals know that there’s actually a third category besides herbivore and carnivore, and that’s omnivore! I didn’t think I’d get to meet one in the flesh, but red pandas are omnivores, right?” • He warms up to you right away, and shows you the ropes of things at your new school. Bill • Bill is.. awkward around you at first. He doesn’t really get the deal behind red pandas. Are you a herbivore, or a carnivore? How casual can he be without freaking you out? • “Yo, nice stripes,” he says, pointing at your tail. Carnivores tend to be more touchy with each other than herbivores, and Bill would love to touch your fluffy tail, but he’s not sure whether it’d be rude for him to do so considering you’re not a traditional carnivore. • You’re both red and have some stripes, so he’s fully ready to become your bro once he gets a bit more accustomed to you.

-Lexi

313 notes • Posted 2021-07-19 04:32:43 GMT

Ok but like imagine: Louis and Legoshi (Seprate) are cuddling with the cheetah!reader, and the reader starts purring. HCs for thier reaction pls?

I have been waiting to do this for sooooo long!! This is so cute!

Legoshi

Legoshi loves cuddling, so his tail is wagging non stop

Doesn’t mind that you’re a feline, and is just happy you’re a feline that will let him snuggle you

Big spoon, and his arms go all the way around you

Loves your scent, so he buries his face in your neck

When you start purring? Biggest eyes ever. The best. If his tail was wagging before, now it’s going a million miles an hour. He hugs you tighter.

Hope you like cuddling, he will want to do it all the time

Dating you, he’s probably read up on feline body language, so he knows what purring means.

“It...it makes me so happy you’re so relaxed with me!”

Louis

He’s not usually a cuddler, so when he does he’s probably looking for silent support or he’s really relaxed

Likes to face you when he snuggles with you

Your head in his chest, his arms around you.

Pets down your back, careful to never mess your fur by going the wrong way

When you start purring he freezes, and looks at you, shocked.

He doesn’t say anything at first, then he smiles.

Just keeps petting you and holding you. Wants you to keep going.

Your purring is really soothing for him, he may even fall asleep

“Comfortable?” Teasing smile.

While he’s not a snuggler, he may want to more often just to hear you purr.

431 notes • Posted 2021-03-31 05:51:08 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Long post

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specialagentsergio · 4 years ago

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sweater weather

summary: The weekend before Halloween finds the BAU at a local farm, and there’s a bet on who’s going to solve the corn maze first.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: none

a/n: happy halloween! this is just something nice and fluffy for the fall season. i ended up researching corn mazes in virginia for this. (liberty mills is an actual farm in the area)

word count: 2.1k

song: sweater weather by the neighbourhood

masterlist

There’s three things every agent who starts working at the FBI’s Quantico office quickly learns about the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

First, the unit has the best case solve rate in the Bureau. Second, yes, they really do have their own jet. And third, everyone in it has a mean competitive streak. There’s no such thing as a casual bet with any of them.

You’re no exception. You don’t make it onto one of the FBI’s most elite units by keeping your head down.

And it’s that competitive nature you all possess that finds you wandering through a corn maze on a chilly October afternoon with Spencer at your side.

It’s safe to say it gets away from you sometimes.

---

It started off innocently enough. Ten minutes before the end of work on Friday, JJ approaches Spencer with a question.

“Are you and (Y/N) busy this weekend?”

“Um, I didn’t have any plans,” he replies, then turns to you. “Honey?”

“Not unless sleep counts as a plan,” you say with a shrug. The team had returned from a case yesterday that had taken nearly a week to solve. You’d slept well cuddled up with Spencer last night, but still had plenty to make up for. “What’s up, JJ?”

“Well, it’s the last weekend before Halloween, and Henry’s been dying to go pick out a pumpkin,” she says. “So Will and I said we’d take him to Liberty Mills farm tomorrow to pick one out from their patch. But, he wanted me to ask Uncle Spencer if he’d come, too, to help him pick out one that’s perfect.”

Spencer’s face lights up immediately. “I’d love to.”

JJ smiles right back. “Great! He’ll be so happy.”

“You know, Liberty Mills farm has the largest corn maze in the United States this year,” he says. “On average, it takes thirty minutes to an hour for the first and second trails, and two to three hours for the third level.”

Morgan joins the conversation. “And let me guess, pretty boy: you think you can solve it faster than that.”

“I’m not sure, actually. I haven’t ever gone through a corn maze.”

You look at him incredulously. “Really? You, of all people, haven’t done a corn maze?”

Spencer frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You love this time of year. Corn mazes are just such a fall thing that it surprises me that you haven’t done one before,” you explain.

“I don’t love fall,” Spencer corrects. “I love Halloween.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Bold words from a man who’s ordered a pumpkin spice latte every morning for the last three weeks.”

You take a moment to enjoy the blush that paints his cheeks at your words, then speak to JJ. “What time are you guys leaving?”

“We’re aiming for around nine,” she says. “It takes about an hour to get there. We can give you a ride, of course, but I’m guessing the two of you don’t want to be crammed into the backseat of our car for that long.”

Truthfully, it wouldn’t bother you much. You know Spencer would take the middle seat so he could sit next to Henry, leaving you with the better one. But the man is made of legs, and he’d get uncomfortable quickly with them squeezed into a tight space. The last thing you want is for his knee injury to flare up and leave him in pain for the rest of the day.

“Yeah, we should drive up separately,” you say. “We can just meet there.”

“Now, hang on,” Morgan says. “Is this an open invitation for anyone? Because I’ve done corn mazes before and I don’t want to pass up the opportunity to beat Reid at something.”

“Oh, I’ll take up that bet,” Emily says. “Twenty bucks says Morgan and I get through it faster than Reid.”

Spencer frowns. “Two against one? That’s not fair.”

“Well, obviously, you’re going through it with me,” you point out, lightly swatting his arm with the back of your hand. “You’re on, Emily.”

Rossi, briefcase in one hand, jacket hooked over his shoulder, comes into the fray. “What are we betting on?”

“Whether Derek and Emily or Spence and (Y/N) can solve a corn maze faster,” JJ says. She does a good job of acting exasperated, but you know she’s just as invested as the rest of you. If it wasn’t for her desire to spend time with her son, she’d probably enter herself.

“Oh, I’ll put fifty down on the kid, easy,” Rossi says.

Hotch, descending the stairs into the bullpen, overhears this and sighs. “What have I said about office bets?”

“Technically it’s not an office bet,” Emily points out quickly. “It’s something we’re doing over the weekend on our own time.”

“Yeah, this isn’t pool,” Spencer agrees. “Twenty-five on (Y/N) and I.”

“What’s this over?” Hotch asks.

“Corn maze,” Morgan explains. “I’ll add twenty-five as well on me and Emily.”

You tear a piece of paper out of one of the notebooks on your desk and start writing. “I’m putting in thirty,” you say as you write it down. Spencer may have never been in a corn maze before, but you have, and you’re pretty great at them. “Everyone write down their bets on here.”

“What about you, Aaron?” Rossi asks as the paper makes it way through the group.

Hotch shakes his head. “I’m not getting into this.”

“You should still come,” JJ says, scribbling down her wager. “There’s a pumpkin patch you can take Jack to.”

“I did promise him we’d carve a pumpkin this weekend,” he muses.

Penelope toddles in on her high heels with her bag over her shoulder. “What’s going on?” She frowns. “Am I being left out of something?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby girl,” Derek says, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “We’re having a family outing to some farm tomorrow—”

“Liberty Mills farm,” Spencer interjects.

Morgan rolls his eyes. “We’re going to Liberty Mills farm tomorrow. You in?”

Penelope’s face breaks into her bright, radiant smile, warming up the room just like she always does. “Of course! JJ, please tell me my beautiful little godson is coming, too.”

“You can even help him pick out a pumpkin,” JJ replies and Penelope squeals.

“This is going to be so much fun! I can’t wait!”

---

A breeze ripples the cornstalks as you navigate the maze with your boyfriend. You’re on the fourth trail, the mystery maze portion. Derek had insisted on that after learning that Spencer saw a picture of the main maze over your shoulder while you were looking up the directions online. You’d agreed that it was only fair to do the mystery section; his eidetic memory would make it too easy to get through the main portion now.

You shiver at the cold and press yourself against Spencer’s side. It’s around four PM, but the temperature has already started to drop, and it’s especially chilly away from all the people and attractions, isolated in the maze.

Spencer lets go of your hand and you open your mouth to protest, but he speaks before you can. “Hang on, I have something for you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise as he lifts the flap of his satchel and pulls out a blanket that really shouldn’t have been able to fit in there. He drapes it around your shoulders and punctuates the action with a kiss on your forehead.

“Have you been carrying this around all day?” you ask incredulously. It’s new; you haven’t seen it before. The fabric is incredibly soft and the design is made up of your favorite colors.

He nods. “You get cold faster than I do, and you get cranky when you’re cold.”

“Yeah, how does that work?” you muse, pulling the blanket around you tighter. “You’re so thin. I feel like you should get cold at least as fast as me.”

“Well, if we look at the laws of thermodynamics,” he begins and you tuck yourself into his side with a small smile. He rambles for a while and you listen patiently, nodding and giving him “uh-huh”’s every so often to affirm your interest (though honestly, a good portion of it goes over your head—most of your studies in college were focused on psychology and sociology).

“I see,” you murmur when he finishes, and it’s not a lie—you think you understand the basics. You briefly stop him from walking to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for the blanket. I love you.”

It’s hardly the first time you’ve said it, but he still blushes. “Love you, too.”

“Now,” you say, taking his hand back into your grip. “Let’s win this bet.”

Sixty minutes later, a smile tugs at your lips. Spencer’s corrected you on a few turns, being able to say for certain if you’ve taken a path before, and now you’re close to the end of the maze. You can feel it. You tug on his hand, picking up your pace. “Come on. We’re close.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” You let go of his hand and break into a jog, recalling the hot apple cider stand you saw earlier in the day. You can’t wait to wrap your hands around a cup of it.

“(Y/N)—” he starts, and you look back just in time to see him trip over a root and almost fall face first into the dirt, just barely catching himself on his hands.

You try not the laugh, but a small giggle slips out. “Sorry,” you say, fighting a smile.

He just rolls his eyes as he pushes himself up. “Can you slow down?” he asks. “The cold is making my knee hurt.”

Your expression immediately drops. “Yeah, of course.”

Five minutes later, you’re exiting the maze. Rossi’s waiting at the end and cheers when he sees the two of you. “Ah, yes! I knew it!”

“We’re first?” Spencer asks.

“Of course we are.” You remove one arm from your blanket cocoon and place your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him towards you for a kiss. He hums happily against your lips.

He hugs you from behind as you wait for Derek and Emily, sliding his hands under the blanket and into your sweater’s pockets. They’re ten minutes behind you.

“Ah, come on, man,” Derek laments when he sees you.

“Dammit,” Emily sighs. “You two better be buying dinner tonight.”

“Oh, we’d love to,” you tease.

“How far ahead of us were you?” Morgan asks.

“Twenty minutes,” Spencer replies, and you don’t have to turn around to know the smirk he’s sporting.

You elbow him lightly. “Ten,” you correct.

The five of you meet back up with the others near the entrance of the farm. Penelope had held onto the small pumpkin you’d picked out earlier in the day and hands it to you now. You have paint back home that you’re planning to use to decorate it. Spencer had no desire to get one to carve; he can’t stand touching the pumpkin guts.

“So who won?” she asks.

“Well, going by Spence’s expression, I’m guessing he and (Y/N) did,” JJ says.

Henry lets go of his mother’s hand and approaches Spencer, lifting his arms in a request to be picked up. “We sure did,” Spencer says as he obliges. “Isn’t that right, Henry?”

You grin. “Dinner’s on us.”

---

The team’s seated at your usual table at one of the restaurants you all like to frequent. There’s smiles and laughter all around. Jack is telling his dad, Beth and Morgan about the design he wants to carve into the rather large pumpkin he picked out. Penelope, JJ, and Emily are chattering about Emily’s date tomorrow. (You’ve seen pictures of the woman and she’s gorgeous; Emily also seems completely enamored with her.) Rossi is following up with Will on a recipe he gave him to try. Henry has vacated his seat next to Spencer to sit on his lap instead, and both of you are helping him color in the picture on his placemat.

When JJ takes Henry to wash his hands, you take the opportunity to put your hand on Spencer’s knee. “How’s it feeling?” you ask.

“Better, now that it’s warm.” He pauses, then says, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Coming with me today. I had a lot of fun. I...” He fiddles with the corner of the placemat. “I never really got to do stuff like this when I was a kid. You know, because...”

You nod; you know what his upbringing was like. “Well, I’m happy to have been a part of it.”

Spencer leans into you, tucking one of his legs behind yours. You squeeze his knee lightly and he lets out a sigh of contentment. He stays like that until Henry returns. The food arrives shortly afterward. Before you take your first bite, you run your eyes across everyone at the table.

It’s a strange, mismatched family you and Spencer have, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

---------------

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #fluff #my fic #don't mind me just reposting bc tumblr blocked this from the tags for whatever reason

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majesticbrownjawn · 4 years ago

Text

Halloween

This is a throwback and may be the first Erik-ish fic I wrote more than two years ago.

Reader (like me), isn’t a fan of Halloween, her boyfriend tries to change her outlook.

NSFW, boo.

I hate Halloween; you thought to yourself angrily as you woke up on the morning of October 31.

You had a bad experience when you were younger and had been scarred ever since. Your boyfriend Jason loved it, though, especially after Black folks decided we'd make Halloween all about the culture. He was excited about his costume but refused to share what it was. He said it was a surprise and would make you have a heart change about Halloween. You doubt that highly. One of his best friends threw a big party every year, so you were headed there tonight.

Thankfully it was Saturday, and you didn't have to rush to get yourself together after work. You wanted to have lunch with Jason because you knew even though you'd be at the party together tonight, he'd be too excited to pay you much attention.

————

"Hey babe, you wanna grab some lunch with me?"

"Aww, I'd love to, but I have to put some final touches on my costume."

"Really?! I haven't seen you all week Jason," you whined.

"I know, baby, but I gotta finish this. I promise I'll make it up to you tonight."

"Ok, fine," you said, disappointed, and hung up.

You waited until the last minute to decide what to be for Halloween because you and your boyfriend usually coordinated what you'd wear, but because he was being so extra this year and didn't want you to know who he was going as, you had to figure things out on your own. By the time you made it to the Halloween store, the only thing left in your size was the cliche slutty French maid costume. You bought it without trying it on and went on with your day. You were out later than anticipated, so you had to get home and get ready quickly. As you were putting on makeup, you heard your phone buzz. It was a text from Jason.

Hey baby, I'm running behind, so I won't be able to pick you up. I'm sorry. Text me when you're ready to leave, and I'll have an Uber pick you up and bring you.

He was really annoying you today.

You arrived to the party about an hour later and was surprised to see the mansion was already packed with people. You picked up your phone to call Jason but saw that you didn't have service. You walked around for a while, observing the detail in the partygoers’ costumes. A blue Avatar and headless horseman caught your eye and impressed you. After looking for Jason for much longer than anticipated, you decided to stop at one of the bars to get a drink. As you stood in the line, a rough tug at your hips and warm breath on the back of your neck startled you.

"What the fuck are you wearing?!" A deep voice said.

The slutty French maid costume lived up to its name. Your full breasts were spilling out of the top and the dress barely covered your ass. You added fishnet stockings to cover your deliciously thick thighs and to add to the overall hoe factor. You rarely wore heels, but tonight you decided on a pair of clear, stacked, 5” sandals. You knew Jason wouldn't like your body on display at the party, but he would just have to get over it tonight. He was lucky you’d even showed up.

The voice in your ear sounded familiar. You jerked away and looked at the man from the ground up. He wore combat boots, a pair of camo pants that hugged him in all the right places, a vest with metal breastplates, and a thin shirt that hugged his muscular arms perfectly. His hair was cut low all over, except for in the middle, where he had short dreads that sprung up and away from his head wildly. Two of his lower teeth were dipped in gold. The look in his eyes was one of pent up anger and rage.

Jason had transformed himself into your own personal Erik “Killmonger” Stevens.

"Jason?" You were surprised at how much he actually looked like Killmonger. He knew you had a not-so-secret thing for him, which is probably why he was so confident you'd love his costume this year. People frequently stopped Jason to tell him he resembled the fine ass actor who played your fictitious, homicidal movie boyfriend, but you never saw it--until tonight. He'd been growing his hair out since the summer, and you hated it so much that you barely let him touch you. You told him he could get some cut when he cut his hair, but he refused to, so you’d been finding other ways to get what you needed the last few months.

"Answer my question. Who gave you permission to come out dressed like a slut tonight?"

"OK, Jason, this is cute, but you not gon' talk to me like that."

You turned to walk away, but he grabbed your wrist so tight that your body involuntarily stepped back towards him to ease the pressure on your arm.

"Where do you think you're going?"

You realized at that moment he wanted you to play along, so for the sake of your wrist and his fun, you went along with it.

"Nowhere Killmonger. I'm all yours," you smirked at him.

He grinned devilishly and replied, "You better be. And you can call me Erik."

He grabbed a bottle from behind the bar and instructed you to follow him until you reached a pair of plush couches in the atrium of the mansion. People were all around, dressed in costumes, seemingly entranced by the music and the free-flowing alcohol.

"Drink," he demanded.

He started to pour liquor in your mouth before you could respond.

"Wait!" Alcohol was all over your lips and chin and quickly trailing down your to your breasts.

He quickly sucked it off your neck and licked the top of your tits in plain sight.

"What are you doing, Jason?" You were angry and turned on at the same time.

"You got one more time to call me by another nigga's name. You understand me?"

You nodded your head and squirmed a little, realizing how wet you were.

"Now drink up. I want you loose tonight."

Erik wanted to dance, so you joined the crowd on the floor. His camo pants were thick, but you could feel how excited he was to be grinding behind you. In character or not, he hadn't touched you like this in months. As your bodies moved together to the music, one of his hands crept up your waist and palmed your breast. You loved the way his hands felt on you. He turned you around to face him and gave you the nastiest, sexiest kiss you’d ever experienced. He was really in character and you loved it.

After grinding on each other a while longer, he whispered in your ear, "I'm ready to fuck you."

Your eyes bulged out from your head and the tingling in your pussy that had been happening since you laid eyes on him tonight intensified. You were ready to fuck too.

"Go upstairs into the second door and take off everything. NOW." He dismissed you, confident you’d obey his order.

You trailed up the stairs and waited for him.

"The fuck you still got clothes on for?!" Your boyfriend was always firm, knowing how to lovingly put you in your place when I needed to be checked. But the tone he used tonight was different. It almost made you afraid of him.

"I'm going to teach you how to listen today. Bend over." You looked at him with questioning eyes to see if he was serious.

"Bend the fuck over," he repeated. You leaned onto the bed in front of you, ass straight up, listening like a good girl. He ran his hand down your ass before giving it a firm smack.

"When I tell you to do something, I mean that shit." You could hear the lust-filled anger in his voice.

You flinched in pain, but your mouth let out a needy moan, encouraging him to continue. He hit your jiggling backside again just before you heard the sound of your fishnet stockings ripping, leaving your ass fully exposed, save the thong you wore. You felt the string being pulled away from your center and onto your ass cheek.

His fingers circled your clit from behind, making you arch your back, pushing your pussy deep onto his fingers. You wanted them inside. You were so wet, and they’d slipped in a few times already.

"Not yet, baby," he growled. He replaced his fingers with his mouth.

He gave you a good tongue lashing from behind and licked up your slit towards your ass. He slowed down as he made his way upwards, and you tensed up, knowing where he was headed. Your boyfriend loved your body and gave all of himself to you when you had sex. He was attentive and genuinely desired to pleasure every part of your body, but you were never comfortable with him pleasing that part of you. It was still so taboo. Would it even feel good? With him thinking he was Killmonger tonight if he tried, would you be able to stop him? Would you want to stop him?

As his tongue reached that small region of flesh between your pussy and your other hole, your reflexes caused you to reach one of your hands back, trying to swat him away.

"Wait, Jas-Erik, whoever the fuck you are."

That was the worst thing you could have done. He grabbed the arm that tried to push him away and held it on top of your back with his hand, leaving you to balance all of your weight onto the single arm below you. His other hand firmly gripped your upper thigh and pulled you closer to his face.

"Ahhhhh, Erik." You were gone at the first stoke of his tongue in your no longer forbidden area.

He ate you mercilessly, giving you a pleasure you'd never experienced before. Your arm gave out on you, and you finally just planted your face into the bed. Your ass never moved, though; you were enjoying his tongue too much. He released your arm. The noises you were making was assurance you wouldn't try and stop him again. Your eyes rolled back in slow motion when he opened your pussy with his fingers pushing them deep into you and twisting them as he moved in and out of you, mouth still teasing your ass.

"Oh my gosh, Jason. Fuck!"

"What you just call me?" His words vibrated against your hole, sending a shiver up your spine. He smacked your ass hard. "What's my name?"

Smack.

Your body shuddered, but you didn't answer.

"Hmm?" He struck you again and laughed.

"Erik," I whispered. His fingers moved to your clit, sending shockwaves through your body, making your pussy jump from the inside.

"Louder," he demanded.

"MmmmErik!" Unintelligible sounds left your mouth as he stroked your clit and ate you from behind. Your climax overtook you, pushing the balls of your feet deep into the soft carpet and making your toes point back up towards the bed. Your body went stiff before going completely limp. You flopped stomach-first onto the bed below you.

He leaned over you on the bed and whispered, "We ain't done yet, turn over."

You lazily rolled over on your back as he carefully took off his costume. You watched his beautiful body in awe when he removed his shirt and revealed dozens of scars across his chest and abdomen. He was committed to this costume.

You were on autopilot and didn't realize you were pleasuring yourself until he growled, "That's a good girl, keep that kitty wet for me."

Your fingers continued massaging your pussy as he stood over you, stroking his dick and chewing his bottom lip. "You look so good, baby, rubbing your clit like that, but I thought I told you to take your clothes off." He reached down and snatched the top of your dress open, making your breasts spill out and sending buttons flying across the room.

"Yeah, that's better. Now play with them juicy ass titties." You stuck your fingers in your mouth, trying to get them as wet as possible before moving them in circles around your deep brown nipples. His dick slid up and down your slit as you continued giving special attention to your sensitive breasts.

Finally, he entered you with a loud grunt, spreading your walls with his healthy girth. You inched up the bed a little trying to adjust to him; it had been a little while.

"Uhun, where you going? Ain't no escaping this dick tonight." He cupped his hands under your thighs and lifted your ass off the bed, pushing himself further inside, using your legs to pull you up and down his juicy dick.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Erik."

"Feels better now?"

"Yes, baby, yes," you whimpered. He twisted in and out of you, pausing every few strokes to stop and lick your clit before entering you again. His pace sped up as he looked down on you with dark eyes.

"Ahhhh got damn, girl. This pussy so fucking wet." He inhaled deeply like it was going to keep his nut from coming too soon.

"Of course it is, daddy. You keep tapping my spot," you moaned. He shifted his hips a little, hitting it straight on.

"Where is it?"

"It's right there. Don't stop, right there, please!" Your fingers gripped the sheets below you as you came hard around him. He rubbed your clit midway through your orgasm, intensifying and extending your high. He came inside you heavy before falling to your side, breathing deeply as you traced your fingers along the raised scars on his chest.

"So, you like my costume?" Your boyfriend was back.

"It was aight." He raised an eyebrow at you.

"I can give you another spanking if my performance wasn't convincing enough."

"No baby, my ass hurts. But I have a question. You think Killmonger cuddles after sex?"

"Fuck no!" He yelled. "I do, though."

He wrapped his arms around you, placing kisses in the crook of your neck.

You couldn’t stop grinning as you laid there in his arms. The experience with him tonight was overwhelming. It felt like you fucked someone else.

You fucked Killmonger.

-----

Tags:

My list is jacked, if you don’t want to be tagged, inbox me. If you’d liked to be tagged in the future, just comment and let me know. Thanks for reading!

@harleycativy @queenflaws @theogbadbitch @goddessofthundathighs @syndrlla97 @soufcakmistress @mbakusprincess @supersizemeplz @therealmrsrhodes @toniilaney @raysunshine78 @19jammmy @killmonger-fics @just-peachee @trinityaneise @wawakanda-btch @killmonger-fics @just-peachee @ladymac82 @suburbanblackhoe

#Erik Stevens #Erik Killmonger #erik x reader #erik killmonger fic #erik x black reader #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger x reader #killmonger smut #black women #black reader

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a-sour-nectarine · 3 years ago

Text

The little fic I made for @ewanmcgregorismyhomeboy12 for the halloween fandom fest creator exchange spooktacular thingymabob! sorry It's a little late, I just got home and posted it asap! Hope you enjoy it!

@starwarsfandomfests

"I feel like you aren't taking this seriously."

Anakin gasped and clutched a hand to his chest, candy corn antennae wobbling precariously on his head. "How dare you, Ahsoka! I am so serious! This is my serious outfit!"

He twirled around to flaunt his bright pink fairy wings and the floppy zebra tail clipped to the waistband of his jeans. Ahsoka couldn't stop the giggle that escaped past her lips as the tail flew out and whipped her thigh.

"Hey! Rude!"

He just grinned bigger and wiggled back and forth, hitting her with the stripped piece of fabric over and over until she grabbed it and yanked it off....

And bolted.

Anakin took off after her, yelling, and almost slammed straight into Obi-Wan, whose arms were full of steaming trays of sugar cookies. He just swore and nimbly dodged the teenager, trays of cookies barely even tipping. Ahsoka's yell of "you almost killed the cookies!" came from down the hall, and Obi-Wan just rolled his eyes. She hadn't even seen that happen.

A car honked outside, then the sound of slamming doors drifted through the window. Obi-Wan smiled and went to set down the cookies, making his way to the front door. He got to the entryway just as the bell rang, and swung the door open.

"Ladies." He executed a theatrical bow and gestured the two women inside, his eyes lingering on the second, jokingly ignoring the first. "My dear, you look lovely."

Padmé Amidala snorted and brushed past him, mumbling something about leaving them to their business, but he grabbed her arm. "You might want to... be careful. I'm afraid your husband and Ahsoka are currently at war. I would caution you not to take a side."

The young woman's smile grew just a little bit devious, and she batted her eyes mockingly though the fluttering white feathers of her ornate costume wings. "Oh, Obi, I wouldn't dream of doing anything to further the contention!"

Obi-Wan just scoffed. "In that case, I do believe Ahsoka is bound to win this one."

Padmé curtsied. "Thank you very much for your counsel." And then she swept into the house, shuffling to the side slightly as not to brush the entry table with her enormous wingspan.

Behind Obi-Wan, Padmé's companion smothered a giggle. "I think that halo has gone to her head."

"I do believe you are right, love."

Satine was dressed as a witch. Her flared black pants brushed the floor, even over the blocky heels she wore. Her black, high-necked lace blouse was overlayed with elaborate silver chains and various crystal pendant, some hanging as far down as her corseted belt. The whole ensemble was topped with a velvety witch's hat, a few pompom spiders hanging from the brim. Obi-Wan pushed one such arachnid aside and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. "Loveliest witch I've ever seen. Are you, by any chance, single?"

She just rolled her eyes and swatted him lightly. "Sorry," her eyes flickered up and down, taking him in. "I'm not into... ladybugs."

"Ahh, perhaps I should have gone with the... familiar costume."

Her eyes danced with laughter. "You in cat ears is something I would pay to see. The antenna aren't quite doing it for me."

"Yeah, well, I lost a bet."

"Ahsoka?"

"Ahsoka."

Satine smiled as a crash sounded throughout the house. "Shall we?"

Obi-Wan held out an elbow, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. "Into the fray, madam. Brace yourself."

Surprisingly, the kitchen seemed entirely unscathed. Obi-Wan allowed himself a microsecond to think that nothing was broken, before another crash sounded further back in the house. He and Satine shared a look.

"Do we investigate, or start on this punch?"

"Is it alcoholic?"

"Undoubtedly, knowing Anakin."

"Then we may need it." Satine kissed him quickly and brushed past him towards the cabinets. "Please tell me you have something to drink out of besides the solo cups." She gestured towards the stack of red plastic cups on the table.

"Obviously. The one above the sink."

She quickly found the glasses, and ladled two particular full of fuchsia punch, handing one to Obi-Wan and setting the other on the counter, just as the doorbell rang yet again. Obi-Wan took a small sip from his glass and almost choked. "Oh, wow. Remind me to never leave my brother in charge of drinks again. I'll be right back." He quickly made his way back through the house to the front door, and let in two very smug, very eager old men.

"Very nice antennae, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan just smiled. "Why, thank you, Grandfather. I quite enjoy your cape. Especially the smudge of chocolate decoration."

The second man snorted, a cackling sort of laugh, and tapped Obi-Wan's shins with his cane. "Made brownies, Yan has. Be grateful, you should be."

"My apologies, Opa." But the grin he sent the man was conspiratorial. "Dad's in the conservatory still, but you are welcome to join Satine and I in the kitchen. Anakin made a particularly potent brew with enough sugar to make your teeth rot." He began the journey back to the kitchen, Grandfather, Opa, and the plate of brownies in tow. "I recommend caution, it's particularly dangerous, especially if you are planning on driving home."

"The warning is appreciated, Obi-Wan." Grandfather Dooku smiled, while Opa Yoda just giggled again.

"Driving home, I am not. No promises, do I make."

They entered the kitchen and Satine immediately rose, giving Grandfather and Opa short hugs, smiling and exchanging long-time-no-see's.

"I assume Ben warned you about the punch?"

"He did, indeed." Opa crooned.

"Well, I checked, and we do have some port in the cellarette. Might go better with all the treats."

"Sounds wonderful, my dear." Grandfather took a seat at the bar. "Where are your siblings, Obi-Wan?"

"Oh, trashing the house, I suppose. Along with Padmé."

Another voice came from the arched doorway on the other side of the kitchen. "Well, it's time to decorate some cookies, they'd better get in here!" Qui-Gon leaned over the counter to press the intercom button on the wall. "This is papa bear to all kids, repeat, all kids, time for cookies!"

After a few moments, the sound of thundering feet reached them from down the hallway. Ahsoka was the first to sprint in, tagging the side of the archway as she did. "I win!"

"Hey, I am wearing heels!" Padmé was the next in the kitchen, popping her left wing back into place as she came through the door.

Finally, Anakin, panting and shouting. "No fair! You two locked the door! I had to go around!"

Ahsoka and Padmé shared a look before bursting into giggles. "Duh," Ahsoka rolled her eyes at him. "Your legs are, like, three feet longer than ours. We had to make it even." Then she seemed to notice the company. "Grandpa! Opa!" She threw herself around the counter and hugged then both tightly. Opa chuckled.

"Happy Halloween, little one. Grown, you have."

She laughed. "You always say that, but I haven't grown since I started high school." She gasped. "Guess what!"

"You.... accidentally ate the orange moss in the yard and developed super powers of telekinesis and enhanced instincts?"

Everyone turned to look at Grandfather Dooku. Qui Gon was the first to speak. "Dad, are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, that was super specific, Gramps." Anakin leaned over the counter, chin resting on his hand. "You speaking from experience?"

Opa just cackled. "What, Ahsoka?"

She spared one more odd glance at Grandfather, before a big smile took over her face. "I got a volleyball scholarship to go play at CSU!"

Everyone broke into rounds of applause.

"Wait a second, I thought it was U of C!" Obi-Wan wracked his brain, trying to remember the conversation they had had earlier that week.

"Nope! USC! So I'll only be a half an hour away! I'll be home for weekends and stuff!"

"Well, that's wonderful, Soka!" Padmé hugged the teenager. "But please don't expect me to come to all of your games."

"That would be so many! No, just some of them." She slid of out Padmé's arms. "Now, did I hear something about cookies?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Qui Gon was already getting out the piping bags and frosting. Anakin was rummaging through the cabinet above the fridge for sprinkles. "We have so much frosting, so go crazy."

Padmé immediately hoarded all the ghost shaped cookies, as well as the white frosting. No one complained. Obi-Wan looked away for one second, and when he turned back, there was a smear of orange buttercream across Ahsoka's cheek, and Anakin was laughing maniacally. Satine grabbed the knife from the pink frosting just before Ahsoka could use it to get her brother back.

It took a good hour and a half, but they eventually frosted all the cookies. Every last one. Qui-Gon stood up and clapped his hands together.

"Alright, movie time! Everyone to the study!"

Ahsoka and Anakin took off, closely followed by Padmé. Qui-Gon shot Obi-Wan a joyful look and raced after them, leaving the clean-up to everyone else. Satine laughed and started passing Obi-Wan butter knives and various piping tips to rinse off, while Grandfather and Opa put the lids back on the frosting containers, and wiped off the counter.

"Satine, I haven't seen that boy of yours in a while, how is he doing?" Grandfather was trying to sound nonchalant, but Obi-Wan knew better. He adored Korkie.

"Oh, very well! He's in year 11, starting to look into universities and such. Tonight he's with some friends, but he did say to tell you all hello."

"Well, hello back, we say." Opa hummed as he wiped off the last bit of the frosting from the counter. "Now, to the conservatory, hmm?"

"Yes, I believe we're watching Halloweentown this year."

"Wonderful. Let's hope the kids saved us some seats, yeah?" Satine hooked and arm through Obi-Wan's and they trailed off into the depths of the house behind Grandfather and Opa, already half asleep and with no intention of staying awake all the way through Halloweentown.

#sw #fandom fest #ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #satine kryze #yoda #count dooku #qui gon jinn #modern au #halloween

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bokoutoe-retired · 4 years ago

Text

— setups, haunted houses, and confessions

characters; daichi sawamura, gn! reader

synopsis; after being set up by sugawara, a pining captain and a smitten team manager stumble their way through a very unplanned ‘date’

total w/c; 2154

warnings; a little mentioned of (implied) fake blood, and i mention clowns and zombies like once, just some normal haunted house stuff. otherwise nothing but awkward pinning here

「 a/n 」 requested by @girlontumblur! so i obviously failed at getting this out like i wanted (i went back and edited last minute smh) 😔🤚 but it’s here now! 😼😼 and i hope this does decent because although it doesn’t flow as well as i wanted it to, i still kinda like it lmao. anyways, daichi simps unite 🤝 enjoy!

you honestly should’ve known something was up the second sugawara approached you after practice with a sly grin plastered on his annoyingly pretty face. you should've known when everyone texted the team group chat with last minute cancelations or excuses for running late. and you definitely should’ve known when daichi was the only one you found sitting at the planned meeting spot. but, you didn’t and neither did he.

now you two were sat alone on the small blue bench. daichi had one of his hands tucked into the pocket of his thick army green jacket and the other hand scrolling through the same group chat you were looking at minutes prior. the two of you had agreed to wait for a little in hopes that maybe one or two other team members might show up. but unbeknownst to either party, both of you also hoped someone would show up and save you the pain of embarrassing yourself in front of the person you had been pining after for nearly three years. daichis phone pinged, interrupting the awkward silence. it was a text from suga and daichi can feel the tips of his ears grow warm as he reads the message;

have fun on your date! ;) -suga

of course it was suga. he shouldn’t have expected anything less from his scheming vice captain. how he got the whole team to go along with it, is a mystery he decides to leave for another day when he hears you speak up from your spot next to him.

“is anyone else coming?” he’s thrown out of his thoughts when he feels you nudge his shoulder with yours and sees you nod to his phone. he quickly turns it off and pockets it before he turns his attention to you completely.

“i don’t think so, asahi was the last one to check in and he just canceled,” he sighs and shoves his other hand in his pocket. you two have been close friends for years, but a few recent incidents, (perhaps incited by suga now that he thinks about it…) have left you walking on eggshells around each other. all in attempt to not admit your feelings, the same feelings that are completely obvious to everyone except yourselves.

“oh.. well, i don’t mind if you don’t?” you wring your hands together in your lap as you look at him.

“yeah, yeah of course not. we’re already here aren’t we?” he gives you that big, warm smile you love so much. it’s practically infectious as you feel a wide grin spread across your face too. “lets go, yeah?” he stands up from the bench, and doesn’t hesitate to offer you his hand. you happily allow him to help hoist you up off the bench, but have to resist the urge to intertwine your fingers with his.

the walk to the pumpkin farm and haunted house combination is only about fifteen minutes, but the awkward silence from before is gone. replaced by comfortable conversation about your responsibilities as team captain and manager respectively, funny stories about your friends or talk about your shared classes. you’re so involved with the conversation neither of you notice the way you walk with your shoulders pressed together. maybe it’s a subconscious pull to one another or maybe just an attempt to escape the chill of the late fall air.

upon your arrival, you can see the towering entrance archway, made of large sticks and corn stalks. built up into a curve with twinkle lights woven throughout. it welcomes you into the family owned farm turned halloween attraction. underneath the arch, families enter and exit, some with children in their costumes and some with parents carrying pumpkins. some young couples and teenage friend groups pass through as well. the small apple cider stand surrounded by hale bales emits that sweet spiced scent that so perfectly encapsulates autumn.

the original “plan” as stated by suga was to just go through the haunted house together and get some food together, just some team bonding. but without the lovable burden of the entire karasuno volleyball club with you, it’s easy for you and daichi to leisurely make your way around the entire farm and participate in all of it’s available activities. you made your way through a hay bale maze together. it may have been meant for children but you had fun regardless, laughing when you got separated and teasing each other when you hit a dead end. you got the treat of watching daichi attempt to bob for apples, and get nothing except for a slightly damp shirt collar.

you even purchased a bag of animal feed for you and daichi to share. you went around petting and feeding goats and a few chickens. at some point you reached into the small brown paper bag right when daichi did. your fingers brushed his and you both pulled back like you had been burned. each of you flusteredly spitting out apologies, until he takes a deep breath, chuckles and shakes head, telling you not to worry about it and it’s no big deal. his strong voice and calm words are a stark contrast to his worried apologies just seconds earlier, but it’s enough for you to relax and continue on with the afternoon.

eventually, daichi leads you to sit down across from him at a wooden table and you’re quick to fall into comfortable conversation. all while the warmth of the apple cider he had just bought you seeps into your fingers and keeps them warm.

if you didn’t doubt yourself so much, you would’ve thought this felt exactly like some sort of date happening. the two of you together, spending time doing things any real couple would. at the same time, similar thoughts raced through daichis mind. he thought about how much this must look like a date to any people passing, and how much he really did wish that was the case. to be able to call you his own and take you out on cute dates like this whenever you wanted. too concerned with his cheeks dusting red at the thought, he fails to notice the similar blush presenting itself on your face.

it’s so easy to get caught up as you keep talking with daichi, you don’t notice the sun starting to set and you don’t even catch him gazing at you with that soft look in his eyes.

you crack a joke during your story about some of tanaka and noyas shenanigans and he laughs. he laughs this hearty, bright laugh that makes your chest tighten and your own smile widen. i’d like to make him laugh like that for the rest of my life you think.

“you know, i’m a little relieved. with the entire team here it would’ve been hectic to say the least,” he lets out another laugh at the thought of the whole club wreaking havoc on the poor farm, “and you know… i’m glad i got to spend time with you too. it was nice and i’m having a really good time” his soft smile is just as sincere as his words.

“i did too, daichi. thank you for today, i really had fun” you smile back at him and take a sip of your cider.

“ah ah! don’t say thank you yet, y/n. we’ve still got one last thing to do,” he shoves a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the haunted house. from your spot at the table you can see the flash of the strobe lights and artificial fog trickling from the attraction. “maybe we should go get in line?”

you nod, and he once again offers you his hand to help you stand. and just like before you resist the nagging push in the back of your mind to just intertwine your fingers with his. you make your way over, tossing your empty cider cups into the trash as you walk.

you purchase your tickets, or more so daichi buys both of them despite you insisting it’s your turn to pay after he bought cider, and get in the line of about ten people.

“you know i didn’t really consider the fact i wouldn’t have the whole team to hide behind anymore” you rock and back and forth on your feet, as you hear a couple of screams echo from inside the house.

“what, is your captain not big and strong enough to protect you?” he teases while flexing one arm.

“oh stop it, you know what i meant” you playfully roll your eyes and poke him in the ribs right before he swats your hand away.

“just remember, if you take me out now you won’t have anyone to hide behind” by now the line has moved up and there’s only two or three people in front of you.

they group in front of you goes and suddenly you and daichi are up next. the front of the haunted house is decaying and covered in those sticky store-bought cobwebs. you drop your tickets in the box and with a wave of their hand an employee motions you forward into the entrance.

you make your way through the halls of the attraction, going through different themed sections. a circus tent full of crazed clowns, a bloodied butchers shop, and zombies kept back by chain fences. each hall comes with its own set of spooks and scares. creepy sound effects, banging on the walls all around you and air machines puffing air into your face. you don’t even attempt to hide your terror as you scream and even grab onto daichis arm. he lets out his own shouts of fear, but manages to put on his tough act at least partially. you notice him place himself in front of you slightly as you walk, the arm you cling to held in front of your body protectively, although there was no true danger. you’d probably think something of it if you weren’t too distracted by the adrenaline pumping in your veins. it’s not all scary though, a couple of daichis screams make you giggle and act as momentary distraction from your surroundings. a particularly high pitched yelp of his has you gripping the back of his shirt, doubled over laughing. but a loud bang that rattles the wall next to your gives you a start and you keep venturing forward through the house.

you think you’re finally in the clear when you're walking down the hall that leads to the exit off the back of the house. you see an employee dressed in all black at the end directing people around the side of the house and back to the front. but it’s only when you feel your heartbeat start to slow that you hear the chainsaw start and the screams of the group behind you and daichi. you’re heartbeat picks up again and out of pure instinct you lurch forward. you make it out the hall and into the small gravel field behind before you realize daichi still had himself in front of you. you’re too late to react and go barreling into him. the momentum brings both of you tumbling forward into the gravel. you land halfway on top of him but his reflexes are much better than your own and they help keep you from going too far. one arm keeps you from rolling and the other cradles your head to his chest to prevent you from hitting it. the loud buzz of the chainsaw fades as the actor chases the friend group around the side of the house for a short distance. you immediately sit yourself up and attempt to apologize between labored breaths.

“oh god, daichi. i- i’m so sorry, i just heard the chainsaw and i started moving. i didn’t even think. i understand now why you don’t like me back now. i’m so sorry” you hang your head in apology, not even registering the words that slip from your mouth in your scramble to say sorry.

“what?” he asks, stunned.

“...what?” you echo back slowly before the realization hits you hard. you struggle to spit out an explanation and you feel your face heat up, “i just meant-”

daichis look of shock morphs into a soft smile as he cuts you off with another one of his warm laughs and uses the hand at the back of your neck to pull you down. his lips meet yours in a kiss thats just as warm and solid as him. he pulls away after a moment only to rest your foreheads together and smile at you softly

“does that mean?” you breathe out, smiling back hopefully.

“yes, yes it does,” he chuckles and stands up from the ground. daichi offers you his hand one last time, you take it and pull yourself up. but unlike any previous offers, you don’t hesitate to lace your fingers with his.

#i know i said 4pm in my post #but i decided to wait a little for maximum exposure~#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu oneshots #sawamura daichi #daichi sawamura #daichi x reader #hq daichi #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi x you #daichi x gender neutral reader #daichi oneshots #haikyuu fic #anyways i'm so soft for him no one talk to me ;-;#haikyuu x reader oneshots

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jitter-bug · 4 years ago

Text

Just Like Me

Taglist: @artemisfowl11

Nines x Reader (Detroit: Become Human)

A/n: Did I hear costumes with a plot twist? And 10x scary???👀 so that the request wouldn't be too short ???🔫👀 I certainly fuckin' did. This one is too long. Sorry for rush. I love you :') plz enjoy(plz) I have so many request. And I am getting around to all of them. So don't worry for anyone that's waiting for your request, they will get done I promise! (Plz don't hurt me--)❤ enjoy- p.s I also had a hard time choosing the costume. I wanted something race neutral because as a person of color myself. There's not many couple costumes out there, that...you know. So 😌 uh. I had to run off a limb here for all my POC readers. (Gang gang 😩) (give me feedback if you any more of this, I know some people messaged me about continuing Fear. I don't do series. But I'll do em' we lit over here😩😪💅) p.s.s I edited it to gender neutral, so sorry for any errors-- (donthurtme)

"What do you mean, no?" The defeated tone of the detective echoed through the bullpen. Arms crossed as they stared at Hank. He was sitting at his desk. A hand placed on the desk as he stared at the terminal. In a way so he wouldn't have to stare at the perplexed expression of Y/n.

"Kid. I'm too damn old to be dressing up in costumes." Was his reply.

Y/n had woken up that very morning. An idea engraved in their brain like their body threatened them to remember it and not let the wonderful idea go.

The DPD was throwing a Halloween party. Which was really a celebration for Chris, he was finally promoted to being an official Detective, and for his celebration. There would be a themed party. Considering the fact that Halloween was creeping in around the corner. Y/n soon thought that they wanted to wear a costume, with someone that is. They thought sharing laughs or even going to the party dressed as characters would be fun and yet entertaining. Their first thought was Hank. But, he undoubtedly shot the idea down. And declined. Hank saw the unamused expression on their face when he tore his gaze from the terminal. Their fist was planted on his desk. As their hand was on their hip. Their eyebrows furrowed. Giving him a look that he was used to seeing when they helped him speak with suspects in the interrogation room. Though, their expression was not as hard and more so serious.

Connor, who was sitting at his desk. Across from Hank. Stared between the two. His LED teetering back and forth from yellow to stark red.

"Go ask Gavin." Hank brought up the name that seemed alien to him as he scoffed slightly at his name. Y/n quickly lost their expression before shaking her head. They couldn't say Y/n and Gavin were enemies. But they haven't interacted with each other to a point where Y/n would see themself asking him to join them on their dress up crusade.

"No." They replied. Hank has been staring at the ceiling. Arms crossed. Once hearing Y/n once again. He landed his gaze back onto them. His index finger tapping his arm.

"Go ask your partner."

Nines stared at Y/n. The two staring right through each other, but Y/n could feel themself crumble under his steel gaze. His eyebrows furrowed slightly. In an attempt to see through Y/n.

Nines originally was Gavin Reed's partner. Until Chris was recently promoted to a Detective and made to be Gavin's partner. Which pulled Y/n from Hank and Connor, into being Nine's newest partner.

Before then. They hadn't really interacted with him. Occasional greetings and ludicrous jokes between Y/n and Gavin. In which the rk900 ignored, he never cared to learn much about Y/n- or anyone at the station at that. He was reserved, observant, stern and very stoic. He...lacked certain things other deviant androids had.

Emotions.

People around the prescient knew about him. But never spoke to him, reasons being his lack of expressing himself gave people the assumption that Nines was genuinely just a rude android. Which...Y/n could see why. He didn't tolerate childish behavior, at all. Rarely participated in any outings the station threw, such as celebrations if someone was promoted. Birthday parties. Or just a genuine outing to celebrate and catch up with one another. Nines was always at the station, he - In a way deemed to separate himself from others. His eyebrows were always furrowed. In a way to resemble a scowl of some sort...which he always did.

Of course, Y/n could somewhat tolerate him, once they were paired together, Nines was non-stop pestering Y/n with things they needed to get done, things that weren't done right. He always pointed out the imperfections and mistakes rather than the good. Y/n couldn't say they were exactly friends with the rk900. He made it hard for it to be anything other than being partners. But, today was the day, Y/n decided it would be best to try and find a way through his cold exterior.

Nines didn't say anything. Y/n held her hands behind her back. The slightest smile trying to make its way onto their face. "So...I was thinking."

They started. They didn't feel nervous. But rather awkward from the sudden request. Nines didn't say anything. Instead keep his arms behind his back as Y/n slowly sat down on the desk. Planting their hands on their knees. "I was thinking, maybe me and you should go to Chris's celebration together tomorrow night, you know. As partners? Amigos? Buddies?" Y/n reached up. Placing a half-heartedly punch on Nine's shoulder.

"And. You know. Dress up? Costumes? I'd think you'd enjoy it. You know, you've been really working your heart out for these past few weeks Nines, and I think maybe you would like a break. You know, wind down." They explained. In their head. The explanation was fool-proof. Nines had been working a lot. In fact. The whole station was. With the new cases of Red Ice popping up around Detroit. Everyone had constantly been on their toes.

"I'm incapable of getting tired, Detective." Nines replied. He turned to fully face Y/n. His arms that were once behind his back, now by his side.

Y/n felt themself run into a dead end.

"I know that Nine's I'm not stupid." She muttered. Instead of replying. He only stared at her. Blinking once, that was so it took. Y/n could tell what he was thinking. They sneered.

"That's not funny, I'm serious."

"My apologies. I was unaware I was making a joke--"

"Anyway!" Snapping their fingers to get back on track. Y/n sighed. Rubbing their temple before looking back at Nine's form.

"If. You go to the party with me, and agree to wear a costume with me. I promise I'll stop fooling around on the field." They tried to compromise watching as Nine's was already turning away from her to walk over to his desk.

"I'll even stop making those lame ass jokes for an entire week. I can't say for..forever, But I mean a week has to be at least decent." They spoke up. Raising their voice so he could listen.

"A month." Nines said. His back turned from them. But Y/n could see him grabbing stacks of papers and placing them in their designated manilla folders. Y/n stared at his back. Eyebrows furrowed as they tried to piece together what he meant, the rk900 seemed to be aware of how perplexed she was.

"You'll focus on the assigned case you have, without constantly getting distracted, for a month. If you can agree to that. Then you've found yourself someone to go to the party with."

He explained. Y/n jumped slightly, the excitement shot through them like electricity, sparking them to life. This was new! Certainly new!

"Wait, are you serious? Oh my god!" They squealed. Kicking their feet so hard Y/n was afraid their shoe would fly off, flying across the room. As funny as the scenario might sound, Y/n was too distracted with the offer to worry about anything else.

"1 month?" They asks.

"1 month." He repeats.

"I mean...what about 2 weeks?" They bargained. A month, where they couldn't bullshit around at work. It felt like a sin to Y/n.

"1 month."

"But...Nines that's too long." They tried to whine. But Nines turned around. Holding the folders in his hands.

"1 month." He repeats.

"2 weeks?"

"1 month."

"....3 weeks?"

"1 month."

"No! Come on. 2 weeks. Take it or leave it!" Y/n shoots their hands in the air. Drastically expressing their distress. But Nines didn't seem to show an ounce of sorrow or care for the matter.

"Do I hear 2 months?"

"Okay, no! 1 month!"

With what Y/n assumed would be the end of the discussion to Nines. He nods.

"Okay then. Now. What is it that you have planned?"

"Okay. So. I think maybe we should do something scary. 2 years ago. Me and Hank dressed up as clowns, and scared the hell out of Gavin. It was hilarious." Y/n absently spoke. They searched through their phone for ideas that may spark interest in them. Deciding on creating something new and from scratch.

Nines was busy placing items in Y/n's bag so the two could leave the station and do whatever it was Y/n had in store.

Nines zipped up the bookbag before turning away from the desk to face. Only to find them already examining his form.

The yellow soon took the place of the blue on his LED. His eyebrows furrowed.

"What?" He asks. Y/n hummed.

"I was thinking of what would suit you." They replied. As they spoke Nines handed Y/n their bookbag, which they thanked him before slipping it on over their shoulders.

"We can head to my house and see ideas from there." Y/n started. Adjusting the straps onto their shoulders as they took several steps forward towards the exit. They didn't have much time from now till tomorrow night, the gears in Y/n's head were turning. What should they do? What should they dress as for their costumes? And most importantly. Make sure Nines had a good night out for his first ever outing.

Y/n placed the phone back in theirpocket. Before reaching over to unlock the door. They felt Nines walk behind them, swatting and flicking their hand away from the latch to open the door.

"I'm driving. You get to the passenger side and think about what your plan will be." Nines spoke. Y/n flinched their hand away from the latch.

"Ow, okay, okay--" they made their way around the car to the passenger side. Y/n was positive the only real reason he wanted Y/n to sit out on driving was because last time they were behind the wheel, a favorite song of theirs that they vaguely remembered from some time ago came on the radio station when they were patrolling the downtown area of Detroit.

All Y/n could say was how Nines was extremely pissed with their screeching out lyrics that he wasn't paying attention to. More of Y/n's abrupt screaming. Which is why he didn't want them touching the wheel while he was in the car with them.

Slipping inside the car. Y/n closed the door. Hearing from their opposite side that Nines was in the car as well.

"Keys." He spoke up. Y/n automatically reached in their dress pants pockets in search of the keys. Once feeling the cool metal against their digits. They handed them to Nines. Where as he started the car.

Y/n slide off their bookbag. And turned to toss it in the back of the car. Where a paper bag was seen lazily balled up on the floor. Seeing the Red Ice cases increased exponentially, there were many stakeouts that Y/n and Nines were assigned to. Sitting out in the car for long periods of time did spike up an appetite in Y/n's stomach every once in a while. Of course, Nines scolded them for not eating before arriving on the scene, but that didn't stop them from getting food.

Once situated and Nines driving down the street. Y/n slipped their phone back out.

"So. How do you feel being a butcher?" They asks. Nines stared at the road. Silent for a moment as he contemplated what Y/n said.

"A butcher..? Odd, how would that in any way be a good costume?" He asks. Y/n placed their phone their lap.

"Bloody butcher. You know. Kill people? Chop chop? Blood. Chains and all that jazz." They replied. Flipping through the many photos of cheap costumes that would wear out in later than a few months if they were to purchase one.

"I can't make a firm decision on what to wear. You do that." He spoke up. Y/n hummed in acknowledgment. As much as they wanted Nines to choose for himself. He often had a hard time doing so. Of course he did things his own way, but only for a purpose of doing his job. Completing his mission.

"Well then. Butcher it is," they replied.

Once making it into the warm house that groped around Y/n with its comforting warmth. Y/n dropped their bookbag on the ground by the couch. Plopping down onto the cushion. And letting out a long needed sigh. They heard Nines close and lock the front door.

The tension in Y/n's muscles slowly eased its way into relaxation. This wasn't the first time Nines had seen Y/n's place. Only resorting to be at their doorstep to wake them up at ungodly hours for emergency crime scenes that so happened to pop up out of nowhere. Or to drive them home when they are tired to do it half the time themself.

The TV was still on playing from earlier in the morning when Y/n left. On the same channel and same soft spoken volume.

"Alright. Come on. Sit." They finally mustered up the energy to speak. Nines - who was standing next to the couch, took a seat next to Y/n as they opened their phone once more.

"So. I was thinking on the way here. A bloody butcher. Both you and I. I think that would be fun." They proclaimed it was some extremely good news. But to Nines, it was more of good news to Y/n, but he didn't say anything. His pale optics pierced Y/n's face. His eyebrows raised slightly. Y/n gave him a smile, one of reassurance. "Oh come on, don't worry. You'll love it. I saw you have a knack for violent things." They chuckled. Moving over to their coffee table to pick up the laptop that was sitting on it. Nines LED flickered a stark red.

"I'm assuming you would think I'm a violent person because of how I handle things on the field?" It didn't sound like much of a question.

"Well duh. You do tend to man-handle the hell out of the suspects." Y/n replied. Nines didn't say anything else. Instead, watch as Y/n typed into the computer. After a while. They sat back on the couch and glanced at Nines.

"This should work out. Not to mention be a good sight for my budget." They said. Y/n turned the laptop around and showed a photo of the costume, which was just general ideas of what items they planned on looking for.

Nines stared at the screen. His LED circling around. Once. Twice. Before turning yellow.

"Are you purchasing these from a store?" He asks. Y/n nods. Nines nods as well.

"Yeah. Tomorrow after work we both are going to go gather the materials to put together the costume. Oh, this should be fun! Believe it or not. Gavin is such a scary cat. I'm pretty sure you'll be able to scare the hell out of him!" They gave a laugh before setting the laptop on the table.

"But, really Nines. Thanks for agreeing to do this with me. I promise. That when this is all over. I'll not goof around for 1 entire month." They said. Y/n lifted their hand, poking out their pinkie finger. Nines stared at their hand before looking at them.He lifted his hand before pushing Y/n's hand away with his back hand.

"I'll take your word on it, Detective." He says.

"Oh come on. Don't be like that. Smile for once. My gosh." Y/n lets out a chuckle. Lifting one hand to pull at his cheek. Her thumb tugging at the corner of his right lip in an attempt to tug it upwards. Nines - once again, swatted their hand away from his face. A scowl interrupting his blank expression.

"Stop."

"Whatever, tomorrow. It'll be great, you'll have fun, I promise."

Nines watched as Y/n stated at the rack of clothes. Having trouble deciding what Nines would best fit his costume. They decided to purchase his first. The two left the station an hour ago, to get ready for the party that was only 4 hours away. And time was ticking rather quickly with Y/n staring at the rack of clothes as if they had a hard time finding what to wear.

Nines felt his hand lift up. Rubbing at his temple. His elbow resting on his other arm which was across his torso.

"Y/n..."

Y/n let out a hum, signalling they heard what he said but kept their gaze on the rack.

"I think this would go by much quicker, if I were to pick out the clothes, and when you get home. You can put them together." He spoke. Y/n turned to face Nines. He saw them cross their arms.

"Are you calling me slow?" They asks. But, he could tell Y/n wasn't offended by their ack of anger that he so happened to be acquainted with.

"More, indecisive." He corrected. He saw their eyebrows furrow. But they quickly rose up as they understood what he meant.

"I'm not having a hard time picking...just--look, this is supposed to be a me and you thing. Partner to partner, friend to friend. You know. So we can spend more time together instead of always yelling at each other like at work."

It was true. Nines and Y/n rarely got a long at work, Nines being a reason for the constant start of an argument between him and Y/n. That being either working on a case. At the station. Or even at a stake out. He always seemed to feed the flame just to spark Y/n's anger into nothing more than a hungry flame ready to lash out at anyone. But that was because Nines wanted things done the way he wanted them done. And Y/n rarely gave him what he wanted...and that was being serious on the job. But the explanation did make sense. More time spent outside to get to know more about each other...or rather spend more time with each other, could lower their rate or going after each other's throats.

"So, you know. Come on. Let's Both pick our stuff out together." A hint of hope was evident in Y/n's voice. Nines nods, taking several steps forward, to analyse the rack.

"I think you can do something with this."

"Ow! Stop! Stop!" Y/n hissed in pain, feeling Nines peel off the face mask from their face. They tried lifting their hand up to push his hand away. But he was one step ahead. Smacking their hand away for the upteempth time that week. The two finished picking out the clothing and items for their costume, only had 2 hours left to get dressed and ready, a lady that was an entrepreneur and had a clothing line. Gracefully gave Y/n and Nines a discount on what they needed for their costumes. Finding the generous offer kind, Y/n paid more than needed for the clothes, and spent almost half an hour speaking to the woman. Which knocked off much more time than needed. And Nines didn't want any delays in getting dressed - so almost immediately once the two reached Y/n's house. He started laying out stuff so the two could get ready.

The first step being to peel off the face mask for Y/n so once they put the make up on their face for the costume it wouldn't be mixed with any bacteria and dirt. Which also was a pain in Y/n's ass to feel the mask pulling at their skin. And how Nines didn't seem to care much, instead. Resulting in him snatching off the mask piece by piece.

"You asshole! You're doing that on purpose!" Y/n barked. They reached up to punch Nines in his chest. But was interrupted by him snagging at the mask on their face once again. Placing the pieces in a trash can he took from the kitchen.

"It shouldn't hurt that bad, stop whining. Or else this will take much longer than needed." He finally spoke up. Y/n sneered slightly as they felt him tilt their head so he could get the rest of the god-forbidden mask that seemed to be glued to their skin.

After finally getting the pieces peeled off and placed in the trash. Nines stood up to take the trash back to its original spot in the kitchen. Y/n rubbed at their face. The skin feeling somewhat smoother, her pores finally able to get air comfortably.

"Okay. Happy? The horrible dreadful part, as you quoted, is out of the way." Nines said. As he spoke Y/n mumbled a 'fucking finally' - and stood up.

"Okay, we have plenty of time, Oh my god, this is going to be fun. Okay!" Almost immediately, Nines saw the excited expression overtake their expression again. Watching as they grabbed one of the bags and tossed it over to Nines.

"Get dressed. I'll come back in here when I'm done."

Y/n was surprised with how their costume came out. The idea in their mind wasn't as exciting as they once was thinking. But seeing the white knee length apron. Black dress shirt, the tattered jeans that were tucked into the dark rain boots showed that the costume was supposed to resemble some sort of butcher. A few things are missing here and there. But was still proud of how it came out.

Deciding on going back in the living room to get the last back on the coffee table they remembered leaving on the table. Which contained the makeup and fake blood for the costumes...which of course was supposed to be added last.

Walking down the hall and into the living room. Which was empty, in which Y/n didn't seem to take surprise. Thinking Nines went off somewhere in the house(such as the bathroom) , go get dressed. They didn't bother calling out for him. Instead, picking up the bag on the table to look through it. Seeing the many items in the bag, having a hard time choosing what to use first, they stared at the back in contemplation. Unaware of the sauntering figure that was creeping up behind them.

Deciding on finding it to be best, wait for Nines to come back and help with choosing what happens next. They places the bag on the table once again. They turned around to go and look for Nines. Only to quickly pause in their movement upon seeing the figure behind them Y/n jumped slightly. Their calves hit the coffee table.

It was Nines, dressed in the costume, the black apron tied to his waist tightly, instead of a dress shirt that Y/n sported, Nines had on a black turtleneck, which really fit with the costume. Y/n could see the chains wrapped around his wrist, the sound of the metal clanking against each other.

They saw the pig mask, the one Y/n picked out because Y/n found it oddly suiting Nines. The boar's head seemed pretty realistic, the blemishes and red markings on the facial area wavered Y/n's sense of security. They could barely see his eyes through the mask...where the eyes are of course.

"Jeez. You scared me there for a second." Y/n mumbled.

But, Nines didn't say anything. The feeling of his form towering over Y/n, made them realize how some suspects the two brought in everyday had to face his wrath in an interrogation...or just a simple ass kicking. From what Y/n remembers. Nines never lost in a single fight.

"Is this your way in trying to scare me? If so. It's not working." They let out a chuckle, which was half-heartedly. Nines - instead of replying. Let out a grunt. Which Y/n could deem animalistic. Y/n flinched. Shooting him a glare in a way to get him to knock off whatever he was pulling.

"The hell? Did you growl at me?" They spat. Instead of - once again. Not replying. Nines turned around to walk off down the hall where the bathroom was located.

"Where are you going?" They asks. There was no reply. Only the sound of the chains clanking against each other and the squeaking of the rainboots answered them question.

"..." Y/n felt their eyebrow twitch. Almost a second letter. Nines came back out the hall. Looking the same, except holding the boars mask in his hand, which he didn't seem to have any interest in wearing.

"Dude, what the hell?"

Nines looked at Y/n. His LED flickering to yellow almost instantly. He raised an eyebrow; "is there a problem?" He asks. Y/n scrunched their nose up and nodded.

"Uh, yeah. You were just out here - not even a minute ago. You just walked off. Not to mention, growled at me." They answered. Y/n saw the LED on Nines temple slowly circled to the stark red, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I was in the bathroom all this time." He said. Y/n only gave him a blank expression. Which only remsebled an expression that they didn't believe what he said.

"I was--"

"Anyway. Come on. Let's put this last bit of stuff on so we can leave."

"You're getting blood everywhere." Nines informed. Watching as Y/n drove down the ride they tried sitting themselves in the seat comfortably so the fake blood on the apron wouldn't smear on the car seat. It would be a pain to get it out.

"I know that, Nines. Shut up, pighead. Besides, it's not even real." They muttered. Nines lifted the corner of his lip in a way to sneer.

"Hilarious. I almost forgot to laugh at that one."

"You forget to laugh everyday." They quickly shot back. Nines only rubbed his temple with a sigh. "You truly are a mess." He sighs. Y/n laughed, keeping their eyes on the road.

"You're damn right, a hot mess. Trust me. Tonight will be fun! Don't worry, really!" Nines didn't reply. Instead watched the road and the many buildings that passed by. His gray optics flickered over to Y/n. Spending an entire day with his partner did have its ups and downs. But it wasn't as life-threatening as he thought it would be.

"So. Are you enjoying yourself so far? You know. Being costume twins and all. I think it's fun." Y/n asked. Nines tapped his index finger in his knee.

"Rather childish. But if it can get you to stop quiping me about dressing up with you. I guess this won't be too bad." He responds. Hearing Y/n tap the wheel with their fingers.

"Thanks for doing this with me, really. Maybe tonight you and I can go and get something to eat."

"I don't eat."

"....I mean. You could at least act like you do. Like jeez, what the hell." They muttered. Once again, complaining. Mumbling about. "Just stuff the food in your mouth and spit it out. Make it seem like you can or something--"

"Alright--okay. I'll take you out to dinner tonight. Is that what you wanted to hear?" Nines finally spoke up. Interrupting her from her charades of complaining. Almost quickly, a smile replaced their frown.

"Yes, sir. That's exactly what I want to hear. You. Nines. My partner. Taking me to get dinner." They quipped. Nines glanced at them. Shaking his head slowly.

"Holy shit!" Gavin stared at the two. Watching as Nines was busy behind Y/n speaking to Hank from behind the boar's mask. A smile graced Hank's lips. His hands on his hips. He didn't dress as anything like the majority of the people did. Instead...well...showing up in his casual clothes.

"Wow. Next year. Me and you and dressing up together." Gavin nudged Y/n's shoulder. Causing them to chuckle.

"I mean. I was going around the office asking people. And they either were dressing up as something already, or were dressing up as something already. Same thing. I know." They grinned, already knowing what Gavin was about to say.

"You didn't ask me you little shit!"

"Oops?"

Gavin rolled his eyes. Swatting his hands in a way to shoo the conversation away. "Nines look terrifying as hell." He looked over at their partner who was still speaking with Hank. Y/n nods.

"I'm not surprised. You're scared of everything." She said. Gavin shot her a look.

"Hey, plastic-prick. Over here!" Gavin snaps his fingers. Y/n saw Nines look away from Hank. And over to Gavin. Hank looked over as well. Nines walked over to the two. Once in earshot he turned his head away from Y/n to look at Gavin.

"Yes?" He asks. Gavin flicked the boar's snout.

"Sup."

"I don't know what I expected wasting my time walking over here." Nines muttered. Gavin laughs. Almost immediately, Nines jumped towards Gavin. Which also startled Y/n. The two shrieked at the sudden action from Nines. Hearing Hank laugh in the background was what pulled Gavin from his pose. Which he moved to grip Y/n's shoulder. In a pose like he was hiding behind them.

"You Jackass!" Gavin shouts. Hank howled with laughter. Walking over to give Nines a pat on the back.

"Good one!"

Y/n felt their heartbeat in their chest like drums. They couldn't find an exact reason why they got jumpy. Letting out a sigh as they placed a hand on their chest. Hearing Gavin bicker in the background along the lines of "I'll fucking end you!"

Meanwhile, Y/n stared across the street. Which had a good view of an alleyway. Seeing two figures facing each other. Once being noticeably shorter than the other. The short figure...which the two really resemble the silhouette from the lack of light in the area (considering the sun had set) the short figure seemed to be pointing its finger at the taller figure's chest. From the body movements the person seemed to be angry. As on the other hand the taller figure - standing still and stiff as a plank just stood there.

Y/n watched for a few more moments. Whatever commotion they were hearing on their side of the street was muffled to them.

Soon, the short figure head turned towards the direction Y/n was in - across the street. Which the taller figure took notice of. The two stared at them. The tall figure seemed to tap its leg. Causing the short figure the scurry off somewhere in the shadows of the alleyway.

Raising a hand. The tall figure that was left in the alleyway waved. Y/n furrowed their eyebrows.

Who the hell was that?

"Y/n! Come on, get your ass in here before you freeze!" Y/n heard Hank shout from the door. Y/n quickly snapped from their clouded reality. Looking at Hank who was holding the door open. Shoot a gaze back at the alley, only to see nothing.

"And I said. Give me my shit. Or I'll put a foot up your ass." Gavin said. The booth that was placed in the back of the room, either chuckled, laughed or said commented on his story. Which was Chris.

"Honestly. I wouldn't be too surprised if she got a restraining order on your crazy ass." Chris chuckled. Gavin only shot him a large grin. Chris's wife smiled at the two. Shaking their head. The majority of the party dressed up. Either it being werewolves, vampires, zombies. It was something...despite the fact that one of the officers came with a macaroni box.

The booth sat, Connor, Hank, Nines, Y/n, Gavin, Chris and his wife. Drinks were passed, and also laughs. (Will except from Nines of course)

The night was smooth. And not to mention fun.

Y/n, still kept tethering back and forth from the odd altercation at home with Nines. And from what they saw in the alleyway.

Nines sat next to them. Listening to Gavin speak. On and on.

"So. Are you two still together or not?" Chris asked. Gavin's and his significant other had...somewhat of a toxic relationship. Constant fighting, either it be verbal or...from what Gavin didn't want to admit. But it was obvious. Physical. From both parties. But, Y/n never really intervened. It wasn't their business. So they didn't care much about it. Though the stories were funny.

Digging into their pockets in search of their phone. They didn't feel it. Taking note they must have left it outside in the car.

"I'll be right back. I have to go get my phone."

Sitting in the driver's seat. Y/n checked to see if the device was at a proper percentage. She closed the car door and sighed. Scrolling through it sees nothing new. They turned around to face the building to return. They stopped and looked up. Seeing a figure by the light pole in front of them The figure had the same costume as Y/n. The apron. The boots. Pants. Looking up they saw...the same face. It was Y/n!

The dark circles under the eyes were much noticeable. The blue surgical mask covered the lower half of the person's face. But Y/n wasn't stupid. They saw themself many times in the mirror to tell who it was. And every strand of hair on the person's head. Could tell that certainly was Y/n.

The e/c eyes stared at Y/n's form. Boring into their face. A feeling they similarly got only from Nines. But the gaze coming from..them, made Y/n freeze.

Staring at the person. It was like an exact replica, a doppelganger.

Y/n could hear the sounds coming from the person. A muffled purr of some sort, scuffling shoes. It couldn't seem to stand still.

"...who are you--" Y/n was cut off by the doppelganger launching itself towards them - gripping the side of their face. It's nails digging into their skin. Y/n let out a surprised scream. Hearing the strained grumbles and grows coming from the thing on top of them.

Y/n felt themself land on the ground. The concrete knocking the wind from their body. Y/n was more surprised than scared. Of course they had many hand to hand combat on the field. But this didn't feel right at all.

Acting quick and raising an arm to shove off the doppelganger. Switching sides as they were now on top of the person, straddling it by the hips, Y/n felt it shift and swing an arm. Y/n quickly backed off of the person in an attempt to not get hit. It had a knife. Making it clear that it was meaning to harm Y/n. Y/n quickly backpedaled and stood up. The sound of their huffing and puffing. And both of their shoes scuffling on the pavement. The person stood up. Shaking itself as if to remove the dirt that collected on its shirt from the pavement.

"Y/n. What's ta-"

"Okay, so Nines! There's some weird shit going on!" Y/n jogged over to the door that Nines held open. He was now staring at Y/n's doppelganger who quickly had stood up staring at the two. Once it made eye contact with Nines. It seemed to stop in its former actions and stare, before scurrying away down the sidewalk.

"Who was that? What's going on?" He asks. Y/n shoved Nines into the building as he spoke.

"I don't know! But we have to do something!" She shouts. The LED on Nines temple was flickering from red to yellow. Y/n was already making their way towards the booth.

"Hank. You would not believe this. But I just got attacked by my own self. We need to find out what's going on." Y/n interrupted whatever conversation he was having with the group at the table. Connor was the first to look over.

"Yourself?"

"Yes! Now come on. This is serious." Hank could tell whether or not Y/n was joking or not. Which...truly wasn't that hard to tell if they were. He stood up from the booth, luckily he was seated on the outside.

"What's going on?"

Nines soon made his way over to the table.

"I was attacked by someone who looked exactly like me. Which, that can explain what happened earlier today. But! I have a crazy ass doppelganger!"

"Oh Christ." Hank muttered. Crossing his arms and looking at Y/n and then at Nines. And back at Y/n.

Gavin soon stood up.

"Oh, I have to see this." He spoke up. Hank ignored the man and looked back at Y/n. "Where did you last see this person."

"When I was outside. It attacked me--"

"The hell? Did you go after them?"

"No. They ran away before I can even do anything." Hank nods. Snapping his finger and pointing towards the exit.

"To the car. Let's go. Connor. Come on." Connor stoop up and stood next to Hank.

"Looks like we got some searching to do."

#detroit rk900 #detroit become human rk900 #detroit become human x reader #detroit become human #dbh connor #connor x reader #connor rk800 #dbh connor x reader #dbh nines #nines x reader #gavin x nines #rk900 x reader #rk900 #dbh hank #hank x reader

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