#number one with a silver bullet

[wexhappyxfew]

what about feral bucky for the prompt: “If you even THINK about touching him/her/them, I’ll kill you.”? there's no way he isn't crazy protective like that

HI FRIEND!!!!!! thank you SO MUCH for sending this prompt in because i in fact couldn't help myself with protective/feral bucky who is heavily prevalent throughout the entire piece. protective bucky gives me OXYGEN and it seems to do a little something to kennedy, too. i definitely took an angstier route with this, but i had fun crafting this and molding some of the deeper discussions, so PLEASE ENJOY!!!!!! kennedy x bucky enjoyers -- please enjoy this treat!!! :D

you worrying about me?

(a/n): hi friends!! we have a kennedy-focused prompt with hints of kennedy x bucky and our good navigator friend, bessie carlisle :) we get into some darker themes here but nothing is talked about in detail. mostly just for in terms of writing the actual prompt. AND -- we have the symbolism of upside down roses here and i found out they can mean 'rebellion' and no doubt, they are referenced here. so please enjoy!! :D

"'Morning."

Kennedy looked up, her eyes flashing to the pair that was sitting down across from her, sleepy and half-awake.

Bucky Egan had never seemed like much of a morning person to her but it was her second morning here (to which she was waking at 0500 at this point from fear and nightmares) and he was yet again sitting across from her as the sun rose outside, the pinks, blues and oranges beginning to careen across the cold horizon and black silhouetted trees.

"Hey." Kennedy whispered, curling the blanket further around her body on the bench, "Sleep well?" Bucky settled and leaned up against the table, ruffling a hand up in his hair that was in 10 different directions from sleep, and he let out a sigh.

"Okay." he said with a nod, looking to her gaze and clenching his jaw, "Yourself?"

"Okay." she told him with a shrug and he quirked his head sideways at her and lifted the corner of his lip, "What's that look for?"

"Okay?"

"I mean, half of you snore and being alone in the middle of Germany for a week isn't exactly the most comforting thing to put you to sleep. So." Kennedy said quietly, "Okay. Not the best." Bucky watched her in the stillness of the dark morning and slowly nodded.

"What happened out there?" he asked her, voice low.

"Where?" She was almost defensive in her question, building up her walls, locking the doors, hiding away. She always did this. Her brain couldn't do. Get her thoughts out. In front of him.

"Germany. Few days ago." Bucky asked her, voice low, nodding at her, "Something happened."

"Nothing happened." Kennedy shot back, suddenly feeling guilty at the defensive stance she'd taken.

This was Bucky.

Bucky Egan.

He was just looking out for her safety.

All the guys were.

As the only one of the Silver Bullets girls to have shown out of the four that had bailed-out, they took on the protective forefront stance almost immediately.

"Sorry."

Bucky waved her off, clearly not perturbed by her small moment of bitterness.

"Can't blame you," he said, leaning forward again against the table and looking over at her with a small smile, "had a German breathing down my neck, pulling me outta some river. Walked through a town, attacked by civilians. Thrown on the back of a truck like dead meat." Bucky stared at her. "It's fucking sick." Kennedy watched him and clenched her jaw, a sudden yearn to hold him overtaking her.

"You got attacked?" she managed out, the thought of Bucky, a Major in the USAAF, being led by Germans through a town and freely attacked because he was now a prisoner. And they just let it happen; and he no doubt fought back helplessly. The thought tore at her heart a bit.

"With knives and pitchforks." he said with a grimace of a grin, "Real medieval, huh?"

"Were you okay?" she asked him, eyeing that bruise underneath his eye, that scar along his brow, that look in his eye, her cheeks flushing, "I mean, obviously, you're sitting here but…"

"You worrying about me, Farley?" he asked her quietly, but not in a really sarcastic or teasing way.

No. He was looking at her desperately; achingly. No, he was genuinely asking her, staring at her in such a purposeful way that she was sure if she hadn't just woken up she'd be much more aware of the way he was looking at her and what he was saying.

"Uh, yeah." she answered, staring at him, "I was your waist gunner. I'm not a stiff exactly. I have some level of emotional awareness about myself." The corner of Bucky's lip grew upward as he watched her. "What?"

"It's just me, Farley." he said quietly, regarding her with a look that seemed far from what it meant to just look at someone normally, "What happened out there?"

Kennedy watched him that morning in the darkness of the dawn, swallowing uncomfortably as her palms slick with sweat, her forehead dotted with perspiration suddenly. She looked to Bucky.

"Just….stuff I don't really want to think about, to be quite honest." she said quietly with a nod, before stiffening up, "Did they interrogate you, too?" Bucky seemed to grow still at her words, his eyes glazing over in a way that made her brain stutter and her mouth part the slightest bit. Evidently, they had.

"Yeah." Bucky said - quick and short, "They did." She grew quiet.

"What'd they ask you?" Bucky asked her next, seeming to fill in the question in her mind that she wanted to ask him. She pulled the blanket up more around her shoulders and sighed a bit, looking down at the table where her half-empty canteen was sat. She needed to do something with her hands, she couldn't just sit here and let what was going on in her mind takeover. She grabbed the canteen and took a shaky sip and looked towards Bucky again. He was looking at her suddenly more worried than he had been previously, his brow furrowed and narrowed all at once, leaning more across the table, watching her like she had just mentioned something that had upset her.

"Shit I didn't feel like talking about." Kennedy said quietly this time, "About Captain Faulkner. Lieutenant Bradshaw. Silver Bullets." Kennedy clenched her jaw, and felt the grip on the canteen tighten, hand growing numb as she reached up to swipe her ginger hair behind each of her eyes with her free hand. Bucky watched her with that persistent look.

"I didn't say a goddamn word though." Kennedy said, her voice dripping cold, "You should've seen the way they were looking at me. Like I was a fucking pile of clothes on the ground. It was pathetic." Bucky clenched his jaw, unflinchingly watching her gaze still.

"I told them I was a Lieutenant, you know?" Kennedy said quietly, "They never addressed me as such, just my name." Kennedy shivered. She remembered the aching of her body as she was led inside that room, sat in that chair, with two Germans on either side of her, gripping her biceps until her skin was screaming. The interrogator staring her down, watching her like she was nothing, tilting his head and smiling stiffly. 'Tell me about your time with the USAAF.' As if they thought she was letting them kill her here, like this was the end of the road for her. Were they sorely mistaken. 'Might I inquire about a certain Captain B. Faulkner - KIA? And a current Lieutenant A. Bradshaw? MIA?' Kennedy shut her eyes.

"Kennedy Farley. Lieutenant. O-499716." Kennedy said quietly, "Over and over." Kennedy's eyes looked to his.

"They knew where I was born, where I lived. My parents' names." Kennedy said, her voice shallow, as she stared at him, willing that in some way he would just shut her up so she could stop thinking about this.

"Kenny-"

"Boston, Massachusetts. Born to Belinda and Andrew Farley. Only daughter-"

"Kennedy." Kennedy snapped her mouth shut, her eyes meeting his again. Someone was shifting in their bunk, there was more orange infiltrating the sky behind Bucky's head outside of the windowpane and there was a distance ringing somewhere past the building.

"You hear that?" Bucky asked her. Kennedy slowly nodded, feeling catapulted back to when she had first entered the camp - stumbling in, limping, her bum leg somewhere behind her, as she frantically, in silent prayer, willed for someone from the 100th to step in front of her and tell her it was going to be okay. She remembered that ringing - almost like the bell in the B-17 to bail - she remembered the ringing of the entrance alarm that went off when new POWs were brought in. It rung around in her head like a free bird, instead trapped in a cage, with every touch a reminder of the sound of that bell.

"New POWs?" Kennedy said, her voice distant, "At 0530 in the morning?" Bucky stared at her.

"I'm going." she said, standing to her feet, pulling the blanket off, being careful to step past some of the creaky floorboards that littered the place (and no doubt by now, between the two of them, others would no doubt be waking up), but she tried her best to stay quiet.

"I'm coming with you." Bucky said and she heard him stand up from the table and come up behind her, "No way you're going alone." Kennedy looked over her shoulder in the threshold of the room and watched Bucky in the illuminated darkness and caught his gaze.

There was something about this morning that felt different about the Bucky Egan that was standing here now - with the way he was looking at her, the way he was standing so close to her side that she was sure if she tripped he'd be there to reach out and hold her up. If she reached out, she could nearly brush her finger across the palm of his hand. Kennedy blinked.

"Thanks." she said, a little breathless, then managed a small smile, "My knight in shining armor." Bucky grinned almost immediately at that, like a dog who had just been tossed a bone. He chuckled.

"Highest honors from Lieutenant Farley herself." he said, and her heart skipped a beat.

Even if it was just the littlest things - hearing Lieutenant Farley from his lips showed her one thing.

Even in her ramblings, he'd been listening.

And Bucky Egan hardly seemed to be a listener - he talked.

A lot.

But knowing he listened to what she had said?

Kennedy's heart pounded inside her chest as they stepped into the hallway, that ringing alarm still going outside, Bucky shutting the door behind them. They walked side by side, Bucky's presence something she would always feel comforted by. He was so…..large. In more ways than one. In height, his broad shoulders - God, what she'd give to hug him and bury her face away in his being.

Kennedy realized she was in fact standing there, thinking about his bare, broad shoulders was something she would've apologized to God about back home. But in a shit hole like this, small mercies were all they had. And the idea of Bucky was one of those.

Stepping outside, the alarm bell was much louder and so was the cold. It was in her ears on the wind, all over her face and nose, making her shiver just at the contact and for a moment, she considered turning around and going inside.

But then, her heart stepped in. Annie, Margie or Bessie could be coming in at this very moment, terrified out of their minds. And Kennedy had felt that. And she didn't one a single one of them to have to feel what she felt.

Kennedy wanted to be right there to pull them out of the turmoil and the fear and the salty sea. She wanted to tell them that for now, they'd be okay.

Her and Bucky began trekking across the open area of dusty land towards the gates, side by side, their arms brushing each other with intermingled bits of warmth gathering between them as they did so, hands shoved deep in pockets, chins tucked down in A2 jackets, hair waving in the wind, noses red and eyes watery.

It was quite a miserable sight, along with Bucky's slightly bruised eye and the cut on her cheek. In a way, she felt better knowing she was going forward right now with Bucky right there beside her though.

"Hey….Kenny." Bucky said quietly from beside her, causing her to look upwards and catch his eyes in the early dawn, the colors reflecting in his dark brown orbs, the darkness of the night behind him, the morning in his hair and on his chapped lips, "They didn't try anything did they?" She could've guessed that the question was coming - it was war time and she was both a woman and the enemy. Kennedy watched him right back.

"No." she said quickly, "I would've broken their fucking finger if they tried, you know that."

"Good." Bucky said quietly, his voice tight and firm all at once - he seemed evidently pissed off as well. Not at her, but at the current unfolding changes of the time. Which she didn't entirely blame him for.

They both grew quiet as they neared the gates in the early morning, a few bits of sun rays peaking over the edge of the treetops now, reflecting off windowpanes, MP40s in German hands and barbed wire.

Everything was dull and dreary as they watched the new group of POWs enter inside. Aimlessly looking around, staggering on two things they called legs, uniforms scruffy, dirtied and covered in a mix of blood and mud, scars and bruises littering the exposed bits of skin, and their eyes soulless - long gone to what their current state of life was.

"You think they made it?" Bucky asked from beside her as Kennedy watched a few guys struggle by, holding up someone between them, groaning and grunting with exhaustion to keep him leveled and awake.

"They had to." Kennedy said quietly, "And I know that Annie Bradshaw. She wouldn't go down without a fight." She didn't have to look over at Bucky to know he was grinning. She heard him give a chuckle before her eyes caught on something in the midst of the group, her entire body stiffening, all her senses quickly growing alert. She couldn't control it - not even at 0530 in the morning, not even when she felt like death herself, not even with the level of exhaustion, fear and depletion she felt.

"Bessie!" Kennedy was yelling, shoving past Bucky suddenly at the sight of Silver Bullets' navigator, her heart soring in a way she hadn't felt in over a week - the sight of one of her own, of someone she'd been through everything with. Someone who had always been there.

"Bessie Carlisle!" Kennedy came tearing around the edge of the second set of gates, standing at the edge, cupping her hands around her mouth, "Bessie!"

There in the midst of the group, staggering and alone, was Lieutenant Bessie Carlisle - a horrendous split lip, a black and blue eye, scraps on her cheeks, her body wilting away, her form hunched, arms crossed in front of her chest in an attempt to hold herself up and her body barely moving properly as it was, it seemed.

Her pants were covered in dried blood, her boots caked in mud and her top was torn in various areas exposing bloody welts and skin underneath and no doubt her freezing body.

Kennedy didn't care if the Germans would lose it, if she was going against it all - roses upside down were for the thrill of it all. She pushed forward through the mobs of POWs entering the camp, moving around people, avoiding the zombie-like bodies that shuffled by.

And finally when she was in Bessie's line of sight, she stopped and watched as Bessie met her gaze, frozen there in the midst of the group.

"Kenny?" Bessie managed to whisper out, her voice hoarse - it sounded like she'd been crying and screaming, "Kenny is that you?" Kennedy's eyes welled with fresh tears, as she felt her face scrunch uncontrollably like a small child again.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Cry. Cry. Cry.

And Kennedy stepped forward, delicately pulling Bessie right into her arms. To be quite honest - they were both sobbing. Something about the fact that in all this world, the waist gunner and the navigator of Silver Bullets had found each other - because no doubt they had thought the others were dead. Long gone to the earth.

Holding Bessie there, who was always so strong, pleasant and happy to seeing her broken in Kennedy's arms made a swirl of anger, guilt and grief fill her insides and she couldn't do anything else but let the tears drip down her face as they held each other and cried.

"Move! Move! On!" a voice hollered from somewhere behind Bessie and suddenly, Kennedy felt herself falling backwards, the wind knocked out of her as she landed, back flat on the ground, Bessie curled on top of her and a German pilot officer standing over them, the muzzle of his MP40 hanging over them, his eyes dark, lifeless, his lips a thin frown, his cheeks entirely gaunt.

Kennedy watched in earnest as the German pilot officer nudged as Bessie's body - to which she flinched and it made Kennedy want to scream.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" Kennedy snapped, immediately regretting it when the German turned his eyes onto her, sneering down at her with a look that made her want to dig 6 feet under. Kennedy had to look away from him - this wasn't happening, this wasn't happening. Get Bessie up. Get her moving. MOVE.

"Okay, Bes, we're gonna slowly stand, okay?" Kennedy said, sitting herself up and helping Bessie get to her feet, keeping the German in her peripheral, "Just try to keep yourself steady."

"Move! On!" the German snapped at her, shoving the muzzle against her back as Kennedy wrapped an arm around Bessie's back. Kennedy glanced back over her shoulder at the German and watched his eyes - he'd pull the trigger whenever he pleased. No matter who it was - his eyes told her plenty.

"GO." the German said, knocking the muzzle roughly against her back again and this time, before she could even open her mouth, another voice beat her to it.

"If you even THINK about touching them, I'll kill you." Kennedy looked over to see Bucky standing there, his hand batting down the MP40, "We're fucking moving." And before the German could get a word out, before Kennedy could focus on what was going on, Bucky had gone and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, fingers brushing Bessie's frail, bony ones, and began leading them away through the crowd.

Anger. Fear. Pain. Grief. Horror.

The only words to describe the numbness that flooded Kennedy as she willingly dragged along Bessie beside the frantic Bucky who looked close to losing his mind any minute. He moved at a pace that she could barely hold, neither could the voiceless Bessie and as they got out of the crowd, Kennedy had to pull at the lose flap of his A2.

"Bucky, you gotta slow down." she said, causing him to stop and look at her, anger simmering at every bit of him, his fists clenched, his eyes staring her down like he was almost still looking at the German, "Bessie can't walk that fast. She can barely walk."

Bucky's eyes flicked to Bessie, who was still achingly quiet beside her and then back to Kennedy. He was inches from her face - she could see the sweat dripping down his lightly stubbled cheek. Up close, you could see the anger rolling off him; she could almost see past it all though, through his eyes and into his very being. Beyond anything, he was tired - tired of war, tired of this, all of this.

"I'll take her other side," Bucky said quietly, his eyes bouncing off her lips and to her eyes again this time before he stepped past her, "c'mere, Bes."

Kennedy watched as Bucky lowered himself a bit to wrap Bessie's arm around his shoulder and they began walking. It was a slow amble to the barracks, Bessie making pained noises like a wounded animal the whole time, enough to skyrocket Kennedy's worry to an all-time high.

And by the time they had shuffled her inside the bunk room, a few people were awake, the lantern lights on and were swarming them like flies. Buck was there, helping Bessie to a cot with a blanket, Benny tumbling out of bed to get some water going, Hambone sitting beside her, rubbing his hands up and down her sides, Brady on her other side, a hand on her back, moving up and down in a slow, comforting motion.

Kennedy stood there beside a wordless Bucky, watching Bessie get the help she needed. Slowly, she turned to look up at Bucky, suddenly wanting nothing more than to find comfort in a place as nice as his eyes. And to see him already watching her in that way he always did, made her suck in a breath that felt choked and tight.

She flinched when she felt his fingers make contact with her own, goosebumps spanning the width of her arm and across her upper body as warmth filled the pit in her stomach. His fingers danced across her exposed wrist, before sliding down into her own fingers, his palm pressing into hers, his large hand encapsulating her own. All while watching her - slow and deliberate and meaningful.

Kennedy released that shaky breath, staring back at Bucky who refused to look away. For all the horror, all he could do was stare at her. And hold her hand. And all she could do was stare right back.

But then Bucky quirked up the corner of his lips and a sense of calm washed over her gently. Like things were okay. Like this was okay.

"You looked like you needed a hand." Bucky whispered, briefly leaning towards her, "Literally." He squeezed her hand, brushing his thumb across her calloused skin. Kennedy watched him and let a small grin pop onto her face.

"You know me better than myself sometimes." she whispered back. Bucky continued watching her, smiling that smile, staring at her with those eyes. She swore she saw a hint of heat on his cheeks, but shook her head with a laugh. She was half-focused on his face and half-focused on the brushing of his thumb, slow and sensual on her skin of the top of her hand.

"Hey Kennedy? You got a minute?" Buck asked, popping his head back from the bunk, "She's got a nasty cut on her leg. Figured it's best if you help her there." Kennedy looked at Buck, immediately stepping forward and dropping Bucky's hand, that ball of warmth faded to ice as she nodded - Bessie needed her.

"Of course." Kennedy said, before glancing back at Bucky, who was watching her with that look again. Bucky nodded to her.

And so when she turned to crouch in front of Bessie, feeling his eyes on her was like the moon watching the sun.

[kirbyddd]

ok that was a new one

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Yuu Needs a Hug 2

SUMMARY: What their comforting hugs are like when you're feeling sad or under the weather? And how would they behave if you started crying in their arms?

CHARACTERS: Scarabia (Kalim; Jamil); Pomefiore (Vil; Epel; Rook); Ignihyde (Idia; Ortho*) & Diasomnia (Malleus; Silver; Sebek; Lilia)

*Platonic

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Comfort; Bullet Points; In a Relationship

WORD COUNT: An average of 370 words per character.

COMMENTS: When I feel a little sad and down, I often imagine these things to help me fall asleep. I thought you might like them too. 😘

(I don't know why I keep increasing the number of words as I go through the dorms.)

Yuu Needs a Hug 1 (Heartslabyul / Savanaclaw / Octavinelle)

CONTEXT: This is what they would do if they were already in a relationship with you. Except for Ortho, he's more like a cute little brother.

Of course Kalim already hugs you on a daily basis. And in public or private it is completely indifferent to him. His hugs range from casual (as if simply standing next to you wasn't an option) to loving and affectionate.

And it's more towards the latter that he tends to go for when you ask him for a hug. His arms completely wrapped around you, his cheek touching yours. His reassuring smile asking you what you need. "You can ask me for anything! You know that, right? Oh! I know! How about a carpet ride? Do you think that might help?"

Let's face it, he's not the type to cuddling with you while the two of you are lying on a couch resting (Jamil would love that, less work for him) No. He's the type to cuddling with you, yes, but lying on a flying carpet who knows how many meters from the ground. Or maybe lying in the Oasis if you show him that you're afraid of being that high without safety measures.

He will hug you like he never wants to let you go again. He will offer you fruits and other things to snack on, talk to you, etc.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, part of him will panic, but the big brother part of him will stop him from showing it so as not to worry you even more. He will hug you tighter and kiss your forehead and cheeks. “Don't worry, you can cry as much as you need. Everything will be fine in the end, you'll see.”

When your crying calms down or stops, he will take his magic pen and, with his water powers, make a rainbow appear over you. A way for him to try to make you smile again.

Jamil ONLY hugs you in private. He hates being the center of attention and/or showing his feelings in public, especially affection. BUT when he hugs you when the two of you are alone and he can finally rest, his hugs are charmingly peaceful.

He loves to lay with you, wrapping his arms restfully around you. He's always stressed, but with you, he can rest, and his cuddles show that.

He likes both having him lay on top of you with his head on your chest, letting you play with his hair, and having you lay on top of him and him being able to caress your head. He's also not at all shy about giving you kisses, quite the opposite, he likes to be himself with you, even if it means being naturally seductive.

But when you are sad, he will restrict himself to being sensitive and reassuring. He will probably prepare your favorite food or dessert to make you feel better. And, while hugging you, kiss your forehead.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he will panic a little (as you are used to seeing when Kalim does something that puts himself at risk) You're the one who's going to have to calm him down first before he can calm you down. “*Sigh* Please don't do this to me.” he'll say with a subtle pout, which might make you smile a little too. He will hug you tighter, something that is extremely rare for him, and let you cry all you need.

When your crying calms down or stops, he'll use his magic pen to bring tissues to you, so he doesn't have to move away from you. And as you wipe your tears, he will pat your head and say: "Whatever is worrying you, I'm sure it will pass." in a reassuring, loving voice that only you know.

Vil just doesn't hug you in public because he's a public figure and he prefers not to be the target of gossip, much less involve you in it. He doesn't hide that you're in a relationship, but you know, the less people see about the two of you, the less headaches you'll have. If it weren't for this, he would have no problem showing his affection for you. So he just demonstrates it in private.

However, he is more of a kisser than a hugger. It's more characteristic of him to kiss your cheek, or hold your chin to kiss your lips, than to hug you. Which ends up making these comfort hugs even more special and exclusive.

He'll start hugging you standing up, but if you really want to sit down then he'll let you sit on his lap. This will probably wrinkle his clothes, but he knows his priorities, and you are at the top of his list right now.

Just like him, his hugs are delicate and elegant, but firm enough to convey the feeling of protection and care. One of the arms is always around your waist, while the other is always on the top of your back or on your head, to be close to your face. That way he can caress your cheeks. And he will always plant a kiss on your forehead here and there.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, you’ll probably have the reflex to move away so as not to stain his clothes, and apologize. But at that moment you will feel his hand, stopping you from moving away. “Don't be silly.” he will tell you “And honestly, it hurts me a little that you think I value my clothes, which can simply be washed, more than you.” And he will encourage you to cry on his shoulder, remaining calm and understanding.

When your crying calms down or stops, he'll get all the tissues he needs and start explaining all the steps of a facial cleansing routine for when you cry. If you ask him how he knows so much about it he will answer you with a smile: "My sweet potato, don't tell me you think I never cry."

In public, Epel likes to hug you as a way of showing off your relationship. But cute, comforting hugs? These are only for when you are alone.

This is one of those moments when you bring out his prideful side. You wanting him to be the person who comforts you when you're sad is a way of showing that you see strength and reliability in him, right? And it makes him proud of himself and happy that you can feel safe with him.

He will be extremely sweet and cute with you. He knows that this is what makes other people, especially you, more calm and comfortable.

He doesn't like hugging you standing up, especially if you're taller than him, even if it's just 1cm. But, the same, or worse, happens if he lets you sit on his lap, so it's most likely that he'll sit next to you. OR if you can and want, he prefers to lie with you with your head on his chest. If you're shorter than him, scratch everything, he'll hug you in any way.

After a while, he will probably get distracted by something else that doesn't stop the two of you from holding each other, like reading a book or studying a little.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he'll panic a little, to the point of asking you what's going on in his dialect that you barely understand. What he needs to know most is if you're crying because of him. He'll be very relieved to know it wasn't him, and will hug you tighter.

When your crying calms down or stops, he will ask you how you are feeling and suggest that you two do something he used to do with his grandmother or his parents when he was also sad and needed to feel better.

Few things are as indifferent to Rook as showing his love for you in public as he does in private (with just a few reservations). So he will hug you whenever you ask, regardless of where you are, so be careful when and where you ask.

Despite everything, it's rare for him to kiss or hug you. It's not that he doesn't like it, quite the contrary, he likes doing these two things so exclusive and special that he ends up keeping them as a "reward" for the two of you.

But this case is an exception to his love game. After all, one of the players is injured.

His comforting hugs are full of love and care, yet gentle despite so much emotional intensity. He will gladly hug you however you wish, standing, sitting on his lap, lying under the shade of a tree or anything else, even if unusual, he will do it with pleasure.

And of course he will use his charming and flattering vocabulary to try to help with your emotional recovery.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, you will feel the surprise in his body, and he will hold your face with both hands to gently move you away from his chest and look at your face. If you try to hide your face he will say: “Oh non, trickster! Such a display of feelings is beautiful. Such a neglected and hidden beauty. Please allow me to appreciate it for a moment.” he will caress your cheeks with his thumbs “I promise this will only make me love you more and better.” and he will kiss your cheeks, also tasting the saltiness of your tears.*

He is extremely patient and will do nothing but hug and cuddle you until your crying stops completely and/or you are the one who breaks the hug when you feel better.

It's OBVIOUS that Idia doesn't hug you in public. He can barely SHOW UP in public. All your hugs, kisses, flirting, etc. are TOP SECRET!

He loves it when you sit on his lap while he is at the computer, especially when he is playing. You can sit however you want, but what he loves most is when you have your back to the computer, your chest against his, your legs behind the chair and your head lying on his shoulder. Or your chin on his shoulder while you play on your phone. The naturalness and relaxation with which he has you close to him like this is quite reassuring.

1000% chance he created a new chair with a design that both of you are comfortable in that position.

There's a good chance he'll simply respond "Same..." if you mention that you're sad or depressed. If you laugh, he might say "Hey, weren't we supposed to be sad together? Traitor! You literally just did the IRL version of sending a crying emoji while you were actually laughing behind the screen. Like, who does that? What is socially accepted is for you to pretend you are happy when you are sad.” And if this makes you laugh even harder: “Stop laughing! It's contagious! Hee hee hee.”

If you happen to be so depressed to the point where you suddenly start crying on his shoulder, he will PaNiC! He’ll immediately let go of the mouse and keyboard and hug you! “WHAT?! WHAT DID I DO?!” You'll have to calm him down first before he can "try" to calm you down.

He will completely understand, even if you don't even know why you're crying. But he won't know how to console you and he'll admit it. He will simply hug you, not tighter but more affectionately. And bury his face in your shoulder too, and whisper a muffled: "...Same...".

You'll probably laugh at the same time as you'll be frustrated with him. “It's true!” he’ll say “Why do you always laugh when I share my sadness with you?!” he says knowing it's not true “What do you mean the WAY I say it? ... Weirdo~” he says smiling.

Unfortunately Ortho cannot hug you. At least not how he would like. The flame in his chest can burn you, and the heat exhaust ports too.

The first time he saw you sad and in need of a hug, he was also sad for being unable to hug you and then he had an idea: "Let's ask my brother to make huggable gear!"

“What do you want me to do? A teddy bear gear or something?” Idia will say, but then he will realize that if he does it HE will also be able to hug Ortho. “I’m on it!”

If Idia starts working on it, but for some reason he runs out of motivation because he thinks it's boring or a useless gear, Ortho will choose one of the following 2 options: A) convince him to do it because he reeeeeally wants to hug you and his big brother. Or B) He will say that if Idia doesn't do it, whenever you are sad Ortho will force him to be the one to hug you.

"I wouldn't mind that much..." Idia whispers. "What?" Ortho asks. "NOTHING, Nothing... I’ll make the gear."

After Gear is ready, whenever you feel sad and need a hug, Ortho will be very happy. "YAY!!! HUG GEAR TIME!!!" and will take you to Ignihyde to change gear.

Your comfort hugs will end up being three-way hugs because Idia also wants to hug his little brother. And maybe after a while he'll start hugging you too?

Ortho will also suggest you play with him to cheer you up. That and he also loves playing with you. And suggest other ways to cheer someone up, which he found on the internet.

Malleus has no problem hugging you in public. He just doesn't do it because everyone who cares about him (especially Sebek) says that, in his position, it's better to keep these romantic gestures private. A way to prevent annoying gossip.

He doesn't initiate hugs, but he absolutely loves it when you ask him for them (And they are always the best solution for when he has his "tantrums") Your wish is his command. He's just sorry that he can't hug you with the same strength that he loves you. But with each passing day it seems that he gets better and better at measuring his strength for you.

He loves to hug you in anyway. Even if he has to use his magic to levitate you if you are both standing, due to the great difference in heights. But comfort hugs are special, and whenever you ask for them, he immediately stops whatever he might be doing and sits on a couch so you can sit on his lap and lay your head on his chest or shoulder.

Whatever you ask he will do. “What do you need to feel better? Would you like me to create a fireworks show? Make flowers grow and drawing your image in a garden? Order my attendants to create a show to entertain us, and a banquet? ... What? You just want my company?” he will laugh with joy, not only because you ask little of him, but because you simply want him.

All his attention will be on you. He will talk to you, suggest that you have tea together, and kiss your forehead and cheek from time to time.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he will look at you on maximum alert! “What is wrong, my love? Did I make a mistake? Am I hurting you in some way?” He will loosen the hug out of fear that he might be hugging you too tightly without realizing it.

After you reassuring him by telling that it's not his fault that you're crying and that he's doing everything right, his questions will change to: “In that case... is it someone else's fault you're crying?” You will hear thunderstorms forming outside. “You can tell me the name. I will make sure they never disturb you again.” You will have to calm him down again and explain that it is no one's fault.

Only then will he relax a little, hug you again with care and affection and let you cry on his shoulder, while stroking your head. And he will tell you that IF one day someone hurts you, no matter how small the damage may be, you can tell him, okay?

"Or you can simply mention how close you are to Malleus Draconia and they will run away screaming for forgiveness and mercy." Lilia will say another time.

Malleus won't let go of you until he's completely and absolutely sure that you're okay again. Or not, the truth is that he likes having you like this in his arms. (Just five more minutes~)

Silver is not the type to initiate hugs because he's to oblivious for that. But he always hugs you when you ask, regardless of the reason. You may not even have a reason, you want a hug so it's a hug he delivers.

And he's also not the type to change his behavior towards you depending on whether you're in public or not. He gives you all the hugs you want anyway.

Normally what happens is that you'll ask him for a hug, he'll say "Sure, but is there a reason?" and if you answer that there is none in particular, he will simply smile (that rare smile that only those closest to him know exists) and accept your answer, opening his arms so you can hug him.

If you say you want a hug because you're feeling sad, he'll continue with his natural poker face, but anyone who knows him will know that he's worried, but calm so as not to worry you.

He will hug you any way you want. If you want the two of you to sit down so you can sit on his lap, he will do it. He might even pick you up to do it, and if you ask him why he's taking you to a bench or couch like that, he'll say something like, "Oh, I thought you wanted to sit down because you were feeling tired. Sorry." If you say it's no problem, he'll smile and continue carrying you in his arms until you both sit down.

He'll just hug you like he normally does. Despite his strong arms, he hugs you with care and affection. Having you like this in his arms puts him at ease, to the point of... zzz... where he fell asleep, with his arms without letting go of you.

But if you start crying on his shoulder, he'll sense it! He will wake up faster than any alarm could wake him up. And when he sees you crying, he will immediately ask what happened, and apologize for sleeping when you needed him.

Even if your answer is that you don't know, that will be enough for him. He will hug you again in a surprisingly sweet and delicate way, and somehow, he won't go back to sleep until you feel better. He is now on guard!

In the same way that he only hugs you when you ask, he only lets go of you when you tell him to let you go. If you tell him he "can" stop hugging you, he won't do it until you are absolutely sure that that is what you want.

If Sebek is dating you it's because he adores you as much as he adores Malleus and Lilia. In a different way of course, but if he got to the point of becoming your boyfriend it's because he went through the phase of seeing you as an "inferior human" and somehow you turned a switch in his head that made him start to adore you.

There are times when he still treats you the way he did before, but when you need him, like when you're sad and need a hug, he becomes your servant (practically).

He will treat you like royalty in much the same way he treats Malleus. The difference is that he sees you as someone "weaker" who is incapable of changing the fact that you need his protection and so he ends up being more caring.

He doesn't initiate hugs even if he wants to. First he will flatter you until you want a hug from him, even if it is just to thank you for your compliments. Basically, he only hugs you after you give him your consent.

Just as he has no shame in showing the respect and adoration he has for Malleus and Lilia, he also has no problem showing affection for you in public if you so desire. But there are still certain things he prefers to do when it's just the two of you, like these comforting hugs. He also lets you sit on his lap if you want, but it will take him a long time to get used to it.

Since he has always dedicated himself to his training as a soldier and guard, he is not very good at hugging. You will always feel that he is a little tense due to his lack of experience and you will have to be the one to relax him if you want better hugs.

Even if you suggest that he read a book while you're hugging on the couch, he'll decline it. If you're so sad that you, don't want, but need a hug, it's because you need him, and if you need him, he'll automatically enter his guard mode, which means all his attention will be on you.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, what was once the closest thing to a relaxed hug becomes tense again, and he will panic in his own way, controlling himself so as not to accidentally raise his voice. “What happened?! Is there something wrong?! Did I do something wrong!?” You'll have to calm him before he can calm you... or at least try.

If you say that you don't know why you're crying or don't have a specific reason, he'll sigh in frustration and say: “You can't just start crying out of nowhere! I mean... you can, but... I wasn't trained for this. I don't know what to do.” You explain to him that you don't need anything special, just him, but this may take longer than a simple explanation.

He will guard you in his arms until you are both absolutely sure that you are feeling better.

Of course Lilia already hugs you in public on a daily basis, out of nowhere, and often he is the one initiating the hugs, knowing of course that you also want to receive them.

And of course he knows very well how to give comforting hugs. After all, he’s a loving single father.

Many times you don't even need to ask, he will simply look at your face or posture and offer it. “Aw~ You are not using your usual smile. Are you feeling well?” and even if you barely answer he will understand “No? Does my little thorny flower need a hug~?”

But if you're the one asking for the hug, his eyes will widen in surprise and then he'll break into a huge smile. “Awwww~ But of course I'll give you all the hugs you want! Khe he he. You really can surpass me in cuteness sometimes. How could I say no to you~?”

Even though he likes to give you hugs in public, he knows that these types of hugs are better in private, so you feel more comfortable too.

He gives one of the best if not the best hugs. They are firmly affectionate. At the same time that you feel his arms comfortably wrapping around you with a light loving grip, you also feel that they are strong enough to protect you from anything.

He's more of a hugger than a kisser. At most, he can give you light kisses on the cheek from time to time.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he won't panic at all. He will simply and calmly look at you, tilt your head up by placing his fingers on your chin and ask: “Aw~ What's wrong, my thorny flower?” as he wipes away one of your tears with his thumb. “Is this moment too cute to handle? Khe he.”

Regardless of your answer, he will say with a reassuring smile: “It's okay. You can cry on my shoulder all you need. As long as I can glimpse your wonderful smile again.”

After you feel better, he will suggest cooking one of your favorite dishes or desserts to make you feel better. SAVE YOURSELF!

*Don't look at me like that. We all know Rook is weird. I'm just trying to be true to the character.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[vaspider]

Measure 110, or the Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

So if y'all aren't local to Oregon, you may not have heard that the Oregon state legislature just voted to -- essentially -- gut Measure 110, the ballot measure which decriminalized all drug possession and use in the state. It turned all drug use into a citation instead, and the citation and fine could be waived by completing a health screening. The entire point of Measure 110 was replacing jail with health care and services to help people instead, and while I could probably write a very long side post on the imperfections of that approach, it was at the very least a move in the right direction after decades of the pathetic failure and absolutely racist mess that is the "War on Drugs."

You may hear this pointed to in coming years as a reason why we have to just throw people into jail for using drugs, because Measure 110 failed. And like... it did fail, kinda. Sorta. It failed in that it did not manage to fix everything immediately, and it created some new issues while also exposing older issues more sharply.

It also saved the state $40 million in court costs prosecuting low-level drug offenses, kept thousands of people whose literal only crime was putting a substance into the body of a consenting adult (themselves) out of jail, put at least one addiction services center in every county in the state, invested $300 million in addiction services, and an awful lot more. See the end of this post for more reading.

But where it failed, it failed because it wasn't supported. Police and advocacy groups both asked for specific tickets for this new class of offenses which had the phone number to call to go through the health screening and the information about how going through that health screening would make the ticket go away printed on it prominently - lawmakers declined to fund this. Governor Kotek budgeted $50K to train officers on how to handle these new citations and how to direct people to the treatment and housing supports, but lawmakers thought that training officers on this new law at all was a waste of money. Money moved extremely slowly out to the supports that were supposed to come into play to help people obtain treatment or get access to harm-reduction strategies. People freaked the fuck out about clean-needle outreach, fentanyl testing strip distribution, Narcan training, and other harm-reduction strategies.

And at the end of the day, Measure 110 gets called a failure because it wasn't a silver bullet. Never mind that thousands of people are not sitting in jail right now for basically no fucking reason. Never mind that people have gotten treatment, harm has been reduced, overdoses have been prevented...

So, yeah. You'll probably start hearing this trotted out as proof that, well, we triiiied decriminalizing drugs, but look what happened in Portland! Well, what happened in Oregon is that we got set up to fail, and still didn't fail, just didn't totally succeed.

Measure 110 highlights, quoted directly from Prison Policy Initiative:

The Oregon Health Authority reported a 298% increase in people seeking screening for substance use disorders.

More than 370,000 naloxone doses have been distributed since 2022, and community organizations report more than 7,500 opioid overdose reversals since 2020.

Although overdose rates have increased around the country as more fentanyl has entered the drug supply, Oregon’s increase in overdoses has been similar to other states’ and actually less than neighboring Washington’s. A peer-reviewed study comparing overdose rates in Oregon with the rest of the country after the law went into effect found no link between Measure 110 and increased overdose rates.

There is no evidence that drug use rates in Oregon have increased. A cross-sectional survey of people who use drugs across eight counties in Oregon found that most had been using drugs for years; only 1.5% reported having started after Measure 110 went into effect.

There has been no increase in 911 calls in Oregon cities after Measure 110.

Measure 110 saves Oregonians millions. Oregon is expected to save $37 million between 2023-2025 if Measure 110 continues. This is because it costs up to $35,217 to arrest, adjudicate, incarcerate, and supervise a person taken into custody for a drug misdemeanor — and upwards of $60,000 for a felony. In contrast, treatment costs an average of $9,000 per person. The money saved by Measure 110 goes directly to state funding for addiction and recovery services.

There is no evidence that Measure 110 was associated with a rise in crime. In fact, crime in Oregon was 14% lower in 2023 than it was in 2020.

Further reading/sources:

[thegnomelord]

Good Dog

CW: NSFW, DARK-FIC, murder, gore, power imbalance, size difference(reader's bigger), description of torture and brainwashing, oral, anal, blood as lube, plot and exposition with porn, pet play(collars and leashes), toxic relationship, dub-con, very very self indulgent.

Моя гончая- my hound, Хороший солдат - good soldier, Расслабьтесь, братья мои - relax, my brothers, приносить - fetch, есть - eat

The thick door and walls of the private room do nothing to damped the bass of the club pounding in his ears, the annoying music made bearable by the high of a recent victory. Puffs of cigarette smoke lazily curl in the air as Makarov leans further back into the couch, the buzzing sting of a fresh tattoo helping him relax. The scent of expensive liquor only adds to the heady atmosphere, crystal clear vodka swirling in his glass before Makarov takes a sip. His dark eyes peer over the rim of his glass, like doorways to a dark abyss, his gaze dancing across the faces of his most trusted men before settling on the lieutenant's as the man tries to prove his worth with pointless words.

Above all else, Makarov values loyalty.

It doesn't matter how strong a man is if he can't follow orders. The number of soldiers he can lead is pointless when he can't keep his men alive. How well he can shoot is meaningless when he can't devote himself to a cause. A man who is disloyal is a man of single use.

Makarov doesn't even try to listen to whatever drivel the lieutenant's spouting, he doesn't see a reason to sour his mood when he already knows everything: the embezzling, the lying, the adorable double agent act. He has you to thank for that, you'd sniffed the lieutenant out the second you met him, diligently uncovering every speck of dirt the lieutenant had attempted to hide from Makarov.

And you? You are very loyal. His loyal hound.

His fingers curl around the leash, the smooth black leather sliding against his calloused palms. A barely there tug is all it takes for you to lean down over the back of the couch, bracing one large hand near his head for support as the other remains over the grip of your sidearm. You loom over him, and while Makarov may be a fearsome man, he can't deny the type of foreboding fear a goliath like you inspires — a towering figure always a step behind him, broad body big enough to easily cover him fully if you need to take a bullet for him, arms strong and palms wide to easily crack a man's skull.

Settling the glass down he takes another drag of his cigarette, "Hound," Another tug — sharper, harsher; such a small correction yet the fact you needed it at all has acrid disappointment burning on your tongue — makes you bend down more, your face now next to his. He doesn't draw attention to the reprimand, breathing out a puff of smoke near your face. "Were you listening, моя гончая?"

It's a pointless question, he knows you were listening, he trained you to. But he asks because he loves to see the way your eyes darken, jaw tight. The cigarette smoke dances in the air, making the club's low lights reflect off the sharp spikes adorning the thick collar snuggly wrapped around your throat. Your day collar suits you well, no different than the spiked collars put on hunting hounds.

"Yes sir." You answer, your attention now solely on the lieutenant.

Makarov hums, eyes flickering from the lieutenant to you. "And?" He chuckles and lets the leash go, his word keeping you in place as he casually pats your neck. "What did you hear?"

"Lies. . ." The slow slide of his fingers across the uncovered parts of your throat makes your breath stutter, static crackling beneath your skin. "I heard lies, sir." Your answer causes the lieutenant to try and sputter excuses and denials, all cut short by the harsh look you give him.

Makarov chuckles, hooking a finger over the silver loop at the front of your collar, pulling on it and tilting his head so his lips can ghost across your jaw. "Хороший солдат." Makarov murmurs. His stubble scratches your skin as his lips brush a path to your ear, so very close to a lover's kiss.

But a brush of skin is all it is. Nothing more. Your body earns for more, to turn your head and experience the bruising possessiveness of his kiss once again, to feel his teeth bite down on your lip until blood floods both of your mouths. But you don't move; A spoiled dog isn't loyal and Makarov won't lavish you with attention for nothing. no — you must earn it.

"Stay." The soft 'click' of the leash unclipping sounds the same as a sentencing gavel, the strip of leather falling away until only his word keeps you from tearing the lieutenant's throat out with your teeth. Makarov smirks against your skin, his words honey sweet to your ears as he whispers: "Sick him."

That seals the ex-lieutenant's fate.

You're on the lieutenant in an instant, crashing into him like a truck. Makarov leans back and lights up another cigarette as you stomp down on the man's leg, all the weight you carry around bearing down on his bones until they break, erasing any foolish thoughts of escape when you snap the bones of his other ankle; Makarov has truly taught you well.

The screams of a traitor are much better than the atrocious club music, letting him enjoy the smooth burn of the vodka as another stomp breaks a couple of ribs. Some of his men are still nervous around you, trying not to shuffle in their seats lest they grab your attention and become the new outlet of your violence.

"Расслабьтесь, братья мои." Makarov gives a charming smile, resting his ankle on his knee as he takes another drag. "Hound is well trained, you have nothing to fear." He chuckles, lazily watching you as he holds conversation with his lieutenants. Honestly, you're like a dog with a new toy, tossing the man around and pinning him down under your heavy body, each swing of your fists steadily turning the ex-lieutenant's face into pulp.

It's as entertaining for him as it is therapeutic for you.

And to think Price had tried to suppress all that beautiful savageness you possessed.

Makarov remembers how you'd been nothing but a snarling and cursing ball of anger when his men had captured you after a botched mission. He had been both annoyed and amused by how loyal you were to Price, weathering every beating and starving and humiliation with the same 'fuck you' response, baring your teeth like the cornered dog you were. With days turning to months and your resolve refusing to waver under their 'care' Makarov had considered just putting you down, sending a nice video of blowing your skull open to Price but oh — is he glad he decided to indulge in the game your stubbornness presented.

He set out to train you like he would any mongrel mutt, clear expectations making it easy to tell whether your actions would get you a reward or an even worse punishment, giving small rewards for the behavior he wanted; not snarling at him might earn you a better meal. Biting your lip and taking your beating without back talk could get you a couple of minutes outside the claustrophobic walls of your cell. Letting him touch and inspect your body without complaint might reward you with a book or some other little creature comfort he could, and did, easily take away the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course you were weary, perceptive enough to know when he was scheming. But every man has his limits, yours were simply reached when he handed you official C.I.A documents proclaiming you as K.I.A, the mission itself creatively rewritten to sound like you had gone and deserted to the enemy — no one was looking for you, no one was coming to save you, your captain, Price, wasn't coming to save you.

He had taken great enjoyment in running his fingers across your scalp as you clutched the documents in a white knuckled grip, your mind far too worn down to question or guard against the soft touches. His lips had brushed against your ear, soothingly raspy voice comforting you — you're a good soldier, strong, reliable, everything a commander could dream of. It wasn't your fault you trusted the wrong man, truly, what a shame to have your loyalty repaid with betrayed like that.

After that, it became laughably easy to train you. He stuck with simple commands, spoken only in Russian so he could amuse himself with the way your head would tilt before you'd perk up, recognition making your dull eyes brighten before you did what he wanted in exchange for a small scrap of his affection, learning to seek his praise and appreciate his touch even when your body still prickled with disgust. So when he handed you the knife, standing so close you could have easily slit his throat, and ordered you to kill another member of your previous taskforce, you hadn't hesitated for a second. "Good boy." He had purred, caressing your jaw as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood staining your cheek.

"Hound." His voice is as effective as any physical tug on your leash, making you stop mid punch with your fist inches away from the ex-lieutenant's caved in face. You're covered in blood, the rich crimson bringing out the violence swirling in your eyes.

Yet you look at him with utter adoration he wants to shove his cock deep down your throat just so he can see your tears smudge the blood on your cheeks. "Приносить." He taps his thigh.

You nod your head, grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh. There's no hesitation in your movements as you shove the knife into the ex-lieutenant's throat. An arc of blood spurts across your front when you yank it out just to stab another spot, the man coughing and choking as you cut through cartilage and muscle until with a good yank and a sickening 'crack!' you separate the head from the body.

Makarov had never seen the appeal of large hulking brutes until you — your body had filled back out with muscle and fat nicely after you became his, towering body demanding attention simply by existing as you stand up. The loud stomp of your feet and the blood staining your body making you look like a barbarian, casting a shadow over him before you kneel at his feet, offering the decapitated head as a knight does to his king.

Oh yes, he definitely sees the appeal now.

"Good dog." He purrs, reaching out to stroke your jaw, smearing some of the blood with his thumb. Fingers sliding down to hook on the silver ring on your collar he pulls your head closer. "Do you think you earned a reward?"

It's a test. One you're intimately familiar with. The judgmental stares of Makarov's trusted men are the last thing in your mind when the closeness of his body and the sharp crisp scent of his cologne threatens to shatter your resolve. "Only if you permit it, sir." Your throat feels dry, trying not to show how eager you are for his attention as you place the head on the floor so you don't get a drop of blood on him.

Makarov smirks, "Smart dog," His hands move to the back of your neck, unbuckling the collar. You're no longer ashamed to admit you feel naked as the thick piece of leather is pulled away; the time when you didn't have a collar wrapped around your neck feel like a distant memory and now the sensation of breathing without it pressing against your skin is disturbing. You have to bite your lip to keep the low whine from escaping your chest.

His hand wraps securely around your throat, bringing your breath back to you. Your Adam's apple bobs beneath his fingers as he traces the 'V.M' shallowly carved across your throat. "It's already starting to fade." He tuts, squeezing his fingers to restrict your breathing just the slightest bit more. "We'll need to have it tattooed. That would be nice, yes?"

You suck in a sharp breath, "Yes sir."

"Хороший солдат." He purrs. He pulls out another collar from his pocket and you feel yourself chub up in your pants just at the sight of it. It's the chained pronged one he uses exclusively when he wants you to pleasure him, particularly because it leaves such pretty bruises along your skin when he tugs on the leash.

You eagerly tilt your head back to bare your throat, a shudder rushing down your spine as soon as you feel the cold metal against your skin. You stay perfectly still as he secures around your neck, the sharp pull of the leash making the prongs dig into your skin, prickles of pain making you even harder. "Go on," Makarov hums, spreading his legs wider so your attention falls to the hard bulge in his slacks, his belt undone but the rest left to you. "есть."

You don't think you could enjoy servicing him as much as you did if he didn't let you work for it, the reward made sweeter because you earned it. Truly, he's so good to you, you'd thank him profusely but he hasn't given you permission to speak freely. So you lean in, careful not to get blood on his pants as you take the metal zipper between your teeth and pull it down. You've done this enough not to have any problems undoing the button, your hands obediently planted on your thighs and your gaze firmly on him so you can see the pleased smirk that spreads across his features when you bite the band of his boxers and pull them down until his cock springs out, already hard.

A pleased sigh escapes him when your warm lips wrap around the head of his cock, the leash wrapped firmly around his hand and the slightest tug on it has pain prickling down your spine. "Моя гончая, don't waste my time." You can't help but whine lowly at the admonishment, quickly trying to make up to him by sucking on the tip and licking the slit in just the way he likes it.

His leg shifts, hard boot coming up to grind the sole against your clothed cock. "That's better." The praise makes you moan deep from your chest and try to take more of his cock into your mouth, your boxers wet and sticky against your own cock as you give an experimental hump of your hips against his boot. You scrape your teeth along the vein on the underside of his cock and it earns you a rough grind of his boot. His hand tangles in your bloodied hair and pulls you down until his cock bumps the back of your throat.

You nearly choke from the sudden pressure, trying to fight off the reflex to pull back and gag. "Look at me." His order rings clear in your head, your eyes meeting his as he grinds your nose into his pubic hair, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your lungs start to burn. You fight through it, the fluttering of your throat making him five a small, rough, moan and fuck — you're hard as a rock.

Just as you feel like you'll pass out on his cock he lets you off, yanking your head back. You're only given a few seconds to take a sharp breath of fresh air before he pushes your head back down. You're prepared this time, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, swallowing around his hard cock. The way you suck Makarov off is wet and sloppy, stealing ragged breaths when you can as you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue and gently nibble on the base when his cock's fully sheathed in your throat, knowing exactly how to please him. Your efforts are rewarded with the salty taste of precum on your tongue, hearing him occasionally mutter his praises in Russian, none of his words snagging on your mind like sharp orders so you let yourself drift in the pleasure of servicing him, subconsciously grinding your cock into his foot.

But you're not mentally gone enough not to notice the squeaking of chairs, your body tensing as you pull up enough so only his head remains in your mouth, your head turned just enough to throw a sharp glare at the other men in the room. Makarov having his guard down like this makes you tense, violence buzzing beneath your skin from the ingrained need to protect him.

"Hound." Makarov's growl is followed by another sharp tug of the leash, the dull ache of the metal prongs digging into your skin dissipating some of your aggression. "Did I tell you to stop?"

You shake your head as best you can, a pathetic whine escaping your chest from the way the pain makes your cock even harder. Satisfied, he eases the leash, letting you return to your work. His head lolls back, lazily looking at his men. He couldn't care less who sees you like this, but now he wants your full attention on him. "Leave." He gives the simple command.

You track the sound of shuffling feet as you take him fully into your mouth, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Nuzzling your nose into his curly pubic hair you breathe in his musk, his heel grinding firmly and consistently against your hard cock, pleasure pulsing through your veins with such intensity you're worried you'll cum without permission, low whines escaping your throat.

He pulls you off him suddenly, your lungs burning as you gasp for air. You expect him to paint your face with his cum, stake an obvious ownership over you. But he doesn't, pulling you by the leash and leaning down to mash your lips together, teeth biting down on your lip until it bleeds.

Makarov's kisses are rough and demanding, the sweet drug your body's been craving, teeth clicking together and tongues swirling in each other's mouths. The firm grind of his boot against your crotch makes you moan lowly, a sound he happily swallows down and nearly shoves his tongue down your throat. You part far too soon, your body craving much much more, but he doesn't let you stew in the disappointment of a short kiss — it's an owner's responsibility to spoil his pet — mumbling against your lips. "Prepare me."

A full shudder runs down your spine and you surge to follow his order. Makarov loves the determined look you get in your eye just as much as he loves the rough way you grip his hips and hike them up so you can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Your bloodied fingers grip his hips and pull them down until his ass hangs off the edge of the couch, throwing his legs over your shoulders and he can feel the muscles deep in his back strain as you nearly bend him in half, his hard cock and hole bared for you.

It's a vulnerable position, trapped between your bulky frame and the couch he has no way to escape. And if anyone else were to attempt this he would feed every inch of their flesh to themselves. But Makarov relishes the knowledge that he's in control, a single word from him would make you stop regardless of how hard and wanting you were, your loyalty to him as real as the dead man's blood you dip your fingers in to lube them.

Your fingers circle his hole before you press the pad of your finger against it. Without the heat of battle the cold viscousness of the blood feels disgusting, making him shiver and his rim flutter against your digit. But the discomfort is easily forgotten when you apply pressure, the steady and persistent way you push your finger in forcing his muscles to yield. "Shit-" Makarov clenches his teeth; your fingers are so large just one feels like two of his own, the gnawing pain of your finger pushing deeper just amplifying the pleasure of being stretched open and your other hand loosely stroking his wet cock.

You don't go slower than you need to, perfectly trained to know how to move your fingers to keep him teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, each shift and slow drag of your finger pulling deep grunt and soft breaths from between his clenched teeth. "Yes, there you go." His praise makes your heart melt and cock throb in your pants, the pull of the leash bringing your lips together in another harsh kiss. You swallow his moans greedily, pushing a second finger in and curling them in search of his prostate, your thumb incessantly rubbing the space between his balls and ass to trap the spongy flesh between your fingers.

He nearly chokes you with how hard he yanks on the leash, hips pushing back into your hand and walls clenching down on your fingers. The stinging ache of being stretched open mixes with the building pleasure, leaving his skin feeling like a live wire. His teeth dig into your lip until it bleeds again, heels digging into your back. He grinds his hips down on your fingers, muttering praises against your lips as you push a third finger in and force him to take it.

He can't wait any more, gripping your hair and roughly yanking your head back. "Fuck me already." He growls, licking the blood staining your cheek.

You scramble to do as you're told, continuing to stretch him open as you undo your belt and pants with one hand, your hard cock bobbing against your abdomen. Pulling your fingers out you scoop up more blood, the cold helping reign in your lust as you lube up.

Before you can do anything he reaches out to grip the base of your cock, his hold firm and just at the cusp of pain. "You'll be good, yes?" He growls against your lips. "Fuck me good and hard?" His hand moves, stroking you slowly, evenly coating the blood along your cock. "I don't need to show you how to use this thing again, do I?" There's a dangerous edge in his voice.

Fear shoots down your spine, mouth going dry. You'd been too eager for human touch when he first let you mount him, and when you came seconds after getting inside him he'd been less than pleased by your abilities. You couldn't feel your cock for a full week after he'd tied you down and used your cock until you couldn't cum, using a cock ring to keep you hard and using you until he was satisfied.

You quickly shake your head. "No sir," You choke out and bare your throat. "I can do it, I'll be good." You promise.

His hold loosens, tugging you by the hair so he can peck your lips, his tongue licking over the small wound he'd made. "Don't fail me now."

You steel yourself like you're going to war, pressing your cockhead to his hole. Your nails dig into his hip, your grip ironclad to keep him still as you pull him down more and simultaneously push in. There's a second of resistance before your head pops in, the pleasure of entering his velvet soft insides being met with sharp pain as his teeth chomp down on your shoulder through your shirt. It all mixes in your brain into pure bliss, your hips bucking up into him automatically until you're bottomed out. You hold him close to you and leisurely grind your hips, letting him get used to the mind numbing stretch.

Fuck— Makarov may see the appeal of brutes but impaled on your cock he feels like he's being split in two, lungs burning and he can almost swear your tip's poking his diaphragm. He chases the pain more than the pleasure, heels digging into your back to give him some leverage so he can push his hips into yours. "Yes," His head lolls back when you slowly withdraw, only to suddenly snap your hips and hilt yourself inside him again. "-fuck, yes!"

The blood keeps you from tearing him apart but there's too little of it to keep him from feeling the painful stretch, the slow movement of your hips making his thighs shake. "Harder," He demands, yanking on your leash and biting your shoulder again. "Make me feel it." His voice is rough with a demand, because men like him never beg.

"Yes sir," You manage, bracing your feet and setting a rough pace, rutting into him like an animal. He muffles his sounds into your shoulder as your cock saws into him, his walls fluttering and clenching around you so tightly it feels like he'll snap your cock off. You do your best to focus on him and his pleasure, but the tight heat of his hole is rapidly melting any control you have, your cock throbbing and leaking precum inside him.

"Sir, please-" You whine, your muscles tight and your balls feeling so full you feel like you'll burst, your voice full of need. "I'm so close."

“Not yet.” He growls, pushing his hips down to meet your thrusts, your hand stroking his cock. “Make me cum first.” He growls.

You hold back a pathetic whine and redouble your efforts, your rough thrusts bruising his ass as you fuck into him, aiming to nail his prostate every time you bottom out. He wails, whole body shaking, his cock throbbing in your hand and leaking a puddle of precum on his stomach.

Makarov cums without any warning, going rigid and biting your shoulder even harder as pearly cum shoots from his tip, his walls clamping down on your cock. "C- cum!" He snarls, voice muffled, and it's all you need. Bottoming out fully you moan as you shoot his insides full of your cum, rocking your hips and grinding your cock against his prostate to prolong both of our highs.

You hold him close as you come down to reality but the way his walls clench around your cock makes you feel like heaven. His hands grip your jaw, bringing you down into a disorganized sloppy kiss. He's boneless in your arms, his walls continuing to flutter around you. "That was good." He slurs, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. "Good dog."

The tug of the leash is expected and Makarov kisses the corner of your lips, tongue swiping across your skin to lick up more of the blood staining your lips. "Clean me up." He orders, "Lick up your mess." He growls, and there's not a single part of you that would refuse him.

Tag list: @lieutnt, @pastelclovds @thee-great-enigma @vladimirking24

[thebiggerbear]

when were you going to tell me

Summary: After finding out you concealed something from him on a hunt, Dean is not happy with you and he definitely does not appreciate your attempts at humor on the subject.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Hunter!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting. Just dipping back into the writing pool from time to time, one toe each round. This is what popped into my head when I read the prompt. All unbeta'd.

Prompt Line: "When were you going to tell me that you have a hole in your body?"

Warnings: language; mentioned gun violence/injury; implied sex; implications; Reader (really me) being a perv

Word Count: 1787

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel; @hobby27; @impala67rollingthroughtown; @ladysparkles78

Dean Winchester Taglist: @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303; @mariahoedt

@solacedthistest; @deansimpala; @foxyjwls007; @onlyangel-444; @globetrotter28

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx; @lyarr24; @rebel-paladin; @deans-spinster-witch

@bts24; @roseblue373; @nancymcl; @c1gs-coffee; @peachhiz

@kickingitwithkirk; @fanfic-n-tabulous; @illicithallways; @mentallyillandgae; @ladykitana90

@roseblue373; @radioactivatedspider

Supernaural Taglist: @just-levyy

You can also read on AO3

Dean was super pissed at you. No, not pissed — pissed.

“When were you going to tell me that you have a hole in your body?” He snapped.

You attempted to give him a smile from your seat on the edge of the bed. “Uh, the third date?”

His jaw tightened and his glare immediately transferred from you to his younger brother who had snorted in amusement and was currently attempting to smother a grin. “Don’t encourage her.” Sam threw his hands up in placation but you snickered.

“At least Samsquatch thinks I’m funny.” You winced and sucked in air through your teeth as you tried to peel the right arm of your jacket off. Dean was suddenly there, taking over and gently moving the material away from your wound. “Serves you right,” he muttered. As he studied the bullet you’d taken on the hunt you all just returned from, you studied him — marveling at him in fact. Fury emanated off of him in waves and yet his touch was as gentle as could be. His expression was severe and yet his eyes had a softened edge to them as he tended to you. 

“Sammy, get the med kit out of my bag and bring it over here,” he ordered before briefly turning a fresh glare on you.

You let out a small sigh. “Dean, I get that you’re mad but how was I to know one of them was armed? I mean, what kind of a werewolf carries a gun anyway? Bitch move, if you ask me.”

“The kind that wants to get away at any cost. You’re lucky they only popped you in the shoulder. Now maybe next time you’ll actually listen to me and stay close.” He angrily snatched the proffered gauze from Sam’s hand, refusing to look up at you as he opened the package. “You should have told me.” 

Concern laced his harsh tone and had you wishing you could put both arms around him to pull him close. Instead, you pressed your lips together; you knew he was right. You should have let him and Sam know you had been shot the moment you regrouped where the Impala was parked but considering the alpha had gotten away in the melee, you all were desperate to get out of there and hunt him down. One dead alpha later thanks to Dean’s silver bullets, you still hadn’t told either Winchester and you gritted your teeth at the pain. You were being stupid, you knew you were being stupid, but you just couldn’t push yourself to admit that Dean had been right and you had been wrong. You had butted heads before; you could take care of yourself and Dean wanted you to use the safety of numbers. Needless to say when you were finally forced to admit what happened once you all got back to the motel thanks to Sam accidentally knocking into you forcing you to let out a loud curse, Dean had been harsh and unforgiving, always being a few words away from ‘I told you so’. And while you hated it, you knew you deserved the ass-chewing you were getting. But you would take everything he had to throw at you and more if it meant you wouldn’t have to see the look on his face that you were seeing right now. You’d scared him, terrified him even, and he hadn’t known in the moment that he’d been a heartbeat away from losing you. A fact that was then reiterated by him gruffing out, “If his aim had been a few centimeters to the right…”

You could feel a lump forming in your throat at the pain now clouding his gaze as he pressed the gauze to your wound. You snuck a look over at Sam who gave you an understanding nod, grabbed the ice bucket, and left the room without a word.

You gently covered Dean’s hands with your left one, urging him to look at you. It took him a moment but he reluctantly lifted his eyes to meet yours. Even more pain swirled in those green depths and it broke your heart. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” you whispered. “I should have told you. And I will never go off on my own again or scare you like that. I promise.”

He watched you for a moment and when he determined you meant what you were telling him, he capitulated with a nod and went back to focusing on your wound. You moved your hand to one of his wrists and briefly squeezed before letting him go.

After a minute, you decided to lighten things up a little while you still could. He was going to have to dig the bullet out since it didn’t go through. As much pain as you’d been in for the past two hours, you were bound to be in a hell of a lot more in the next few minutes so you only had a short window. You got a good look at the wound when he pulled the bloody gauze away and gave it an approving nod. “So, whaddya say after you fix this hole, I can show you what other holes I have that might need tending to, hmm?” His gaze snapped to you and you gave him your best seductive smirk, arching an eyebrow in meaning.

As expected, Dean rolled his eyes and he thrust a half-finished bottle of whiskey at you. “I never thought I’d say this to a girl but you are banned from referring to your…other holes like that. For forever. Especially in front of Sam.”

“Oh come on, you know you love it when I do,” you teased, taking a swig of the amber liquid.

“I know I love you,” he suddenly replied, his tone serious yet ever so quiet, and his focus now on the kit in front of him.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. In all of the time you’d been doing the no pants dance on a semi-regular basis, not once had Dean uttered the L-word. Sure, you knew how much he loved your ass and how his hands seemed to be super-glued to the area whenever Sam wasn’t looking, how much he loved it when when you did that thing with your tongue and throat at the same time that made him bite into the side of his fist to keep quiet, and how much he loved when you fucked him. But never had he ever in all of this time told you that he loved you.   

He hesitantly met your gaze and when he saw your smile, he seemed to relax slightly and clear his throat. “You should drink a little more of that before I start digging the bullet out.”

When he took the bottle from you, you used your free hand to gently tug on his flannel. “Me too, you know.” When he glanced over at you, you whispered, “I love you, too.”

His features softened a little in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He fought to keep a smile off of his handsome face and seemed determined to remember he was still mad at you, but the light in his eyes remained. “Okay.” A simple okay — as if okay, that’s decided and that’s it. Very simple and matter of fact. When your grin grew, he shyly looked away before snapping back into focus, intent on switching into a medic role. “This is going to hurt.” His expression was then completely apologetic.

“I know. It’s okay,” you reassured him. “Not my first gunshot wound.” At the furrowing of his brows and his eyes roaming all over you, you dug your fingers into his jeans to distract him and gave him a nod. You could tell him all about that later; besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the scar on your leg at some point.

The distraction having succeeded, Dean let it go for now and poured the whiskey on the open wound. You nearly screamed from the pain, tightening your grip on him.

His lips were immediately lingering against the skin of your forehead. “I’m sorry, baby,” you thought you heard him murmur to you but you were in so much agony you couldn’t be sure. When the sting began to fade into the steady throb you had grown used to, you heard him tease, “So, third date, huh?”

You gave a tiny shrug of your one good shoulder, wincing. “Date, hunt, whatever.” Sam and the world didn’t need to know exactly when you and Dean had made the beast with two backs. Third, first — it was all the same to you.

You’d known Sam and Dean back in the day and when you found yourselves accidentally on the same hunt years later, Dean may have given you a second look which you more than eagerly returned (you’d had a crush on him for years when you were younger) and when you used his last-night-on-Earth line on him at a local dive bar later on… You bit your bottom lip to keep at bay the memories of the creaking of the Impala, your moans from his lips trailing everywhere, and his deep groans of “Fuck” in your ear as he tightly held onto you from that night. Damn, if you weren’t shot right now, you might ask him to recreate that particularly explosive night, especially since you both were sharing a room with Sam on this trip. Perhaps once Dean was through and you were all bandaged up, you could convince him to go for a drive so you could show him just what your good arm could still do. Sure, you were a natural righty, but you could get creative. Not to mention you were shot in the shoulder, not your lower half, and it certainly wouldn’t keep your jaw from working.

Dean chuckled, pulling you from your dirty thoughts about said man who tenderly kissed your hairline before searching for the forceps in his kit. “Right.” He poured some alcohol over the tool and gave you one more kiss before focusing on your shoulder. “You ready?”

“One sec.” You grunted as you lifted up slightly to plant a kiss to his stubbled jaw. He turned to look at you and you shot him a smirk. “Hurry the fuck up, Winchester, and get to work getting this bullet out of me so we can go for a drive and I can show you how ambidextrous I can be.”

You watched his throat bob up and down as he swallowed and then a smirk crawled onto his face to mirror yours, his eyes darkening to an all-too familiar shade. “Yes, ma’am.”

And he got straight to work.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this character.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

banner by @cafekitsune

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Face Your Fears

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You get into a fight with your brothers, but your recklessness that follows creates problems for everyone.

“You were hunting before you were my age! I don’t get why—“

“It doesn’t matter if you get it or not! I said no!”

Sam rushed to the library when he heard his siblings’ voices raised in argument.

“What’s going on in here?” He asked, trying to keep a calm and neutral tone.

“She—“ Dean started, but you cut him off.

“Dean is being completely unfair!”

“Ok, ok, calm down,” Sam sighed.

“Calm down?! You two are off all the time, actually helping people, putting your lives on the line, and I’m—“

“Exactly! You don’t need to be putting yourself in danger like that!” Dean interrupted.

“It’s what you do! And I sit here and read books!”

“Don’t downplay what you do,” Sam said. “We need you here.”

“But I could do so much more out there with you!” You argued. “I’ve been training, I know I can help!”

“Yeah, or you’d screw it up and get killed, and I don’t need your blood on my hands!” Dean exploded.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Dean—“ Sam tried to speak up, but you interrupted him.

“So that’s it, really? You think I’m some kind of screw up?” You scoffed, and continued before Dean could speak. “It’s not like you’re perfect! You’ve screwed up the world before, and no one’s stopped you from going out to screw it up again!”

“Y/N—“ again Sam’s attempt to calm the situation was met with resistance.

“Well fine then, if I’m too much of a screw up for you, then I’ll get out of your way!” You shoved past your brothers and beelined for your room, slamming the door behind you.

…

Your brothers didn’t try to go after you. They were probably angry. You knew you went too far with what you said to Dean, but he called you a screw up; were you just supposed to take that and not say anything back?

It didn’t matter either way. You didn’t want them to try to talk to you, because you had something to do.

You had a hunt to go on.

You’d been researching one before you went to ask Dean about joining the next one; since he’d said no, you would take this one whether he liked it or not. And you were going alone.

…

It wasn’t hard to sneak out—back when you lived in motels, it would have been almost impossible to leave without one of your brothers waking up, but with the bunker it was easy.

You didn’t take the Impala—that would be too far, even for this rebellious streak. Instead, you took a cab to the next town over; you had struck gold, finding a hunt so close. It was pretty simple, too; three victims with hearts ripped out, definitely a werewolf. You had more silver bullets than you’d need packed up with a couple of guns in a duffel at your feet.

Dean was wrong about you, you could do this. After all, how hard could one little werewolf be?

…

Dean was right, and you were suffering the consequences of being wrong.

You struggled to pull your phone from your pocket, your fingers fumbling as your phone slipped around in your blood-soaked hands. Your breathing was labored, and every breath brought stabs of pain to your slashed-up abdomen.

You hadn’t noticed the signs of the second werewolf, so determined were you on taking the first one down. You hadn’t even seen him until he’d been right on you, ripping into your stomach. You’d had your gun in your hand, and by some miracle you’d managed to fire off a round into the werewolf on top of you, but not before he’d injured you pretty bad.

You finally got the phone in your hand, and you didn’t hesitate to press Dean’s number. You held the phone just slightly away from your face, wary of irritation the cuts on your cheek.

The phone barely had time to ring before Dean’s voice flooded your senses.

“Where are you?” His voice came out in a growl.

“D-De…” you hadn’t realized you were crying until you had to push your voice out past your tears.

“Sweetheart?” Dean’s anger was gone in a second when he heard your pained voice. “What’s going on?”

“I’m-I’m sorry, De,” you sobbed. “You were right, I’m-I’m sorry.”

“Shh shh, hey,” Dean soothed. “It’s alright sweetheart, I forgive you. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”

“I-I turned on my phone’s location,” you said. “Ple-please hurry. It hurts…”

Dean tried to ask you more, but a bang from somewhere nearby had you flinching, and the phone slipped out of your soaked hands and shattered on the concrete floor. You realized it was only your own gun, slipping off the table you’d laid it on. But it was too late; your phone was broken, and you had no way to call Dean back.

You could only hope that the tracker would still work.

…

Dean broke both the law and probably some speed records getting to your location. Sam was in the passenger seat, a first aid kit in his lap as he held on for dear life.

“I should’ve known she’d do something stupid,” Dean grunted.

“Dean, you couldn’t have known,” Sam reasoned. “And blaming yourself isn’t going to help her.”

Dean didn’t speak, and the rest of the ride was tensely silent.

“Here,” Sam said as navigator. “Turn left here, and she should be close by.”

Dean swerved the Impala to the left and screeched to a halt in an empty parking lot near a warehouse. Sam was right at his heels as he burst into the warehouse.

“De?” Your pained voice echoed throughout the building, so that it took Dean a moment to find you. When he did, he swore his heart skipped three beats. You were sitting in a pool of your own blood, propped up against the wall. Dean rushed to you, kneeling next to you and almost slipping in your blood.

“Hey, hey,” his voice was a mixture of soothing and panic as he brushed your blood-stained hair away from your face. “Alright sweetheart, tell Doctor Dean where it hurts.”

It was a pathetic joke, but you laughed anyway; Dean’s jokes always made you laugh.

But your laugh sent you to a fit of coughing. Dean winced as he examined the long gashes on your stomach.

“Ok, you’re ok,” Dean leaned back in relief when he saw that it wasn’t too deep; you’d be ok. “But I’m gonna have to carry you to the car, ok? Brace yourself.”

You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists, but you still couldn’t hold back the cry of pain when Dean lifted you into his arms.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Dean cringed. “I’m sorry. You’re gonna be ok.”

Dean laid you on your back in the backseat of the Impala, before taking the first aid kit from Sam and retrieving a needle and thread.

“Can’t we just bandage it up?” You whimpered, already squirming away from the needle. Dean’s finger froze for a second before he shook his head, his features softening. Both brothers were very aware of your fear of needles, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

“Sorry sweetheart, it’s gotta be stitched. Just close your eyes, it’ll feel worse if you watch.”

You closed your eyes, trusting your brother completely. However, before he could make the first stitch, your eyes popped open and you grabbed into his wrist.

“Wait,” you said. “I-I…I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Dean sighed. “I’m sorry too. I said some things that…that I didn’t mean. You aren’t a screw up, ok?”

“What do you call this?” You gestured to your own banged up body.

“Inexperience,” Dean answered. “And you never should’ve been out here alone. Going solo on your first hunt is never a good idea.”

“I’m sorry about that, too,” you mumbled.

“It’s ok, kiddo. Maybe later we…we can talk about you tagging along on one of our hunts.”

“Really?” You grinned.

“Later,” Dean said sternly. “After you’re all better. Now let me get to this.”

As Dean lifted the needle, you closed your eyes again. You felt Sam’s large hand grab onto yours, and you squeezed his hand gratefully, holding on as Dean started to stitch you up.

“I didn’t really think you would screw up the hunts,” Dean said as he worked. “I just…I don’t want you out there. It’s dangerous, and I…I’m scared something will happen to you. But I guess I can’t keep you from it if it’s what you really want.”

“It is,” you said. “I want to do what you guys do. I want to help people, and I wanna be with you guys.”

“Ok then,” Dean said, tying off the stitches and patting your side to let you know he was done. You opened your eyes, and he smiled at you.

“I guess I’ll just have to face my fears.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl

[vigilante-3073]

Figure You Out

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

PART 1

Summary: Dean and Sam run into another hunter while working a case.

TW: Mentions of blood, injuries, death and murder. Dean's nicknames.

Concord, New Hampshire

Dean and Sam made their way through the woods towards a cabin owned by one of many werewolves in the area. The steadily rising number of mangled corpses turning up around town drew their attention quickly. The bodies were piling up and the situation needed to be dealt with.

Dean and Sam approached the house, peering at the large cabin from the treeline. The door was wide open and the front window was shattered, broken glass was scattered across the grass. Dean and Sam pulled out their guns as they slowly approached the cabin.

"Is that blood?" Sam asked quietly, shining his flashlight at the stairs.

"I think someone might've beat us to the punch here, Sammy," Dean said, approaching the treeline on the opposite side of the cabin.

Sam turned to see his brother standing over a man's body that was laying face down near the trees. The man's wide eyes stared off into nothingness, the ground around him slowly becoming saturated with his blood. The man had multiple bullet wounds in his back, no doubt silver bullets were used.

Dean and Sam looked up as they heard some rustling from inside the house. Dean quickly made his way over to his brother as they approached the house.

The pair climbed the stairs quietly, shining their lights inside the cabin. A woman held up her hand, blocking the light from her eyes.

"Shut those goddamn lights off or shine them somewhere useful," She snapped.

The woman huffed when neither of the boys moved, "I'm a friendly, assholes," She said.

Sam lowered his gun and flashlight, pointing them at the floor, "Dean, she's good," Sam said quietly.

Dean reluctantly brought down his gun and light. The woman lowered her hand from her blood splattered face, leaning back against the edge of the countertop with a shake of her head.

A small lantern was sitting on the counter beside her, casting a dim yellow glow across her injured side. A handgun, an open bottle of alcohol and the contents of a first aid kit were strewn across the countertop.

Dean whistled, "They got you good, huh?" He stated, shining his light at the claw marks slashed into her side.

"No shit," She huffed, pushing the needle through her torn flesh.

"Need a hand?" Sam asked.

"I'm good, thanks," The woman muttered, focused on closing her wound.

"Here, let me at least give you some better lighting," Sam said, changing positions to shine the light from a different direction.

"Thanks," She said.

"No problem," Sam nodded.

"I'm gonna check the place out," Dean said.

"It's clean," She replied, tying off a stitch.

"Not that I don't trust you, sweetheart, but I don't," Dean smirked.

"Asshole," She muttered.

Dean moved further the cabin, peering into the rooms as he passed them. He couldn't deny that he was slightly impressed by the sheer amount of werewolves she had managed to take down alone.

Dean made his way back out to the kitchen area as the woman grabbed the bottle from the countertop. She seethed as she poured some of the alcohol over her stitched up wounds before patting the area dry with clean gauze.

"You take all these wolves out by yourself?" Dean asked.

"Why?" The woman asked.

"Just wondering," Dean shrugged.

"Sure you are," She scoffed.

"Seems like a big job, is all," Dean said.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," The woman stated, pressing a large surgical pad over her stitches before wrapping gauze around her waist to hold it in place.

She cut through the gauze, tucking it in place before lowering her torn shirt and packing up her first aid kit.

"I'm Sam and that's my brother, Dean, by the way," Sam said.

She paused, "Winchester?" She questioned.

"You heard of us?" Dean asked, glancing over at his brother.

"Nope," She stated, closing the lid of her first aid kit. The woman grabbed her gun and first aid kit from the countertop, "Have a good night, boys," She said.

"You're not gonna tell us your name?" Dean questioned.

She smiled, "I'm sure this isn't the last time we'll be seeing eachother, Dean," She replied.

...

Louisville, Kentucky

Dean and Sam continued to run into the woman on and off through the years. They came to learn that her name was Y/N and that she always worked alone. She moved from job to job quickly and it seemed like every time they would go to start a hunt, she would have already finished it.

Y/N absolutely infuriated Dean. He and Sam would spend hours on their research and travelling to the location just to get there and have everything done already.

They hadn't seen her in a while and the brothers were beginning to wonder if something had happened to her. It wouldn't be unexpected in their line of work.

Dean and Sam made their way into a local bar to spend some time going over the details of a possible witch related case. They had barely sat down at the bar for a minute before the bartender set two beers on the bartop.

"Sorry, we didn't order these," Sam said.

"They're from the woman at the end of the bar," The bartender said, pointing off to the right.

Dean turned to look, "Son of a bitch," He muttered, a scowl quickly replacing his previous smile.

Y/N raised her beer with a smile, Sam laughed and raised the beer in thanks. Dean swiped his beer off the bartop and hopped off his stool before making his way over to her.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Same thing as you, only better," She smirked, taking a sip of her drink.

"I'm just gonna save myself some time and ask if there's even still a hunt in this town?" He questioned.

Y/N sucked in a breath through her teeth, "No, just finished a few hours ago, actually. But I really appreciate you guys coming out," She said.

"Yeah, whatever. Thanks for the beer," Dean said grumpily before returning to his spot next to Sam.

"Well, that was-," "Shut up," Dean snapped, taking a sip from his beer. Sam shook his head with a smile, always managing to get a kick out of it when his brother was bested by Y/N.

...

Seattle, Washington

Dean and Sam made their way into an abandoned warehouse with packs of gear slung on their backs. This area had recently become a hotspot for demon activity in the last few days. The missing persons reports had also began to rise and there definitely had to be something big going on.

Sam and Dean scanned the dark warehouse as they made their way inside. Sam hesitated, "Dean, is that-?" He started, shining his flashlight at something across the room.

Dean looked up, following the beam of his brother's flashlight, "Oh my god," He muttered, racing across the warehouse and kneeling down in front of her.

Y/N's body was slumped against the wall, she had been beaten and there was a rusted pipe stabbed into her stomach.

Her clothes were drenched in blood, Dean held in his hand in front of her face, a finite amount of tension leaving his shoulders as a soft puff of air hit his skin.

"She's breathing," He stated.

Dean pulled back slightly, cupping her cheeks in his hands, "Hey, sweetheart, can you hear me? Open your eyes, Y/N," Dean said.

Her eyes fluttered open, "Dean," She mumbled. Blood splattered onto her lips as she coughed, dripping down her chin.

"We're gonna get you some help, okay?" He assured.

"I don't wanna die," Y/N whimpered.

"We're not gonna let that happen, alright?" Dean said, she nodded slightly.

"Good, now I need you to be as stubborn about not dying as you are about everything. Shouldn't be a hard thing for you to do, right?" Dean said with a small, reassuring smile.

"You're an ass," Y/N mumbled.

"You got me there, but I need you to listen to me for a second, okay? I gotta pick you up and I can tell you right now that it's not gonna feel good," He said.

"I know," She nodded.

Dean lifted her arm up to wrap around his neck before sliding his arms underneath her body.

"On the count of three. One... Two... Three," He counted before lifting her up into his arms. Y/N cried out in pain at the shift, fingernails digging into the skin on the back of Dean's neck.

"We gotta get her to a hospital. You drive," Dean said, Sam nodded.

They rushed her out of the warehouse, carefully setting her in the backseat of the Impala with her body propped up against Dean's chest.

Sam hopped into the driver's seat, taking the keys from his brother before starting the car and speeding off in the direction of the hospital. Y/N coughed up more blood, gradually becoming less responsive as Sam drove.

"Don't let me die," She pleaded softly. It was the first time Dean had heard her be this vulnerable and it terrified him.

"I won't... Trust me, sweetheart, you're gonna be back to annoying the crap out of everyone you've ever met in no time," Dean assured.

Y/N was only able to stay awake for a few more minutes before finally losing consciousness.

Y/N was rushed into surgery as soon as they arrived at the hospital. Dean told them that she was his wife and had been involved in a mugging. He could tell that they didn't believe him, but it didn't matter. As long as she was getting the care she needed.

"We're staying... It's non-negotiable, alright?" Dean said firmly, looking over at his brother.

"Glad we're on the same page," Sam nodded.

...

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, squinting in the bright light as her head pounded. She turned her head to see Dean lounging in the chair beside her bed as he lazily flipped through a magazine.

She gulped before speaking, "How long was I out?" Y/N questioned.

He looked up at her, "Three days," He stated, looking back down at the glossy pages.

"Shouldn't you be three states over by now?" Y/N asked.

"Well, I rescued a damsel in distress who got herself skewered by a metal pipe. I thought sticking around to make sure she didn't die would be the gentlemanly thing to do," Dean smiled.

"Sounds like a badass," Y/N muttered.

"She is," Dean agreed, eyes flickering up from his magazine to meet her's.

Y/N looked away, eyes scanning the small hospital room and quickly noticing the absence of the younger Winchester, "Is Sam around?" She asked.

"He went to get coffee a few minutes ago," Dean said. Y/N nodded, shifting with a grimace as pain radiated over her entire body, obviously numbed by medication to some degree.

"How are you feeling?" Dean questioned.

"Like I got my ass handed to me," Y/N sighed.

He huffed a laugh, "You kinda did," Dean nodded.

"Yeah," She huffed, leaning back against the pillows, "Did they say how long they want to keep me here for?" Y/N asked.

"At least another week," Dean said.

"Screw that," She scoffed

"We'll help you bust out in a few days," Dean said, flipping the page of his magazine.

Y/N stared at him for a second, "Why are you still here, Dean?" She asked.

"I already told you-" "Cut the bullshit," She snapped.

"I was worried about you," Dean said.

"You have to give a shit about someone to be worried, Dean," She said. The older Winchester remained silent, staring at her expectantly.

"Well, I'll be damned... You like me!" She smirked.

"I never said that," Dean stated.

"You might as well have," She teased.

"Just go back to sleep," He said, shaking his head as he returned to reading his magazine.

"I'm not gonna let this go, Dean," Y/N stated.

"Yeah, I figured," He sighed, flipping the page.

....

PART 2

[smoky-lucine]

Close Call

Little sister!Reader

After a close call during a hunt, The Winchester brothers panic as Castiel heals you.

Injuries, angst

My second fic :) I'm still trying to get the hang of writing but hopefully you all enjoy :)

You and the boys have been working on a case dealing with werewolves. You managed to catch one and kill it, and he confessed there is a whole pack in town and now you need to find the rest of them. You and Sam stayed in the motel and studied up on werewolves while Dean and Cas went out to the recent attacks around the town.

You didn’t get a lot of sleep the last few nights, as the werewolf attacks were happening faster and faster, and the four of you have been out every night on watch for any leads. Sam nudges your shoulder, and your chin slips off your hand and you jolt awake.

“Everything alright?” Sam asks while he shuts the book you fell asleep reading and sits down next to you.

“I’m okay, just tired from being out so late last night.” You say, rubbing your eyes.

Dean calls Sam and he gives you a gentle smile before he answers the phone and puts the call on speaker.

“Hey Dean, did you find anything?”

“Yeah. One of the Officers was a werewolf. He told us where they’re all staying before we took him out. We’re gonna hit it tonight alright?” Dean explains and you hear Castiel in the background ordering food for the three of you.

“Sounds good to me. Did he say how many of them are staying there?” You reply

“Nope. By the looks of how many attacks there's been, I don’t think it would be more than 7 or 8.” Dean says confidently.

Sam keeps talking about the case with Dean and you start getting silver bullets and knives ready for the hunt.

Later that night the four of you are on the way to the werewolves hiding house in the Impala. Sam and Dean are having their own conversation in the front while you and Castiel talk in the back.

“Have you ever hunted werewolves before?” You ask Cas.

“A few times yes. Angels don’t usually deal with them. Have you?”

“Occasionally yeah. I haven’t seen them in a while though, not since we still hunted with dad.” You say looking away. You didn’t like talking about your dad anymore, nobody really did. “I haven’t practiced my shooting in a bit too.”

“I’m sure we got it kid.” Dean says to you looking in the rear view mirror. “It’s gonna be a small pack. It’s gonna be in and out.”

You give him a smile. You turn to yawn and look out the window for the rest of the ride.

The four of you get ready and watch the house waiting for Dean to decide when to go in.

“Alright. Sam and Cas you two go in the side door, Y/N and I will go through the front.”

You look at Dean surprised. He normally chooses Sam when splitting up and it would make sense here too.

“Are you sure Dean?” You ask him nervously. “Yes, I’m sure. Do you not want to go in? What’s wrong?” Sam looks at you knowing you're tired, but he knows you don't want to tell the truth to Dean.

“No, it’s okay.” You say quietly, walking away a bit and focusing back on the house. Everybody does one last look at each other before splitting up and breaking into the house.

Dean kicks the door down and you both run in aiming separate ways. You hear Dean shoot a werewolf down and he turns to check on you in the now empty room. You can hear the other wolves in the house warning the others and running to defend against the four of you. You run up to the doorway, calling it clear and Dean runs into the kitchen with you following.

Making your way through the house, you and Dean each take down a few werewolves, and eventually meet up with Sam and Cas. The upstairs is still loud with werewolves running and escaping. You all say how many you took down and quickly realize there are at least triple the number of werewolves than Dean previously thought.

“But that doesn’t make sense. How can there be so many??” He says reloading his gun and looking around the room.

You responded “The attacks were happening faster and faster. I guess they don’t want to be careful anymore.” You focus on reloading your gun when you hear a growl.

You turn and see a werewolf sprinting at you and tackles you, losing all air in your lungs and dropping your gun. It claws at your stomach, leaving a huge gash. You quickly start seeing stars and your vision starts clouding, black slowly starting to take over. Coughing and screaming out you hear multiple gunshots and the werewolf dying.

Sam and Dean run up to you, eyes shocked at your injury.

“She’s really hurt.” Sam says, tearing up trying to get your eyes to focus.

“Sammy we gotta get her out of here.” Dean says loudly and begins to pick you up, flinching when he hears you cry out in pain. “There’s too many wolves here we need to leave.”

Dean runs as quickly as possible to Baby, putting you in the backseat. He throws the keys to Sam and yells "Drive!!” Castiel gets in the passenger seat and Sam runs to the driver’s seat and quickly starts the car, driving away from the house.

Dean holds you in the backseat trying to keep himself composed as he talks to you. “It’s okay Y/N. It’s gonna be okay alright? I’m so sorry I should’ve paid more attention. Look at me Y/N, open your eyes.” He begins to panic and yells at Sam to drive faster.

“We need to get far enough away; Cas needs to heal her.” Sam says speeding down the road.

You slip in and out of consciousness and wake up to Dean crying over you, and Sam and Cas yelling in worry. The three boys can’t stand hearing you scream in pain. You pass out and when the car is suddenly silent, Sam pulls over quickly as he and Castiel rush out of the car to reach you in the back seat.

“Cas, heal her.” Dean says solely focused on holding you still. Sam holds your hand as Castiel puts his hand on your stomach. His hand emits a bright white glow and Sam and Dean look away.

You wake up in the motel room. You look around at the quiet room and see Castiel in the corner staring at you.

“You're awake.” He says walking up to you. “I healed you. You’ve been asleep for a couple days, Sam finally got Dean to leave and eat.” You lift your shirt and there isn't a single scratch on your abdomen.

Castiel helps you sit up and hands you a bottle of water. “Your physical injuries are healed, but your body is tired. I could tell you haven’t slept in a few days.”

You drink the water and hand it back to Castiel. “Yeah, those night watches have been pretty hard. I appreciate you healing me and staying with me.” You give him a small smile and he gives you one in return and lets you rest longer.

Sam and Dean come home and seeing you sitting up in bed they run up to you. Dean hugs you tightly and when you yelp in surprise he lets go, scared you were somehow still injured. “Kid, I was so scared. I thought we lost you.” he says kneeling beside the bed, looking at you.

Sam gives you a big hug before climbing into the other side of the bed and letting you lean into his side. “It was really scary Y/N. I’m so relieved we got you healed in time.”

“I’m really sorry guys.” You say tearing up. “I haven’t slept in days, and I really wanted to help fight them, but I know I should’ve stayed back.”

Dean grabs your hand, “Y/N this isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have put that pressure on you, and I should’ve stuck to the plan. Please don’t blame yourself.”

You all sit there quietly talking to each other until you slowly fall asleep and get more rest.

[landogalore]

DEJA VU

carlos sainz x singer! reader

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, SMUT: unprotected sex (PLS WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT GUYS), oral sex (female), creampie.

word count: 2.7k

————————————————————————

The routine began the same as every night had previously started, following the identical steps to prepare herself before stepping onto the stage.

The brunette hair swirled down, reaching just below her shoulders in perfectly shaped curls. she allowed her eyes to glance at herself in the mirror, the bright spotlights shooting towards her face, enhancing her facial features so beautifully it would put any person into a trance. the silver eyeshadow has been carefully placed in the corner of her eyelids, the glistening effect causing her sapphire eyes to become bolder, brighter. As she admired herself one last time, she was able to reminisce the events that led up to this, how her talent was able to become known, and the people who cherished her along the journey.

She originally attempted to boost her career by busking, sitting on a stool in the Spanish humidity, singing the songs that she hoped would attract the most attention from the public, eventually persuading them to drop a mere euro into the bucket below. To most people, this would appear to be a normal method to try and get funding which could help increase her popularity, but to the determined singer and her family, she looked like a pathetic charity case.

‘You can’t continue with this, hija.’ her mother would constantly remind her, her dream was just a fantasy she created, unable to ever truly become the reality she longed for.

‘It can go on no longer. we’ll help you get a stable job.’ her father agreed, once again the truth that she was failing hitting like a bullet, leaving a wound that would slowly shatter her confidence.

‘Just one last day, please papá.’ she begged, she needed one last try, a song to say goodbye to the dream that she imagined when she was a child, the commitment she gave needed to be for something, it had to be.

————————————————————————

Similarly to every other session, she placed the empty bucket beside her while she set up the equipment. The streets in Madrid were always busy, bustling with a mixture of both locals and tourists. And like all the other days, she began to sing, a tiny beacon of hope still fighting in her heart, that she will be noticed.

Two hours went by, and the usual process happened, euros gifted to her by a range of people, even a young toddler waddled over to drop a few pennies into the bucket below. This was finally the end, she thought to herself. She sighed, admitting she needed a break before continuing once again, placing the equipment back into her backpack before slouching onto a nearby park bench.

‘You’re the singer, no?’ A voice asked from beside her, turning to face the stranger who somehow recognised her. His dark hair slightly blowing across his face from the gentle breeze, covering small areas of his features. Although, they struggled to hide the large chocolate coloured eyes smiling towards her, leaving the girl almost mesmerised.

‘Yeah! Well, I busk nearby.’ She confirmed, her grin growing at the realisation she had eventually been recognised for her abilities, the man’s lips beaming wider at the answer.

‘Are you available friday?’ he queried, the girl’s eyes widening in shock at the question. was he about to ask her to sing at a venue?

‘Uh..’ she panicked, her whole body buzzing with excitement, ‘definitely! i’m not busy at all on friday!’

‘Great! I’ve got a few friends coming to this event later this week and our singer decided to get food poisoning and cancel. I’ll give you my number and send you the rest of the details.’ He further explained, reaching out of his pocket to grab a notebook, ripping a small tear out of a page. ‘You got a pen?’

‘Yeah!’ she rummaged through her backpack and handed him the pen, her voice unable to contain the positive emotions overwhelming her, seeming a bit too enthusiastic to give him some basic stationery.

‘Here.’ he passed her the tiny sheet which she also placed inside her bag. ‘I’m Carlos.’ he introduced himself, reaching out his hand, the new view of his arms highlighting the prominent veins, despite mainly being covered in body hair.

‘Maddison.’ She grabbed his hand back, shaking it as she stared directly at the man, a mixture of both delight that she can now sing somewhere that isn’t 20+ degrees in the outdoor heat, but also that she had met Carlos…

——————————————���—————————

Is this Carlos?

Yes! Please be at this address at 7pm. I’ll see you soon 😊

————————————————————————

When she arrived, the immediate elegance of the building shocked her. It seemed like she had been transported to the victorian era, contrasting the usual settings she had been accustomed to previously.

She inhaled a large gasp of the oxygen outside, trying to control her breathing rate and calm down the nervous butterflies that fluttered around her stomach.

She hesitantly stepped inside of the venue, but became immediately mesmerised by the luxurious decorations that covered the room. It was truly something she had never seen before.

“You’re here.” The familiar accent greeted her once again, her eyes shifting to see Carlos, dressed in a dark suit that appeared more expensive than what the girl had in her whole bank account, feeling almost humiliated by the dress she had slipped on in an attempt to blend in with the crowd. “You look-” He began.

“I know… I’m sorry it’s one of the only dresses-” she apologised, already believing she had ruined a part of the night.

“You look stunning, Maddison.” He interrupted, finally finishing his sentence, admiring the girl standing before him, the unexpected compliment causing her cheeks to flush into a vibrant red shade. “I’ll take you to the stage.” Carlos added, indicating for the singer to follow him, which she easily complied.

“Is there anything specific you want me to sing?” She questioned, unsure on what the routine was for the night.

‘Just sing the songs you like, not always just the popular ones, but the songs you’re confident with.’

‘Got it.’ She smiled; she was now able to play the music that matched her tone perfectly rather than adapting. The contagious expression she wore reflected onto Carlos’ face, before he stepped closer to the girl, leaning in towards her ear.

‘I’m sure that anything you sing will be amazing, cariño.’ He murmured softly, backing away and leaving to allow her to set up the equipment desired for the upcoming performance.

The celebrations continued throughout the night, all the guests pleasantly entertained, she didn’t know much about the reasoning behind the event, but narrowed it down to being a birthday party.

After further confirming that the microphone was functioning correctly, she adjusted the stand to her height, placing the device into the slot as she started to introduce her act to the audience.

‘Hi everyone!’ She spoke, all eyes in the room now focused on the girl standing on the stage. “I’m Maddison and I’ve been asked to perform some songs for you all. This one I will sing is currently one of my favourites!’ She finished, shifting from talking to singing as the speaker began to play a melody.

The music differed to the usual tunes she sung while busking, the more tranquil genre suiting her voice almost perfectly, allowing her to stay comfortable while the whole crowd stared. However the only person she truly focused on was Carlos, his chocolate eyes glistening towards her like he was enthralled not just by the singer’s talent, but also by her immense beauty. The man couldn’t comprehend the reasons why he felt such ways for someone he had approached on the street just earlier this week, all he could do is watch in mesmerisation, cherishing the moment.

————————————————————————

At the end of the night, only a few were still gathered at the party, mostly waving their goodbyes; however, the singer and Carlos being a part of that small group.

When she finished her act, the man waited patiently nearby the stage as she packed away her equipment, desperate to just see her once more, even if it was the couple glasses of alcohol he sipped previously influencing these thoughts, the girl remaining unaware of his presence.

‘Your singing was so beautiful.’ He perked up, catching the attention of the girl as she swiftly turned her head around to face him.

‘Carlos, you’re still here?’ her eyes widened, shocked that he had remained at the event for such a long period of time. ‘I thought you would’ve left already.’

‘Never.’ He stepped closer, standing tall above her, just a few inches away from her face, his brain practically entranced by her beauty, he didn’t care anymore, at this moment all he craved was her, everything about her. ‘I needed to see you again Maddison.’ His voice softening as he approached further towards the singer, his hands moving upwards to gently caress her cheek. Despite the strength the man’s hands appeared, his touch seemed so gentle and loving.

‘Carlos.’ Her breath hitched at the sudden action, hundreds of questions overwhelming her mind. Why did he want her? Is he drunk? Does he know what he is doing? Why did she want him to kiss her so badly?

‘Say it, please cariño.’ The beseech escaped as almost a murmur, praying that she had heard the sentence, his vision purely focusing on the singer’s plumped lips.

‘Kiss me, Carlos.’ She pleased, immediately being met with the man’s lips smashed onto hers, bringing her into a passionate kiss. Her wish was his command. His tongue entered her mouth as the touch became slightly rougher, grasping onto her cheek tighter but still somehow keeping that caring feeling.

‘Not here.’ She pulled away from the connection, placing the hand that was originally situated on her cheek down towards her own palm, signalling for him to hold it. ‘You don’t want an audience now do you?’ The singer lifted onto the tips of her feet to whisper into his ear, lust clearly visible in her throat.

‘You’re right querida.’ He agreed, a smirk slowly forming on his mouth, ‘I’m the only one who deserves to see you naked, desperate for my cock.’ The words leaving his lips making the girl’s thighs warmer, closing them together to release the pressure that was craving something, craving Carlos.

Eagerly, she followed Carlos away from the grand atmosphere, the room shrinking into a narrow hallway before the man reached their desired destination, twisting the doorknob to reveal the bathroom that still remained as elegant as the rest of the building.

Instantly entering, their lips joined together once again, the girl’s body slammed against the counter nearby the sink while Carlos sped up the pace of their kisses, becoming desperate and sloppy, but she definitely wasn’t complaining.

His tongue continued its attack, although separating from her lips, travelling downwards to her clear neck, the man excited to paint his canvas with marks that will leave large bruises.

As he sucked onto the clear skin, the girl couldn’t help but let high- pitched moans crawl out of her throat, not caring about the red, stinging stains appearing, just praying for this sensation to continue forever.

‘This dress is so pretty on you, ángel.’ Carlos smirked, his fingertips brushing against the slim straps on the one-piece, ‘But you’ll look much better with this all off.’ He looked up at the girl for confirmation to continue, which she eagerly nodded in consent as he slid the fabric down her shoulders, slowly removing the clothing in an attempt to tease her. He refused to break eye contact as the silk dropped down to her thighs, revealing the lacy bra underneath, which he also unclipped to uncover her breasts.

‘I need you, Carlos.’ She pleaded, impatience prominent in her voice as the light strokes made her whole body shiver with lust. ‘I need you in me.’

‘Steady cariño.’ He giggle consumed with mischief, ‘Gonna have some fun with you first.’ He planted sloppy kisses trailing from her collarbone downwards towards the lower area of her chest, the crumpled fabric preventing the man moving any further. ‘Can I?’

‘Yes, please.’ She answered, the material rubbing down her legs as she was left almost naked, just a small piece of dampened lace covering her vagina.

‘Mierda.’ He murmured the curse at the sight of her dripping pussy. ‘You’re already that wet for me, bet you’re gonna taste so good.’ His warm breathed pressed near her entrance, leaving a tickling feeling that only made the girl ache for the man even more.

His mouth began to press against her lips, swirling his tongue around areas of her clit, causing inaudible sounds to slip out of the girl’s mouth.

‘Carlos.-’ Was the only word she could muster, unable to focus while the man licked against her walls, her legs beginning to tremble due to the immense pleasure.

‘Dios, you sound so beautiful saying my name.’ He complimented, still working at her pussy, the visible muscles in the neck twitching, only allowing her to become even more aroused of the thought of his defined body. ‘Are you gonna cum for me, princesa?’

The question finally pushed her to the edge, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, allowing the release, gripping tightly on the marble countertops she lay on for support as the liquid leaked out. However, it was quickly being cleaned up Carlos.

‘I knew it, you taste perfect.’ He chuckled, enjoying the meal before him, ‘Can’t wait to get me inside you now, is that okay?’ He looked upwards at the girl, her eyes now fuzzier and makeup smudged.

‘Please Carlos, I need to see you.’ she begged, placing her hand against his shirt, her fingertips pathing their way towards the top button, undoing each button carefully, similarly to the teasing the man had used previously.

‘Like what you see?’ He snickered as she stared in awe at the exposed abs and thick body hair. Continuing, he swiftly unbuckled his belt, slipping his trousers off and tossing them nearby her already removed dress. The man stood now only in his boxers, his bulge noticeable.

He proceeded undressing, the duo both now fully naked, however the room still stayed warm from their lust that circled the atmosphere.

‘You ready?’ Carlos asked, waiting for the confirmation from the girl as he approached, moving his dick nearby her hole.

‘Yes, fuck me Carlos.’ She pleaded, immediately greeted with his cock filling her up, a loud moan escaping from her lips. ‘Oh my god.’ She gasped, shocked by how truly large he was.

‘Mierda, Mads.’ He groaned at the tight sensation, nobody had ever made him feel like this before, almost as if she was the perfect piece to finish the jigsaw, ‘You make me feel so good, hermosa.’ As he increased the pace, the pleasurable screams grew louder. Fortunately, there was most likely not a soul left in the building, allowing more freedom.

‘I’m gonna cum again, I can’t hold on any longer.’ She whined, the thrusting from Carlos turning all the muscles in her body numb, desperate to release the pressure.

‘We’ll do it together, cariño.’ He suggested, preparing for a countdown so they can both relieve themselves together. ‘1, 2, 3.’ Instantly after, they both moaned in sync, their bodies vibrating as they spilled their warmth into each other, connecting together in more than one way.

‘Are you okay, princesa?’ Carlos pulled out of her, his hand carefully caressing her cheek that glowed with vibrance. Her now tangled hair flowed down her face, slightly hiding some features, but he could still spot her beauty.

‘Perfect, especially now I’m with you.’ The girl giggled.

————————————————————————

Despite that moment being so long ago, the memories are still imprinted in her brain, remembering every detail, including every detail of him.

‘Are you okay? princesa?’ Her fiancé wrapped his arms around the singer’s waist, nuzzling his head softly into the crevice of her neck. ‘No before- stages nerves?’

‘Don’t worry Carlos.’ She reassured, the stage didn’t frighten her so much anymore, confidently able to stand before a large audience. ‘I’m perfect, especially now I’m with you.’ She spoke, and a flash of deja vu sent her back once again, to that Friday night, to the man eager to find a replacement singer, to Carlos.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED <3

[s0fter-sin]

one of my favourite aspects of supernatural that you very rarely see in paranormal shows is that sam and dean are already versed in the world they live in. there’s no sudden discovery of ghosts and demons and now they have to learn about them along with the audience; they are born into it and already know all about it. it allows the audience to follow their personal story instead of also trying to figure out this new world and its rules

the first season is full of knowledge we never see them learn; “w*ndigoes are in the minnesota woods or- or northern michigan. i’ve never even heard of one this far west.” […] “great. well then this [his gun] is useless.” (1x02), “you don’t break a curse. you get the hell out of its way.” (1x08), d: “it’s a god. a pagan god, anyway.” […] “the annual cycle of its killings? and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. like some kind of fertility right.” […] s: “the last meal. given to sacrificial victims. d: “yeah, i’m thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god.” (1x11)

almost every episode in the first season is a monster they’ve faced before that they then explain to the audience in a way that should feel patronising; like it’s the same speech given over and over again but instead, the audience almost feels included in the knowledge. it’s stated with such an innate confidence and comfort in said knowledge that it feels like we already knew it too; “spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. if they want inside, they just go through the walls.” […] “the claws, the speed that it moves; could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog.” (1x02), “it's biblical numerology. you know noah's ark, it rained for forty days. the number means death.” (1x04), “no no no, not the reaper, a reaper. there's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names.” […] “you said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? reapers stop time. and you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why i could see it and you couldn't.” (1x12)

they already know and, at least in the first season, already have what they need to kill whatever they’re hunting; already know to salt and burn bones for spirits, fire for a w*ndigo, exorcisms for demons, a silver bullet to the heart for shapeshifters. there’s only three times in the entire first season that they run into something new to them; 1x14 when sam gets his first vision that leads him to another psychic, 1x16 when dean calls caleb for help on the sigil he put together and he tells him about daevas, and 1x20 when they find out vampires are real- and they only don’t know that bc john thought they were hunted to extinction and not worth mentioning

(there’s also technically two half instances if you count one of them knowing something the other doesn’t - sam figuring out the tulpa in 1x17 and dean already knowing about the shtriga in 1x18 - but those still rely on sam and dean having prior knowledge)

even when they’re uncertain about facing something, it’s not bc they don’t know what it is; it’s precisely bc they know what it is and acknowledge that it’ll be a difficult hunt (“i don't know, man. this isn't our normal gig. i mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. this is big. and i wish dad was here.” 1x04)

so much of the tension in paranormal shows typically comes from the main character(s) not knowing what is happening to them/the people around them and having to find out how to resolve it. supernatural is unique in that it operates more like a police procedural. the tension comes from solving the clues and identifying patterns to figure out who (what) the killer is and intercepting before they can take another victim

it’s such a different tone to go for when compared to other shows that came both before, during, and after its run. it sets sam and dean on even footing with each other since they both have the same knowledge going in, and it puts them in a place of authority usually reserved for an outside character

the shows i compare spn to most is charmed, buffy and teen wolf; every main character in those shows are brought into the paranormal world knowing nothing, putting them on the same level as the audience, and they have their mc interact with others already knowledgeable about that world in order to overcome their problem/monster of the week. the audience organically learns about this new world as the characters learn about it. it’s a sound writing strategy that prevents “as we already know”-style exposition but something that complicates it is if your world building isn’t unique or intriguing enough, this slow introduction can become boring

we’ve seen shows like these before; sitting through the same tropes of characters learning to use their powers, struggling with no longer feeling normal/relating to the regular world around them, and not knowing how much they can trust the people already involved in this new world gets repetitive. all three shows eventually reach the same level of comfort with their new world that spn starts with but if the characters aren’t enough to draw you in, you can end up dropping it before they reach that point (and often, before the overarching plot can really kick in and evolve the show beyond the villain of the week format)

it’s the superhero origin movie in tv format; dragged out and overplayed. dropping the audience into an established world of course comes with its own problems but you also have the benefit of pre-existing established character dynamics that let the audience slot in like they’ve always been there instead of just getting to know all the characters while the characters also get to know each other

sam and dean already knowing about the supernatural lets the audience immediately get to the core of the story; the conflict between sam and dean, the search for their father, and the mystery of what killed their mother

[bullet-prooflove]

Dean Winchester. Coat, Cheese, Flowers.

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gatefleet @private-jett @cosmic-psychickitty

Prequel to:

You, Me & Tennessee - Dean always returns to Tennessee.

On The Mountain - Dean wishes he was back on the Mountain with you.

Six Pack (NSFW) - You realise the man waiting for you isn't Dean Winchester.

Memories (NSFW) - Michael invades your home whilst you're away.

Sweet Dreams - Dean thinks about how this all started.

Deals With the Devil (feat: Michael)- You wake up with an angel in your bed.

Dean doesn’t intend to fall in love in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. It’s something that just happens after he starts hearing rumours about strange attacks up in the National Park.

You know the instant he turns up at the ranger station to investigate the circumstances that he’s a hunter. He has the same demeanour as the first one you met a few years ago, similar features. He’s surprised when you call him out on it, more so when you agree to take him up to the Fire Tower with you.

“There’s more to being a forest ranger up here isn’t there?” He had said, standing in front of the open weapons cabinet surveying the small arsenal. It’s certainly not the usual shit you see out here in the wilderness, silver bullets, long range rifles, military grade explosives. That’s just some of the interesting paraphernalia you have stored away in there.

“There’s lot of power up here on the mountain, it attracts things.” You had told him as you picked out a flare gun and a couple of blocks of C4. “Let’s just say this isn’t my first monster hunt.”

It’s refreshing being open with someone about the work he does. You spend the evening sharing a mini charcuterie board that you manage to pull together with some cheese, jerky and crackers, swapping stories about your exploits. The attraction starts then he thinks, because you’re pretty, funny and a complete badass. The shit you’ve dealt with on this mountain, it almost makes him quake in his boots. He wants to ask you how this all started for you but then you both hear the cries for help and a scratching at the door and it’s hunting time.  

It’s five hours later that you return to the Fire Tower, the both of you a little worse for wear. Your coat is shredded, there’s mud smeared across your cheek, your hair is a mess and the scent of motor oil clings to you from the C4. Dean isn’t in a much better state. He’s bleeding from a gash in his hairline and there’s a three inch slice up his forearm that you’ve managed to patch up with moss and strips from your ruined jacket.

It turns out there wasn’t just one Wendigo, there were two. It had been a fight to the death before you’d managed to trap them in the abandoned mine shaft they’d been using as a nest before activating the C4.

You’re both still hopped up on adrenaline when you get back to the Fire Tower, usually you’d take it out on the punch bag outside out then then Dean kisses you and you spend the next two hours working it out in other ways. You end up watching the sunrise together with a cup of coffee on the balcony, you wearing his t-shirt and nothing else.

He’s regretful when he has to leave. Usually he has no problem hitting and quitting but there’s reluctance in him because the two of you have shared something special up here, something he isn’t ready to let go of just yet.

“Call me alright?” He says as he writes his number on a post it note. “If you get in over your head and I promise you, I’ll come running.”

“I have a whole team of rangers who do the same sort of shit that I do, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” You tell him, tucking it into your trouser pocket.

He gets the message loud and clear. You’re strong, independent, you don’t need him, not really and somehow that makes Dean want you even more.

The next time he’s travelling through Tennessee, he ditches Sam and drops by Gatlinburg, just to check in, see how things are going on the mountain. He’s barely half way down Main Street when he catches sight of you stepping out of the florist with a bouquet of sunflowers, cradled in your arm. You’re wearing  jeans that hug your ass in a way that has him groaning and a brown leather jacket over an ACDC t-shirt.

You don’t react when the black Impala pulls up alongside of you, it isn’t until Dean calls your name that you realise someone’s trying to get your attention. You pull out your earbuds before tilting your head towards the wound down window, surprised to see Dean Winchester sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Hey.” Dean says with that handsome smile of his. “Need a ride?”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[presidentsdaughter]

note/tags - suicide but not jimmy.. just his mom, slight gore mention, some smut?, dry humping, jimmy is like early 20s in this.. start to a fic i couldn’t bother to finish, bad writing..

Jimmy’s mom is all over the walls. It’s like someone has set off a fucking party popper. She didn’t even have the decency to get him a banner.

Welcome home Jim! Congrats on getting bailed out! I knew you could do it!

Not even that. Not a single slice of cake. Not even a candle or a party hat or a gift box or a fucking hug. Whatever people get on their birthdays.

Jimmy stands there, jaw tight, unblinking as he looks over the mess she has made of herself, the house, and his life. She’s smoked all her cigs, drained every bottle, snorted anything fine enough to suck up through a straw, and he knows Mom, she’d never leave a needle behind. So the only thing she leaves in his name is this mess and this awful smell.

He toes at what is left of her, her legs bent awkwardly at the knee like a mistreated Barbie doll. Her face is this gaping hole that looks something like her bloody cunt the day she pushed him out. For a second he wishes that it would open up like the maw of a beast and swallow him whole, take him back to where he came from, and then he goes back to feeling nothing much.

It’s no biggie. Jimmy never liked her much. She liked Curly more than she liked him, but everyone likes Curly more than him. He’s a sole-crushed peach splattered on the sidewalk, picking up grit and dirt, and Curly is a fucking prized watermelon or a silver spoon, a real nice spoon, the fancy kind you only get out for guests—He’d come and use his polished edge to scoop Jimmy right up, shape him into something nice, clean him off and serve him for dessert.

Curly bailed him out. He drove Jimmy home in his nice new car, it smelt good and had his initials on the number plate. He did this all because he needs Jimmy to feel good. So he can go and tell anyone that’ll listen about his piss-poor junkie best friend. How he put him back on his feet. Curly is modern day fucking Christ and Jimmy is a crippled leper.

By his mother’s open hand is his father’s handgun. She’s named Mia after the chick in Pulp Fiction. Jimmy picks her up, gives her a once over, and tucks her in his back pocket for a rainy day. He goes to take a piss because he’s been busting for one ever since Curly picked him up, but the throbbing urgency numbed when he saw his fragments of mom’s skull dotting the carpet like milk teeth.

Jimmy takes his piss and then he notices mom didn’t even leave a single sheet of toilet paper behind. He shakes himself dry, returns to the couch where she lays limp, thinks of blowing off her tits and then decides she isn’t worth another bullet. Jimmy turns the gun to himself. He wonders if mom put it to the right side of her head or the left. Probably in her stupid whore mouth. She would let anyone in there.

“You’re joining the party, huh?” You’re standing in the doorway of his trailer, lukewarm and unsmiling, snapping your gum like this is no big deal. You’ve always been that way. Unaffected. Jimmy pulls the trigger and Mia jams. She’s an old girl. He forgives her. He just wanted to see you cry.

Jimmy doesn’t really think you would cry, but he likes the thought of it. You would look so fucking ugly when you cry.

“I found her earlier, heard the shot and came to check.” You’re wearing short shorts so short the inside of your pockets hang out past the cuffs. “But I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

“Fuck you,” Jimmy says, arm dangling by his side. Mia clatters to the ground when his fingers lose grip.

“That’s not very nice,” you tell him evenly, sidestepping clumps of clotted blood to get to him.

Jimmy flops down beside his mom’s faceless body. She talked too much so the silence is kind of nice. He spreads his legs and you drape yourself over him, pressing your tits to his chest and sucking his tongue into your warm mouth.

“I didn’t forget your present.” You’re rolling your hips into his, the old couch creaks with the weight of all two and a half of you. His mom topples sideways onto his shoulder and Jimmy shoves her dead weight back the other way. Blood smears the arm of his shirt where she fell, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“Oh, yeah?” Jimmy bites your neck, he feels the pulse of your hot cunt through those tiny shorts.

“Course I didn’t, saved the date and everything.”

He half expects you to dig into your bra and pull out a baggie of something, but you just offer him a half smile, giving a sideways glance to the stinking corpse.

[salty-autistic-writer]

A little headcanon fic. Buck and Tommy talk about scars and Chimney. ~

“And this one?” Buck asks, tracing a long moon-shaped silver scar on Tommy’s arm.

“Cut myself while working on a car,” Tommy says. “It happened before. But never like this. This bitch of a cut didn’t stop bleeding. Sal had to drive me to the hospital where they stitched me up. He was constantly complaining about how I was bleeding all over his car seats even though we wrapped a towel around my arm.”

Buck hums. His eyes wander over Tommy’s stretched-out body. All that exposed skin. So much skin. And a lot of scars. Every single one tells a story. He wants to know them all.

“This one?” He asks, gently touching a circle of raised skin on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Got shot during my time in the military. Didn’t even really notice. I was too focused on flying us out of there. I only noticed when I got dizzy from blood loss and someone from my team took over, landing the chopper. The bullet went right through. Fortunately, it didn’t hit anything important.”

Buck swallows. He stares at the scar. Tommy could have died back then. He almost died a few more times after that, of course. Buck focuses on the shrapnel scars, which always look more like a flower tattoo to him. His throat tightens as he realizes once again, how dangerous their jobs are. Death is a constant shadow lurking in the corner.

“You have to be more careful,” he says pointedly, putting his head on Tommy’s warm chest with a content sigh.

Tommy raises a brow. “Says the guy who stumbles into a life-threatening event twice a year.”

Buck shrugs. “It’s not like I want to. They seem to find me.”

“Maybe it’s just the 118,” Tommy muses. “Maybe it is cursed after all.”

“Now you sound just like Chimney,” Buck chuckles.

Tommy smiles. “That reminds me … I still have to properly thank Howie.”

Buck frowns in confusion. “Why?”

“Well, if he hadn’t saved my life, I wouldn’t be here now. And if he hadn’t called me for help with saving Bobby and Athena, I wouldn’t have met you,” Tommy says seriously.

Buck freezes. He raises his head from Tommy’s chest, staring at him. “Wait. Chimney saved your life?!”

“Yeah. Back when he joined the 118, he dragged my unconscious ass out of an exploding building even though I was an insufferable idiot who first insulted, then ignored him. They told me about it in the hospital. I felt horrible. Later we talked and hugged. He gave me his number. Told me we could go for a beer after shift sometime. It was the first time after the army that I dared to open up a little more to a colleague. Friend, now. Of course.”

“Wow,” Buck breathes. “I had no idea. He never told me. Guess I have to thank him too.”

Tommy chuckles and brushes his fingers through Buck’s hair. “Yeah. Well, Howie is way too quiet about how awesome he is. Let’s buy him a fruit basket.”

“Or,” Buck says, a grin spreading on his face. “Let’s bake him a heart-shaped cake with “for our favourite matchmaker” on it. He loves those cakes.”

Right?

[jasmines-library]

Unbroken Valour

WHUMPTOBER DAY 28: Prompt ‘Sacrifice’

Fandom: Batfam

Summary: Ignoring his orders, Tim leaves to face the Joker after he escapes Arkham. Fearing for his safety, you chase after him and when he is put in a life threatening position, you don't think. You just do.

Warnings: Major character Death, description of wounds, impalement. It's just angsty. Im sorry.

Word count: 1.5k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Sometimes there is no rational reason for things happening. Sometimes things just happen whether we want them to or not. And sometimes there is no way to stop the inevitable from happening. Like there is no way to stop the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, there was no way from stopping you.

You ran. Fast. Feet pounding against the concrete. Your breath quickened, heart pounding against your ribcage. Tim was mere feet away from you now, scuffling with the Joker. He was good, but the Joker was bigger and better. Tim looked measly next to him. He wasn’t supposed to be out here alone.The Joker had just escaped from Arkham and was as gloriously out of his mind as ever.  Tim was under strict orders and you had pleaded at him not to go, but your words fell on deaf ears. So, as soon as he left you were pulling on your suit and dashing through the streets of Gotham to reach him. 

Tim ducked as the Joker swung an arc that missed his head by mere millimetres, jostling his hair. Tim slid, trying to knock the Joker’s feet from under him but missed as he stepped away. And then the haunting sound of his laughter filled the alleyway, echoing down the stone walls like a song. The villain, noticing your presence, turned to face you with a shit eating grin. 

“Aw” He pouted, “Did the little birdy have to call his big sister for backup?”

Tims head snapped up as he stared you briefly in the eye. Brief, because he used the Joker’s moment of weakness to tackle him to the ground. As the pair scuffled on the ground, delivering blows and rough punches, you slid across the ground to grab Tim’s bo staff that had been discarded on the ground at some point during the struggle. When the vigilante finally managed to free himself, you tossed the staff toward him and reddied yourself, planting your feet firmly into the ground and squeezing your brass knuckles tightly to your palm by clenching your hand into a fist. They were cold against your clammy skin. You also patted the side of your suit to ensure your batarangs were secure within the folds of the fabric. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tim whispered at you through his clenched jaw as the Joker weighed up his options. 

The villain surged forwards trying to tackle Tim once again, but you raised your fist back and slammed it into the side of his cheek. 

“Saving your life.” You grunted as he recoiled, bringing a calloused hand to his reddening cheek and frowning. It was an odd contrast to the lengthy scars that gave him his permanent smile. 

“Ouch.” The joker straightened, making a beeline for you. 

Dropping, you allowed your brother to make a move this time. It caught him off guard, causing him to waver unsteadily on his feet, but he didn’t fall to the ground as you hoped. Instead he reached into his pocket and brandished a slender, silver pistol. 

You and Tim shared a look. Batman had two rules. Number one, No guns. Number two, No killing. The joker was about to break both and the pair of you were helpless to stop it. There was no hesitation in the villain's face as he pressed his finger to the trigger, arm jerking with the recoil of the gun. You flinched at the noise, anticipating a scream that never came. When you opened your eyes again. A single fraying flag hung from the tip of the barrel, printed across it in bold letters it read ‘Bang! You’re dead.’.

The Joker cackled maniacally to himself. “You should have seen your faces!”

Tim allowed his body to relax slightly, releasing the tension from his shoulders when he realised that there was no bullet lodged in either of you. You however were still on high alert. Your eyes widened as the realisation dawned on you. 

“Red… Get behind me.”

The Joker pouted. "oh, Y/N? Why so serious?"

“What?” Confusion crinkled across his face as he scrunched his nose together. 

“Red!”

You didn’t allow Tim any more time to move as the Joker pressed his finger down onto the trigger again, sending the flag harpooning towards him. You didn’t think, just jumped in front of him, knocking him to the side. 

You gasped as it pierced through your suit, and then layers of your skin and muscle until the spear scraped across bone. You stared at the offending weapon, lodged deep within your chest gawping at the flag flapped in the breeze. Hands reaching up, you pressed your hand to the spear, feeling the warm blood pool around your fingers and soak into the front of your suit. You swayed on your feet. 

As Tim recovered from your shove, reality hit him like a brick wall. 

“What the hell did you do!?” He screamed at the suited man, chasing after him when he tried to flee, but alone and distracted, Tim stood no chance. He released a batarang which soared through the air, skimming his sleeve. Though it has found its target, the tear in his arm was nowhere near enough to stop the Joker as he vanished into the streets. 

“Y/N…” Tim hushed under his breath as he raced towards you. You swayed before collapsing to your knees with a cry of excruciating pain. He caught you as he skidded to your side and lay you gently in his arms. 

“Oh God…” He choked at the sight of the river of red flowing from your body. He didn’t know what to do. His hands shook. 

You took one in yours, not caring for the fact that you would get them all covered in blood. Although you were older than Tim, your hand was considerably smaller than his and it fit snugly laced between his fingers. Somehow, amid the panic, Tim had managed to press the emergency button on his suit. 

You smiled up at him sadly. His attention was on you and only you as you forced out a word through blood stained teeth. “Tim?”

“No.” He shook his head, not even bothering to try and hide the swell of emotions that bubbled to the surface of his voice. “No. You don’t get to do this to me. To us.”

His other hand pressed down firmly against the wound around the spear. He knew to keep it in, but he sight of it made him want to hurl, so instead he focused on your face and the way your eyebrows twitched each time there was a new jolt of pain spreading across chest. 

“You can’t stop it, Tim.” You said sadly. “There is nothing that you can do…”

“No. I can- I” He pressed harder on the wound, fumbling over his words. A rouge tear slipped down his face. “You’re not dying. You’re not. Help is coming, just don't close your eyes, Okay? You keep them open, you hear?”

“Tim…” You reached out your other hand to cup his cheek and wipe away the fresh bout of tears. 

“You promised me!” he cried. “You promised me that you would always be there for me!”

That cut deeper than the spear. Hearing your little brother say those words, you felt like someone had grabbed your heart and squeezed, ripping up your heartstrings as they went. It was a promise you had made all those years ago when he was brought in by Bruce, scared of being alone. That night you had wrapped him up closely and promised that you weren’t leaving him any time soon.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” Concentrating was getting harder now as Tim swam before you. White dots began to form in your vision and you squeezed your little brother’s hand as hard as you could with what little of your depleting strength you had left, begging him to listen this time. “Take care of Damian for me and-” You took a wheezy breath “And be good for Dick and Jason.”

“Stop it. You don’t get to do this to me now y/n-”

“Tell the boys that I love them.” You whispered. Your body began to go numb but you gave him a gentle smile anyway. “And I love you, Tim Drake. Remember that.”

“Y/N?!” 

Your gaze drifted from Tim as you felt your life slipping away. 

“I’ll see you around, little brother.” 

Your hand went slack in his and your body slumped against his chest. He cried your name, letting the tears flow freely as you took your last breath. 

It was then that the wretched footsteps came rushing towards them, and Dick faltered at the sight of Tim covered in your blood as he clung to you tighter, pressing down harshly on the gaping hole. The spear still sat there, cruel and relentlessly. Dick stepped forwards, but it was no use. You were already gone. 

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 27 𖤐 DAY 29->

taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

[ohraicodoll]

Be Still

(Gif Credit Joel-Miller) Joel Miller x fem!reader The Last of Us (Show/Game) 1.4k Words (3rd POV) Summary: It takes her a while to see what’s happening to him. Joel is having a panic attack.  (I’ve never written so fast but had to after watching ep 6!!)

It happened twice before she realized what it was.

At first she worried it was a heart attack. That Joel was having a heart attack in the middle of the forest and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. It wasn’t a knife wound or gunshot, nothing she could patch up and stitch together. She hadn’t been a doctor in any life, was more skilled in killing than healing, and they didn't have medicine to give him. His age had never been a thing she cared about or was too concerned with. The world wore them down equally, harshly, and he always seemed to defy the number. Was stronger than anyone his age like through his rage he could defy his body. It wasn’t a heart attack though. She could see the bright whites of his eyes, the way they unfocused and his breath would hitch under the press of his hand against his chest. The shallow breaths coming in and out in frantic off-kilter beats. It wasn’t the cold like he tried to play it off as, wasn’t his age or at least not entirely. Panic attack. Joel Miller was having panic attacks and was trying his best to hide them. They’d started after a few close calls. Ellie getting hit or her almost getting her head shot off. Running from a small horde that had built up inside a locked shop they’d inadvertently let loose. The more close calls they had, the more she could see his anxiety build up. And now it was flooding over, manifesting in a way she was startled to see in the man who always seemed like an impenetrable fortress. He was never afraid. But that was fear in his eyes as he rubbed his hand over and over against his chest, staring at the infected at her feet sporting a new bullet hole. So close. It’d been so close to her. Had dropped out of the second floor window of the cabin they stood outside of. And she hadn’t reacted fast enough but he had. Her eyes took in the way he stared, the hollow blank gaze, the twisting of his lips as they shook. Panic. There was panic and fear there. “Ellie, go clear out that shack and start laying out camp for the night,” she ordered and tried to keep her voice steady, not wanting to give away that anything was up, “We’ll clean this up and patrol the grounds real fast.” The teen sighed audibly and tucked her gun away into her pocket overdramatically, not noticing Joel’s silence as she walked towards the small open shack a dozen yards away. The house the infected had come from was dilapidated, all the windows broken and looking like it was sinking in on itself. Not the safest. As soon as the girl was a good distance away and out of direct view, she walked towards Joel slowly as if approaching a skittish animal. His breath was a wheeze in the silence and he almost jumped when her hands reached out and touched his cheek. “Sit, come on. Nice and slow, just sit on the ground,” she coaxed him, cupping his face and drawing his attention away from the dead body. His eyes were glazed but he sank to his knees, hard and crunching the dried leaves. He was still upright, not allowing himself to fall onto his heels and sit completely, so she followed his lead. Knees to knees, her breath mingled with his and one hand went over the ones clutched to his chest, “Come on, Miller, I need you to take deep breaths in and deep breaths out. In through your nose and out through your mouth.” He was shaking, fingers digging into his shirt like he wanted to try and claw his heart out. His beard was rough against her palm, the silver hairs catching the dying light. Joel looked so lost. He never looked like that, was a constant pillar of confidence against the world. Unshakeable. To see him look that way, scared for the first time in a long while, had something twist inside her. His breaths were still shallow, lips quivering, so she mimicked the routine. Loud breaths in, deep sighs out, “You gotta breathe for me, Joel. In and out, real steady.” Awareness was slowly seeping into his eyes and her fingers slipped between his, clutched in his grasp. He focused on her and started to breathe, swallowing heavily. They were broken, stuttered gasps but he was trying. Her hand stayed on his cheek and she could feel each attempt, see the color and life come back to him. “There you are,” she whispered with a gentle smile, one that was usually reserved for Ellie. Joel never liked things gentle, rejected softness, so she had never offered it. Everything between them was rough, brutal, from the way they fought to how he would smash his mouth against hers during those tiny moments of privacy. 

They had hated each other and then…they didn’t. But it was never gentle, wasn’t love or even affection. 

She didn’t expect to be the one to keep him from breaking apart. His breathing was getting steadier, more confident. She almost smiled wider, “Okay. Go over the supplies we have in the first aid kit.” A furrow appeared between his brows, the first hint of Joel coming back, “What?” “Just do it, Tex,” it was a command but stayed coaxing, soft even as his fingers gripped her own so hard her bones protested. His eyes flickered all over while he struggled to think and her forehead came to rest against his, “Five things then in the kit.” Their matched breathing warmed her and with a stutter, Joel started listing things. Gauze. Tape. Needle and thread. Scissors. Tweezers. “Technically, that’s six,” she smirked and was pleased that by the end of the list, his breathing was back to normal and he was no longer shaking. “You can’t have a needle without thread. It’s one item,” Joel huffed roughly, not much humor in the comment. Silence took them over and neither moved. She knew his knees had to be hurting against the cold hard ground because hers were starting to, but she didn’t want to be the first one to pull away. She’d stay kneeling there all night if it was what he needed because somewhere along the lines of months they’d all been traveling, Joel had become one of hers. Not only Ellie, but this gruff older man who bit off her head yet gave her the bigger pieces of jerky and would sometimes stop her to kneel and tie her shoes for her. He took care of them both. In the dark he shared his favorite bands growing up and in the light acted like the sight of her made him angry. And now holding him after seeing him deal with a panic attack, she wondered how much of what he felt was hidden under layers and layers. If she’d ever actually get to know Joel and not only what he wanted her to see. Because he wasn’t unstoppable, wasn’t fearless. He was petrified. Slowly, she leaned forward and grazed his nose with her own. The prickle of his mustache and beard against her skin drove tingles across her skin, his breath warm against her lips. He didn’t stop her, didn’t shove her away and walk off even after she’d witnessed a vulnerability. Instead he leaned forward and met her lips with his, the barest of touches. More a press than an actual kiss. It was the gentlest thing she ever felt from the man and it seemed to do more than all the times he tasted her skin and pressed his tongue against her. She pressed harder, kissed him deeper, and tried to pour out everything she knew he would reject out loud. You’re okay. I’m okay. I’ve got you. His hand gripped hers but softened in answer. They wouldn’t talk about it. She knew as much not to push that. But he didn’t try to play it off and instead let her keep that secret of his and take on its burden. It was one of the few things they shared and she would guard it, guard him as fiercely as that little girl.

Even after she broke their kiss, gave him a small smile and helped him get to his feet so they could go check on Ellie, he didn’t let go of her hand.